Luxa's voice purred in Atton's ear, sending a shiver of both remembered intimacy and fear of death down the murderer's spine.
"I need you to steal something for me, love. You can even keep it if you want," the Zeltron whispered.
"Why me? Don't you have other people? And this is Nar Shadaa. It's not exactly your sector…" Atton asked cautiously, stepping out of the foot traffic around him, instinctively looking for a little bit of privacy… but not enough to get him mugged.
"Simple. I need you to steal an artifact from Vogga the Hutt, and plant evidence that Goto is responsible. Obviously it would be… awkward… to use Exchange fixers for the frame job," Luxa chuckled.
Atton's sphincter shriveled to microscopic proportions.
I am going to die. This schutta's crazy.
"Telos station wasn't enough for you? I thought you didn't play politics, and this is a frelling unsecured line!" Atton snarled.
"Yes it is. Check your comlink. I had Benok modify it for me while you were sleeping, weeks ago," Luxa said soothingly.
Startled, Atton glanced down at the comlink, and used his thumbnail and the edge of his vibro-blade to pop the access panel off.
Son of a bitch. There was an extra chip next to the transmitter.
"Benok? The guy whose security system got sliced? Him?" Atton hissed.
"Well, yes. You can't count that against him, since he sliced it himself," Luxa said reproachfully.
Atton pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling at his boots.
Fierfiek-fierfeik-fierfiek-fierfiek!
"What is it, where is it, how long do I have?" Atton demanded.
Luxa purred throatily, and Atton flashed back to what those insanely attentive lips could do—
Focus.
"It's the Horn of Curin. It's some kind of antique sword or knife. Very important to the Dawn of Elcris pirate fleet. Belonged to a founding member, long time ago, or something equally misty eyed," Luxa told him briskly, all of the previous playful banter gone.
"Vogga is going to give it to the Elcris in exchange for protection of his fuel tankers. My sources say the exchange will happen in four days. Maybe less. I need that thing gone, either stolen or destroyed, and I need Vogga to find a trail to Goto. It's not in Vogga's vault yet, he bought it or procured it from someone off-world, but it will be arriving in the next couple of days," Luxa instructed.
"Why not just blow up the meeting site with a thermal detonator? I can do that easy," Atton asked.
"Furious, embarrassed, and unharmed. I need living enemies for Goto," Luxa replied sharply.
"Fine. I'll use a frag grenade. Hutt fat is like ballistic gel, he'll be fine," Atton snarled.
"Jaq. I applaud your directness, but I told you what I need. You can get it done however you want… or else I'll find someone else."
The last words were colder than frozen methane.
Atton scowled, thinking desperately.
"I'll need at least a day to scope out the target, and I may need some things from you…" Atton hedged.
"This account will be active for the next eighty-four hours," Luxa replied, "I also have some floor plans I can forward to you of parts of Vogga's base."
"And after this we're square?" Atton asked sharply.
"Why, of course, Jaq. This is a favor, for my favor. We're well past credits at this point. Favors are so much easier to keep track of," Luxa husked into his ear, before disconnecting.
He did not have time for this!
Atton shook his head sharply, and headed off. Hopefully Choy wouldn't notice he was gone for a bit. The dead Jedi simply shook her head at him as he walked past her stonily.
Judgmental bitch.
((()))
Meetra carefully packed her tools into their pouches and stood up. The fusion furnace was running again, providing power to the various devices used on this roof top. She wasn't sure how long the poor thing would work, but it wasn't broken for now. Mostly, it looked like it was powering some heating elements for cooking, and a few water reclamation rigs. She wished she'd had 3C-FD, or Bao-Dur for some of the repairs but Mical had been of moderate use.
"Where's Atton?" Meetra asked.
"He found where one of his contacts was and went to talk to them. We also spread word in the lower two levels among Hussef's people," Mical reported, now that Meetra wasn't completely focused on fixing a twenty-year old and badly neglected generator.
"He went alone?" Meetra asked, worried.
"He seemed to think you needed the protection of my presence more," Mical smiled self-mockingly.
"He takes this debt thing too seriously," Meetra sighed.
"Ah, but if you are dead, then he cannot eye you lewdly or try to embarrass you with rather horrible pick-up lines," Mical observed thoughtfully.
"True," Meetra snorted.
"If you wish it, I can… persuade him to desist," Handmaiden offered coolly.
"Doubtful. The man's stubborn as an akk attack dog," Meetra shrugged. Ignoring the rather coarse attempts at flirtation was still the best option. Especially since they didn't have a pilot of equal skill.
"Let's go down a few more levels, see if we can ingratiate ourselves with any of the other refugee camps," Meetra sighed. The comlink on her belt chirped, and Meetra answered it.
"Hey, Choy, I have a lead on another informant. I may be a while before I can get back to the ship," Atton said, sounding distracted.
Meetra frowned at the comlink, "I don't like the idea of you not having backup."
"Choy, with these people, if I need back up, I'll be dead anyway. I can blend in… but you guys stick out badly," Atton chuckled.
Meetra chewed her knuckle for a second.
"Okay. But keep me updated, at least give me an area," Choy proposed.
"Sure thing, it'll make finding my body easier," Atton chuckled.
((()))
Goto was alerted to a security breach within one of the automated warehouses. The crimelord studied the information. A T3 model utility droid was creeping among the pallets of trade goods, before it came to an information terminal. With the blithe disregard for possible self-harm, the droid plugged into the data socket. The droid would momentarily be disabled by the built in safeguards. Goto returned to the galactic stock exchange, noting that durasteel had risen by two hundred credits per trade unit. Apparently a production issue on Bonadan. Regrettable. Perhaps—
A security alert notified Goto that the mainframe had been infiltrated. Shocked, the crimelord tracked the intrusion to the T3 model. It had disabled the safeguards that should have fried the offending droid's CPU. The initial breach had also not triggered any security counter measures. Only once the unauthorized user had began posting transfer orders had the network noticed any discrepancies.
Remarkable. The T3 unit had located Jolee Bindo, and forged a transfer request, disguised as an automated asset redistribution. The transfer request itself had the necessary authorizations, the system had been alerted because the system had no way to fulfill the request (as Jolee was aboard Goto's yacht, and not within the automated shipping network of warehouses), and had requested administrator assistance to complete the task.
Intrigued, Goto dispatched several labor models, and a surgical unit with new orders. Perhaps Jolee Bindo could still be of use. Goto continued to study the T3 unit. Such manipulation of security and computer systems should not have been possible by such a unit. The sophistication possibly even rivaled Goto's abilities.
Possibly.
((()))
Handmaiden watched the surrounding refugees while Surik worked. It was messy, disgusting work, that Handmaiden did not understand, but the Jedi seemed unperturbed. Handmaiden could not envision Atris ever doing such a thing, in her pristine robes.
"Verdan, a question for you," Handmaiden ventured.
Meetra looked up from the pump cautiously, lest it spray her with foul water again.
"Yes?" Handmaiden rarely spoke, except to clarify orders.
"Do you know the… significance, that I do not share the faces of my sisters?" Handmaiden asked cautiously.
"I'm not familiar with any Echani except Atris, and we spoke rarely of her world as children," Meetra said cautiously.
Handmaiden nodded reluctantly, "We take after the faces of the parent whose gender we share. My sisters share a father, but our mothers were different."
"Oh," Meetra was silent for a time, searching through her tool kit.
"You knew my mother," Handmaiden said firmly, though there was a question within it, "You saw her in my face."
"Arren Kae," Meetra said quietly, "I didn't know she had a daughter."
"I would ask… if you could tell me of her fall, at Malachor," Handmaiden asked timidly.
Meetra's head ducked in reflexive pain, and Handmaiden felt shame for her own weakness of will. She should not have asked.
"I… I cannot speak of Malachor. Not yet, but perhaps one day. Regardless I did not see her fall, but I felt it," Meetra whispered.
"I have few memories of her," Handmaiden said quietly, "But I have heard of her many crimes against the mother of my sisters."
"And what crimes are these?" Meetra asked, her voice gaining a dangerous edge.
"She seduced General Yusanis with her beauty and powers. She made him forget his oaths. I was the result of his mistake," Handmaiden shrugged uncomfortably.
"Your mother was many things. Harlot was not among them," Meetra hissed, glaring. Handmaiden ducked her head, but felt her eyes drawn back to the icy blue. Surik's anger worried her, but she felt… something… to hear another defend her mother's name with such loyalty.
"I have no tales of my mother. I only met her rarely as a child," Handmaiden admitted, "I always felt that she was busy… that the moments she shared with me were stolen from more important work."
Meetra nodded slowly, "She could be arrogant, but it was always tempered with empathy. She could debate Revan to a standstill on theology, but suffered when it came to strategy and tactics. She was a powerful fighter, that hated killing, but found beauty in motion and combat. She was a contradiction, and reveled in it. She was a difficult person to befriend, in many ways she was much like Atris."
Handmaiden nodded tightly.
"But everything she did, she did with consideration for their consequences, it was something that we found quite maddening at times. She chose to give you life. You are not a mistake," Meetra growled.
Handmaiden ducked her head and swallowed hard.
"I can tell you other stories of your mother if you want, later. I even have some of your father," Meetra said, but her smile was bittersweet.
"I would be grateful," Handmaiden promised.
Meetra finished patching the regulator pump into the network, then wiped some rather pungent stains off her hands and cheeks with a rag Mical offered her.
"So… I hear you're looking for someone," a voice said quietly from behind Meetra. She glanced up and saw that Handmaiden was watching someone behind her very intently. She also looked guilty… like maybe she hadn't noticed the speaker before the words were spoken.
Meetra turned slowly, studying a young woman with a shock of red hair, armored jacket and body-tight jumpsuit. The jacket was open, and the woman seemed well enough endowed to leave Atton drooling, if he'd been present.
Mostly though Meetra noted a handful of armor plates scattered about her person that looked distinctly mandalorian, especially the vambrace on her right arm. It looked like it had an integrated launcher of some kind. Boot knife, and a blaster pistol…
"I don't need a bounty hunter, I don't have the money," Meetra said cautiously.
The woman cocked one of her hips, but Meetra wasn't sure if it was a habit to take weight off from her weapons rig, or meant as intimidation, or an unthinking arrogance.
Her face remained cool, and only professionally interested.
"I didn't offer to hunt anyone," the woman noted carefully.
She looked to be in her early twenties, but her composure made her age hard to guess.
"Then why are you here?" Meetra asked, studying the woman's hazel flecked eyes. To her surprise, she felt something… odd. It felt like meeting the eyes of a predator in the night, but one that was not hungry, just… curious. A predator that might deign to take food from your hand for novelty's sake alone… if only once.
Mira blinked, feeling a little off-balance for a moment.
Need some caf… and more sleep. All the double hours were starting to catch up with her.
Kaille's friend didn't look like much. She wasn't pretty enough to get men tongue tied, not ugly enough to scare anyone, and you couldn't tell much about the rest of her body under such a formless utility coverall. Her hands and knuckles were pretty callused though. She also was… weird. The refugees in Hussef's camp knew Mira on sight, and since most of them hadn't done anything to make anyone with credits mad, they were basically safe from her, yet still kept a wary distance. Around Choy Verdan though, they flocked. Most of them were armed too, and the woman didn't seem to care. Even Mira still kept an eye on the obvious glit-biters, though they were usually smart enough not to try anything. Then again, Mira didn't have an Echani bodyguard either.
But flocked wasn't the right word—
"Are you alright?" the woman asked, curious. There was an edge to her that was hard to notice, Mira felt. The woman seemed kind without being soft. An interesting thing to pull off…
"Nothing sleep won't fix," Mira shrugged, "Look, I have friends most places, and they said you're trying to find someone in the Refugee Sector. Big place. I've helped other people find each other before, I'm lucky that way."
"Lot of credits in that?" the woman asked.
"It's not about the money. I help people, they can't pay, but they're grateful. They see something, or notice something I might find interesting, and pass it on, or maybe they call out when someone pulls a blaster on my back."
"Or maybe you like helping people," Kaille's friend suggested, smiling down at the pump that was purring like a Nexu kitten.
"Hey, I'm a business woman. Doesn't mean I have to be completely heartless," Mira rolled her eyes.
"So… are you offering to help me?"
"I haven't decided. Sure this guy doesn't owe you money?" Mira asked suspiciously.
The woman shook her head, "No. I can't tell you why though."
Mostly… mostly Mira's gut told her the woman was… sad. She didn't have any feeling of malice to her, just sad and tired… and way too concerned about helping other people.
"I'll keep an eye out, I suppose," Mira hedged. The woman handed her a picture that had been altered enough to not trip any automated databases, but it looked enough like Kaille for Mira to recognize him. Smart.
She'd have to watch Choy Verdan, and come to a decision from that. Further talking wouldn't tell her why Choy was looking for Kaille, or what kind of person she was. Mira walked away, smirking at how much the Echani's stance eased with her departure.
Think I'm a threat, eh? Mira preened a little from the unconscious praise. It was always nice to be respected.
Mira reached the edge of the roof and threw a leg over her swoop bike, disabling the blinking explosive. She watched Choy for a few minutes from sixty meters away, retinal implants at maximum magnification, still trying to pin down something. She couldn't hear anything at this distance.
A few refugees nervously came up to Choy and spoke with her. They seemed cautious of the glaring Echani, but while they spoke Mira noticed something interesting. Their hunched postures began to open up, and they started to stand taller, hand gestures more confident.
The final piece clicked into place. Choy looked like a mechanic, talked like one… but she walked like a good Clan Chief… except she seemed to view everyone that came to heras her clan, and therefore, responsibility.
How in haran had that woman survived this long?
Mira shook her head wryly as she pulled her goggles down, and kicked the swoop bike to life. She'd come back in about an hour, after getting her next lead from Geeda on her other job.
((()))
T3-M4 received notification that Jolee Bindo had been transferred to warehouse LL-17665 successfully, and was currently stored in row 807, aisle 503, level 1, as requested.
T3-M4 set off among the rows of trade shipping containers, consulting the downloaded warehouse map for guidance. An automated loader passed overhead, on some new transfer task. The astro droid rolled to a stop at the designated location. A case similar in appearance to the one that it had seen leaving the Star of Ganar rested in the designated space.
T3-M4 used his primary gasping arm to manipulate the controls for the unpowered anti-grav unit, and teased the coffin-like case from the shelving. It wasn't locked. After the case settled to the deck T3-M4 hit the releases, and strained to lift the lid awkwardly up, to crash against the deck. T3-M4 peered within the padded case, using the glow from its photoreceptor to illuminate the contents.
Jolee Bindo was naked, with bruises and raw skin from restraints scattered across his body. A hibernation unit was strapped to Jolee's chest with wires leading to probes adhered to his forehead. A cheap C02 scrubber was nestled at Jolee's feet.
T3-M4 studied the hibernation unit, but it was a basic model, with only a readout for vital signs (which showed as stable), and an intensity slider. The droid used its fine grasping arm to grab the slider and push it to the minimal setting.
Jolee's chest began to rise faster, and the heart rate sped up from six beats per minute to forty… then sixty…
T3-M4 chirped worriedly to Jolee, poking at his hand with its crude grasping arm.
Jolee's eyes fluttered and he groaned painfully. It frightened T3.
[Master. Master wake up]
"My head," Jolee whimpered, the hand not clutched by T3 shakily fluttered around his head, scrabbling at the leads.
[I will help] T3-M4 scolded, grabbing the metal discs precisely and pulled them off of Jolee's skin.
"Tee-three?" Jolee asked blearily, seeming to have trouble focusing his eyes.
[Yes.]
"It's cold," Jolee whispered, shivering, but the motion seemed to be waking the master up faster than T3-M4's ministrations, so the droid ignored the activity.
"Feels like my head's the size of a moon," Jolee hissed, trying to sit up, but he seemed more coherent.
"Oh… that's better," Jolee whispered, most likely using the Force to aid his recovery.
"So… where the hell am I?" Jolee growled, glaring at T3-M4.
[Nar Shadaa. People stole your ship, and me, but I rescued you!] T3-M4 blatted angrily.
"Calm down. Use a datapad," Jolee winced.
Only the strange human could speak and understand utility droid language. Jolee simply guessed a lot, reducing most conversations to wastefully long exchanges of yes and no guesses. Jolee had never bothered to learn, despite the last seven years spent together.
T3-M4 had not brought or stolen a datapad.
The frustrated droid poked the Jedi with a cold grasping arm in the ribs, making the man recoil from the chill.
"Tee-three! Calm your jets," Jolee yelped.
Jolee couldn't really remember anything recent. It was all just a blur of things, disjointed flashes. He remembered stalking somebody on Citadel Station… arguing with Carth.
Mostly he was cold, hungry, and thirsty. In that order. Also very naked. Wherever he was it was dark except for T3's blue photoreceptor, but it wasn't a very bright light. The tiny fuzzy blue area he could see looked like shelves? T3 was making a racket, which wasn't helping his headache.
Getting out of here, wherever here was, was probably a good idea.
Besides, someone might take pity on an old naked man. Maybe a conscientious citizen, if they existed. At least when they ran away screaming he might get an idea of where he was.
"Tee three, shut up and get us out of here," Jolee snapped, dragging himself upright with the help of a nearby shelf.
The droid subsided into surly beeps but turned and started to slowly roll away.
Jolee held onto the shelves to keep his balance as he limped with floppy feet. It felt like his feet were asleep. It was damned annoying.
A few minutes later he was walking under his own power, which was good since he'd run out of shelves, and he could feel his toes again (they hurt).
T3-M4 messed around with a door and after a few beeps it slowly opened. Jolee looked outside, the sky was starting to brighten, but it looked very brown. Skyscrapers in various states of disrepair filled his gaze… as well as a big brown planet hanging above the horizon.
"Nar Shadaa," Jolee sighed glumly.
No help for it. At least he wouldn't get mugged for his boots. Not much to rob off a naked man… but no reason for a hover taxi to pick him up either.
Looked like they weren't near any residential sectors… so about the only people out this far would be up to no good, or about to be up to no good… or on legitimate legally illegal business and too busy to help.
Probably a lot of barefoot walking in Jolee's future.
"Alright Teethree… which way to the ship?"
The droid blatted rudely at him, and set off to the left along the skywalk. Jolee could hear bits of broken glass and grit crush beneath the droid's wheels.
Terrific.
((()))
After another call to Luxa, Atton learned which ship was bringing the relic to Nar Shadaa for Vogga, and its estimated arrival time (six hours). The last thing he asked for was an Exchange burn card. It could crack security on most keycard based security systems, but usually damaged the unit. It was also rather distinctive, and the Exchange generally killed to keep it out of other people's hands. She made arrangements and one was accidentally lost in a public refresher, taped behind the sanitizer unit's access panel. Completely by accident.
Now for the next part.
Atton returned to Lupo's Swoop Gallery, and wasn't surprised to see Borna still sitting at the kiosk. The circular room was still empty otherwise.
"Welcome!— oh. It's you," Borna's forced cheer fizzled upon recognizing him.
"Where's the swoop droid?" Atton asked.
"Wait, what?" Borna asked, confused.
Atton had his blaster out and leveled before the woman even considered reaching for her blaster.
"Tell your boss I was Exchange. I need to steal the racing droid, and its swoop bike," Atton said levelly as he advanced on her.
"Jaq, why?" Borna asked.
"It's best for both of us. The thing is insured, right?" Atton demanded.
"A small sum, not substantial," Borna said tightly.
"I also need its access and command codes," Atton said, his free hand dropping a trio of hundred denomination credit chips on the kiosk desk. Borna stared at the credits for only a second before they vanished down her tight shirt.
"After that you need to hide for a few days. This place have any cameras?" Atton asked.
"Just one, but it's been broken since last month," Borna answered.
"Oh, well, okay then," Atton said, lowering his blaster, "Sorry, it had to look believable," he shrugged.
Borna nodded tightly, then moved towards the back room slowly. Atton followed her. She was sweating heavily, the spicy smell clogging his nose and bringing back certain memories.
The droid was locked inside a durasteel cage, and looked very much like a protocol droid minus the exterior plating, although the hands seemed to have more sophisticated digits and servomotors. Borna moved towards the access panel but Atton stopped her with a hand.
"No, I'll do it. Just grab the codes for the droid," Atton said. He used the Exchange burn card on the reader. There were several pops and a few lights died on the unit, but the latch disengaged. Any idiot would be able to analyze the unit and recognize what had done it…
Atton wrestled the door open, looking back to Borna, who was approaching with a data pad in her hand. Her eyes were hard.
"You're a real piece of hutt slime, Jaq," Borna scowled.
"Look, the Hutts are going to come here, probably tomorrow. It will look like the Exchange robbed you, despite the protection money to the Hutts, especially with how much they hated you, and the Hutts will already be mad at the Exchange for other things too. You're a victim twice over, best of all, you'll give the Hutts a reason to crack down on the Exchange. They'll love you," Atton explained.
"Or they might kill me on principle!" Borna snarled.
"Maybe. You have two choices. Take the money and run to start somewhere new, or play your cards with durasteel balls, and get the gallery back on its feet without the droid to kill your business, and the money," Atton pointed out.
Borna scowled, biting her lip, considering Atton's words. She handed him the datapad.
"If I see you again, I'm going to start shooting," Borna hissed.
"Again, that's fair. I hope this works out for you. I really do," Atton said quietly. He levered the inactive droid over to the swoop bike and used the magnetic clamp to secure it to the saddle seat behind where he planned to sit, and ran to the garage door, using the Exchange burn card again, to raise the door.
"Good luck," Atton said, before he kicked the swoop to life, and roared out of the garage. He reached a safe spot two kilometers away beneath a holo-ad board with no foot access, to begin tinkering with the droid's program… when he remembered what Borna had said. Lupo had been cheap, and only bought essential programming.
This droid could only race.
Atton glanced at his chrono. He had four and a half hours to pull off the next part of the plan. He wasn't that good at programming… but there was someone who was…
((()))
Bao-Dur stared at Atton.
"You want me to do what?" He asked carefully.
"I need you to upgrade this piece of shit with basic functionality. It needs to be able to pick up a metal case, attach it to a swoop bike's storage clamps, and then fly away. The only thing this damn thing was programmed with was swoop piloting. It doesn't even know how to get off the swoop bike!" the rogue raged.
"Oh, and it needs to be done in the next two hours," Atton said.
Bao-Dur carefully picked Atton up by the throat and pinned him to the Ebon Hawk's bulkhead, leaving a few black spots on Atton's vision. It was hard to tell when Bao-Dur was going to snap. His eyes were in permanent killing intent mode.
"You want me to do what?" Bao-Dur repeated.
Atton's eyes were quite wide.
Maybe it's a bad time.
"Right. I need a favor, I have to do a thing, so that people will talk to me about Choy's thing. Good enough?" Atton hissed, as metal fingers tightened slightly around his throat.
"Please?" Atton begged.
"These people can help locate the Jedi?" Bao-Dur demanded, staring closely at Atton's eyes.
"If they can't locate Zez, no one on this moon can," Atton swore.
Atton's eyes darted to the side, "Well… short of getting lucky, I guess," he amended hastily.
Bao-Dur let Atton fall to the floor and bust his ass.
"Where's the droid?" Bao-Dur growled, signaling his floating remote from wherever it had been in the ship.
"This way," Atton whispered, rubbing at his bruised throat.
"You won't regret this," Atton promised.
"You're right. I won't," Bao-Dur agreed.
((()))
Atton fiddled with the inactive homing beacon in his palm. He was wearing the mustard yellow coverall of a spaceport tech, waiting on the landing pad for the next ship to land, to offload cargo or ferry passengers to the terminal…
Except this was a private terminal, and the ship coming in was a light freighter. Hopefully no one could count, and see that they were a man over staffed this shift. He'd already spilt black oil on the stolen coverall's name tag, and was loitering professionally.
Atton's gut was roiling, but he couldn't tell if this was going to go badly or not. He'd never done anything this dangerous with so little planning… but Atton doubted he could break into a Hutt's treasure vault, no matter how much prep time he had. A snatch and grab out in the open, he could get away with. Probably, especially since no one was supposed to know about this delivery… and showing up with a ton of guards was a good way to waste the secrecy part of a secret delivery.
Atton hadn't noticed any weaponry among the other twenty dock workers. They might have blaster pistols tucked inside their coveralls, but nothing large or high powered. Also only two security mercs with standard blaster carbines, but those weren't in the docking cradle, but rather up on the walls, walking around pretty aimlessly. Two nikto guards with force pikes in hand and blaster pistols on their belt that screamed Hutt henchmen, as well as a green skinned middle aged twi'lek male in rather nice robes that screamed Hutt majordomo had arrived ten minutes ago, waiting at the entrance to the landing cradle.
Not insurmountable odds if the grab went sideways…
The trio of Hutt henchmen tensed as a Keltan-class light freighter, shaped like a fat thirty meter long arrowhead (three engines at the rear, cockpit in the nose, with a ventral loading ramp), cruised in to a landing. As the dust began to settle, Atton joined the rest of the crew moving towards the freighter with various fuel lines and carts of tools. Atton faked busy, moving from cart to cart, rummaging for tools impatiently, or wrestling lines that kept getting tangled, but watched the ramp of the freighter with the corner of his eye. Two aqualish with heavy blasters sauntered down the ramp. One of them carried a meter long case in his clawed hands.
The Twi'lek majordomo met them about ten meters from the ship, flanked by the nikto guards. They seemed to exchange the typical grunts of establishing a deal: got the goods? We got the money. Prove you got the goods. Great, here's the money, etc.
Once Atton saw that the Twi'lek seemed pleased by the contents of the case, and the Aqualish were given a much smaller case, most likely with credits inside, Atton trudged wearily towards the group with a coiled fuel line on his shoulder, aiming to pass the group.
One of the other techs yelled out, "Hey! Bring that line back!"
Atton snarled back without looking, "Line's got a tear, dumbass! You want to flood the pad?"
The nikto looked over at the sudden exchange of verbal insults, but didn't seem too concerned by a scruffy looking downtrodden human. One end of the line uncoiled as Atton was passing three meters from the Twi'lek and tangled Atton's legs. The man didn't fall, but did have to stumble a little to keep from a nasty accident. Atton cursed a little in embarrassment, nervously coiling the line back onto his shoulder and hastily moving away, clearly embarrassed. One of the nikto laughed at him, followed shortly by the chuffing of an aqualish.
Atton smiled grimly, his face hidden from the rubes behind him. He pressed the first button on the comlink in his pocket, which activated the homing beacon he'd flicked onto the twi'lek's case. He reached the terminal, dropped the "ripped" fuel line, and started rooting through the storage shed, apparently unable to find what he wanted. An overtaxed swoop screamed into the docking cradle and howled to a halt. Atton hit the second button on his comlink and the stun grenades he'd left among the technician's tools exploded with blinding light and deafening sound. By the time the guards could see again, the swoop bike was a rapidly shrinking light in the sky, and the twi'lek's case was nowhere to be found.
A minute later, Atton was nowhere to be found either, but someone had lost a yellow coverall in a trash receptacle. He had no idea where the droid was now, but Bao-Dur had programmed the finish line for the droid's race on the other side of the moon. The only prize for reaching it would be the detonation of the swoop's power core… which would eliminate the droid, and the case, as well as provide one hell of a distraction. The core would also blow if anything came within a meter of the swoop.
Atton whistled as he walked. Life was good.
((()))
Jolee had been walking for… a long time. So far he'd only seen two people, both of which had immediately ducked down a side alley upon catching sight of him. Also too far away for him to focus the Force through his headache and convince them to talk to him. He held his right arm up, index finger out as he walked, in the universal hail that hover taxis were drawn to. So far though, nothing had dropped out of the busy skylanes to rescue him. T3-M4 was keeping the same kilometer eating pace going, weaving around the worst stains and garbage piles, not hesitating at corners or foot bridges, clearly back tracking a previous journey. Jolee was starting to really feel every one of his advancing years, and it was making him a tad cranky. And ungrateful.
"HK wouldn't make me walk this far. HK would have stolen a swoop bike. And pants!" Jolee muttered into his beard.
T3 swiveled its head backwards without stopping, and beeped something angry sounding at him. Didn't sound very apologetic. Probably something smart-ass about HK having arms and legs.
"And boots!" Jolee snarled back, "We don't all have rubberized wheels on our feet, you know," the man grumped. His horny feet felt like they'd been sanded down to baby skin about a kilometer ago. Jolee dreaded what his feet would feel like in another kilometer. So many inconsiderate bastards had broken glass bottles along this route that Jolee suspected his feet would sparkle in the sun come morning. He'd also found a three centimeter sliver of metal the hard way too. At least there'd been enough sticking out for him to pull it free from between his toes.
The only good thing about the walking was he wasn't cold anymore, but his stomach felt like it had folded inside out from hunger.
"Or I could have ridden in the cargo pod, and you pulled it to the ship before you woke me up. But no, let's make Jolee walk half-way around the moon, barefoot. He needs the exercise," Jolee hissed, stubbing his toe on a bit of protruding rivet. He was getting tired holding his arm out too.
Then a miracle appeared before him. A hover taxi peeled from the traffic lane above them and idled next to the walkway, its sign was dark.
Empty. Praise the Force. Only ten meters. He just had to get close, and he'd have the driver wrapped around his finger so tight—
Jolee felt his heart fall into his stomach at the sight of a blue bulbous head with a floppy nose and four tusky teeth poke out of the rolled down driver's side window.
He couldn't be sure but…
Damn. Toydarian. Mind tricks didn't work on them.
"You flag?" the driver called.
"Yes I did, kind sir," Jolee called out, trying to squeeze as much silver into his tongue as he could.
"Thought humans liked clothes?" the alien asked, a little wary. Hypocrite. Toydarians only wore vests and belts usually. They didn't wear clothes for modesty, just pockets.
"Perhaps, but it's against my religion," Jolee lied piously.
"Oh? Why?" the Toydarian asked, curious. Jolee had closed to about four meters. The alien clearly felt safe since Jolee was clearly not armed.
"Evil has an easy enough time hiding in the hearts of men without pants getting involved. Better to know where you stand, than be surprised later," Jolee said, his mouth on autopilot, but using a tone of voice that sounded like he'd memorized the words from something ancient and dusty.
"What?" the driver asked nonplussed.
"For example, I have just hijacked this vehicle, and the conversation without a single scrap of clothing," Jolee pointed out cheerfully, "imagine the wickedness I might achieve if pants ever became involved."
The toydarian squinted at Jolee suspiciously.
Jolee pointed down, and the alien followed his finger to where T3 rested beside him, and the blaster barrel sticking up from the hidden compartment in its head.
The toydarian's blue coloring faded to a light gray.
"I have had a very bad night, possibly a very bad week or month. I need a ride, and then you will never see me again," Jolee said tiredly.
"Not cuz I'll be dead, right?" the toydarian asked suspiciously, clearly considering his chances with attempting to just race away.
"No, you will be flying away, with my bare ass cheeks rapidly receding into the distance, never to darken your gaze again," Jolee sighed.
"Oh. Well, I guess I can do that," the driver said reluctantly, triggering the passenger door.
"Very sporting of you," Jolee said happily, climbing in. His feet hurt so bad he didn't even care how much he was sticking to the fake ronto leather seat material, or what any of the stains might be. T3-M4 carefully crossed over into the cab as well, blaster remaining trained on the driver the entire way.
"So… uh, where to?" the toydarian asked.
"Haven't a clue. Ask the droid," Jolee shrugged, leaning back against the seat.
Pure heaven, clearly at a discount.
Jolee barely noticed the bickering between driver and hijacker until a method of communication could be agreed upon, and a destination provided. His headache was back with a vengeance, now that it didn't have to compete with his feet for attention. His bloody feet were making their own contribution to the collage of stains in the passenger section. A few moments later Jolee was very rudely roused from his nap by something very cold and metallic in a very tender place.
Droids had no respect. None.
Jolee let his complaints die though, as he caught sight of the Ebon Hawk outside his window. The taxi flew off in a gust of exhaust and repulsorlifts, but Jolee staggered towards his ship in a painful haze. He was going to eat everything in the galley, then sleep for a week. He could already taste it.
As T3-M4 lowered the boarding ramp, a thought occurred to Jolee.
"Teethree… how did you fly the ship to find me?"
T3-M4 launched into a high pitched tirade that Jolee mostly tried to block out with fingers in his ears, but he had to take a finger from his right ear to secure the boarding ramp. The noise was like a sonic drill to his skull.
"What do you mean, stole?" a voice rumbled.
Jolee spun, painfully letting his senses stretch out… which ran face first into possibly the angriest creature he'd ever met. Well, angriest sentient creature. Lashowe didn't count.
Wouldn't know it to look at him, big, strapping Iridonian lad with a droid arm. Might have been upset because of the arm.
Jolee smiled cheerfully, "Hello friend, I'm just looking for my pants."
((()))
Meetra's comlink buzzed, and she grabbed it, setting down the heating element from the camp stove… but the number belonged to Bao-Dur, not Atton.
"This is Choy," she said.
"Sir, a naked human walked into the ship. He says the ship is his," Bao-Dur said carefully. It was probably Jolee, but saying the name on an unsecured line wasn't a brilliant idea.
"Do I need to come back?" Meetra asked.
"Yes. And probably Mical. He appears injured," Bao-Dur answered thoughtfully.
The family of refugees heard this, and stared at Meetra, then the half repaired camp stove in apprehension. Meetra made a calming gesture to them, "I've almost finished here. We should be on our way in ten minutes," Meetra said.
"That is acceptable," Bao-Dur said, before he disconnected.
"It's fine," Choy said, picking up the heating element again, "I was almost done."
The woman nodded vigorously, "Thank you, it's been hard to get cooking time from the others that have stoves. Everyone needs to cook or boil things…"
"Handmaiden, can you go find Mical and help him get ready to leave?" Choy asked.
"It would be reckless to leave you alone," Handmaiden said stiffly.
Choy looked back up calmly, "I'm not alone." Her head tilted, indicating the woman and the seven children clustered around her. The echani's mouth twisted into a frown identical to Atris's, but Meetra didn't waver, and the refugees stood a little straighter in the presence of Choy's regard.
"As you wish," the Handmaiden relented, before beginning her search for the medic.
((()))
Jolee was wearing pants again, and busy trying to explode from consumption. The Iridonian was sitting on a nearby chair in the main hold, occasionally fetching more food from the galley when asked, but keeping a beady eye on him. T3-M4, as well as an orange and red colored Utility droid was watching him eat.
Jolee didn't care. His feet were starting to throb and he was not looking forward to all of the probing he would have to do to get all the debris out. That changed when he heard the boarding ramp cycle and three people walked into the hold. He only knew one of them.
"You?" Jolee asked, startled.
Choy Verdan tilted her head, still invisible to the Force, "Things have… happened… since we last spoke," the woman said, freely meeting Jolee's eyes. She held herself differently now.
"So… not a mechanic," Jolee asked sharply, really wishing he had a weapon.
"No longer, but you and I have a common foe," the woman said, coming to stand beside the cramped table Jolee was hunched over.
"Oh?" Jolee asked cautiously.
"We have been tasked by Master Atris of the Jedi Council to gather the surviving members of the Council, to oppose that which has been killing the Jedi," the woman said, raising her chin.
Jolee snorted, "The Jedi Council? If Katar taught us anything its that making Jedi into a plural is just a faster way to die."
"Perhaps. But the Force can't touch me," the aberration pointed out.
Jolee smiled grimly, "You need bait to draw it out."
"At least we would know what it is… and where it hides. I think Jedi are somehow vulnerable, but a fleet of warships is a threat, since it never attacked Coruscant, despite the presence of so many Jedi," Choy explained.
Jolee scowled into the bowl of reconstituted mash, "Or, maybe it just thinks warships are a threat."
"I choose to believe our enemy is not invincible. I will find it, and it will die," the woman said softly, but Jolee made the mistake of glancing up to meet her eyes. He felt his soul being crushed beneath the will of gravity that existed inside a black hole.
Not arrogance. Just… physics.
Then she looked away, and Jolee could breathe again.
"What are you?" Jolee hissed, glaring down at his trembling hands.
"My name was Meetra Surik. I was excommunicated from the Jedi ten years ago, but Master Atris reversed that ruling. I cannot feel the Force, but I have a mission to save the Republic. Will you join me?"
Fierfeik, even not looking at her didn't help at this range. He could feel himself being pulled into her orbit… and she wasn't using the Force.
Criminal is what it was. No one deserved to be that persuasive.
And Jolee felt very old.
The temptation of not hunting this thing alone though… and if he died, the hunt would continue. Relief began to trickle into the aging Jedi's heart.
"Why the hell not. What else could go wrong?" Jolee asked tiredly. Meetra smiled briefly at him, like sunlight escaping an eclipsing moon, before it vanished again. A young blond man approached, easily overlooked next to the exotic looking Echani and the monster of charisma.
"Jolee Bindo, my name is Mical. I serve as this party's medic, may I examine your injuries?" the man asked warmly.
Jolee let a finger of Force reach out, testing the young man's intentions, and was surprised when he felt the man detect his intrusion.
Oh?
Jolee pressed a little harder, curious, and felt the swirl of half-trained Force about the man.
"Agricorps Jedi, eh?" Jolee muttered, surprised. This man had been turned loose most likely at the tender age of 13 by the Jedi order. Meetra glanced over at Mical sharply, surprised.
Mical's face pinched with distant pain, "It was not by choice, but there were not enough knights or masters available to train us all, as many had recently departed to join Revan against the mandalorians. I was among the weaker padawans. It was the logical choice."
Jolee snorted, "Bunch of idiots. Could have just waited a year, bent the rules a little."
"The council does not bend easily… and not for seventeen padawans of meager talent," Mical said with a humble smile.
"Well, listen, boy, I was the healer in the last galaxy saving crusade this ship was involved in. You can look at my wounds, but, I'll do you one better. I can show you what I know too. One padawan to another," Jolee grinned. He'd never been knighted, though he had (almost) completed his training, until the whole marriage thing had severed his ties with the Order.
Mical studied Jolee thoughtfully. Jolee could feel that Mical was sorely tempted but his thoughts kept turning to Meetra for some reason.
"I'm old, son, and I feel that I don't have too many years left. No holocron, so the only way to pass on knowledge is to a starry eyed youngster. Don't see too many of those around, do you?" Jolee asked. He was lying of course. He'd already taught Kel and Lashowe everything he knew, but they had learned it with a stellar lack of enthusiasm. Probably even slept through part of the lessons.
"It has been a long time since I trained," Mical said cautiously.
Jolee was starting to feel some lethargy from his heavy meal settling into his belly like a comfortable leaden blanket.
"Well, no time like the present. Help me to the medbay, and we can get started," Jolee sighed. The glass shards were really starting to itch.
((()))
Atton's comlink chirped, but he didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?" Atton asked quietly.
"I talk to human, she maybe see your human," said a buzzy voice in very garbled Basic.
"Oh, hi Geeda," Atton said, relieved that it wasn't Luxa.
"She very frightened, but normally information very good. She ask for passage off-world for information, but I have no-one for three weeks. She say no good. If you can get her off in one week, she say she give information," Geeda buzzed.
"If it is the guy we're looking for, I think that could be arranged," Atton said, excited.
"If it is right human, you see me before you leave?" Geeda asked hopefully.
Atton smiled tightly, but didn't let it into his voice, "Sure, Geeda. I'll see you before I leave."
"I hope is right human. Be careful. Human is scared for reason," Geeda warned.
"Tell me how to get in touch with the informant," Atton said.
"No need. She at store now," Geeda said smugly.
((()))
Mira studied the Dynamic-class freighter cautiously from her perch, but it didn't look like Choy Verdan would be emerging anytime soon. Mira used some putty to secure the hand camera to the ledge, watching the ship. She checked her datapad to adjust the angle of the image until she could see the approach to the landing pad and the ship. Then she felt the hair at the nape of her neck start to rise.
Mira glanced around, but didn't see anything obvious around her on the rooftop. There were plenty of crates, debris, and machinery stacks that provided a haphazard thicket of concealment, but nothing closer to her than five meters. Her swoop bike was twenty meters away but Mira sincerely doubted that whatever was hunting her would let her reach it. Playing a hunch though, Mira reached into her jacket and pulled out a modified sonic detonator, thumbing the activation stud. She felt her sinuses vibrate uncomfortably, but the frequency was too high for humans to hear.
Something roared in rage and pain, bursting from cover towards her on all fours, mad eyes gleaming hatefully. Mira threw herself off the roof, twisting as she fell to point her wrist launcher at the ledges flashing past. She fired the piton but let the cable spool slower than she was falling. This avoided her arm dislocating at the shoulder, and turned her fall into a hard parabolic arc away from the lanky two meter tall hairy monster chasing her headfirst down the side of the building, powerful clawed hands clinging to the aging metal.
Her boots flashed only a meter above the walkway below and Mira ejected the piton, hitting the pavement in a tight roll that brought her to her feet, sprinting for all she was worth. She didn't have enough time to recover the piton, but Hanharr didn't like crowds. In many ways, he was more predator than monster. Mira dashed through a steam vent, her boots thundering on the metal grate. She could hear a soft, demented chuffing noise, and the squeal of claws absently dragged along metal.
He was trying to panic her, herd her into a kill zone or trap. Mira's retinal implants spotted the trip line a moment before she reached it, forcing her to awkwardly vault over the line, and stumbled as she landed. Fire raced up her left ankle, but the hunter ignored the pain, and the joint seemed sound, since it didn't collapse as she continued to run.
Mira broke to the left, away from the walkway that would have eventually connected to the main pedestrian path, and people, instead towards what looked like an industrial warehouse. She heard the monster hesitate, caught by surprise, before it turned to follow. She drew and fired her blaster at the door actuator, disabling it and causing the bottom half of the door to sag down into its housing. Mira ducked under the door into the warehouse.
You want a hunt, bitch? Let's hunt.
Mira's implants flared, and the utter darkness of the warehouse turned to just hazy outlines of obstacles. She threw another modified sonic grenade, sending strobes of high frequency noise out, hiding her gasping breaths as she slipped into the warren of crates. It didn't bother her hearing any, and there was a heavy chemical stench here, but it wasn't dangerous or else the olfactory blockers would have stopped it.
Perfect.
Level playing field.
Mira quietly slipped a replacement piton onto her vambrace, and checked that the tranq darts were primed, as well as the taser rocket. Hanharr was two hundred kilos of pure crazy with a healthy dose of nasty thrown on top. Mira leveled her blaster and kept moving, taking turns randomly, only paying attention to her hearing and her peripheral vision which was better suited to low-light perception, trying to catch a hint of the monster.
A hairy arm reached down and swatted the blaster from her hand, at the same time Mira threw herself to the side. She triggered the wrist darts and thought a couple might have hit the arm but couldn't tell. Her left hand was numb though, and she wasn't sure where the blaster had flown to.
An annoyed growl filled the warehouse as Mira backed up, staying low and trying to break line of sight. Mira pumped her left hand, trying to get feeling back into it. Then there was a sudden howl of pain and surprise.
Hanharr exploded through a wall of crates beside Mira, sending them tumbling. In his wake was a dark skinned twil'lek woman, a pair of long knives in hand. She floated through the obstacles like a Mimban sky-weaver, her gaze locked unerringly on her victim. The monster spun to slash at the much smaller woman with wicked claws. Hanharr was strong and fast, with considerable reach. The twi'lek slithered under the swipes, leaving long gashes along the offending arms as she dodged past him. Hanharr turned to track her and swiped again.
A second twi'lek woman (this one with pale skin) flashed out of the warren of crates, also carrying a pair of long knives that opened up the flesh behind Hanharr's left knee and thigh, forcing the leg to buckle momentarily, but she did not linger either, moving out of reach.
The two women circled Hanharr, probing his defenses with eerie matching smiles. They weren't twins though, and they did not speak. The two coordinated their dance of blades in silence, usually alternating to exploit openings, but sometimes feinting, or attacking in unison. Each time blood flowed, and it wasn't theirs.
They were the Twin Suns. They had first met as pleasure slaves, before shortly killing their master. They were good at killing, and enjoyed a challenge.
They were fellow members of the Bounty Hunter guild. A touch insane… and for some reason, they liked Mira, possibly because they tended to have a soft spot for fellow escaped slaves.
They also had a thing about slavers… and Hanharr was one of the biggest slavers on this moon. The paler skinned Twin was a hair slow dodging a thrown crate, which knocked a knife from her hand. At the same time Hanharr leapt four meters into the air, to the top of a stack of crates and disappeared into the darkness, snarling, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side.
The two twi'leks stared up into the darkness after their foe, though they could see a little into the infra-red spectrum… probably better than Mira's retinal implants.
"Thanks," Mira sighed, looking for her blaster in the debris after the women relaxed, turning on her glow rod. The two women turned to look at Mira.
"Do not thank us," the pale Twin said.
"We should thank you," the dark Twin smiled.
"You are wonderful bait,"
"We made him bleed quite beautifully."
"And you did well. Smart, good plan, good place," the pale Twin said, studying Mira's chosen hunting ground.
"Perhaps next time we catch up, he'll still be limping,"the dark Twin sighed longingly.
It was like talking to one mind with two mouths. Sort of like an Ithorian, really.
"Good luck, and thanks again," Mira said, limping around the warehouse. Hanharr was a coward, in the same way successful predators were. If he met strong enough resistance he would break off, and try something different later. He didn't believe in straight-up fights unless the odds were overwhelmingly in his favor.
She'd probably be safe for a while, until he'd healed up again. Mira was starting to feel the shakes, about the time her boot sent something skittering across the metal floor. Mira picked up her blaster and studied it critically. The power regulator had been crushed by the impact, and the barrel of the blaster was definitely bent. She'd need to buy a new one. Mira had really liked it though, she'd had the blaster for almost a year too.
She really hated Hanharr. She'd shown him mercy once, thinking it would get him to leave her alone. Instead, he'd started a crusade against her, single minded and relentless. She'd never gotten a chance to correct her mistake so far either.
At least the Twins' favorite hobby was Hanharr hunting… but they weren't always around. One of these days she was going to have to do something about him. Twenty kilos of baradium might do it… but then again, obliterating everything within 200 meters still might not catch the bastard.
It was a nice fantasy though, on her long walk.
((()))
Atton walked into Geeda's shop, annoyed by the door sensor chime. It was unnecessarily cheerful, but Geeda did her best to allay the rodian stereotype, since most had a reputation as cold-blooded bounty-hunters, thugs, and mercenaries. She hadn't gone in for fake hair implants, but it was a close thing. It was simply to expensive for a shop-keeper that was barely keeping her proboscis above water.
The store sold refurbished goods at very reasonable prices. Too reasonable. It gave her a loyal customer base, but not much profit. From what Atton could tell, Geeda was also desperately lonely, and it seemed Atton was one of the few humans that had indulged her obsession.
"Okay Geeda, I'm here," Atton called. The rodian shifted nervously behind her register, "Atton, happy you here."
Atton kept the grin on his face but subtly touched the hilt of his blaster. This felt like a set up.
"Where is your informant?" Atton asked pleasantly, eyes quickly checking the stacks of refurbished junk, but the way the aisles were set up, he could see down them. No obvious gunmen hiding there. Perhaps the partitioned off back room, which had a simple black tarp on a cable as a door.
"Please no mad," Geeda said, her grasp on Basic slipping a little.
"Geeda…" Atton said slowly.
"Come out," Geeda called.
Reluctantly, the tarp rippled as a woman peeked out, and Atton's blood ran cold.
Based on the lack of surprise Nadaa showed, she had known.
"Geeda. What is this?" Atton asked coldly, unable to even force a fake smile on his face.
"She need help. You owe. Simple!" Geeda barked, startling Atton.
"Hi Jaq," Nadaa said, unable to look into his cold eyes for more than a moment at a time.
"Talk in back. Not safe out here," Geeda commanded. Stonily Atton stalked forward, and Nadaa fled from the opening. Atton shouldered through the tarp into the cramped workroom behind. Nadaa had retreated into one corner that didn't have a stack of broken junk, next to a smaller shape playing with a stuffed nerf doll.
Atton's anger stumbled at the sight of the little girl, who looked up from the ragged doll at her mother, then looked at Atton, wrinkling her noise in suspicion. She had dark hair, a pinched face, high cheekbones clothed still in the baby fat of youth… and looked to be five years old. He did the math. He did it again. Just in case. He recognized her nose.
"Adana, say hello," Nadaa said helplessly.
"Hello," Adana said reluctantly, studying Atton closely, like a newly discovered insect. Did it bite?
Atton looked up from Adana to Nadaa. His eyes asked a question.
She nodded slowly.
The dead Jedi was having hysterics in the corner.
Atton felt behind him blindly, his hands encountered something horizontal, and he sat down heavily.
"You left before I could tell you," Nadaa said tightly.
It was for your own good. I only spread filth.
Atton hated Nadaa… because she'd always seen something good in him… and Atton could fake it for a day, a week, a month… but he wasn't good. He could never be the man she thought she saw. It was a special kind of hell, because he had loved her. He just… couldn't be what she deserved.
He'd fucked a lot of people, both literally and figuratively in his life. Nadaa had not been one of them.
Atton violently ripped his thoughts out of the past, before he drowned.
"What do you want?" Atton demanded.
Nadaa flinched, and Atton just accepted the new cuts to his soul. He deserved them and more. He needed to hurt her, so she didn't come back. Jaq was a lie. He never existed. At least, not Nadaa's Jaq. He would not pretend anymore. He would let her see the real filth he was… so she would not hold out hope. He owed her that much.
"I owe money. I defaulted, so my marker was sold to Red Eclipse," Nadaa said quietly.
"How much?" Atton asked roughly.
"Four hundred credits. I have sixty credits," Nadaa said.
"Do you know anything about the man I'm looking for?" Atton asked.
Nadaa shook her head helplessly.
Atton nodded, "I'll get the money," and rose.
"I hoped one day… you would know about her," Nadaa said.
Atton looked at Nadaa coldly, "If you love her, you never should have let her meet me, Nadaa."
He saw tears start to well up in the eyes of the only woman he'd ever loved.
Atton spent only a few minutes with Geeda, transferring the credits electronically from his account on Telos to Geeda, who counted out credit chits to equal four hundred. Atton handed the credits roughly to Nadaa.
Then he walked away.
Again.
It hurt just as much as he remembered.