Skirata watched Walon answer his comm and hop up, striding away on those long fekking parade ground strides of his. No one would ever mistake him as a civilian.
"Su cuy'gar!"
They heard him laugh—his true laugh, not sarcasm—as he jogged up the steps and out.
"Soo coo yee geh-har,"the woman had replied.
"Close, so close, cyar'ika," he chuckled into her ear.
"You can't see it but I am so sticking my tongue out at you right now."
"Impertinent brat. This is why your master wouldn't take you to Ilum."
She sighed. "I know. Oh well… I guess I'll just have to leave the order and find myself a nice star cruiser to harass the locals with."
"You need your own ship," he agreed.
"Eh. I'd just have to pay docking fees. You'd never believe the interesting folks I meet as a homeless waif."
"Where are you?"
"The Durkteel Loop. I picked up a tip from the owner of a mine-hauler. Somebody dumped a shit-load of trooper armor on the black market. Not standard white plasteel, either, Vau. Good stuff, they're saying. Complete sets of kit."
His blood ran cold. "Anything up as a preview?"
"There's an auction house on Cantonica that's handling some of the sales. It's invitation-only."
"I can get an invitation."
"I'll see you there, then," she told him. Ended the transmission.
He stayed where he was, waiting for the data dump he knew she'd send him. Punched his fist through the air in triumph when it came through and ran full-out toward the karyai.
Jaing went straight to work, did some homework. Had new ID docs and untraceable cred chips. Couldn't get a preview of the gear for sale. Traced some of it backwards, though, and they had several leads to tug from that angle.
Walon walked in, Skirata and Gilamar beside him, and stood for a moment surveying the crowd. Ostensibly an Open House for potential investors, the real event wouldn't start until the host had a chance to weed out any narcs or pesky government officials.
"I'll catch up with you," he murmured to the other men. Rubbed the bottom of his jaw, deactivating the bead deep in his ear canal. He didn't need Mereel Skirata in his head while he did his thing.
N'Dara watched him slide through the crowd. She'd felt his presence the moment he'd been let out of his luxury speeder. He looked hot as hell, the long slim limbs encased in a black tux. He wore the high collar of his charcoal grey shirt open and sans tie. The other two men with him looked equally elegant, although the one in the leather jacket would never hide that he was a bruiser.
"I thought only courtesans wore red after midnight," he rumbled into her ear. The crimson dress draped over every curve she boasted and created more. The glittering clips at her shoulder enticed him to part the curtained velvet and stroke the smooth, scented skin of her arm.
She half-lifted her eyes to him and batted those lashes she'd darkened and lengthened with cosmetics. Shimmers of silver dusted her brow and cheekbones, highlighting the indigo beauty marks extending from her hairline.
"If you can ditch your bodyguards you can make a bid later," she teased.
Her eyes cut to the man who approached him.
"Mr. Antissigo sends his complements, Miz Tanner, and wonders if you're free to join him."
She smiled. Drained the champagne in her glass, and shot Vau a superior glance.
He shifted, made to follow.
"Just Miz Tanner, sir."
He flicked the business card he'd been given between his fingers.
"We're together."
"Not tonight, you're not," the bouncer huffed.
She kriffing well winked. Just looked up at him and winked.
He wanted to break both her arms. To say nothing of what he wanted to do to every bone in the hired help's hand as the man put his forearm around her to gesture her through a set of curtained doors.
Gilamar just pursed his lips when Walon scowled darkly into the mirrored bar and picked up the rest of the woman's bottle. Lifted it and chugged.
"Going to be a long night, then?" Skirata asked. "That happen to be your contact?"
"Fek off."
"Cute kid."
"Oh, just bubblegum and fizzy drinks," he muttered back.
Gilamar laughed aloud at the man's irritation. It was going to be a long night.
Worthless night, too.
The Katarn rig—and, yeah, a complete set of it—had never seen combat. It was interesting, prototype pieces that Fett had been submitted and rejected. Obviously word of his demise must have filtered around if the armorer felt comfortable ignoring the nondisclosure contract. Useless, though, from an intel angle.
'Lot 57.'
That was the more revealing batch. He swallowed hard as he wandered the displays, discreetly looking for what she wanted him to examine.
'On it.'
He entered his bid. Watched the numbers go up. Felt Skirata seethe beside him. Could practically feel Gilamar vibrating.
Yeah. That piece had seen some action. A shattered chestplate, a fuel pack and fire-trooper's flame thrower rig. The synthetic webbing at the gauntlet guard was discolored. Dark brown stains of almost certain origin marred the wristband and spoke of a man who'd probably died sweating.
"Can Jaing trace a trooper through his gear?" Gilamar asked quietly.
"Some of it, yes. Not every piece was issued with a number. And quartermasters didn't always record everything signed out into ships' logs. Especially if things were going osik'la."
Vau swallowed hard. Wandered back through again. Bent his ear to listen as a uniformed server issued an invitation he couldn't refuse.
Used armor. Somebody was keeping up with who was bidding on what. Channeling special interests. He jerked his head to beckon the other two men to join him and followed the man through a series of hallways.
Gritted his teeth when he was ushered into a room filled with glass display cases.
Republic-issue armor from every division in the GAR stood as though their hosts were still standing at ready. Some even had jointed forms holding armament as though they'd come to life and rush through the transparisteel. A discreet board at the bottom of each indicated how many of each set of armor were available, the digital readout flickering as the numbers counted down toward zero.
Gilamar's hand went to his stomach.
"Eh, eh, eh," the guide chided. "Hands clear."
The physician lifted them wide.
"He wasn't reaching for his piece," Vau muttered blandly. He glanced up when he recognized a head of dirty blonde hair. So Jusik had managed to wrangle a tour before he had. He wondered how.
The kid cleaned up well.
He watched the younger man turn. Lift his chin as though he was seeing them for the first time in ages. He sauntered over with an easy swagger and swirled the shimmering liquid in his glass.
"Fancy meeting you here. Looking to add to your collection? There's some interesting Alpha pieces over there."
"You're the one with the ARC-fetish," Vau told him.
Followed him anyway.
He couldn't help but place the bid. Prime harassment.
"It's not from a death-dump, Kal'buir," the younger man whispered. "Nobody died wearing these pieces."
"Somebody got their hands on the armor the Empire shucked when they decided they wanted stormies instead of RCs."
Skirata nodded. "I realized that… thank you, Bard'ika."
Vau held out the mini'pad he'd been given to mark his items of interest. "Want to bring home yours?"
He nodded. Vau waved the scanner over the discreet coded hologram. A short bio came up, explaining the former wearer's rank and role in the Grand Army.
"Where's his helmet?" Gilamar asked quietly.
"He brought it home with him," Jusik replied. "It's in his room."
Skirata's head whipped around.
"You didn't know?"
He shook his head. "I suppose he wanted the link…"
The light at the bottom of the display case turned red, indicating the auction was closed. Skirata wondered what Walon had had to offer for it for the seller to immediately close the sale. In short order Jaing and Mereel's, as well as Maze's, were also marked auction ended.
"The others were offworld," Skirata said softly when he realized that Walon was still stalking around the space, seeking out the blue- and green- trimmed beskar'gam and matching kamas. The man grunted at him. Nodded. Turned a corner. Pressed his lips together as he looked up at the trio of dented suits liberally detailed with orange, yellow, and green. Notably missing was Sev's dark red.
"Aw, rangir!" Vau hissed. Turned and gulped. He gestured for an attendee. Scrolled through the 'pad and indicated his intentions. Hissed and leaned down toward the man. Sent him scurrying. "I'm done," he told the others.
Gilamar nodded sharply. They followed him as he stalked out.
"Get a drink, Walon," Skirata suggested.
"Yeah. Because he'll be able to just belly up to a bar and order refreshment whenever his brain gets too full wherever he is?"
"Udesii."
Vau nodded. Took a chair. Ordered the booze. Held his glass to the other two men.
"Good hunting?" the bartender asked. "Find what you were looking for?"
"Not hardly," the man told him. "Managed to drop a pretty penny, though."
"Something specific in mind?"
"I'm eclectic," Vau told him. "Don't know what's going to pique my interest until it does."
The bartender just waited expectantly. Vau drew a business card from his inner pocket. Flipped it across. All it had was a number, which routed all over hell and creation before he'd get the comm.
"There a reason you don't use a name?"
"Does it matter so long as there's cred in it for you?"
"Guess not," the man admitted.
They finished their drinks. Vau nodded when the auction data'pad chimed. "Let's go."
The three of them were resting their rumps on railings when the delivery was made. Crates of the purchased armor on unmanned repulsor carts arrived at the entrance to the space port.
A tinny argued with Gilamar. "This is most unusual. Our instruction is to see to the loading and securing of-"
"We're unusual men taking unusual precautions," the physician informed the droid. He held up the invitation Vau had been able to wrangle through his never-ending web of contacts. "Surely your boss is no stranger to taking a few preventative measures himself."
"Of course not. But this is one-of-a-kind merchandise and-"
"I promise not to drop it," the man in Mandalorian armor promised as he hefted two cases. "Hell, I wore it for a kriffing war. It's not like I'm gonna break it if I scuff it now."
Gilamar got rid of the droid and turned to follow, the smaller case propped on his shoulder.
It gave them a front-row seat to Vau's reaction when N'Dara darted in.
She was in leather leggings and a tunic and jogged up the open hatch, dodging between two mech-droids.
"About damn time," Vau told her coldly, chucking a small pack at her.
"What is this?"
"You need to wash that shit off your face."
He turned and crouched when Jaing's little gem of an invention chimed that it had found a bug. By the time he got done dealing with that he was in an even fouler mood.
"What the hell are you waiting for? Get cleaned off."
"I don't know where the 'fresher is on this one!" she snapped. Complete with a stomp of her foot.
He jerked her up by the arm. Dragged her toward the master chamber.
Shouting erupted.
"Did you fuck 'im?" they all heard him bellow over whatever she was growling at him. "You left me sitting there, handed me your empty drink, and went upstairs like some cheap arm candy? Did you decide to mix a little business with pleasure and go to bed with him!? How could you even sleep with somebody like him!?"
Dead silence filled the crew cabin beyond.
"I did exactly what you taught me to do," she hissed at him.
His face was inches from hers and it was set hard and mean. "I didn't teach you to whore yourself around."
"It's just a role to play! How did you think I'd gotten invited? You think there's-"
"Are these the odd jobs you're pulling to fund the search? Laying yourself out there for every old man who's got the cred to lay something shiny around your neck?"
Her lips pulled back in a snarl. "You know that's not true."
He turned. Put his hands on his hips. Just breathed.
He could smell the perfume she'd doused herself in. Something spicy and expensive. He hated it. It was too heavy, too heady, too contrived. A woman wore it when she expected that a man was going to be stripping her. And she'd had to have layered it on thick—saturated her skin in it—for it to still be this strong when she'd already abandoned the dress she'd worn in favor of her own clothing.
N'Dara opened the pack that he'd handed her.
Let out a quiet sob.
"Do you know who they belonged to?"
She shook her head.
"Neither did Jusik."
"Where did you get them?"
"Bartender. He's working special deals on the side." He tried to focus. To think of anything other than the idea that she'd slid out of that pretty dress and then let that slimy bastard crawl all over her while men and women bought bits and pieces of other men's lives in the basement show rooms. "If you're short on cred-"
"I'm not turning tricks. You, of all people, should know that that's not how I'm going to earn my way."
"You slept with the pilot!" he roared.
The men gathering in the crew cabin heard that clear enough.
"So what!? So the hell what!? I had sex before and I'll probably have sex again! That doesn't mean I'm going to roll over for every man who sends me a drink! And you know what, even if I did, you have no right to act so high and mighty about it! I'll sleep with exactly who it pleases me to sleep with when I'm moved to do so—whether you approve or not. Whether you think I'm just a slut or an incompetent whore."
"On the contrary, I imagine a force-sensitive would make one hell of a hooker," he said meanly. He slammed the door open. "Bathe off the stench of this place before you sleep in my sheets."
He banged the mechanism with more force than necessary, and the hatch sang closed… probably just in time to avoid the projectile she aimed at him.
Vau turned, his face set in an angry snarl, just in time to ram into the full weight of Jusik's swing.
Shock had him reaching for his gushing nose instead of annihilating the pup.
"You're a real piece of work," the younger man bitched.
Vau got his arm up, blocked the next swing. "You're not going to want to mess with me right now."
The younger man ignored him, went jare'la gratiir on him. He had to be pulled off, A'den and Skirata yanking him backward while Gilamar got in front of Vau.
The older man reversed his course, stepping back through the hatch he'd just secured. The sound of the water running in the fresher came to them just before the soft voice did.
"Oh, for fek's sake," she hissed. "What the hell? Did you trip?"
"Apparently my vocational advice for out-of-work jetiise did not meet with the approval of the very young Bard'ika."
"Put you in a better mood," the woman noted. "Maybe I'll start slugging you when you piss me off if it puts the roses in your cheeks."
She applied pressure to his shoulder, steering him from the sink to perch beside it. Her exam hurt like hell.
"Broken, I think," he told her.
"At least this way I can heal it correctly," she told him, soaking up blood with the brand-new white linens.
He'd upgraded to the ancient luxury yacht out of sentimentality. He was calling it a classic and swore he was going to restore her to her former beauty. He'd gotten as far as getting the hyperdrive running and the barnacles off the hull. Had enlisted Cov and his crew to give it a quick-polish and coat of paint just for this job, on the off-chance that somebody did track him back to it. The deflector shields worked and there was a hell of a lot of potential for weapons systems, but right now glory was a pipe dream.
Ønskedrom.
That's what he'd named her.
Pipe dream.
He shivered at the sensation of N'Dara moving the bones back into place. The heat spread and turned into warmth instead of searing pain. Cooled and throbbed a little with it.
He gagged and turned his head, spat again into the sink. When he straightened she formed her fingers around his features again, lying them cool and smooth against his skin.
"I'm not whoring myself. And I didn't sleep with him. I would have if I needed to, to get his guard down. He was reprehensible. He deserved to die."
"It shouldn't have mattered. I just hated the idea of his hands on you. Especially since I could have gotten you in."
"I got information you couldn't possibly have learned just by attending."
"Well for damn sure I could have taken him out so you didn't have to. It was on my to-do list depending on what I found tonight and whether I thought he'd be a useful tool in future."
"Some of the gear in there… it came from battlefields."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
"Sev's wasn't there."
"I realize that as well."
She was standing there in just her undershirt and pants with the water pounding behind her. Not that they hadn't seen each other in various states of undress before. Living primitively with each other for prolonged stretches of time vanished all put-on modesties.
Still. It wouldn't have hurt her to act like he was a man with a man's desires and inclinations.
"Better?"
He sucked in a deep breath. Carefully. He was pretty sure he'd cracked a tooth and maybe a rib. Taking on a challenger without his armor on was starting to hurt more at his age.
She soaked the cloth and blotted at his clothes.
"Take this off and I'll rinse it. It shouldn't stain."
"I'm going to incinerate it anyway. I don't want to wear it again."
She frowned. "You looked so handsome, though."
He just blinked up at her.
"I shouldn't have insulted you."
"I'm not sorry to see you get taken down a peg or two. Although there's a small part of me that hopes he punches thumb-in so he feels it, too."
That made him smile. He rose. Stripped off the shirt and tossed it into the bottom of the fresher. Took the towel from her when she swabbed at his chest.
"I've never seen any other man who's hair was so straight," she told him. "There's no curl or wave or texture to it."
"Yours is every bit as straight as mine," he told her. Picked up the coarse end of it where it was falling out of her carefully arranged coifs.
The sides of her lips tucked in. "I don't have chest hair," she objected, looking up at him.
It made his laugh boom out. He ducked his lips to her brow.
"N'eparavu takisit. Now you have to forgive me."
"I don't know what that means."
"It's my apology. Now you say, kih'parjai. Or, if you're still pissed, you tell me to nar'sheb."
"Nuhar-shib sounds more my style."
"Your annunciation is atrocious. I have got to figure out where that accent comes from."
She grinned at him. "Go away so I can wash my hair."
He nodded.
He was in a clean shirt when he came out. Was pleased to note that Jusik's face was still swollen and his knuckles were showing signs of bruising.
Whistled as he took the helm, breathing through his re-straightened, perfectly functional nose.
When the woman came out he led a round of introductions.
"Bardan Jusik. I hear good things about you. Keep your mitts off the count's nose if you can't align breaks any better than that."
"That would be me," Gilamar offered his hand. "I'm the one who set it the last time."
"And I'm the one who broke it," Skirata offered.
"You're my hero," she told him. "I'm going to start punching him more routinely."
"Want to do mine?" Jusik asked her, lifted the cool compress to his face again.
"Break it or fix it?"
"I was thinking fix it. Why would you break it?"
"It was a private conversation and I don't need anyone to defend me. If I'd wanted to take a swing at him I would have. He's upset—which you should be able to feel—and it's not the end of the world for him to blow off steam somewhere safe."
"He's sitting right here," Vau reminded her.
She lifted one shoulder and smirked. "You can add to the discussion as you feel fit. It's your mental health."
He laughed at her. "Are you hungry?"
"No. I'm tired. I am going to use your rack if you don't mind. Is it safe for me to meditate for a while?"
He nodded. "No one should sense you in hyperspace. I'll let you know when we go short."
A'den watched her go.
"If you're not hitting that you're an idiot," he noted.
Jusik growled.
"She's got one hell of an ass, doesn't she?" Vau asked, ducking around to see if she was still in earshot. Lifted his voice. "I said… she's got one hell of an ass on her."
"Kiss it, sweet cheeks," she called without looking over her shoulder at him.
He chuckled as he turned back to the viewport.
"Why do you call him sweet cheeks?" Gilamar hollered after the woman.
Vau hammed rubbing his palm along his jawline and then drew the back of his knuckles down his own cheek. Raised and lowered his eyebrows wolfishly.
N'Dara turned before she went down the passageway. "Have you seen the ass on him?"
The men hooted as Vau's face broke into an embarrassed smile.
She was sound asleep when they rendezvoused with the scuttle clan Skirata had appropriated to take them the rest of the way back to the Mandalorian sector. He didn't bother to wake her. Shook hands and promised to keep them informed. Promised to let them know if he needed anything. Stood with his hands on his hips watching them take off for home. Was in his own beskar'gam when she woke up.
Ready to talk business and get to the nitty gritty. She'd said she'd gotten something.
He'd let her stew on it as long as he could and now he was impatient to resume the search.