You Get What You Pay For [WWFF]

[Jaxxy]

Every space port had begun to look the same. The exact same. Shuffling feet being herded on and off transports, the bustling noise of some excited travelers, some muted and bored voices of those of the business world; tired of the monotony of interstellar travel. The same computer terminal pings, the same droids, Hells, even the bars and their variety of ales started to taste the same. And always, always the hangover tasted the same. Like the bitter taste of treachery. The omnipresent thump in her head and constriction of chest that not even another glass of whiskey could cure her of. It was there as a reminder to her of her loss, and of the ticking clock.

Nar Shaddaa, Hutta, Ithor, Naboo, Falleen… She had been all over the Mid Rim, chasing useless leads as to the whereabouts of her stolen ship. It would seem that the Smokey Son had been seen pretty much everywhere by anyone with thought to fattening up their accounts. She had exhausted all avenues and had in equal parts cajoled and beaten information from her decreasing list of contacts. The closest she had come to the Smokey’s trail had been Naboo, but even there it had been too cold to follow. And so, back she came to Nar Shaddaa, back to the scene of the original crime.

Tyler hadn’t slept in days.

She fell backward on the bed with her limbs outstretched. Her body bounced, forcing a sharp exhale of breath. This was followed quickly by a deep groan, one almost loud enough to cover the chirping noise of the console built into the desk in the corner of the room. Slowly, and with reluctance she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at the origin of the soft, but insistent noise. She had a message.

She slid off the bed and dragged herself across the bedroom of her Duros Sector accommodations, swinging her arms and stomping her feet like a sulky teenager as she did so. A brief message flashed up on the communications panel beside the holo.

<<1 NEW MESSAGE>>
TEXT ONLY

“How positively lovely,” she muttered to herself as she accessed the text with a brush of her fingertip. She began to read, and the sardonic curl of her mouth began to fade. In fact, by completion of the message her jaw had very nearly hit the floor.

YOUNG CAPT. RENNES. APOLOGIES FOR LATENESS. SIGNAL MUST BE BOUNCED. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND IS A TRICKY ONE. HE HAS JUST UNCEREMONIOUSLY EJECTED ME FROM HIS CREW. BUT NOT BEFORE I MANAGED TO FIT A TRACKING DEVICE INGENUOUSLY. ATTACHED IS CURRENT LIVE LOCATION OF YOUR PRECIOUS CARGO.
NOW CONSIDER DEBT TO BOTH CAPTS. REPAID.
MM

Hardly daring to believe her luck, Tyler accessed the attached file and stepped back from the console. She stared for a few moments at the beautiful sight before her and, not taking her eyes from the display, she reached into her jacket pocket to remove her comlink.

“Get in here!”

The bark of her own command shook her from her reverie and she began to pace. The message was from Mora Mondak, of course, the tiny woman her father had nicknamed “The Muscle”. A part of his old crew, the late Captain Frash and Tyler herself had gotten Mora out of a sticky clinch or two back in the day. That was the debt she had referred to in her message. The “precious cargo” was of course the Smokey Son, her ship, and their “mutual friend” Tyler’s former second in command, Treedis. She had had no idea that Mora had been still on board the ship when he had taken it, she had assumed that Mora Mondak had lost herself somewhere on Nar Shaddaa after the mutiny, Tyler had even searched for her to enlist her help. But how wonderful that she had been, and how fortuitous that the salty smuggler was an honourable sort.

“Ty?” Came the voice of Pamel Oray from the living area. She stepped into his line of sight and waved him into the sleeping quarters. When he obliged she mutely pointed at the display panel. He studied it closely, in typical Pamel fashion, with the detached air of a man who has seen it all and is never surprised. But Tyler knew her father’s old mechanic and most trusted confidant well, and she noticed the expression of disbelief cloud his usually clear face. “Is that… Is it..?”

“What you think it is?” Tyler asked, now completely unable to keep a triumphant smile from her face. The news had well and truly sunk in to her sleep-deprived, whiskey-addled brain. “Too bloody hell right it is!” She stepped forward and tapped at the display. “We’ve got it, Pam. The Smokey’s location. And the thrice-damned Rodian who took it.”

“How can you be sure?” Pamel asked, back to his usual Pamel self.

“The intel is from Mora Mondak.” Tyler watched him slowly nod, and slowly start to grin. Or at least she knew it was a grin, it looked more like a grimace when Pamel did it. “It’s time to call upon those dangerous, underworld-y contacts you have, Mystery Man.” He rolled his eyes in response, but Tyler’s tone soon hardened. “We’re going to get the Smokey back. And we’re going to get Treedis. No mistakes this time, no room for error. We need a pro.”

The mechanic nodded again, this time sharply and only once, before exiting just as quietly as he had entered.

*

The Den of Equality Cantina & Casino was crowded, lively and dimly lit. It attracted a wide range of clientele; all denizens of the galaxy from all walks of life were welcomed. The management also, to quote, "radically" eschewed slavery, and so there were no collared dancing girls. Only holos of them.

As far as Tyler was concerned, it didn’t matter what so-called “policies” the management had, a cantina on Nar Shaddaa was still a potentially dangerous place, filled with potentially dangerous people. And where are my dangerous people? She mused to herself as she took in the scene before her. Random games of chance around tables took up most of the floor, with more private booths for the kinds of conversations one could not conduct at a Pazaak table lining the perimeter of the bar area. She opted for a booth.

While she waited for the scantily-clad waitress to appear she took the datapad containing the relevant information from the hidden pocket inside her jacket’s lining. She perused it, her foot tapping against the seat opposite in rhythm with the band.

[WWFF]

“Ma'am, a new contract has been issued, and a meeting requested.”

Kima's voice cut into Zero's dreamless sleep like a lightsaber through... well almost anything. She laid sprawled in a tangle of sheets lying at an angle on her stomach. Her legs and feet protruded at odd angles making it so that she was really only covered about her hips and left leg. Her face half buried in her pillow and half awake. The awake part folded into a grimace of discomfort. Not discomfort from sleep or positioning, just the normal discomfort of realizing that another day had started.

Life hadn't been too busy for Zero recently. She hadn't had a job in months in fact. Usually war was a good time for people in her trade, and some of her competitors were doing pretty, or so she'd heard. If truth was told, she just hadn't had much interest in any of the contracts out there. Had she grow complacent? Perhaps. But hunting a turncoat or a P.O.W. really only appeals to those who with some kind of investment in one side over the other, which clearly she didn't. Plus fighting trained soldiers in packs, guarding some ranking official who'd either lost faith in his own cause or was captured through blatant foolery didn't really fit her fancy. She was crazy, she knew but not dumb. Why get on either side's bad-side? No telling how this was all gonna pan out and in her line of work it was a little costly to be in bad standing with whichever regime was in charge. Sure there were some civilian contracts. Usually decent paying, but nothing that interested her.

Her green eyes opened slowly as she rolled over onto her back dragging the sheet with her covering her torso and breasts as she did, though that only increased the twist in the tangle. She closed her eyes and blinked hard to clear her vision before running her tongue along her lower lip. They were dry. She'd been on the Dioltas for weeks with the dry recycled air. All she could smell was stale cigarra smoke and the faint remnants of the Corelian whiskey she'd drank the night before. Not enough that she felt the effects today, just enough to entertain her last night. Or maybe it was this morning and tonight? Time wasn't really something she could keep track of in space.

She'd been in orbit above Umgul for some time now, going down to the planet for supplies occasionally, and to hear the gossip from Seemo, the Rodian bartender at the Loaded Krayt. It seemed ike it was always the same. Never really interesting and usually pertaining to the war. Though she did have to admit the fact that the Jedi were taking a neutral stance on this one was disconcerting. Why? It seemed to defy logic. The Republic the were “sworn” to protect in plunged face first in to war and ll or a sudden they're neutral. Didn't really surprise her that much just made her uneasy; but apparently both side had Jedi. Though the Sith liked to refer to theirs as Dark Lords, what ever that meant. Probably just something to strike fear into the general populous. They were most likely no different than those in the Order.

She sat up and slung her legs off the side of the bed and set about disentangling herself. “Pull it up for me, Kima.” Her voice was heavy with groggy sleep as she issued the order to the on board personality co-pilot system. It still amazed her that her ship could essentially think. It did make things easier, and definitely helped for long trips. While she didn't like people much she did occasionally like to talk to someone, or in this case something.

A moment after Zero had told Kima to open the contract it popped up on the screen adjacent her bedside. She began reading through the document as she stood and walked over to the small set of shelves which held her entire wardrobe.

New Message: 0098703
Recipient: Zero Gantori
Sender: Anonymous
Origin: Nar Shadda
Type: Text Only

This is a contract being offered to select few. Your services came highly recommended. The details will be discussed at meeting point on Nar Shaddaa, at the Den of Equality. My employer will meet you there in twenty-four GSH, alone at a booth in the back. We hope the necessity for cliché discretion is not lost on you, be assured the job is worth the trip. We look forward to your acceptance of the contract.

She slid her arms into the linen shirt which matched the pants she'd put on while reading the message. It was rather vague, but intriguing. Discretion meant danger – danger meant more money. Though there was something about it that rubbed her the wrong way. For starters she hated Nar Shadda. It reminded her too much of Klatooine, a planet she'd sworn to never return to under any circumstance. The whole corrupt feel of the place made her skin crawl; as detached as she was, some things don't heal.

“Should I send an acceptance of contract response, ma'am?” Kima's voice cut through Zero's thoughts. Zero's dull eyes darted about the room as her mind returned to the here and now. The shook her head and took a deep breath as she pulled the shirt over her head and let it fall down her torso as she dragged her long obsidian hair from the neck hole, letting it fall naturally before turning and grabbing her small cigarra tube. The metal canister felt empty, and was though she shook it for good measure before tossing it onto the tangle of sheets that comprised her bed.

“No, Kima.” She stated in her accented basic as she walked toward her gear and began sifting through the pouches on her utility belt until she found her cigarras. Three left... She thought before placing the butt end into her mouth and lighting it with the small torch she had pulled for her belt with the cigarra. She took a drag, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling. ...I need money.

“Just set a course for Nar Shadda, I'm gonna clean myself up a bit before I have to go to that polluted hunk of rock.” She took another drag as she leaned against the wall. How hard could it be?

* * *

Long strides carried her from the hanger bay she'd decided upon using. Relatively empty, the ship would be safe, and easy to find if there were some sort of trap. She had some enemies, and no friends, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that someone was simply setting a trap.

She'd seldom been happier to have her respirator, the air was visibly thick with pollution. She could nearly feel the stench of corruption as she walked through the streets. The HUD in her implants scanned the faces of those she passed, most criminals of some sort, though nothing terribly serious. And none with a bounty big enough for her to remember and come back for. The location Kima had uploaded to the GPS on her belt told her she wasn't too far from the cantina she was to meet this contractor at.

She found it interesting just how unheeded she was as she walked along. She felt that a bounty hunter would cause a bit more alarm from those around her. Though she figured a bounty hunter wasn't too uncommon for them to see walking the streets here. Perhaps most figured the slight looking woman in armor was little threat. The would be wrong of course, though her purpose wasn't any of them... she figured. She looked at the GPS again, turning a corner and almost immediately spotting the location. She placed the small pad back in the pouch on her belt where she stored it.

The sounds of a cantina poured out into the street. Mediocre music, drunken shouts of both enjoyment and anger (most likely gambling related), and occasional laughter. All the things she remembered for Klatooine, though as she entered the establishment the first thing she noticed was the lack of slave dancers. Oh, how nice. They don't use slaves... Just their holograms. She shook her head as she passed by a waitress wearing what could loosely be called an outfit and giving some sleeze a shot from between her breasts. It was places like this that renewed her lack of faith in galactic life.

It was then that she spotted what she assumed was her contractor. ...or his assistant. he thought to herself. It wasn't out of the ordinary to meet with an assistant before meeting the employer. A quick scan of the room told her there was no trap to be sprung by approaching the woman seated at a booth in the back. As she grew closer her implants read the woman's face, she was a smuggler. Tyler Rennes. She looked a bit young to have a record like hers for smuggling. Employer it is then.

Slow deliberate strides carried her to the booth, where she slid in across from the woman. Zero's eyes studied the woman. She was calm, strong willed by the look of her. Determined. The word ran through her mind as she looked into the woman's eyes. Perhaps this contract would more interesting than she initially anticipated.

“Who do you need brought in?” Zero' voice broke the momentary silence between them. “Dead or Alive? How much you willing to pay for 'em breathing and how much if I accidentally kill 'em?”

Zero's eyes shot up dangerously at an approaching waitress, who quickly thought of something better to do and turned abruptly. The green eyes moved back to the woman opposite her, taking on a somewhat listless look as she awaited the woman's response with a lifted eyebrow.