The Pulsar Skate is a happy ship, Mara thought, but she isn't home.
Mirax Terrik's ship had an artistic elegance that the more industrial Tempered Mettle lacked, with graceful, sloping curves that gave the ship an organic, sea creature-like appearance from the outside. Her interior wasn't lacking either, with an orderly, well-structured use of space to maximize cargo capacity while still providing for passenger privacy and comfort… for small numbers of people at least.
It was more that Mara preferred her own ship and her own space, hard-won as they both were. Especially when she had Luke with her, Mara took comfort in a happy cocoon of shared isolation, letting Luke in and keeping everyone else out.
She knew it wasn't an entirely healthy instinct and she was working on becoming more comfortable around other people—she really, really was, especially Leia and Han and the twins, people who were part of Luke's life and therefore part of her life whether she liked it or not—but it was something that took an effort. It was an effort she invested consciously, slowly allowing a level of intimacy with her friends and… family… that the Emperor's Hand would have abhorred, and there were moments where it was even really satisfying and brought her happiness.
Having Luke helped. He was so emotionally open, so quick to invest himself in others, so able to empathize, that sometimes all she had to do was put herself in his wake and she would be swept along beside him. Sometimes he had to do a bit of pushing and pulling, she admitted, but he never forced her hand. It had been the same way during this trip. Mara already knew Mirax and considered her a friend, but Liat was entirely new to her, and the Sullustan was almost obnoxiously cheerful and friendly, two traits Mara could not ascribe to herself. Of course, Liat and Luke got along quite well—increasingly so over the duration of the tip, as the two of them spent hours conversing about the politics of the Jedi Order or obscure smuggler's argot, topics which Mara could easily follow and contribute to—and despite her qualms Luke always brought her carefully in to join them. Now, nearing the end of the trip, she was actually starting to like Liat and enjoy his company.
It was nice. Kind of.
"So you did enjoy the trip," Luke teased beside her as the two of them dressed. Luke's Jedi robes were packed away, deemed far too conspicuous for Nar Shaddaa, and the two of them put on a pair of typical spacers' duty jumpsuits. Comfortable, loose without being baggy, and with plenty of pockets, the jumpsuits were a cornucopia of places suitable for concealing tools, comms, and weapons. Luke carried only his lightsaber in a leather tool case and his blaster on his hip. Mara carried everything she thought she might need.
"Days passed like days and not months," Mara said noncommittally.
Luke chuckled and leaned over to brush a kiss to her cheek. "I'll take that as a yes. Liat likes you, you know."
"Does he?"
"Most people like you after you let them get to know you," Luke confirmed.
Mirax's voice came over the Pulsar Skate's intercom. "I've received docking clearance in the Corellian District," she said, "where I normally land when I can. There's a lot of activity around here and I'm not entirely sure why, but it could be about everything going on back home I guess. After we're on the ground I'll have to deal with the dock manager—stay out of sight while I do. There shouldn't be trouble, not with all my father and Karrde's connections on my side."
"How long until we can meet with your contact?"
"That may take a little longer," Mirax replied. Over the sound of the intercom they could hear the regular beeping of the ship's controls, which matched the gentle hum of the engines. "I don't expect he's busy, but that doesn't mean he'll stop everything because I want to meet with him. So I guess we can start with some more traditional information gathering."
"I'd like to scope out the docks," Mara said. She'd spent a few hours reading the available maps of the Corellian district and memorizing the important locations and streets, but there was nothing like some time to get to know streets herself—just to be safe.
"That's fine," Mirax said.
Luke shrugged. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do exactly," he said. "I'll see what presents itself. Sometimes the Force is most helpful when I let it guide me, rather than demanding it show me the path to my destination."
"Whatever lifts your speeder," Mirax replied, her voice taking on a bit more of a staticky hum as they entered the atmosphere. The engines cooled, and in their place the repulsorlifts started to whir. "We're making our landing approach now."
Nar Shaddaa felt remarkably like Coruscant, in some ways. It was not as populated as Coruscant, but nowhere was as populated as Coruscant. Coruscant had more than a trillion inhabitants; Nar Shaddaa had only eighty-odd billion. But despite the magnitude of the difference, in the Force it was hard to tell from a distance. Both worlds gleamed with light and life—and with the selfishness, desperation, and fear that could lead a sentient down the path to the Dark.
It was an odd feeling. Mara had grown so much stronger in the Force since she had accepted that her future was with the Jedi. Her sensitivity and awareness of the life and lives of the sentients around her was constant now. That Darkness was a constant in the lives of sentient life, a temptation ever present—even, perhaps especially, for a Jedi. Being on Coruscant, with so much life, her sensitivity to it naturally waned, like her hearing during a loud concert. Above Nar Shaddaa, slowly sinking towards that tiny gleaming ball of light, which rotated around the darker, tidally-locked Nal Hutta, her Force-sense revealed to her all those sinews of Darkness, all the temptations, all the choices being made to exploit and corrupt for selfish advancement. She could feel why Nar Shaddaa had the reputation it did—and how the Light struggled back, pushing itself to the fore whenever and however it could.
Even as Mirax brought them down towards their landing pad in the Corellian District, the sensation had started to fade. The excess stimulation of her Force-sensitivity dialed back so it would not overwhelm her conscious senses, and with it faded her constant awareness of the web of Darkness built at the foundations of Nar Shaddaa.
"How long ago did Terrik set down?"
Asori Rogriss sat perched on the edge of the copilot's seat, petting at the shuttle's sensor display. Their intelligence was plain—Mirax Terrik and the Pulsar Skate had arrived on Nar Shaddaa, and there was no indication that the ship had departed again. Typically, a ship as insignificant as the Pulsar Skate wasn't of much concern to Imperial Intelligence; their computers did indicate that it had a history of Rebellion affiliation, but so too did thousands of other freighters. But Pulsar Skate had been tied to the Smugglers' Alliance and Mirax Terrik had assumed the politically and economically important position of liaison between the Smugglers' Alliances and the New Republic government. That had put it on a watch list—not one that was checked very often, but a watch list nonetheless—and one of Intelligence's operatives on Coruscant had noted its departure and its destination.
"Best guess? A day. Maybe a day and a half," Dreyf said. "We're lucky we were already on our way into the Core before we got the intelligence update, or we probably wouldn't have gotten here fast enough to intercept her."
Asori had to remind herself that the objective of this little mission wasn't to attack the Skate, but to communicate with it. That still felt strange. She was no diplomat, after all, and few people had ever accused her of having a diplomatic manner. But now, seemingly thanks to some favor General Antilles owed her father, she'd been chosen as the officer who would convey not just an offer of peace, but an offer of active military collaboration between the Empire and the New Republic.
Just a few months ago she would have been apoplectic. Now? After Carida? After killing Judicator? After Poln Major? Somehow, all this felt like a small step down a path she had already been walking.
"We're going to want a landing spot somewhere in the Corellian District," Dreyf was saying. "That's probably where Pulsar Skate landed, and even if it's not, the Corellian District is well-integrated into Nar Shaddaa transport networks and there are lots of humans there we can use to blend in."
"Then find us a landing pad," she ordered, watching the gleaming moon of Nar Shaddaa as it orbited Nal Hutta and finding an old catchphrase of her papa's. "The sooner begun, the sooner it's done."
"Yes ma'am."
It was the better part of two days before Mirax's contact finalized a time to meet. Luke and Mara had spent that time searching for signs of the Emperor's Hand, but unsurprisingly given all the dark promise that accompanied the name, they hadn't found anything. Nar Shaddaa was a mere moon, small enough that its gravity had to be amplified with robust, ancient gravity generators to allow it to reach the standard range. Despite its size it was densely populated, busy, and subject to a constant churn. Luke watched, fascinated, as people came and went with incredible rapidity.
The Corellian District in particular was humming, almost pulsating with life and anticipatory energy. Rumors of events on Corellia ran rampant, ranging from a full Imperial bombardment of Coronet to the collapse of Imperial rule, and the tens of thousands of Corellian exiles who had moved to Nar Shaddaa at some point in the previous decades—mostly to escape the reaches of the Imperial-aligned Diktat—were equal parts trepidatious and enthused. The enthusiasm was gradually growing, as the catastrophic rumors receded and were replaced with more optimistic ones, and a number of locals had jumped into spaceships and raced off to Corellia—to join the fight to liberate their homeworld or join in the celebration, Luke couldn't be sure.
But all the chaos and news of Corellia meant there were little rumors, and even less conversation, about anything else. Local news of events on Nar Shaddaa—including anything that might have implicated the New Order—was buried under the din. Their most effective collector of information turned out to be Artoo and Slips. The two piloting and astrogation droids, freed from those responsibilities while Tempered Mettle was in dock, had put their electronic brains and efforts to work, searching for anything that might be useful. So far, they had come up with one lead: in the old Industrial District there had been several reports of haywire droids attacking locals, seemingly unprovoked. It wasn't much to go on, but Luke and Mara had been about ready to go check it out when the communique had arrived.
The meeting place selected was in a public space. A cantina near the docks that comprised the heart of the Corellian District, it reminded Luke not insignificantly of Mos Eisley. Darkened lights, with a circular bar at the center of a sprawling, labyrinthine space, sentients of every species clustered in alcoves. Some alcoves were boisterous, others were sullenly silent, as a variety of droid servers wandered through, proffering drinks and appetizers to paying customers.
The droids were pretty insistent, too. "Are you certain I can't interest you in anything to eat, Masters?" The hovering server unit had no face, but its vocabulator flickered with light as it spoke.
"You've already asked us that twice," Mara said, not drinking the glass of lum she had reluctantly ordered. The foam in the glass was gradually settling, revealing how little actual liquid had been inside to start. She leaned forward, glowering at the droid with narrowed, emerald eyes. "And you're starting to annoy us."
"I mean no offense, Mistress," the droid said. "I was just under the impression that when people came into an establishment that sells food, it was with the intention of purchasing some to eat."
The droid's tone was more than vaguely sarcastic. "Really?" Mara asked, more than matching the sarcasm. She peered around the room theatrically. "From the looks of things, people mostly come to this establishment to drink stale lum."
"Well I never," the droid protested. "If you thought so little of our lum, you didn't have to buy any."
Luke fought back a smile as Mara held up the glass, peering at it pointedly. The foam had almost entirely receded now, leaving a remarkably small amount of liquid in its wake. "I think less of it with each passing moment," Mara said dryly. She put the glass on the droid's serving tray. "Here, take this back. I won't be needing it after all."
"You intend to just sit here and take up space?"
"It would seem you have the space to spare," Mara retorted. "And I paid for the lum." She leaned towards the droid, her eyes narrowing. "Don't. Come. Back."
The droid made an annoyed sound and spun away, hovering a bit tipsily on its lazily-tuned repulsorlift.
Luke laughed, shaking his head. "I doubt they'll ever let us back in."
"I doubt we'll ever want to come back," Mara countered. "But if we do, the serving droids won't be so pushy. I worked in places like this after Palpatine's death, remember. I know the type, if they've never seen you before, their programming says you're an offworlder to be soaked for every credit."
"You know the lum isn't half bad," Luke offered.
"You can drink it for both of us."
Luke smiled, toasted her with his own beaker, sipped, and grimaced.
They looked up as Mirax slid into the seat, artfully twirling her comlink between her fingers. "Our contact is on his way," she announced proudly.
"Is the Hutt coming here to greet us himself?" Luke asked skeptically. The bar was big enough for a Hutt—maybe—but a Hutt would never be able to arrive unnoticed.
"I don't think so. His majordomo will probably come in his stead." She leaned towards them, dropping her voice so low that they had to lean in to hear. "I just heard from Corran. The rumors are true—Corellia is free." Her smile remained broad, and in the Force she was nothing less than sheer, giddy joy. "He's staying there for now to help them ready their defenses and couldn't say much. Just the important part—Corellia is free."
"How did it happen?" asked Mara.
"I don't know yet," Mirax admitted, though that lack of knowledge did nothing to dim her spirits. "But the latest rumors are that the Imperial fleet guarding the system switched sides after they were ordered to bombard the planet to put down an uprising."
Luke grimaced. "Well, thank the Force for that."
Mirax nodded seriously. "You can say that twice."
A stir of commotion back near the entrance to the bar caused Luke to glance over. The cantina opened into a spacescraper's lobby; the neon lights of advertisements and chatter of people moving and talking both drifted into the bar from the outside. The lights intensified as the door to the cantina suddenly opened wide enough to admit a new customer—this one resting on a floating repulsorsled more than two meters in diameter. As the doors closed again, once more shutting the neon lights from outside out, shadows closed over the sled, making it impossible to see what was on the sled. Whatever—whoever—it was, it had to be an alien, and one that had a very low profile.
"I think I recognize the sled," Mirax said, "If I'm not mistaken, that's our contact."
One of the server droids hovered near the sled, conversing with whoever the sled carried, and then bowed and backed off with a respect its compatriot hadn't shown Mara. The sled started slowly towards them. Luke focused, trying to get a better look, but still didn't see anything other than a blobby lump low on the sled.
"Is that an Iyra?" Mara asked a moment later, sounding surprised. "What's an Iyra doing working as a majordomo for a Hutt?"
"What's an Iyra?" asked Luke.
"A cephalopod species," Mirax explained. "They're rigidly insular and don't often involve themselves in the affairs of outsiders." She nodded towards Mara. "Mara is surprised because their society is a rigid caste system based on the number of tentacles they possess, and Iyra are famously scornful of Hutts because—in their eyes—Hutts are nothing more than one giant tentacle, which would put them at the very bottom of the Iyra caste system."
"Then why is an Iyra working as a majordomo for a Hutt?"
"Stek is… special."
The sled had come close enough that Luke could get a good look. Sure enough, the sled was actually a pool of water which bubbled slowly around the large, sprawling figure of the Iyra. The creature was almost perfectly symmetrical, with four eyes arranged around four long, curled arms, except that one of the arms was severed close to the base.
The Iyra's eyes turned towards them, its eyestalks pivoting as it came close. Two of the four eyes focused on Luke; the remaining two focused one each on Mara and Mirax. "Formal Greetings, Master Trader Terrik and her companions. I am Stek Lernn, Executive Secretary to the most illustrious of all beings, His Eminence Beldorion. How may my illustrious master assist you?"
"Stek," Mirax greeted him cheerfully. Her good spirits after the news of Corellia still buoyed her, and the enthusiasm came across clearly. "I have need of a personal meeting with His Eminence."
"Have you located a fresh supply of Jedi artifacts?"
"No," Mirax admitted. "Unfortunately, all the artifacts I retrieve are spoken for by the Jedi Order these days."
"My master will be disappointed to hear that," Stek replied. "But not terribly surprised."
"They do offer competitive rates, but I have something better," Mirax said. She leaned towards Stek, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, both of her very human eyes looking into the one of Stek's eyestalks that was focused on her. "I'm sure you recognize the people I'm with, and I know Beldorion is interested in meeting with them. His fascination with the Jedi is second to none… and what better way to satisfy that interest than meeting a real, living Jedi?"
Two of Stek's eyestalks were still watching Luke. Luke peered back, feeling more than a little awkward. The eyestalks flexed and twitched, as if trying to view Luke from every angle. "This is unexpected," Stek admitted after a moment. "This object must be of great importance for you to come here yourself, illustrious Jedi."
"It is," Luke said, finding his voice. "And I am interested in meeting the sentient who has such curiosity about the Jedi and our culture."
"I will relay your request to my master," Stek conceded. "I am not certain what he will say, but unless you hear otherwise, you may attend him in his palace at midday tomorrow."
Nar Shaddaa was like someone had taken Coruscant, shrunk it, and aged it before its time. The cramped, steaming alleyways of the Corellian Sector were full of disreputable figures and poverty—both things Asori had long since learned to associate with the Hutts.
Despite the fact that she was tucked safely away aboard their transport, Asori was dressed to match. With careful makeup and a fusty bandana tied around her head, her disguise made her feel vaguely piratical. The treasure-trove of powerpacks and vibroblades that festooned her blast vest only amplified the effect.
Asori Rogriss, pirate Queen on a budget. If only poor Mama and Papa could see me now…
Asori looked up as Dreyf returned. The intelligence officer looked oddly at home in an appropriately-battered gunman's getup. He offered her a wide grin and slid into the chair next to her, clinking buckles, groaning nerfhide and all.
She terminated her own search algorithm. "I take it you've found them?"
Dreyf nodded. "I'm pretty sure. There's a modified Baudo-class yacht in one of the VIP hangers. I'd guess that being a Terrik brings our quarry some privileges among the smuggler community, including the best landing locations. There are a couple other candidates, but I got close enough to see one and it lacked all the visible modifications that Pulsar Skate has."
"Did you get close enough to see our prime candidate?"
"Not the ship itself, but I got close enough to watch comings and goings from the hangar for a few hours," Dreyf replied. "I didn't see any humans, so I couldn't confirm Terrik's identity that way I'm afraid. I did see a party of Sullustans, there seemed to be some kind of small get-together."
Asori checked her datapad. "Pulsar Skate does have a Sullustan co-pilot," she pointed out.
"Lots of ships have Sullustan co-pilots," Dreyf countered. "But I agree, it is another point in its favor. I'll continue monitoring tomorrow and see if I can confirm. The ship doesn't have a flight plan logged, so it has no expected departure date."
She considered that, then shook her head. "Smugglers aren't known for logging all their travel plans honestly," she countered. "And if Miss Terrik departs Nar Shaddaa, there's no guarantee that we'll be able to track her to her next destination or follow her even if we can."
"Give me one day," Dreyf said. He held up both his hands. "One more day to confirm their identity. Then we can approach them and you can make the Baron's pitch."
She pressed her lips together, unhappy. This was not a mission that could go wrong. They had to get this right—but one of the many lessons she had learned at Carida was that indecisiveness was just as bad as making a bad decision, and many times worse. "One day," she agreed. "But just one. After that, we'll make our approach."
One day and some questionable meal choices later, she leaned towards Dreyf. "How much farther?" she whispered, trying to strip the polish off her voice. Her accent wasn't identifiably Imperial, but Anaxes had long been associated with the Imperial fleet and she tried to keep its distinctive cadences from being too noticeable. She wasn't entirely successful—unlike so much of the fleet, she'd never really been able to lose her native accent and replace it with Coruscanti standard.
"Not far," he replied in a guttural growl. The sound carried, and while the words themselves were harmless, the remaining denizens of the cramped alleyway moved back a pace in response. They didn't scuttle too far—not yet—but gave the two humans a respectful amount of space. "Boss' words were clear. 'Chust past the third scrap shop, right when we see the 'Rema stand."
She shook her head, forcing herself to make eye contact with the large Weequay that was standing at the end of the hall, and equally forcing herself to offer a smile that was half-respect, half-threat. She thought back to the emotions of the Battle of Poln Major, the fury that had come from watching Exigent's slow death and channeled that fury in the expression.
The alien merely nodded his respect, which only reinforced her opinions of this place.
Beside her, Nzem Dreyf appeared enraptured in his role as her bodyguard, and well-at-home. His stride was confident and comfortable, as if all the degeneracy of Nar Shaddaa was another familiar, welcome environment. She wasn't sure if that improved or harmed her opinion of the man.
The sprawling alleys of Nar Shaddaa made little sense. Unlike many urban environments on smaller worlds with planned urban centers, buildings here had not been constructed along an identifiable grid for ease of traffic. Instead, the buildings—especially in the older districts—were mazes of geometric buildings that rose haphazardly into the sky, creating endless twists and turns, with streets constantly shifting between wide, narrow, and even narrower. Occasionally there were open squares, but most of those had become landing pads, and coming close meant the whine of repulsors and engines. Higher above ground level the buildings become narrower, creating enough space between them for airspeeders to create the neat lines Asori remembered from her time on Coruscant… though Nar Shaddaa's traffic control was noticeably worse than Coruscant's rigid, override-imposed order. Somehow, she hadn't yet seen a fiery crash, but she was holding out a perverse sort of hope.
The main array of landing pads stretched along the exterior of the Corellian district, and the landing pad they were interested in was elevated above ground level, in a location more secure than most. They continued in that direction, past a row of street food vendors. Sizzling oil and the heady smell of spices made Asori's mouth water involuntarily; the next stall sent a hiss of steam into the alley, forcing the aliens (and Asori) to duck under it. The fried crustacean skewers looked like they would taste wonderful, but Asori wondered if the subsequent health problems would really be worth the momentary pleasure. A—herd? Den?—of Sullustans clustered at the stall, and Asori had to dodge out of their way.
Then she and Dreyf emerged into a wider alley and the pace of their progress picked up. Less confined—if no less labyrinthine—she followed him as he led them determinedly towards the docks. A few minutes later, he ducked into another tight alley—this one far less busy than the last—and gestured for her to watch their back. She turned to do so, one of her hand resting on the single blaster she carried that she would be comfortable using—her service-issue sidearm, riding in a subtle, easy-to-access holster at her hip.
It took Dreyf only a few seconds to pop the door lock and they slipped through. The back door to the main hangar, she found herself in a large machine shop, which reeked of metal rusted in harsh heat. Inside, droids were hard at work on a variety of starship parts: modified engines and military-grade lasers and souped-up repulsorlifts, among other things. The droids paid them no mind, and Dreyf led them through the machine shop. They stopped at the door and Dreyf pushed it open slightly, peered through. Then he nodded and they marched through.
Getting through the front door would have meant going through security. There was no telling how long that would have taken, or even if they would have succeeded—and it would have been another opportunity for their covers to be blown. So instead, they had agreed that the best option was to sneak past the hanger's (not particular good) security apparatus. Dreyf had prepared the way the day before, and thanks to his efforts they had made exceptionally good time.
"Where's Skate docked?" she asked, not bothering to keep her native accent out of her voice now.
"Just a little further."
She nodded. None of this was comfortable—she wasn't a ground asset. She had been trained to be the commander of a warship, and Star Destroyers and their brethren were her proper environment. Commanding Termagant at Poln Major, or being the XO of Exigent, were her comfort area. Luckily, Dreyf had enough comfort with all the skullduggery for both of them.
They stopped once more, so Dreyf could do something at one of the computer terminals they passed. Then it was with profound relief that they entered the hanger bay, and a midsized Baudo-class yacht that Asori had expected to find was, indeed, sitting still in its berth, its loading ramp open like the maw of an underwater behemoth.
Asori let her hand fall from her blaster. They were here; that meant now was the time for negotiation, not violence. She was, after all, not here as the commander of a warship or a captain in the Imperial Starfleet. She was here, spirits help her, as a diplomat.
"The Pulsar Skate," Dreyf announced unnecessarily, clear pride in his voice.
She nodded—he deserved to take pride in having gotten them this far—and stepped towards the depressed landing ramp. Peering up into the hold, she lifted her hand and knocked it lightly against the metal. "Hello?" she called. When there was no answer, she strode slowly up the ramp. Just being aboard a ship—even if it wasn't her ship—was so much more comfortable than being on the ground. "Captain Terrik?" She glanced back at Dreyf. "No weapons."
Dreyf nodded and followed her up, keeping his hands away from his body. "Captain Terrik?" he called, echoing her voice.
"Echu-ta, chaboskam!"
The sudden alien voice made Asori spin around, but it still took her far too long to find the figure. The squat Sullustan who had spoken was wearing a rebreather and a nerf-hide jacket, and was in cover amongst the many crates the Pulsar Skate carried. The Sullustan clutched a DH-17 blaster—a favored weapon among Rebel Marines, one that would pierce stormtrooper armor but not a ship's hull.
The sudden rustle of motion presaged that the Sullustan was not alone. A trio of additional figures were at the end of the ramp, behind them, holding a collection of scrounged weaponry. They had those weapons pointed at her back—their beady eyes were narrowed with suspicion and concern—and use them to nudge her and Dreyf deeper into the cargo hold.
"We mean no harm," Asori tried as one of the Sullustans manipulated the ramp control to seal it up, locking her and Dreyf inside.
Two more Sullustans popped out of corners, also holding improvised weapons. One stepped forward and reached into Asori's belt, depriving her of the flasher and more obvious weapons, and then of her service pistol. A second did the same to Dreyf—he carried far fewer weapons—and then they patted them both down.
"Taka-sala et rasati marr," said the lead Sullustan. He lowered his pistol. "Falah rasti sana ah Mirax?"
Only one word in that gibber made any sense to Asori. She assumed that while she did not speak Sullustan, that they would speak basic. "My name is Captain Asori Rogriss. I need to speak to Captain Terrik."
"Taka-sala!"
"He's saying put your hands behind your back," Dreyf offered, doing just that.
"You know Sullustan?" Asori asked as she complied. The Sullustans were thorough. Now that she and Dreyf were disarmed, one of them approached again, carrying a medical-grade scanner. She felt the static hiss as it swept over her even as a second Sullustan stepped behind her and put cuffs on her wrists."
Realizing that Dreyf spoke Sullustan, the leader of the… den… that had captured them turned his full attention to the intelligence officer. A series of rapid-fire words were issued; Dreyf occasionally replied, offering simple answers. Finally, the Sullustans put her and Dreyf in a small cabin and locked them in.
"Mirax isn't here," Dreyf said with a sigh, wiggling to try to get comfortable in his chair despite the cuffs locking his arms behind his back. Asori did the same, unsuccessfully. "Apparently she's meeting with someone. Liat refused to say anything more than that."
"When will she be back?"
"They don't know. They did offer to get us dinner, though—apparently they saw you looking at the fried crustaceans back at the alley and they're both inexpensive and tasty."
She sighed. "I had decided that however good they smelled, they probably wouldn't be worth the digestive issues later."
Dreyf didn't smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am. They have clearly been tracking me since one of my surveillance trips. I never caught a hint of them and I should have, I knew this ship had a Sullustan co-pilot."
"Don't apologize," Asori said. "This might be for the best." She wiggled. "This gives Captain Terrik an advantage and a sense of control when we meet, and we didn't do anything that could be construed as dangerous, other than circumventing hangar security." She shrugged, the motion marginally uncomfortable with her hands bound. "So now we wait."