Obi-Wan kept close to Lorna's side as they made their way through Mos Espa's dusty streets toward the Grand Arena, the crowds growing thicker as they approached the entrance. Despite the press of beings around them, Lorna moved with an ease that hadn't been there before the vessicore encounter. The way she carried herself, alert but not tense, gave him hope that yesterday's lesson had achieved its purpose.
"So, if losing its limbs and head can't kill it," she asked, deftly sidestepping a pile of bantha droppings, "then what does kill a vessicore?"
"Oh, piercing its hearts would do it," he answered, "but you'd have had to reach both the posterior and anterior ones at the same time without getting gored first."
"Sounds like you'd need more than one person to do it, then."
"Either that or an arm span longer than a Wookie's," he said with a wry smile.
"How did you learn about them?" she asked.
"The Sand People tell stories about them. They hunt them for sport; the mandibles are a highly prized trophy." He guided them around a cart where a vendor was selling racing flags. "Only their greatest warriors working together have been known to defeat them."
"That's barbaric," she said, shaking her head. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I'm glad I did not kill that one yesterday."
"I had faith you would find another way."
She flashed that smile at him, stepping closer as the crowds pressed in. Her arm grazed his and his mouth curved upward in response.
The arena entrance loomed ahead of them, perched atop a wide, flat expanse of rock. The structure descended from there, built into the natural canyon amphitheater below. Beings of all species streamed toward the entrance, their excited chatter filling the air.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.
She withdrew the datapad containing their meeting details, her expression growing more guarded. "Ready."
"Tickets?" the usher demanded when they reached the gate.
Lorna held out the datapad with codes the Falleen had sent. The usher eyed them with a skeptical frown as he scanned the codes, but handed the datapad back to her.
"Private box seats. Sub-level three. Keep this handy," the usher said, gesturing to the datapad. "You'll need to show the codes again before you'll be granted entry to the VIP areas."
They pushed through the gate and headed for the lift. Lorna took in their surroundings with keen interest—her first time at a podrace, he realized. His, too, technically. The last time he was in Mos Espa, he didn't attend the famous race, though he'd heard enough about it from his wily and eager new Padawan that it almost seemed as if he had been. He sighed, letting the recalled memory pass.
Spectators filled the open-air entryway to the arena. Some made for their seats, checking their tickets against the posted signs. Others stopped for refreshments or souvenirs at the various vendors that lined the promenade on the main level. Lorna smiled fondly as a pair of younglings darted past them, humming and buzzing as they piloted toy pods through the throngs of people.
They boarded the lift, and Obi-Wan pressed the button for level three. Another usher awaited them at the bottom, but before Lorna could produce the datapad again, a familiar green hand seized the woman's arm.
"They're with Usto." The Falleen bounty hunter released his grip and crossed his arms, the butt of his rifle still visible over his shoulder.
"Oh, of course, Barq." The usher went doe-eyed as she gazed up at him. "Please, enjoy the race," she added to Lorna and Obi-Wan, sweeping her arms out to let them pass, her eyes still glued to the Falleen.
"I'm pleased you decided to join us," the Falleen said, falling into step beside them. "I would have hated to have to track you down again, little bird." His eyes narrowed as they swept over her. "Run into some trouble?"
Outwardly, Lorna didn't flinch, though Obi-Wan felt her pulse of discomfort in the Force at the Falleen's observation of the slight limp she'd been trying to hide since the vessicore's mandibles had caught her thigh the day before. Despite the bacta patch she had applied, it would still need a couple more days to heal. As much as he would have liked to put himself between her and the Falleen, he checked himself. Lorna was more than capable of handling herself.
"It's just a pulled muscle, not that it's any concern of yours," she said, jaw tight. "And my name is Lorna."
"That's right, we never did get a chance for formal introductions," Obi-Wan interjected smoothly, drawing the Falleen's attention. "Care to give us your name?"
"Barqul Lo'darien. And your name, copilot?" The Falleen led them down a corridor lined with private box entrances.
"Just Ben, thank you." Obi-Wan kept his voice pleasant while reaching out with his senses, mapping exits, and scanning for threats.
Barqul stopped at a door and entered a code on the keypad outside. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a well-appointed VIP room, complete with a minibar, large dining table and chairs, and comfortable seats outside on a balcony overlooking the arena. Through the balcony doors, the muffled roar of the gathering crowds grew louder as spectators found their seats.
A Toydarian hovered on the balcony, engaged with two other beings in animated discussion about the upcoming race.
"Have you heard? The Empire has banned podracing in the Core worlds. More credits flowing to the Outer Rim tracks these days. The Empire's loss is our gain, eh?" the Toydarian was saying. His bulbous eyes, magnified behind thick spectacles, widened when he noticed them enter. "Ah! My guests have arrived. We'll finish this conversation after I've collected my winnings, hm?" He laughed, his high, nasally voice carrying through the room as he shooed his friends toward the door.
"Usto, this is Lorna and Ben. The smugglers I told you about," Barqul said, once the door shut behind them.
"Yes, yes, very good, Barqul. Sit, my friends, sit, sit!" His snout pulled back over his tusks in a wide grin, and he gestured to the table with a clawed finger. "Can I get you any refreshments?"
Obi-Wan followed Lorna to the far end of the table, choosing a seat beside her. Barqul stationed himself at the other end, opting to remain standing.
"No, thank you," Lorna replied.
"Is that Chandrilan whiskey you have there?" Obi-Wan asked, spotting an opportunity to keep the mood light. It had been quite some time since he'd had a proper drink, and Force knew he could use one before this negotiation was through.
"Yes, yes, an excellent 12-year, too." Usto fluttered to the minibar.
"I'll take one of those. Neat."
He accepted the glass, making a show of appreciating the liquor's bouquet before taking a measured sip. "An excellent age, indeed. Very smooth."
He sensed Lorna watching him out of the corner of her eye, the faintest hint of surprised amusement directed at him, though she hid it well behind her businesslike demeanor.
"Now then." Usto settled near Barqul, adjusting his spectacles with a finger. "Let's, ah, let's talk business, shall we? Barqul tells me you're a friend of Niko's? Got himself into a bit of Imperial trouble, did he?" He smiled and sipped from his glass, but Obi-Wan noticed it didn't reach his eyes.
Lorna relaxed her posture, leaning an elbow on the arm of her chair. "Unfortunately, yes. But he sent me to complete this delivery for him while he gets it sorted out. I know you've never worked with me before, but I can assure you, I will handle the job with as much professionalism and reliability as he would."
"Ye,s yes, I'm sure you will," Usto said with a nervous laugh. "The bosses, they won't be happy if things go wrong, no. We can't have that, can we?"
A telling twitch in the Toydarian's left eye betrayed his anxiety. He swirled his drink, studying them both.
"We are just as eager to avoid the Pykes' ire as you are," Lorna said.
"I see, I see. The thing is, Barqul here informed me that the Comet has been stripped by the local scavengers, yes?"
"An unfortunate turn of events, yes. One we may need your help to remedy. But once that is taken care of, we can complete the delivery and ensure everyone's interests are satisfied," Obi-Wan said, taking another careful sip of whiskey.
"But the chamber, yes, the stabilization chamber—you're certain it is still functional?" Usto demanded, desperation bleeding into his voice.
"The Jawas didn't find it," Lorna answered.
Usto's eyes flicked to Barqul.
"I checked myself. The stabilization chamber was not touched," the Falleen confirmed.
"And you..." Usto glanced between them, wings fluttering nervously. "You both have experience handling unrefined coaxium?"
Coaxium. The pieces all clicked into place–the specialized compartment, the urgency of the delivery, the enormous sum of credits involved. Just when he thought this job couldn't get any more dangerous. He hated that he had been right—Lorna really had gotten herself in deep. One wrong move with unrefined coaxium would cause an explosion big enough to vaporize the entire arena.
But she didn't even miss a beat. "Of course," she said. "We'll get it to its destination safely."
"Won't be a problem," Obi-Wan added, backing her play.
He sensed Usto's skepticism spike in response to their easy confidence. The Toydarian's anxiety was making him more suspicious, not less.
"You understand, this is not typical cargo," Usto pressed. "One mistake, one miscalculation..."
"We're well aware of coaxium's volatility," Lorna replied, though Obi-Wan felt her certainty falter slightly. "The specialized stabilization chamber in the Comet was designed specifically for—"
"And you've used it before?" Barqul cut in, his violet eyes narrowing. "Tell me, what's the optimal temperature range for transport?"
A test. Obi-Wan took another sip of whiskey to give himself time to think. They'd seen the control panel on the chamber that day when he and Lorna checked the Comet. He just needed to remember what it had been set to.
Before either of them could respond a cheer rose from the arena as the race preparations began.
Usto darted to the balcony, wringing his hands. "Yes, yes, the temperature, very important..."
"Between ten and fifteen standard," Lorna answered without hesitation. Evidently, she'd committed the setting to memory that day. He stroked his beard to hide his smile of admiration.
Barqul nodded, but his gaze remained stony as it raked over Lorna. "Where did Niko's latest catch learn so much about coaxium, I wonder?"
"What can I say, Niko appreciates me for more than just my nice ass," Lorna said, with a withering stare at the Falleen.
Obi-Wan nearly choked on his sip of whiskey and was forced to cover it with a cough. Brilliant woman.
"Yes, yes, thank you, Barqul." Usto waved a dismissive hand and Barqul retreated with a scowl. "Now, about the Comet," Usto continued, flitting to Lorna. "Am I understanding correctly that you are asking for an advance on your fee?"
"Only enough to cover the repairs," Lorna responded quickly. "You can give us the rest after the job is done."
Usto steepled his fingers as he weighed her words. A pair of voices boomed over the arena's speaker system, one speaking in Basic, the other translating in Huttese. They announced the competing podracers as they began to assemble on the starting line.
"This is not how I normally conduct business, no, not at all," he said, zipping back to the balcony in agitated flight. "We don't have time for this," he muttered. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "The Pykes are not known for their patience, no..."
"Which is why we should finalize our arrangement now," Lorna said, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "I deeply regret that Niko's Imperial entanglements have already delayed this as long as they have, but—"
"Yes, it is critical that you avoid any further Imperial entanglements," Usto interrupted impatiently. "The Empire cannot learn of this transaction. Can you manage that, hm?"
"Avoiding the Empire is our specialty," Obi-Wan said with a sardonic smile.
It was a bitter irony. The Empire would indeed take great interest in this shipment, but coaxium smuggling would be the least of their concerns if they discovered two Jedi were involved.
"Usto, I truly understand the gravity of your situation," Lorna continued, spreading her arms in a placating gesture. "But I think we can both agree that giving us the advance is the most efficient solution to your problems."
"Can you really afford to take the time to find another ship and crew capable of transporting coaxium?" Obi-Wan added. He watched Usto's resolve crumbling, could practically see the Toydarian weighing his fear of the Pykes against his mistrust of the two of them.
"Start your engines!" the announcer instructed. The sounds of energy binders activating and pod engines rumbling to life floated up from the arena.
Usto spun around, draining his glass. "No, no, I cannot wait." He set the empty glass down hard. "But trust you? With a deal this big? No."
Obi-Wan bit back a curse. Lorna's confidence stuttered in the Force. Had they really miscalculated this badly? He'd seemed so close to agreeing…if only they weren't negotiating with a Toydarian—
"Not without insurance, eh? Which is why Barqul is going to accompany you for the delivery."
Barqul approached Lorna, gripping her shoulder roughly, flecks of orange appearing in his mottled skin. Every muscle in Obi-Wan's body tensed, fighting the urge to remove that hand forcefully. He watched Lorna shrug it off herself, maintaining her composure even though he sensed her contempt for the Falleen.
"Hear that, little bird? Seems you're not rid of me just yet."
Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around his glass, but his face betrayed nothing. He downed the rest of his whiskey and stood next to Lorna, offering his presence in silent support.
"Deal." Lorna said. She ignored Barqul and held out her hand to Usto.
His three fingers reached for her hand and shook it. The starting signal chimed, and the pods thundered into their first lap.
Obi-Wan watched Lorna devour her nerfburger with barely contained amusement, a smile tugging at his lips as she caught dripping grease with quick reflexes. It was the first real meal they'd had in days. Even he had to admit the greasy fare of the inexpensive diner in Mos Espa was a welcome change from the rations and bantha jerky that had sustained them in the desert wilderness.
Between eager bites, he noticed her reach into her pocket, where she kept the credit chip Usto gave her. Double checking that it was still there. Usto had agreed to transfer their funds to the chip after they met Barqul in Mos Eisley, enough to cover the parts and a mechanic to help with the repairs.
He did another scan of his surroundings, keeping his senses open to the Force, just in case. Though it was the height of the lunch hour, the diner was nearly empty, with half of the city attending the race. When their meeting concluded, Usto hadn't offered to let them stay to watch, and they hadn't asked to. He and Lorna had both just wanted to leave the arena as soon as possible.
"It felt like such an impossibly large amount just yesterday." She grabbed a handful of over-seasoned fritzle fries and chased them with her fizzpop, apparently unbothered by the excess salt that made him wince. "But compared to the amount Usto promised after the delivery..." She paused as if she had been about to name the exact number of credits but then thought better of it.
He had to agree with her caution. The pay for the coaxium job was extravagant, but given the danger involved, he supposed it was warranted.
"Can you imagine what good I could do with that kind of money?" she said, lowering her voice. "The people I could help, the survivors I could support…"
He knew who she meant by survivors, even though she deliberately used an ambiguous word, once again out of an abundance of caution. The Path. This mysterious organization that supposedly existed to help rogue Jedi. That familiar pain squeezed in his chest as he imagined her journey diverging from his. But he had to admit, there was also a warmth at the selflessness she demonstrated. She hadn't even considered using the money for herself.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
She'd sensed the swirl of his emotions. That seemed to happen with increasing frequency lately as their mental barriers thinned in each other's presence. He found himself able to read her feelings with similar clarity—except, of course, in regards to the more complicated aspects of their relationship.
He cleared his throat, leaning back in the booth and taking a sip of his caf. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking that we'd better not get ahead of ourselves. We have plenty to worry about before this delivery."
"You're right, of course," she said with a sigh. The straw in her fizzpop made a bubbling sound as she finished her drink. "We'll need to find a mechanic in Mos Eisley first thing tomorrow if we're going to have the Comet back here in three days."
"Which means we should get going," he agreed, leaving enough wupipi on the table to cover their meal and tip. "And we should pick up supplies while we're in town as well." He started to rise from the booth.
"Ben," she said, placing a hand over his. He stilled immediately at her touch. "Thank you. For coming with me.
He smiled, ignoring the leap of his pulse. "I am happy to assist."