Chapter 6
The journey through hyperspace and onto Nar Shaddaa was a relatively uneventful one, where Foyi spent some time cleaning up the best she could with the few hygienics she had brought in her satchel and the startlingly sparse selection aboard the Hopping Acklay. She also took a few hours to descend into a meditative trance, which sped the healing of most of her wounds, and refreshed her exhausted mind and body to a small extent. She was far too anxious and restless to surrender to sleep completely, so the restorative trances would have to be enough.
Foyi and Pash also spent some time in the cramped ship's galley talking, making plans, and generally getting to know each other better. Foyi was present when Pash contacted his most recent employer on his holoprojector, a large Whiphid female who was a purveyor and connoisseur of sweets and pastries the galaxy over. She ran a small but lucrative shop on the Wheel, and it had been Pash's job to deliver a sizable shipment of such goods to her almost a week ago. She was livid upon being informed that her delicacies would be delayed even further, and not only told Pash in certain and colorful terms that their deal was finished, she went so far as to command him never to contact her again. When the Whiphid's portly frame disappeared from the projector, Pash sat back, blew an angry exhalation, then announced that Foyi could eat whatever sweets she wanted to out of the cargo hold. "After all, now I gotta get rid of it somehow," he explained.
Toward the end of their trip, they shared several sweesonberry rolls, sticky candies, and muja fruit pie, and the comfort food did serve to take Foyi's mind off her troubles, at least for a few minutes. Pash was pleasant enough company as well, always ready with a joke or a witty wisecrack, though he also had a sense of timing and sensitivity that stopped him from going too far with his odd sense of humor. And it was obvious that he genuinely cared about the safety and well-being of Tama. Despite this, when asked, he did reiterate his intention to remain on Nar Shaddaa long enough to let her off and leave for the stars, to stay ahead of whoever it was he considered his enemies, and to stay away from the Hutts. As they approached the Smugglers' Moon, she realized that she would miss Pash's presence and his capabilities, and a small part of her wished he would remain, to help her rescue Tama from the Anjiliacs. But she realized that he feared the Hutts and their slavers, a fear that was probably born of far more information and familiarity with the ways of the Hutt Cartels than she would ever have, and therefore she assumed his fear was rational and justified. She knew that she would soon find herself in over her head, though she felt no choice in the matter. Tama was everything she had, everything she cared about in the universe, and she was not going to let anything happen to her.
When Pash brought them out of hyperspace over the world below, Foyi could not help but gasp at her first glimpse of Nar Shaddaa. In the light of the far off sun, the planet glowed a dusky orange in color, its dark landmasses barely distinguishable from the staggering multitude of lights and power grids visible from space. If she understood its appearance correctly, it seemed to be covered almost entirely with cityscape, an ecumenoppolis that extended over the entire planet, like the stories she had heard of Imperial Center, so far away in the Core. In the distance, highlighted and silhouetted against the mass of the moon below, were multiple space stations, opulent skyhooks, and more starships than she could count, almost as numerous as the stars themselves. As they drew closer and Nar Shaddaa grew to fill the entire viewports, she began to perceive details and specifics of those vessels and structures in orbit.
"See those nearby skyhooks?" Pash remarked with a nervous tremor, but still acting very much the tour guide. "Some of 'em are owned by the various kajidics and cartels, a few by Vigos of the Black Sun. Gives them a sense of superiority over everyone else, and a show of the power they can wield, here and across the galaxy. This is probably one of the most dangerous worlds you'll ever visit, Foyi. There are virtually no laws here. Whatever sense of order and organization you find down there is controlled by the Hutts, or Black Sun, or any other criminal empire that has a significant presence here. Even the Empire doesn't mess with this place too much; they used to have some shipyards here in orbit. Some sort of TIE Fighter construction facility or something, though it fell out of the sky two years ago and landed in the city below, wiping out several levels and killing hundreds. I think there are still some people or droids cleaning that stuff up, though there are no organized efforts to do so. Ever since then, the Empire has given this moon a wide berth, and mostly let the crimelords run the show like they have for eons."
Foyi stared at him, intrigued by his story. "What caused the shipyards to crash on the planet?"
Pash shrugged. "I don't know if anyone really knows for sure, though everyone's got theories and rumors. My favorite is that a Jedi general, returned from the dead, led a rebel militia to take over the facility, and crashed it into the planet to show the Empire what's what. Others say that that same Jedi was attacked by one of Vader's agents, or Vader himself, and their fight was so cataclysmic, it caused the shipyards to crash." He smirked. "I've even heard some rumors that the Jedi survived somehow, and is even now working with the Rebels. They're nice stories, anyway, but the Jedi are long gone from the galaxy."
Foyi felt a twinge of annoyance at the mention of the Jedi, murmuring, "Good." Nar Shaddaa rushed up toward them, the ship plunging through the greasy, turbulent atmosphere of the moon. Vile moisture streaked across the viewports, while towers of staggering size rose from the smoggy morass below. There were skyscrapers, composed of thousands of levels and kilometers upon kilometers high, soaring above vertical expanses of cityscape built haphazardly upon the levels below them. Refueling spires and sprawling loading docks dotted the landscape. Bridges, skywalks, and transit tubes connected asymmetrically placed and constructed buildings. Airspeeders and starships whizzed between different sections of the city or carved paths through the air in the depthless canyons between the larger conglomerations of congested city. There were lights everywhere, and the metal surfaces of the buildings were tarnished and smeared with the detritus and erosion of millennia of careless and desperate living by countless sentient beings. It was both wondrous and terrible to behold, and her eyes ached simply trying to take in as many details as she possibly could.
Pash wheeled the Hopping Acklay around in a wide arc, spiraling down to a landing platform that was a large, octagonal pad extending out into open space from the side of a stacked city block. He activated the landing sequence as the ship hovered over the platform and slowly lowered, cutting off a battle-scarred Ghtroc 720 Light Freighter, the pilot of which had had his eyes on the same landing space. The Acklay settled safely on the platform, a metallic squeal heard as one of the landing struts crushed the remains of a discarded protocol droid someone had left in the middle of the platform. Pash finalized the landing sequence by flipping a few switches, and turned to the Twi'lek beside him, a nervous expression on his face. "Well, kid...here we are. Nar Shaddaa."
Foyi sat staring out the viewports, completely lost, unable to comprehend where she might even begin to start in her search and rescue attempt. "Thanks," she murmured.
Pash pointed ahead through the viewports, indicating the bridge that connected the city towers to the free-standing platform. "If you follow this walkway, you'll find yourself on a strip of bars, cantinas, and...other places. There's a tavern the Anjiliac thugs frequent a few stores down, called Baruk's Bar. It's a pretty rough place, and it's owned by another smalltime crimelord by the name of Reelo Baruk, but they give each other their space 'cause they have an 'understanding'. See, Baruk runs a trash collection and disposal business, and the Anjiliacs, when they're feeling pressure from the other kajidics who want to cut into their business, sometimes use Baruk's business to smuggle high value materials. That includes slaves. Otherwise, their respective thugs enjoy betting on the fights in the ring, or getting into fights between themselves. If you're going to find any information out about the Anjiliacs' current slaving activities, Baruk's would be a good place to start. But watch your step, and be careful who you talk to." Foyi was a bout to protest, but Pash held up a hand. "And I know you can handle yourself: you proved that when you got in and out of that customs building without being killed. I'm just warning you. Be careful out there. You must be aware and vigilant every second you are on Nar Shaddaa. Don't drink anything you haven't watched someone prepare, don't buy any spice off the street, keep both eyes on your credit chip, and don't fall asleep in an alley. Oh, and never, on any circumstances, accept a gift from anyone. Period."
Foyi nodded to all his cautions and warnings. She stood, shouldering her bag, but paused before picking up her blasters, as her discblade was still strapped securely to her back. "What about my guns?"
"Oh, definitely take those with you, and wear them openly. The fact that you're carrying military arms usually only found in the hands of stormtroopers will make a lot of small time thugs and muggers think twice about messing with you. Just be aware that the professionals won't be deterred whatsoever."
Foyi nodded again, then slung the two blasters across her back and walked to the ramp, which had already lowered to the permacrete landing pad below. She paused at the top of the ramp, looking over her shoulder at the human, who stood awkwardly by the door. Foyi dipped her head in respect and gratitude. "I...thank you, Pash. I'm not sure what the path before me holds, but I know I never would have gotten this far without you."
Pash chortled. "Yeah, somehow I doubt that. You're a lot more capable than you believe, Foyi, and Tama should be glad to have such a devoted and skilled sister looking out for her. You just focus on finding her, and you'll...you'll be fine. I know it."
"Baruk's Bar, then?" she asked for clarification.
Pash nodded. "Yeah, that's the one."
Foyi began to walk down the ramp, her weapons and bag swaying on her back behind her. The miasma of smells that composed Nar Shaddaa's poor air quality assaulted her like a humid, sticky slap to the face. She could smell burning spice, moldering machinery and decaying flesh, urine and feces, the hot tang of recently-spilled blood, starship grease and the chemical scent of burning ozone. It was rancid, and she could not help but cough and splutter for a moment as her olfactory senses attempted to process and accommodate the amalgamation of differing smells. She continued her descent, but was stopped at the base of the ramp by Pash's voice, calling out to her back, "Hey, Foyi?"
She turned to look up at him. "Yeah?"
"For what it's worth: Good luck. You're gonna need it."
She smirked sadly. "May the Force be with you, Pash."
A minute later, Foyi watched as the Hopping Acklay lifted off the platform and spiraled up into the sky, disappearing in the thick cloud cover and dark, roiling smog with a distant rumble drowned out by the comings and goings of thousands of other nearby vessels and vehicles. Foyi felt alone again, the same emotion of impending despair and hopelessness she had experienced when she had watched the Anjiliac ship take her sister away. She reached out to the Force, and instantly recoiled, as if she had dipped her hand into a pool of liquid she expected to be crystal-clear water, but instead found it to be a vat of overused cooking grease. The Force felt raw, chaotic, and diseased here, as if the inhabitants of this planet only called upon its dark aspects with their equally vile deeds. It was oppressive, cloying, and suffocating. She breathed slowly, in and out, practicing the meditative, centering exercises of the Zeison Sha, struggling to regain and maintain her inner balance. And after a moment, she found it, the calm at the center of her existence, the peace she sought now more than ever. It was small, buried in the dark waters, but it still lay deep within her, shining like a distant star in the void. Even here, even with so much pain, corruption, and darkness, the Force was in her, and she was a fundamental part of it. Renewed and invigorated, she strode across the grimy, stained bridge to the wide, unprotected walkway that encircled this particular collection of towers and randomly stacked buildings looming above her. The walkway had no railings, so the edge of the metal platform merely dropped off into the smoky abyss below. Starships and airspeeders screamed past or overhead, some close enough that their proximity threatened the pedestrians on the skywalk. Foyi doubted the pilots would lose little sleep if they happened to knock a few of those pedestrians off their feet and into the depths below. She passed a multitude of beings, belonging both to species she recognized as well as ones she could not name, many of them walking, a few flying speeder bikes and swoops down the center of the walking area. Some crouched in alleys, their sullen eyes taking in passerby or huddling together over some sort of illicit activity. Others lounged against the walls, languishing in drunken stupors or begging those who passed for spare credits or scraps of food. Foyi made certain to not focus on any one being for too long, and she never met anyone's gaze. She expected some sort of fight with the Anjiliacs, but she did not want to be stalled by a random passerby because she had looked at them wrong.
She only had to pass seven taverns and two houses of ill repute before she came upon a mostly abandoned section of the block, where very few establishments resided amongst a labyrinthine collection of open-air catwalks and dim lights. Along a tall, unmarked wall, near another edge falling down into the dazzling depths, was a single door, also unmarked. She stared at the door, standing a few meters away from it, wondering if this was the entrance to Baruk's Bar, as she had so far not come across any establishments that matched the description or identified themselves as such. As she watched, a pair of Rodians came around the far corner, chatting in lively Rodese, dressed in jackets and light combat armor, blaster pistols strapped to their thighs and encased in holsters beneath their arms. If they took notice of the Twi'lek standing in the shadows, looking for all the stars like a lost anooba pup, they did not react, angling for the door, which opened at their approach. She watched it slide shut, and waited a few moments, but there were no others walking through the entrance.
Foyi steeled herself and tried to appear confident, like she belonged here, and that walking into a bar built almost exclusively for Reelo Baruk's thugs was something she did almost every day. The door opened at her approach with a slight squeal of rusting metal, and she walked into a large, open common room with dark décor and dim lights. The bar was in the rough center of the room, enclosed in a cylindrical structure that stretched from floor to high ceiling. On the far end, on the uppermost level, a row of windows loomed down upon the bar's patrons; it appeared to be some sort of security office, though she could not see through the glass from her vantage point. The floor was interspersed with low tables and infrequent chairs, and the bar did not even have the luxury of seats or stools arrayed around its counter. In a nearby corner, there was a pit in the floor, around which several patrons stood, yelling, cheering, or groaning, passing credits between hands almost faster than she could follow. The bar was not overcrowded, and soft, unassuming music played in the background.
Almost as soon as she stepped through the door, she was greeted by a Gran and a Rodian, both of which were openly carrying weapons, though they had not quite pointed them in her direction. The Gran spoke first, his trio of eyes twitching slightly as he spoke something in a guttural, harsh language she did not recognize. She gave him a confused gaze, which turned to the Rodian when he translated, his own words heavily accented and difficult to understand, but at least they were in Basic. "Leave your weapons with us. You'll get them back upon your departure."
Foyi considered briefly resisting, hanging onto her weapons and trying to force her way into the bar. But a quick visual scan of the room revealed no one else in the bar had any visible weapons upon their persons. Perhaps these were simply the house rules, and if that was so, she thought it best not to go against them for now. At least, until she could find out more information regarding the whereabouts of the Anjiliacs. And her sister. The Gran gestured toward a box beside the door, and she unslung her blaster rifles, propping them upright within the box's confines. She then pulled her satchel from her back, and with a moment's hesitation, dropped it in as well. Her discblade, which was hidden in the sheathe on her back beneath her cloak, remained where it was. No reason to advertise her most prized possession until she needed it. The Gran and Rodian both scrutinized her for a moment as she spread her arms, indicating that she possessed no more weapons. After a tense moment, the two beings stepped aside, and let her walk unimpeded into the recesses of the bar.
As she walked, her eyes scanned the composition of the patrons huddled around tables, cards, and drinks. There were a large number of Rodians and Gran on one side of the room, while the other mostly consisted of Houk and Weequay. Other species were represented as well, including a few humans, one of which was a dark-skinned man with thinning black hair, who winked at her lasciviously as she passed. In one corner of the bar was a collection of Aleena chattering with each other and chortling loudly. Sauntering across the room and draping herself across the shoulder of an Ithorian was a Zeltron female, all curves and lithe lines, her smile white and brilliant in her scarlet face. On the far end of the room, near a doorway that led to a set of guarded stairs, a truly alarming and strange being watched the crowd burning, crimson eyes glowing from a helmet that looked almost like the head of a droid. The being's body was sheathed in various types of armor, a body made of differing colors and textures of skin and muscle, what few areas were not covered by the gray-silver plating. His left arm was the battered appendage from a Trandoshan, affixed to a shoulder containing a large slugthrower by a tangle of calcified tubes or tentacles. The strange, foreboding alien's vile gaze regarded her for a moment, then his head swiveled weirdly as he looked away and focused on someone or something else in the room.
Foyi continued her trek to the bar and leaned against the counter, her eyes only fleetingly glancing at the rather impressive selection of drinks offered. But her gaze was drawn and fixed upon the bartender, who was a member of a species she had never seen before, and had no name for. He was a tall, thin humanoid with equally narrow features. He appeared human, but his skin was a deep, rich hue of blue, his hair so black that it seemed to have blue tinges of color in it, and his eyes were orbs devoid of pupils, glowing an angry red in color. He was busy wiping down a glass with a rag that looked as if it should have been changed for a cleaner one several glasses ago. The alien regarded her with a narrowed, skeptical, and judgmental glare, peering at her face beneath her hood. She stared back at him, but he merely returned his attention to his glass, polishing it to a gleaming, greasy sheen. Foyi stared in bewilderment and growing frustration as the bartender merely let her sit there, refusing to acknowledge her presence. She tried clearing her throat, but his deliberate ignorance of his only current customer remained.
Finally, Foyi had had enough. She slammed a fist on the counter and growled, "Bartender!"
The bartender's head cocked more in her direction; without pupils or irises, she could not tell if he was actually looking at her, though she assumed that he was. "Can I helps yous? Get yous a drinks, perhaps?"
She frowned slightly at the bartender's odd grammar. "I'm looking for some people. People who work for the Anjiliacs."
The bartender snorted, an incredulous look on his face; at least, she believed it was incredulity she was looking at. "Anjiliacses? Trulies?"
"Um...yeah. Sure. I'm looking for these names, in particular: Utt, Warg, Bowarm, and Vohlgast. Two of 'em are Houks, one's a Weequay, and the other's a Zygerrian. Seen any of them come through here lately?"
The bartender was staring openly at her now, aghast, as if her question was completely ridiculous, not to mention unexpected. "Wha-? And if theys did comes through heres, what makes yous think Is would tell yous they did?"
She was about to answer when she became aware of another being settling himself beside her at the bar. She turned to the side to see the human male who had winked at her earlier, and she could not stop herself from rolling her eyes in exasperation at his wide, brilliant grin. His skin was dark brown, nearly black as his hair, which was straight, cut short, and thinning on top. He had long sideburns and a couple days' worth of stubble on his chin; his features were angular and sharp, and his eyes, though glazed by alcohol, were a startling, icy blue. There were pale, sharp tattoos scribed into the skin around his right eye, the significance of which she knew not. He was lean and wiry, but displayed a well-developed musculature. He was dressed in a nerf leather jacket over a simple, dark tunic and pants. There was an empty holster for a blaster pistol on his right hip, and while he had no other visible weapons, there were three thin cylinders attached to the back of his belt, the function of such devices also unknown. He carried a poisonous-looking drink in his left hand, and his grin was as wide as an idiot's. "Hey, beautiful. How 'bout I buy ya a drink, an' we can find ourselves a cozy little corner over there?" He gestured with a broad, vague wave toward the corner of the room that was uncomfortably close to the horrid cyborg with the red eyes and Trandoshan arm.
Foyi put the most disgusted expression on her face that she could manage and faced the drunkard with it. She had neither the time nor patience for some local nerfherder attempting to pick her up. "Look, friend, why don't you take your halitosis and disgusting mouthbreathing back to wherever it is you come from. I'm not interested in a drink with you, or doing anything, ever, with you, so get lost."
If the man was disappointed by her response, he was not deterred. He leaned closer, the smell of alcohol thick on his breath. "You should really learn to relax, my Jewel of Ryloth. And learn to be friendlier; friendliness gets you far on Nar Shaddaa, haven't you heard?"
Foyi put a palm in his chest and pushed him a meter away from her, applying a tiny measure of the Force behind the motion to slam him bodily against the bar. "I said...get lost. The bartender and I have business, and you're interrupting it."
The man stared with a suddenly alert gleam in his eyes, and an expression that was unreadable as he studied her for a moment, attempting to reason through something in his mind. Then his expression descended into a mixture of regret and disappointment, and he meandered away from the bar without another word, stumbling and swaying back and forth as he made his way back to the table he had occupied. Foyi watched him go with an angry, distrustful gleam in her eyes, then swiveled around to face the bartender once more. The blue-skinned alien was still watching her with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as Foyi remarked, "Now, I believe you were going to tell me what I needed to know regarding my lost Anjiliac slavers. I need to speak with them on an important matter, and I'd hate to be kept waiting. I'm sure they wouldn't be happy if I showed up late to our meeting because some lowlife bartender had to ask too many questions."
The bartender glared at her. He did not seem to believe her, and thus was not intimidated. "I never seen yous in here befores, but the others is in here all the times. I is pretty sures they would have mentioned yous to I if they needed to see yous."
Foyi gritted her teeth and summoned the Force closer to her, lending her strength and mental concentration. She was going to have to try a different tactic, one she was not particularly adept at, but was worth a shot. She leaned closer over the bar, locking eyes with the bartender as she spoke slowly and with gravitas. "You will tell me where I can find these people I asked about. You will tell me what you know of the Anjiliac slaving operation on Nar Shaddaa." And as she said the words, she reached out with the Force, imposing her own will, however slightly, on that of the bartender's. She felt him struggle, felt the alien mind and his own unique thought patterns briefly rebel at the commands she had given him. But the Force was stronger than his limited and feeble mind, and with only a small modicum of effort, he surrendered to the mind trick, nodding and smiling in agreement.
"Is will tells yous that those guys have not been here since weeks ago, and Is hasn't seen them since." He placed the glass on the counter before him with loving caution, as if it were the most important thing in the entire galaxy. "The Anjiliacses runs slaveses all across Nar Shaddaas; only every once and awhiles does Reelos let them smuggles slaveses through the garbages. No slaveses has been through heres in a long times."
Foyi felt frustration and the cessation of hope beginning to well up in her. She shook her head to clear it, to regain her focus, her personal control. Another question came to mind, and she waved her hand as a focus for her next phrase. "You will tell me everything you know about Point Nadir."
The bartender blinked at her, and she could feel the small, fully-conscious remnant of his mind struggling again, denying her ability to retrieve the information from her. This surprised her, but she reasserted her will, pushing and clamping down upon his while beckoning the information she required to the forefront of his mind, pulling it from his lips. "Is will tell yous everythings I knows about Point Nadirs...It's a secret places, built in an asteroids or comets, far in the Outer Rims. The Empires don't know about it, so everyone goes there so they won't be bothered. The Anjiliacses knows where it is, but few others do, and that's the way the Huttses likes it."
"Do the Anjiliacs take a lot of their slaves there?"
The bartender nodded wistfully. "Oh, yes. Lots of slaveses there, and drugses, and pretty much anything else can be founds, or so Is heard. Not as big as Nar Shaddaas, but just as filthies. Maybe your friendses are there?"
Foyi considered that a moment, still turning over the possible existence of Point Nadir over in her head. More people had told her the place did not exist than others had, and yet this was the second connection she had found between the Anjiliacs and the supposedly mythical shadowport. It could not simply be coincidence or spacers' tales. There must be something to the legend; there had to be.
She leaned over the counter, dropping her tone as her eyes flicked back and forth to see if any nearby patrons were listening in on their conversation. "Is there anyone working for the Anjiliacs in this bar, right now? Anyone who might know my...lost friends?"
The bartender turned his head sluggishly about, then gestured at a few Houks and Nikto who were standing off to the side of the betting ring, apparently content to watch whatever small creatures were currently fighting to the death without participating in the betting. "Them over there works for the Anjiliacses. The Houks with the large ridges on his craniums; his names is Morb. I thinks he's friendses with Utt and Warg, the two Houkses you are looking for."
Foyi glared over her shoulder, and spotted the particular individual the bartender had pointed out. He was a massive specimen of the Houk species, well over two meters in height with muscular arms that were almost as thick around as her waist. The ridged crest atop his head was particularly hoary, with thick, bony protrusions that made it appear as if he were wearing a fearsome headdress instead of the prominent, misshapen dorsal regions of his skull. Unlike most of the patrons in the bar, he, along with his compatriots, were openly armed with blaster pistols and vibroblades. Morb even possessed a fearsome vibro-ax with a shortened handle, allowing the large alien to wield it single-handedly; the weapon was strapped securely to his back, though it still provided an unspoken, foreboding threat.
She took a deep breath and centered herself, relying on and submerging into the Force. She pushed away from the counter, saying, "Thanks for the help."
"Don't yous want a drinks?"
"No," Foyi replied simply as she walked away.
Foyi did not turn back to look at the bartender, but if she had, she would have seen a profoundly dejected look come over his face, and he went back to polishing his glass with a solemn, "Oh."
Foyi walked across the bar and sidled up to the small, jostling crowd, all those present attempting to gain a better view of the fight happening in the small arena sunken several meters into the floor. There were shouts, cheers, jeers, expletives, and groans as the crowd anticipated and reacted to every move the combatants made. Foyi peered between the shoulders of two Rodians to look down into the pit, and saw a mangy womp rat and an egregiously ugly mine crab. Both animals were already bleeding profusely from over a dozen superficial cuts, though the mine crab had the worst of it, one of its segmented legs broken, causing it to hop around as if inebriated. With a bloodcurdling squeal, the womp rat surged forward and bit down hard on another one of the mine crab's legs. The other creature gave a throaty cough, then wrapped its enormous mouth and jagged fangs around the womp rat's throat and went into a frenzy, its teeth sawing through fur, sinew, and blood vessel. The members of the crowd nearest the pit cheered as the womp rat's blood splashed their clothes, and the large rodent fell still, gasping weakly as the last of its lifeblood poured from its veins. Stacks of credits, jewelry, and other small objects that could be bartered for or exchanged for lucrative amounts of currency passed hands in a sudden frenzy, one that became all the more chaotic when the mine crab gave a last little squeak and expired, succumbing to its injuries.
Foyi felt revulsion and disgust at the spectacle, but she regained her focus. She had to remind herself that if she attempted to right every wrong she found on this moon, she would be here for the rest of her remarkably short life. She turned to Morb and his companions, who were nodding in approval at the bloodsport and speaking quietly amongst themselves. She could not hear what they were saying over the clamor of the crowd, but her impression of them in the Force was that they were thirsty, their minds turning toward the bar and the drinks it offered.
Foyi let them meander over to the bar as the crowd dispersed and a pair of Gran began to scoop up the remains of the combatants with their stubby, greasy hands. Foyi wended her way through the crowd, slowly and unassumingly returning to the bar at the same time the Houks and Nikto arrived. She listened to them as they ordered their drinks, mostly lomin ales and fogblasters, though Morb ordered an exotic and expensive Novanian grog. As the bartender prepared and mixed the ordered drinks, one of the Nikto noticed Foyi standing across the bar, and before she could avert her gaze, his eyes narrowed as he realized she was staring at them.
Foyi acted like she was waiting patiently for a drink, but her charade was not believable apparently, as soon she felt the shadows of Morb and the other tall humanoids with him falling upon her form. She looked up, peering at the Houk's irritated grimace from beneath the folds of her hood. For a moment, she struggled over several tactics and ways of approaching this unfavorable position, then decided on trying a persona that was charming, friendly, and flirty. She let a coy smile play across her lips, dropping her voice to a soft, unassuming tone that was subtly inviting as well. There was a small measure of the Force behind her words as well, in the hopes that Morb would be as susceptible to suggestion and telepathic manipulation as the bartender. "I was wondering when you boys would take notice of me," she purred. She gestured with an index finger at the Houk standing before her, coming close to but not quite touching. "Especially you, muni."
If Morb was enticed by her vivaciousness, he did not show it. His brow furrowed, making his small eyes seem even tinier, and growled, "Who are you? What's your name?"
"What's yours, ma lorda?"
"I asked you first."
"Oh, very well," she replied teasingly. "I'm called Faye. I'm...new in town, and have been looking for a good time, and for some lively people to show me around. Interested?"
Suddenly, the bartender was there beside the group, plopping down the drinks the Anjiliac thugs had ordered. Upon seeing the Twi'lek again, his vision became clouded, and a small, wistful smile came to his face. "Ah...yous came back. Would yous like a drinks now, or do yous have more questions about Point Nadirs? Is can answers them the best Is can."
At the mention of Point Nadir, Morb's eyes opened wide, and his gaze refocused on the Twi'lek with the most murderous gleam she had seen thus far in his eyes. Foyi could not keep the dismay from her face as every expletive she knew in three different languages ran through her mind. She was about to turn to the bartender, to maintain her cover, pretend like she had no idea what he was speaking of. But Morb stepped closer, his large, unwieldy feet nearly standing upon her own, his bulk looming over her suddenly small form. The other Anjiliacs were shuffling on their own feet, their expressions evoking anger and murderous anticipation. "Have you been asking about Point Nadir?"
Foyi decided there was no point in maintaining the charade; her cover was blown anyway. She let her expression become fierce, instantly hostile, and commanding. "Yeah, I have. Normally, I would hope that would not be a problem, but considering who you goons are and who you work for, I naturally have a problem with you."
Morb was not intimidated, as he was accustomed to being the intimidating one in most confrontations. "What do you know of Point Nadir?"
"Not much, but I was hoping you could tell me." Foyi's hand suddenly flashed forward and grabbed a fistful of the Houk's crotch in a vice-like grip. Morb's eyes nearly popped from their sockets, so wide were they, and a pitiful squeal escaped from his large, rubbery lips. The other Houk and Nikto's hands reached for their blasters, but Foyi merely tightened her grip, and Morb, overwhelmed, waved them back. The Twi'lek leaned closer to Morb, who had bent over nearly double, putting his face about level with her own. She gave him a supremely confident smile she hoped he would find convincing and purred, "Now, muni, I have some questions for you if you have a moment to spare."
Morb was breathing raggedly now, trying not to yell aloud from the pressure on his sex organs. She released her grip slightly, and Morb began to breathe easier. "Wha—What would you like to...know?"
"I'm looking for something your fellow scum took from me. A Twi'lek girl, about fourteen standard years old, named Tama. See, she's my sister, and your friends took her from me to sell her into slavery for whatever sick purpose you sleemos kidnap innocent teenagers for. My information suggests that she was either taken here, on Nar Shaddaa, or to this mysterious Point Nadir. So if you want to add some specifics to that tidbit, I might consider not crushing the 'Dualities' in my fist."
Morb looked properly mortified at the suggestion, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Yeah, girlie, I got answers for you."
Foyi relieved a barest amount of pressure from her grip, and Morb breathed easier. He even turned his large flaps of skin that served as his lips upward in a sardonic grin, and before she could understand the reason for this change in attitude, something akin to the blow of a hammer struck her in the small of her back. The air rushed from her lungs as pain shot up and down her spine. Her grip instinctively loosened as she tried to turn to face her unseen assailant, but Morb struck her with a brutal backhand across the face that threw her against a nearby table. The table tipped over and tangled with her flailing limbs, spilling drinks and upsetting the Ithorian and Zeltron seated there. The world was tumbling about in her vision, flashing in and out of existence like the agonizing, scintillating displays back at Fezzie's.
She tried to struggle back to her feet, gasping for air and gritting her teeth in pain, but an enormous hand gripped her throat and lifted her bodily into the air. She kicked and struggled against Morb's furious grip as his muscles tensed, and her hurled her to the ground, slamming her back on the hard floor. Tears came to her eyes as she tried to regain some measure of oxygen, but her body had taken an awful pummeling in the last few seconds, and there was too much pain radiating from too many places for her to to even catch her breath. She felt a kick in the ribs from one of the Nikto, and the other Houk stomped on her arm when she tried to reach behind her, grasping for her discblade. Her armor had softened some of the blows she had suffered, but the pain still lanced through her body like hot vibroblades.
Morb stood over her, a mixture of victory and sadism twisting his face into a fearsome mask. "My answer, schutta," he growled through fetid breath, "is I got no answers for you, and you ain't gonna get none either." His massive fist dropped to his thigh and produced a blaster pistol, which he aimed down at Foyi's face.
But before he depressed the trigger, a clear, commanding voice rang out somewhere out of her sight. "You pull that trigger, Morb, and it'll be the last thing you do."
Foyi gasped, coughed, and craned her neck. Most of the patrons in the bar had been content to watch the mercenaries beat upon the Twi'lek; all save for one. Foyi was dismayed and surprised to see that her would-be rescuer was the same drunken man who had attempted to buy her a drink earlier at the bar. And yet, in the span of only a few minutes, he seemed to have gotten over his inebriation completely, for his icy gaze was clear, his legs firm, his back straight. He stood with his hands by his sides, his stance nonthreatening but ready. His gaze showed mild consternation, as well as a strange peace, a sense of belonging, as if he were meant to be in this exact situation at this particular time.
Morb stomped on her gut to make sure she stayed down, then turned to face the man who would prevent him from disposing of her. The other thugs also arrayed themselves around Morb, each of them pulling blaster pistols and aiming them at the dark-skinned man. "And who's this then?" Morb growled his challenge. "You ought to mind yer own kriffing business, sleemo, before I squash you along with the brain tails."
The human's gaze took in each one of his opponents in turn, completely unconcerned with the weapons trained on him. He gave Morb a small grin and said, "Look, Morb, I know what kind of person you are, what kind of people you call associates. On any other day, I should cut you all off at the knees on principal alone. But I'm kind of tired today, and am not in the mood for a fight, so here's the deal: you put those silly blasters away, you leave the poor girl alone, and you walk out of here like nothing happened."
Worb's grip tightened on his blaster, giving a disgusted snort. "And if what if I'm in the mood for a fight?"
The human's hand flashed inside his coat faster than could be perceived, and in the blink of an eye, he held a blade in his right fist, the point angled down to the floor. It was a long, slender knife with a single edge, polished and gleaming in the dim light, the hilt barely long enough for his palm to encompass. "Then none of you will get to walk out of here at all. Some of you might still be alive...depends on if you make me angry."
Morb and his cohorts erupted into peals of hoots, chortles, and guffaws when they saw the man's puny weapon and heard his threats. The human's grin only widened, showing rows of pearly white teeth, though the mirth never met his eyes. He still looked calm, collected, poised. Ready for anything.
When Morb had composed himself enough to answer, his blaster came back up in a steady aim, and he said, "Just you and that knife, and we're s'posed to be scared of a tantrum?" His voice took on a cruel edge as he ordered his compatriots, "Shoot this murglak."
The next few moments happened so quickly, only a few present were actually able to distinguish individual actions and reactions between the combatants, while most saw a blur of blades, limbs, and blaster bolts. Foyi, with Force-trained senses and wide-eyed incredulity, watched in amazement as the fight unfolded, and completely forgot how to breathe for a long, tense moment. Four streams of laser fire sped toward the single human, who was already surging forward as the thugs were still pulling their triggers. His armed hand flashed back and forth, the blade intercepting laser blasts and reflecting them into the floors, the ceiling, or the bar, behind which the bartender had ducked and activated a blast shield to protect himself. But one of those bolts was deflected perfectly, precisely, to return to the Nikto who had fired it, entering his eye and blowing a hole through the back of his head. Another bolt sped back to the other Houk, stitching a wound in his knee; he gave a surprisingly effeminate shriek and sprawled forward. And all the while, as blaster bolts converged on his speeding, spinning, whirling form, he was bouncing the knife back and forth between his two hands, alternating reflecting laserfire while reaching behind his belt for the strange metal cylinders attached to the back of his belt. And as he spun closer to the two opponents who remained standing, those cylinders were suddenly attached to the end of the blade's hilt, one after the other in the space of milliseconds, so that when he was within reach of Morb and the remaining Nikto, his small knife had suddenly become a polearm. His weapon restored, his entire attack approach was altered as he incorporated sidesteps and lunges, his staff weapon whirling around his body like the blurring blades of a ventilation fan. Morb and the Nikto were just beginning to back up as they realized the human was now within deadly striking range, but he did not slow down as he dropped into an incredibly low crouch to dodge the Nikto's blasterfire, then thrust forward and upward. The blade's tip caught the trigger guard of the Nikto's sidearm, and with a minor application of leverage, disarmed him, the blaster clattering across the floor. The Nikto did not even have time to shout in alarm as the polearm stabbed and slashed four times, opening a wound on each of the humanoid's shoulders, and cutting deep lacerations into the calves of his legs. He collapsed with a scream, all his limbs functionally useless to him.
Morb barely dodged a wide slash at his chest by sidestepping backward, his blaster still firing, still trying to track the human, who was moving so quickly, he was merely a dervish of motion. A blaster shot went into the blur and came flying back out, impacting with the pistol in the Houk's fist and spinning it away, smoking and sparking. Morb let out a roar as the blade stabbed forward, but scored only a superficial wound on the tough flesh of his muscular arm. He reached behind his back and spun the vibro-ax around his wrist, bringing it to bear as he switched on the vibration cell and the hefty metal blade began quivering on its housing. He brought the ax up in a brutal, downward chop, but the long handle of the human's weapon intercepted Morb's own weapon, slid into the space between the blade and handle, and wrenched the ax from his hands. Morb watched in horror as his weapon went spinning away, only to be caught by the human's free hand. The human spun a complete circle to gain momentum, and before Morb could respond or try to dodge, the ax was planted in his chest. Morb's eyes and mouth opened wide in shock and disbelief as he slowly looked down at the weapon buried nearly up to the hilt in his chest. He collapsed involuntarily to his knees, the impact sending spurts of blood flying from the wound and his gaping mouth, before he finally fell flat on his face, his expression frozen in shock and denial the entire time.
The human was the only one still standing over the carnage, two of the Anjiliac thugs dead, the other two moaning and cursing on the floor. His staff weapon was standing on its non-bladed end, his left hand holding it there casually, his strong, grim form needing no such support to remain standing. He did not appear to have a single wound, nor was there any sweat glistening on his skin. He acted as if taking down four armed roughs with only a bladed staff was not even remotely strenuous for him.
Those patrons who were not struck dumfounded by the shocking events had half-risen, looking for weapons or the exit. The strange and disconcerting cyborg was watching the human male with intense curiosity, and nodded his approval. The human looked about the room with a steely gaze, and rose his voice so that all could hear. "Anyone else have a problem with me helping this young woman out of here?"
No one dared to speak. Those that were armed, who had hands on weapons, slid them back in their holsters. The only sounds were those of the wounded thugs, blubbering in pain and cursing their attacker, leveling threats invoking the powers of the Anjiliac Clan. Satisfied, the man's hands flew up and down the staff, breaking it back down into its constituent parts and storing them in their unassuming locations upon his person. He then stepped over the corpses and rolling bodies and came to Foyi's side, helping her to stand, supporting her as she gasped with pain. He held her gaze for a moment, and a profound spiritual connection was established, a feeling of belonging, of similarity that transcended the myriad physical differences the pair possessed.
Foyi felt him in the Force, as assuredly as he did her. He was Force-sensitive.
And as this realization still had her staggered, the man's voice dropped to a whisper so that only she could hear. "I heard your conversation with Morb and his clowns, and I've decided to help you. I can get you to Point Nadir. I know where it is."
The man proceeded to help her across the bar and back to the entrance, where he retrieved her pack and blasters for her, and withdrew a WESTAR-34 Blaster Pistol from the box, which he dropped into his holster. Still supporting her, but making certain his hands and body remained at a respectful proximity toward her own, he helped her hobble into the skywalk beyond, and back into the heavily-polluted Nar Shaddaa air.
"Wh—Where are we...going?" Foyi gasped weakly.
"To my ship. I've got a little bit of bacta which will help you heal up those wounds. And then you can decide what to do from there."
"What...is your name?"
"Rayf Moors. Yours?"
"Foyi...Imbuma. Thank you."
"Pleased to be of assistance, milady."
As they hobbled away together, the blast shield around the bar in the cantina behind them opened slowly, and the bartender peeked out from his place of relative safety. He was obviously perturbed to see the bodies lying on the floor, blood pools spreading slowly over the cold metal. He sighed heavily, and looked genuinely sad, especially when he saw the glass he had spent so much time polishing had fallen from the counter and shattered. "What a messes."