A Bird In The Hand

[Fromikeable]

All that could be heard aside from the occasional ruffling of papers and the constant movement of tiny metal parts was quick breathing and whispering...

"Two quarters south, one quarter east, one eighth south-west, three quarters east, nine sixteenths north-" And then a quick, sharp cycling of metal pieces, followed by a loud curse and the sound of something solid falling to the floor.

It had cut him. Again. Rase hated when it cut him. It made no sense why it would. It wasn't practical, it wasn't an effective deterrent. It didn't match the culture or the architecture. It didn't match anything in the books he'd checked. And he'd checked. Oh, hadn't he checked, over and over and over and over and over and... and...

... wait, where was he again? The last thing he remembered was punching a course into the navcomputer for Agamar. No, and Novus. Novus was somewhere. On the ship? Uh... he squinted where he sat, it suddenly occurring to him as well that he was on the floor of his study. Yes, Novus was on the ship. He remembered seeing white hair pass by the door once as he'd been checking. Oh yes, he remembered. That had been the seventh damn time he'd checked.

How had he gotten on the floor? Let's see... after checking and checking and checking some more, he'd gotten another book from the shelf. Then another two. Then ten more, plus his notes. By the point he'd abandoned the useless things and began scribbling out hasty ideas and rough scribblings on actual spare paper, half of his books were either on the floor or otherwise out of their proper place. By the time he'd abandoned the paper, there was very little carpet left to be seen. In the course of a few days, the study had gone from a library to the scene of a tornado.

And yet, that stupid, wonderful, awful, precious... that thing still refused to open. It was a bronze orb about the size of a basketball; one of the treasures he and Novus had fished out of Yavin IV. It appeared to be a giant, spherical puzzle cube; it was composed of numerous divisions that formed numerous small scales, each sporting one of an array of symbols clearly older than the dirt they'd been washed of. Each section could be rotated to and fro, up and down, left and right. Rase had deduced rather quickly that it was a sort of bittersweet ancient security system that robbed the robber of its contents.

After all, in it sat a Sith holocron unseen for half a millennium. Even if it was lost, the owners surely hadn't wanted their secrets so easily pried open.

... This time. Crimson fingers, covered in cuts fresh and healing, quickly grabbed up the sphere again, setting it in the lap of a Zeltron clothed only in pants and an undershirt. The digits began to revolve the parts once more. "Nonononono, start west. Wrong coordinates, west... one quarter west, one quarter north west, one quarter east, three eighths south-east-"

The sphere's columns and rows quickly swiveled back to their starting positions. Out of the crevices between them all came a few sharp points, which zipped through the air immediately about the sphere quickly enough to induce another small slice on Rase's thumb, making him literally drop the ball again and utter a simple reaction.

"Banthash*t!" Flaring his teeth and flinging all of the papers in his lap to either side, the Zeltron stormed out of the study to the kitchen down the hall, uncharacteristically paying no regard as to if his guest was about or not. Turning on the sink and placing his new cut under the running water, he continued to murmur to himself absentmindedly, his eyes vaguely focused on the corner of the basin rather than his wound.

"Needed to start west, then north... no north-west, only south-west... tried south-west seventh, needs to be third then fifth... not east."

[Squee]

She wanted a cigarette. Shifting her weight, Nezda leaned hard on the wall, eyes resting on the opening of the ship. She braced her foot on the wall under her, accidentally scuffing the box on the floor as she did so. Scouting and observing was always such dreadful, dull work. A cigarette was at least moderately busy – something to do with the hands and lips. She’d been standing here the past twenty minutes, expecting to see someone by now. Well, someone important.

There’d been a single potentially important person – a dock manager, or master, or someone with some pseudo important title. He’d stayed enough time to glance at the ship and turn on his heel. He didn’t even glance at her. Nezda didn’t believe the man had seen her. So the manager was aloof and hidden in his own thoughts. Made her job even easier.

Then lesser important people showed. Such as the pair of giggly girls, obviously up to no good and nothing decent, kissing and touching each other wildly until they notice their smoky observer. With nervous, high pitched giggles and awkward coughing, they had inched past her and left. They were likely never to speak of the encounter, Nezda guessed, judging by the deepness of their blushing.

In fact, universities, Nezda concluded, were teeming with idiotic personages who thought themselves so profound and intelligent. Stuffy nosed professors were no better than politicians. Their chins were tilted so high up that Nezda could unfortunately count every booger in their flaring with self-righteousness nostrils. What baffoons. Never known a day of real work in their lives. Only known how to teach children with the bodies of adults in an overgrown, overpriced daycare center.

Apparently made lots of money too. Nezda doubted Bluejay could truly produce the figure he’d promised her on his own, unless he was also a pirate smuggling drugs on the side. No matter. Nezda would ensure she as paid what was promised to her.

A faint sigh through the nose and Nezda unfolded her arms to pick up her box. She strolled to the bottom of the ramp and paused, staring into the open mouth. When no one materialized to challenge her, Nezda eased her way forward. Her soft, suede soles made her steps silent but slippery. Out of habit, she reached to loosen her blaster pistol from its holster. Her fingers grasped at empty air, a rude and startling reminder that she had needed to leave it with her ship. The university would not have taken kindly to such an open carry.

Controlling another sigh, Nezda moved silently deeper into the ship. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. An uneasy feeling tingled her skin and Nezda frowned. There was muttering ahead, but she wasn’t certain the murmuring is what drove a chill down her spine.

“Banthash*t!” The vehement curse snapped her focus into attention. Halting, Nezda paused as she saw the fleeing back of a red man. The soon to be victim, no doubt. Wasting no time, she slid into the room he’d come from.

Nezda could feel goosebumps rush over her skin. The room was a disaster, as if it had been cased by burglars in a hurry. She suppressed a groan in the back of her throat at the mess. She hated mess – it was chaotic and, by the stars, how did the man even know where to find anything? Every paper was a safe tile in the land mine of books, so long as she didn’t wrinkle or skid them.

It was there before her. An inanimate, stupid round ball with ominous impression. The gooseflesh kept her skin drawn tight, forcing an involuntary shiver. She rested the box on the desk. Wrinkling her nose, Nezda lifted it and twisted it in her hands, examining all its tracks. Did it open? Blood streaked it, she realized, much to her disgust, and she wiped her hand casually on her leg.

Scribbles of lists of directions were on the scattered papers. Nezda cocked a paper on the desk toward her, one ear listening to the muttering mad man just down the hall. Just scanning it, Nezda could pick no sense of pattern from this one paper, abused with poor handwriting, furious cross-outs, and a blotch of blood.

It was probably time to leave now. Quietly as she could, Nezda opened the lid of her box and placed the round thing in it. Slowly pivoting in place, Nezda carefully made her way back over the scuffle of books and papers. Checking once down the hall where the man had gone, Nezda turned outward, hands gently holding the edges of the box with “For Delivery” printed on the side.

[Meira]

"Say it again."

Ximo smiled. He was leaning against a wall, arm propped up over his head as he leaned in close to the girl. She was looking up at him, mouth hanging open just slightly in anticipation. "Àrees marcades en groc són per carregar i descarregar només." he said, allowing the syllables to roll off his tongue in the liquid melody that was Humani. Never mind that he was simply translating a sign just over her head.

The girl had shown up a couple of hours earlier. Nezda had docked the ship in a small, unassuming dockyard not too far from a university and gone off to do her work. She hadn't told Ximo much about what she was doing or where she was going; just that she was hired to pick something up and deliver it to the contractor. As far as Ximo was concerned, that's all he needed to know. It afforded him more time to fine tune the ship.

In this he was most thoroughly engaged, when the girl had shown up. She was Wroonian, a species Ximo had seen once before and always found intriguing. And that sentiment had apparently been shared. She'd lingered around the entrance to the docking bay long enough for him to notice her, and the two had played the game of barely catching eyes while he fine-tuned the ship's main exhaust valve. When he'd finished, he approached her, asking if she might know of a good place to grab a drink.

Several drinks later, they'd meandered back to the docking bay and Ximo was trying to weigh the pros and cons of Nezda catching him with a strange girl on the ship. After remembering the way she'd handled those Hydra thugs when they first met, Ximo was reluctantly trying to keep himself from getting on her bad side. So he hadn't invited the girl aboard, but that didn't mean he couldn't let her keep him company out here. Nezda didn't own the docks, after all.

"So, when are you gonna invite me onto your ship?" the girl asked, tracing a finger along the lines of his band tattoos. Ximo chuckled, but more from pained reluctance than humor.

"Is not my ship, nena blava." he said, tucking a strand of her purple-black hair behind her ear. The girl seemed disappointed, and so was he. When she asked if he'd like to come see her place, he all but cursed Nezda to the shores of Gol. "No nena." he said, though it physically hurt him to form the words. "I must stay with la nau." he gestured toward the ship. The girl sighed and Ximo glanced around for anything that might salvage the situation. The best he could spot was a dark alcove just inside of the entrance to the bay.

"Vine amb mi." he said, taking her hand and pulling gently to see if she'd follow. She hesitated. "No et preocupis." he said, flashing her his winning smile and gesturing toward the alcove. She smiled shyly and took a step toward him. "Bona xica." he continued, and she bit her lip to stop a giggle. The two of them faded into the shadow of the alcove, Ximo hoping that Nezda took her time.

[Neology]

The NZT-331 sat down gently, the whine of it's engines trailing down to an abrupt hush. Novus lingered in her station chair, peering up at the night sky, watching the mechanical shutters slide home. Frowning, she shook her head and glanced away, taking up the datapad that rested in the seat next to her. For the fourth or fifth time, she called up Dr. Hyul's message, the one that had summoned her here.

It was … Bizarre, to say the least, and yet it had every other sign of being genuine. The point of origin was his ship, sent several days ago on a frequency only he knew to contact her on. Trepidation coiled in her breast, a vexation in it's own right. She had meant this to be a moment of triumph, the culmination of months of work.

Had she been found out? Had someone gotten to Rase? The doctor had proven himself surprisingly resourceful on Yavin IV, but … Novus exhaled in a rush, a short, derisive sound. The datapad vanished into her handbag as she stood, marching her way to her ship's exit ramp.

Novus stepped into the long hallway between hangers, adjusting the fall of her long, rill scale coat until she was satisfied that the garment hid her saber hilts. As she walked, she glanced side to side, blinking at the numbers by each hanger door. Was it S-27 or S-72?

A feminine giggle stopped her where she stood. Slowly, the Sith pivoted in that direction, mindful of the doctor's reputation.

“Rase?” If you've wasted my time, I swear ... Venturing closer, Novus peeked around the corner, blinking as her eyes adjusted. “Oh. I'm was uh ... looking for someone else. Excuse me.” Shaking her head, the Arkanian retreated, an awkward walk-run that made her flats tap loudly with each step.

A few more minutes of searching brought her to the right hanger at last. Novus slowed down at the base of the ramp, glancing around, feeling for an ambush. Nothing. She climbed the stairs.

And stopped just inside. Something felt wrong, a psychic backlash that filled her mouth with the coppery tang of blood. She coughed into her hands, surprised to see her fingers come away clean. Distantly, she picked out the sound of running water.

“Rase? Where the hell are you?”

[Fromikeable]

It wasn't entirely clear to him how long he'd just stood there, his hands beginning to prune under what was now cold water, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he simply murmured, whispering directions... "... one half south, one half east, one half south, one half south-east..." He was only drawn out of the minor trance when his hands began to feel the burn of bloodloss, the cold water threatening to freeze them off lest they be removed. Simply removing them from the sink, he stared at it for another few seconds.

... why wasn't he in his study? He should be in his study. Go to the study!

Bare crimson feet tread with urgency as he murmured his way down the hallway, his cut-covered crimson hands still dripping with water. The hallway felt particularly empty, most due to the fact that as far as he was concerned, it was baren. There were no artifacts. There was no art. There was no decorum.

There was just that abominable, irresistible sphere on the floor where he'd dropped it. He shouldn't have dropped it. It should be in his hands. He had the combination this time, he knew it.

And so he passed through the hall down to the door of his study. Oh look, there was Novus. Lovely.

Ducking into the room, he paused... and nearly screamed.

In a flash, he was tearing up the study even further than it already was torn, descending the room further into chaos as he searched frantically. He threw up every piece of paper, lifted and tossed about every single book. Were he of normal thought, the notion of him handling such ancient tomes so carelessly would have made him cringe, but this was not normal. Oh no no no nonononono NO. It couldn't be gone. Where had he dropped it?! It simply must've rolled. Under the bookcase? No, the bookcase was installed into the wall, right? Right?! Check anyway!

After trying and failing to lift the bookcase, he dashed back out of the door, his undershirt skewed, showing off a few stains of blood, while his pants threatened to drop off completely, clearly covered in a few more cuts that his legs had suffered.

Novus. Novus! Running over to her, he inspected her closely, lifting her arms and putting his eyes within a few centimeters of her body, as if he was a baboon checking her for ticks to eat. Was she hiding it? Did she put it somewhere?! Did she carve out an alcove in her flesh?! You could move organs around, and skin could stretch!

"Where is it?!" His normally rich, deep, suave voice sounded cracked and awkward, as if someone had taken the audible chocolate and thrown it in a pot with pure asbestos, then made him eat it.

"No no no no, you don't have it, don't have it, it's gone, it's, it's..." He flashed his teeth and hissed after checking her, holding no reservations and looking EVERYWHERE in the blink of an eye. She didn't have it. No, she wouldn't want it gone. It had rolled somewhere. He had never been in his study. It was somewhere else. Someone else ha-

... someone else has it. He stood with a dazed expression, his sanity attempting to reel in his muddled conscious mind long enough to sort out what he knew.

[Squee]

The walk back to the ship was spectacularly uneventful. This job had been so easy! No fibbing, no real dodging and hiding, no one in her way, no one with an expectation of her presence. Just a bumbling, mumbling professor who had no skills in observation. Now to deliver the sinister thing. Easy credits and it would become someone else’s problem.

Entering the hangar, Nezda smiled at her sleek ship, awaiting her arrival. “Ximo! Is la nau –“ She stopped speaking when she heard a surprised squeak behind her. Turning sharply, Nezda’s hand reached for her blaster… that wasn’t on her hip. She’d left it on the ship, so as not to attract attention from university attendees. The box dropped with a “whomp” on the ramp. Her hand tightened into a fist, the bones of her knuckles turning white. She advanced slowly toward the alcove, partially obscured by some boxes – the only likely hiding place. “Ximo? Answer me so I know you’re okay –“

Peering over the short wall of boxes, all concern for Ximo’s well-being fled from her. Fury squeezed tightly within her chest. Her face flushed with anger, turning dark gray skin almost black. She fixated on the Wroonian woman. “Out.” The single word forced its way slowly from thin lips.

In a skittering flurry, the young woman tried to inch past Nezda. But the furious vahla impulsively decided the blue broad wasn’t moving fast enough. Stepping up behind her, Nezda grasped and painfully twisted the arm of the half-dressed Wroonian. She pitched a high squeal, much to Nezda’s satisfaction. “Get you back to the streets, whore,” she snarled in the Wroonian’s ear.

Tossing her beyond the hangar door, Nezda pivoted. Searing lavender eyes glared at Ximo. “Young, stupid blue Wroonian girls are your fracking favorite, are they?” she seethed. “Well the only blue thing allowed around here are your balls! I hope for your sake the ship is ready to go!”

Nezda stiffly turned her back, not wanting to look at him. “Freaking me out,” she said. “Making me think something bad’s happened to you. No! Just frolicking on the job!” The knot of anger and jealousy was suspended heavily in her chest. From the neck up, she felt hot. “Didn’t have enough grease herself, did she?” Nezda paused long enough to yank up the box, making its round content jostle.

“I’m prettier than her anyhow!” Nezda said, loudly, without turning around. Though a part of her knew she was saying it more for her sake. She continued, “Get on the fracking ship! We’re leaving!”

The stomp of her feet made a clamor within the ship. Her anger continued to pulse, and a sneer curled her lip as she thought of the Wroonian. A Wroonian! Of all damn species! Throwing the box down again just outside the tiny cockpit, Nezda leaned around the pilot’s chair to begin firing the engines. “If you’re not on the ship, you can go find your Wroonian wench! Betcha she doesn’t have a ship like mine!

"Hell, I wonder if she knows her alphabet! Did she know any Humani, hmm? I’d bet you this next income she didn’t!”

[Meira]

In the darkness of the alcove, the Wroonian girl's shyness abated slightly. He stood closer, right up against her, and she leaned her weight back into him. Brushing aside her dark hair, Ximo lowered his mouth to her ear. His lips barely grazed her skin as he whispered to her in his native language. It was all gibberish; a nursery rhyme he remembered from his childhood, the classification of Nezda's ship and some of the engine specs. It didn't matter what he said, so long as he said it with the purr of Humani. The girl was eating it up.

“Rase?”

Ximo glanced up to see the strange woman who'd stopped and was obviously rattled at having stumbled upon them. The Wroonian girl froze, but Ximo rubbed her back reassuringly as he gave the stranger a crooked smile.

“Oh. I'm was uh ... looking for someone else. Excuse me.”

Amused, Ximo couldn't help but give the woman a wink as she turned away. She disappeared from sight and from mind, and Ximo turned back to more... pressing matters.

---

"Sí, xica. No te deixeu-"

“Ximo! Is la nau –“

They both froze, not even breathing. Ximo knew the voice immediately and also knew that things could not end well now. When he heard the thud of something on the ramp, he cursed under his breath and began to struggle with his clothing. It took a moment for the Wroonian girl to catch on, but she too quickly scrambled to dress.

“Ximo? Answer me so I know you’re okay –“

"Ah... Sí! Sí, Nuvi. Esperi un moment..."

Nezda's face came into view and Ximo witnessed the rapid transformation there from concern to outrage. The single word she spoke to the Wroonian was like ice in the air and was obeyed. Ximo tried to maneuver himself between her and Nezda, but Nezda was faster.

"Ey!" Ximo exclaimed as he zipped up the front of his jumpsuit and dashed toward the two women. The Wroonian stumbled when Nezda shoved her out and Ximo moved immediately to her side to help her back to her feet. Nezda turned back, her shouted words causing the Humani man to turn his eyebrows up in offended confusion. She left him no room to respond, however, and turned to walk away.

Ximo offered the Wroonian his hand and she took it, only to slap him hard across the face once she'd come to her feet. His mouth fell slack as his head flew to the side with the force of her blow. She too had some choice words for him before turning away, retreating with what dignity she might still have.

The two women walked in different directions, but there was no hesitation as to who to follow. As soon as the world stopped spinning around him, Ximo jogged toward the ship, as she disappeared inside of it. Her words were not lost though, and Ximo entered the ship, but stayed out of her way as she banged around. He raised the ramp and stood, patiently as she raved. He couldn't get a word in edgewise with her.

Where had this come from? Sure, he'd flirted with Nezda, but that wasn't exactly an exclusive thing. Well, it had been while they traveled, but there was no one else on the ship. What was he supposed to do? Sighing, Ximo ran a hand through his his hair, now loose from... It took a great deal of effort to stop the chuckle that threatened to spill out of him. She passed him, rambling on about the Wroonian's questionable intellect.

"Suficient!" he shouted, grabbing her by both shoulders and turning her around to face him. She'd caught him off guard and startled him with the explosive force of her anger, but he'd really had enough. "Què vols de mi? eh?" he shook her a little as he spoke. "Am I belonging to you? I did not know this." He released, turning away.

"La gelosia fan una dona lletja" he grumbled, shaking his head. Turning back, he held out his arms, then let them fall back to his sides with a thwack. "Què desitges? Ho sento?... Perdona?... Què?"

[Neology]

Counting off the seconds in her head, Novus took several steps further in, through the showroom and into the hall. The bizarre malevolence faded gradually from her senses, though the scent of blood stayed with her. She covered ground with a measure of caution, taking a quick look around. All of the doctor's fancy trinkets appeared undisturbed, a personal fortune beyond easy estimation. Reckless. Ostentatious. She still thought he'd do better with replicas here, store the originals someplace less likely to get shot at.

Fifty-eight … Fifty-nine ... Well, modesty be damned. She started down the hall.

“Rase!”

As if on command, the zeltron darted across her path and disappeared through the large double doors of his study. He barely seemed to spare her a backward glance. She blinked, watching him go, loose trousers and dirty undershirt confirming that yes, the good doctor was certainly not well. She'd seen him in a thousand-credit suit and in nothing at all; she thought he'd rather be caught dead than host in dirty lounge wear. Frowning, Novus followed him to the doorway and winced at the sight beyond.

Those poor books ... He tore through his collection as she watched, mumbling frantically to himself. She didn't think to stop him until he turned on her.

”Where is it?! Novus scowled at his hoarse demand, color rising to her pale cheeks. His hands came up, reaching for her. She grabbed for his wrist, attempting to keep the zeltron at arms length, swearing as he actually hissed at her.

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about! What's missing?!”

Oh. Oh. It. The Sphere from the heart Naga Sadow's temple. The prize of their expedition. Her prize, her key. Dread and fury rose within her, twin serpents coiled tight around her lungs, forcing out a shaky breath. Her features set, concern turning to ice and steel.

“I swear, Hyul, whatever's wrong with you better not be permanent. It'd feel wrong to murder a madman.” She leveraged her grip on his arm, pushing him down.

“Think, damnit. What happened? How long ago?”

[Fromikeable]

Odd. The air seemed a little less thick. The room seemed a little less cramped. His body felt a little more alive… particularly his arm, which was straining a bit under the armbar Novus had put him in. Blinking a bit, Rase was gradually becoming aware of a few more apparent ideas that had, in retrospect, seemed rather nebulous for the last few days.

Wait… no, not days. Weeks. He’d been in his ship for at least two weeks. Probably the better part of three.

... and this is Agamar. Yes, he remembered landing. He even remembered having a chat with the dean over the comm as the ship had landed. They were supposed to have gone out to dinner the following night.

... what an insidious little puzzle sphere. His arm ceased resisting Novus’s grip, relaxing and managing to slip out of her hold slowly and calmly. The doctor took another second to breathe before standing up straight, looking down at himself and his bloody, torn, barely-passable clothing.

”... I do apologize, dear Novus. I appear to have grossly underestimated the effect of this… artifact.” A deep clearing of his throat and a light cough was it all it took for his voice to go from its previously manic mumble to its normal deep, rich tone. His posture returned to its regular volume of poise, and his eyes, though still a bit bloodshot and now sporting deep, dark bags beneath them, seemed to reclaim some of their sharpness.

Dr. Hyul had returned to the building. Sadly, it seemed he was a minute too late.

”As for where it has gone… I cannot say. I had just left it moments ago in a bid to wash my newest array of injuries.” He held up his palms; the myriad of red cuts was difficult to distinguish against his crimson skin, save for a small bit of swelling.

”More likely than not, however, it has been taken.” He looked around at his study. It was difficult to distinguish any damage to the room beyond the absolute catastrophe he had unleashed upon it himself (his poor books), but he saw no signs of forced entry, no drawers left to hang open or signs of ransacking (beyond those he could account himself for, anyway), and generally a lack of foul play.

By his deduction, for whatever it was good for, someone had simply waltzed in and taken it. Considering that the ramp had been down for days and he hadn’t been able to remember his name let alone lock a door, that seemed pitifully likely.

Beyond both of those? Well, one didn't land in an unlocked ship with an object that had given the entire Jedi Order pause and panic and expect ones claim to proprietorship to go uncontested. Especially among academics.

”Straight out the front door, by my reasoning. Ergo, our first priority immediately becomes forensics and pursuit. We may handle chastisement, apologies, explanations, and theories later.” He was sure she had much of the first, and he was beginning to form a few of the latter.

”If you’ll kindly look around the loading ramp for a trail, I will join you in three minutes.” And if Rase had learned anything in the span of his lifetime, it was how to be dressed and out the door in three minutes.

[Squee]

”Suficient!”

“Suficient!?” Nezda repeated with heat. She twisted her shoulders against his hands, resisting the impulse to break his wrists. “I think I’ll decide that for myself! And remove your hands!”

She’d heard what he said. Drawing breath, her mind raced, trying to translate and come up with further insults at the same time. However, she still only knew few Humani phrases. Something about women, something about wanting, sorry, excuses… but Nezda had no response for him.

The only thing she could conjure was an angry hiss between tight teeth – a sharp “sssst!” Nezda jerked away as he let go, her movements edged. “Don’t bother.” Stooping, she picked up the box and then rolled her weight onto her heels until she sat heavily in the pilot’s chair. Kicking off, she spun to face the console, box safely in her lap.

Her bare fingertips stroked the top of the box as she examined the ship’s readouts before her. The ship had been awakened, its soft vibration felt through her chair. “Suficient…” Nezda muttered to herself, sounding quite like a pouting child in her corner. Exhaling a snort, she cracked the lid off the box and tossed it behind her.

Within lay the ugly round thing. She grazed the surface with fingers before lifting it out to eye level. Twisting it, she could see the splotches of dried blood stuck to its surface. Did it require a sacrifice? What was with the blood? Fiddling briefly, she discovered the surface moved along a set of tracks.

The light alerting her the ship was prepared to fly turned on. Nezda surveyed her round object with curiosity. Pushing with a thumb, she slid one track until it stopped and held place. Choosing another, she slowly slid the piece along its path. It clicked and held place. Once again, she chose another…

It clicked, then clacked. Nezda yelped sharply as hot pain slashed the mound of her thumb, startled, and she dropped the round object, which rolled away. Unladylike curses tumbled from her lips, a string of vile, mismatched words in Basic, Vahla, and Huttese. Quickly, she’d stood and started for the nearest refresher. The cut smarted and blue blood dribbled over her wrist.

“Witchcraft and… wizardry,” she hissed, viewing the cut under running water. It had caught her rather well – it was still oozing blood. With an angry noise, Nezda turned off the water and tightly wrapped a towel around it to apply pressure.

“That’s what all the directions were about. Dammit, that’s what they meant. No wonder her was mad,” she prattled on, more to herself. “Which way were they? What was he saying? No.” Seeing the object again, Nezda ceased talking suddenly. “No. It’s sorcery. It has to be. No wonder if feels so wrong. It’s because it is wrong. Dark and selfish. It wants to keep its secrets.

“Let it. And get it off the ship as fast as possible.”

[Meira]

She'd turned away, denying him a response. Ximo threw his arms up in exasperation, a sound of resigned frustration coming from his lips as he too turned away. He stalked into the small quarters that he occupied, slamming his palm against the door control; first to open, and then to close the door behind him. Collapsing onto the bunk, he grumbled a few more choice thoughts in Humani.

He laid there for some time, muscles still tense in agitation. She was completely in the wrong, anyone could see that. He repeated this to himself over and over, the wording of his thoughts changing at times, but the general logic of it remained the same. She had no claim on him, nor he on her. A work agreement was hardly a vow for his affections. No, she was being ridiculous.

"Ressentida." he growled. But his anger was taking a turn. He was just as upset as he'd been before, sure that she had not right to speak to him as she had. But he was now equally angry at himself for allowing such stupidity to rouse him as well. He was hot with frustration, and no need for it. At first he thought that it'd been the sheer rudeness of how she'd spoken, both of him and the Wroonian woman who'd had no part in any of it, nor did she deserve blame. If there was any blame... -if-... then it certainly did not belong to a stranger. But why had he angered? She'd insulted him, sure, but nothing that wouldn't have made him laugh before. Ximo was proud, but he was not so self centered that such words should have truly bothered him. Not from a stranger, at least.

And wasn't she just that? He sighed, running his hands through his hair and over his face. He'd only known Nezda for a short time. So why did he care at all what she thought of him?

Before he could riddle this out, He heard her voice rise in pain and the sound of something hitting the ground. Instantly, Ximo was on his feet, blaster drawn from his boot. He opened his door and stepped into the short corridor just in time to see Nezda disappear into the refresher. There was no other movement on the ship and the only thing out of place that he could see was some spherical object on the floor. He moved forward, tucking his small blaster back into its place in his boot, and approached the door to the refresher.

It was not closed, and Nezda was within. He could hear water running and her voice as she grumbled. He only caught a few words over the rush of water. But what he did hear, caused him to freeze in his tracks. Witchcraft? The water cut off, but Nezda kept speaking. His eyes moved back to the round object on the ground. Looking more closely, he could see the blood on the surface.

"Santi ens protegeixen." he murmured, grasping the crystal that he wore about his neck. He turned, stepping into the doorway of the refresher. Nezda was clutching her hand with a towel and still talking, but he couldn't quite hear what she said. Here eyes seemed distant and he stepped toward her. "Nezda," he said, his voice guarded. "What have you invited onto this ship?" He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The estrani were fools with their homes, careless. He should have taken his own precautions when he agreed to come aboard, but had felt it wasn't his place. Now, seeing the look in Nezda's eyes had him regretting his hesitancy.

[Neology]

“Yes, you have.” Novus growled in sharp agreement, ignoring the apology, blue eyes narrowed to angry slits. Dr. Hyul changed before her very eyes, familiar mannerisms reasserting themselves, a careful veil of composure. A bizarre transformation, unnerving in its completeness. Utterly unnatural, though she hadn't any doubt. Her hand hang in the air a moment as he slipped out of her grasp, then waved to the side. The Force rushed around her, rattling precious objects in their glass prisons until one, a large vase, came free. It shattered as it hit the floor, a thousand worthless pieces. The sound was deeply satisfying in a way that Rase's outward calm was not.

“Taken.” She echoed, lips compressing into a bloodless frown. “From your ship. While you were in the refresher.” If not for his strange behavior, she would never have believed that. Still, her gaze flicked to his hands, taking in the darker red core of the lacerated flesh and the paler edges where the skin had taken in too much water. Would he have done that to himself, just to sell a terrible lie? She doubted it.

So, not willful betrayal but something else. A mistake; that was almost worse. Was the leak on her end, or his? If her's, where exactly had she slipped up? The possibilities were as deadly as they were distasteful.

“My ship is in hanger G-12. Meet me there.” The Sith turned on her heel, pulling gloves out of her pockets and sliding them on. At the ramp, she paused, activating the stealth field generator hidden beneath her coat. There were cameras in each hanger and in the connecting hallways – she'd found that out during her initial research on Dr. Hyul. If she could get a copy of that footage they could identify their thief.

Easy, in theory. Novus made her way to the security office, slowly, resisting the urge to run and ruin the generator's effect. Two minutes, wasted ... Well, the doctor could wait.

The office door was slightly ajar, revealing a slice of the room beyond. Dark, save for the pale artificial glare of a dozen vid-screens. A woman of early middle age sat at the wide console, attention focused on her datapad. Her surface thoughts were idle, boredom and the beginnings of hunger. Novus pushed. A few seconds later, the woman got up and left, muttering something about 'lunch' into her radio, neglecting to even lock the door behind her. Novus slipped in, ejecting memory cards and slipping them into her pocket. That done, she made straight for her hanger.

[Fromikeable]

Rase couldn’t help but blink as he heard the sharp, twinkling sounds of history being destroyed. He hid his cringe expertly, as if he was only reacting to the sound and nothing more. Silently, however, he mourned; that had been an ancient Zelosian urn meant to contain the ashes of the Doge of Impea. It and the rest of its set (crafted by a half blind heir in his late 60’s who never ascended to the role of patriarch, branding him a great shame to the family) had been lost during a voyage, very nearly causing a civil war as rumors and guesswork tried to ascertain what had become of them. Rase himself had been among those who had dived off the coast of Bryndas to the wreck, picking the urns out of the husks that had been mangled by what was hypothesized to be a major storm.

The majority of them had been distributed among the universities to be studied, and then admitted to museums. A few were given to donors of the dig as thanks. One had gone missing, as if it had never been on the ship at all…

… and now it lay on the floor in more pieces than its collector cared to count.

Novus exited with a simple command. For a moment, the Zeltron listened to her leave. For the next few moments, he stared at the decimated relic. Then for a half a moment, his brutalized hands.

Something didn’t sit right. Wasn’t he better than this? He began briskly walking to his room, opening the luxurious wooden doors quickly and darting into his closet, stripping as he went. How had he not recognized a torture device when he saw one? They were ordinarily so easy to discern; symbols not found anywhere else (not even in their location of origin), mechanisms that held no pattern whatsoever, and designs impractical for security or the technology of the time. Child’s play, practically. And yes, he’d underestimated the power of the holocron within; their capabilities were ill-recorded and varied.

But still… he had a bad feeling about this.

In a moment, he was stepping out of his closet, dressed in khakis, a plain shirt, and his hat, rolling up his sleeves. As he keyed in a code (the date of the Great Seduction on Zeltros; 65/19/67/321, as per the calendar of the age), the concealed armory in his room swung open, allowing him to grab his revolvers and his belt, quickly throwing on both.

He check his watch. A minute to go.

Walking briskly down the ramp of his ship, he closed it and began bee-lining for Hangar 12. His mind silently tumbled the facts over and over, including everything that came to light about the sphere now that its nature was revealed.

He nearly tripped over the sobbing Wroonian girl in the hallway.

”Ms. Corvte? What in the heavens has you in such a state at such a time?” His voice swooned with richness; he recognized this poor girl. She was a graduate student that had attended a multitude of his lectures at the university. A moment’s recollection also recalled that she’d found herself educated on rather more than history, as well…

A moment’s conversation, a few warm condolences, and a gentle back rub quickly got her half-sobbing, half-explaining. Another moment’s reassurance and a few slick smiles ended the encounter with a hug, a sweet peck of gratitude, and her journeying back toward the dorms.

A final moment’s walk to the hangar had him waiting outside of the Sith Lady’s ship, leaning him against its side as he half ruminated, half observed its owner returning to him.

He asked half jokingly with his signature grin, his voice fully resettled in its suave tone. ”I don’t suppose our culprit was a rather aroused Humani playboy with a Vahla girlfriend, was he?”

[Squee]

“Nezda.”

“What?” she tried not to sound cold. She was still mad at him, but the few moments apart from him had helped her rational state of mind return just enough to push down the swell of anger. Nezda looked at him, standing in the doorway. He seemed quite perturbed. Twisting her hand tightly over her towel bandaged wound, she bit her lip as Ximo asked his question. Uh oh.

Witchcraft. I called it witchcraft. Sorcery. He heard me. Dammit. Though Nezda wasn’t quite certain she was wrong. It was an ominous round ball, after all. Looking at it made her spine chilly. Where she had initially thought the sensation was from the temperature of the victim’s ship, Nezda was pretty sure it wasn’t the case.

Still. Uh oh.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s…” she started, her eyes flicking to see if there was a way to inch past him. He had her trapped in the refresher. “Iiiiiit’s… well,” Nezda breathed a quick sigh. Smiling uneasily, she met his gaze. “It’s a thing,” she stated definitively, as if that would absolve all mystery.

“And iiiiit’s… worth a lot of money?” Nezda continued, attempting to offer an explanation upon the change in his expression. She massaged her palm in the wrong direction. Hissing in brief pain, Nezda unwrapped her hand, observing the blue line. Sometimes hand wounds bled just to bleed. Dropping the towel in the sink, she rummaged for a more appropriate bandage.

“It cut me, is all. What I get for playing with strange objects. The tracks must arrange in some sort of pattern, making it open.” As usual, Nezda was talking around the crux of the issue, while deciding how much to divulge. Faint streaks of blood were getting on the bandages she was unrolling. “I don’t know what it is, Ximo. All I know is I was paid very heavily in advance, told it was incredibly important to the employer.

“But,” the word was muffled as tried to tear the bandage with her teeth. He was waiting. He always did, for all the information. Gamblers knew. Gamblers always knew there was more. Damn them. “What’s the Force in your culture, Ximo? Flun? Flot?” Carefully, Nezda moved past him and picked up the object with a faint inhale. Her arms prickled. But from her suspicions, Ximo’s wariness, or the object itself? “I think it’s infused. I’m not trained.” A clean, damp cloth in hand, Nezda wiped the blood away from the old, haunting surface. “But sometimes… I can… feel.”

Nezda stared at the object in her hands, eyeballing the tracks. The nails of her wounded hand ticked the surface. “And I don’t think it’s the good kind. Darkness. Pride. Daring. To risk of my fingers…” Turning, Nezda dropped it back in its box. The wound stung as she placed fisted hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. Was it influencing her? Was she more susceptible now that her blood had been spilled?

“La nau is safe to fly, yes? Do you want to fly her?”

[Meira]

She hesitated. Ximo wasn't so familiar with Nezda that he could read her face and know her thoughts word for word. But he knew her well enough to know that she was a straightforward kind of person. She didn't shy away from sensitive subjects -at least none that they'd come to yet in casual conversation- so to see her looking between him and the refresher doorway like a trapped animal was enough to tell Ximo that there was definitely something going on here. His hands rested on his hips as he waited for her explanation, concerned curiosity evident on his features.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s… Iiiiiit’s… well, It’s a thing,”

"Si." he replied, the word making it obvious that such an answer came nowhere near to enough.

“And iiiiit’s… worth a lot of money?”

"Oh, bé ..." he replied, rolling his eyes. "In that case..."

She uncovered her hand, revealing the cut she'd been doctoring. Ximo stepped closer, his brows furrowed at the sight of the injury. But she'd apparently found her tongue and began with her explanations. He watched as she began to apply a bandage to the wound, and when she seemed to show some difficulty handling it all, he stepped in. Ximo pulled the bandage tight, but not too tight around her palm, then tucked the end she'd ripped away into the folds. She took that opportunity to move past him and Ximo turned, remaining silent so that she'd continue to tell him as much as she might.

"El flux." he provided, in answer to her question, but crossed his arms over his chest. What was she getting at? He took an unconscious step back as she neared the thing. Infused? His eyes shifted, warily, to the object as she picked it up. Concealing the shudder that ran down his spine by shaking his head, Ximo brought his eyes back to meet Nezda's. But she was looking at the sphere, and that look changed, as if she was looking within herself rather than the object. The words she spoke then sent a new shiver through Ximo's spine and he grasped the crystal at his neck again.

After a moment, Nezda seemed to shake herself awake again and put the sphere away. Ximo felt relieved the instant the thing was out of sight. There was still a strangeness in the air, but now it was easier to ignore. Her attempt to distract him, however, was not ignored.

"No, nuvi." he said, stepping closer to her and putting a hand on her shoulder to turn her away from the box. "You will fly la nau. Take us to this buyer and get rid of that...esfera maleït so we can be going again."

[Neology]

As anticipated, she found Dr. Hyul waiting outside her ship, leaned against the ebony hull as though nothing strange and unfortunate had snapped up his evening. A glance took in his clothes and manner, finding a shred of reassurance. The man seemed entirely himself again, a effect partially bound up in that ridiculous hat he favored. The Sith quirked an eyebrow at his words, moving passed him and up the ramp.

“Let's find out.” She pulled the memory stick out of her pocket and held it up for him to see, loosely grasped between two fingers of her left hand. At the door, Novus pressed her right palm to the scanner, waiting as the computer chirped musically in response. The heavy door slid open, revealing a barren cargo bay. Beyond, another door led out into a hallway.

“As I was walking up, I saw a man, maybe your age, with a Wroonian. No Vahla, but ... You really think it was that recent?” Her thoughts raced, turning it over as she led the way to the bridge. It fit; the artifact's troublesome influence over the doctor had faded in minutes, literally as she watched. She might have even passed the thief in that hall, sense-blind while she kept her presence in the Force carefully hidden.

“I agree.” A wave of her hand motioned Rase to a seat, while the Sith settled down at the ship's main console. Deft fingers saw the memory stick plugged into the holoprojector. She sorted through a handful of menus, dozens of different recordings at her fingertips - much more information than was needed. She narrowed it down. Rase's hanger, the last hour at 15x speed.

Interesting. Their thief was a tall, narrow shouldered woman with dark hair. Novus paused the frame and zoomed, studying the grainy hologram. Vahla? Species was hard to place - the security footage washed out to varying tones of bluish gray, but could be. The build was right.

“Anyone you know?” Novus asked, ending the thought with a quiet 'hmm.' Flicking back to the menu, she pulled up the amorous couple's hanger information. Theft for hire? It all seemed oddly bloodless for Sith work.

“We can follow them.” She glanced over at Rase. As much as she wanted the holocron back in her possession, fighting for it here had numerous unwanted complications. “Of course, if you know where they're going … “ She trailed off invitingly, gaze flickering down to the ship's controls, running the computer through a quick systems check.

[Fromikeable]

Rase found himself of the same mind, slowly going over the possibilities. The orb had only been taken a good five minutes ago; plenty of time for a quick thief to dart from his ship to one of their own, particularly if they had docked nearby. What correlation this had to a wanton seduction gone awry was debatable and difficult to say, but he wasn’t quite ready to discard it.

If he was going to place a bet… he’d put it on the idea that their thief had a rather volatile personal life at the moment.

”That Wroonian you saw was the same I found sobbing her way out of the port, most likely. Judging by her ruffled clothing and sad story of abandonment, I would say that ‘recent’ is an understatement.” If Novus had passed them as they were in the midst of their heat and the encounter had ended within the next few moments, then the Humani either needed to work on his stamina, or they had been cut off just as abruptly as the poor woman had said.

But his ruminations preoccupied him only slightly as he followed Novus onto her ship. Honestly, a small part of him cocked a brow in surprise; he had been expecting something a tad more… biased to a Sith Lady. Perhaps it was the lack of symbology or much to do with her Order. He simply hadn't expected such utilitarianism.

Hm. Perhaps it will be worth it to study this Order’s collapse in a few decades. None of their predecessors had lasted much longer than a century, and being a primary account by knowing Novus would surely be worth recording anyway.

Speaking of recording, the footage of his ship’s hangar began to roll by before him, and sharp green eyes began to dissect the lightly flickering lines of what they saw. Surer than not, a lithe woman, careful but confident, sneaked aboard his ship, ever so boldly simply ascending the open ramp and returning a minute later with a box that wouldn't quite close properly. A small part of him sighed again at his own misunderstanding of the orb, but a rather larger one scanned her critically.

Who was she? And more importantly, what was her angle?

”I can’t say that I’m familiar with that particular Vahla, no…” He scratched his chin, not bothering to expand on what that implied. ”... however that isn’t to say that I would be equally unknowing with any of her potential associates.” It bothered him that she had known where he was, what he had, and furthermore had been familiar enough with the object to immediately identify and retrieve it. Either she had known what she was looking for very well (which was doubtful to him, considering that even he hadn't been quite sure what to expect to find on Yavin), or…

… perhaps her employer did. He had seen treasure-hunters do far worse than hire thieves.

But all the speculation had to wait. Where would they go? Clearing his throat, he began to think aloud; destination was far easier to deduce than intention at the moment.

”The University’s rather rural location usually narrows all business, comings and goings to a few nearby cities.” He began to count off on his fingers. ”There’s Daromar to the south-east, which offers mainly services to breaking college students, Tondatha further to the west, which houses a fair few of the staff, and… ahhhhhhh.” He snapped, grinning. ”Ruthenia, to the north. About two hour’s travel. Too far for most students, surely, but it’s the closest city with good business on both the Celanon Spur and the Braxant Run.” He nodded a bit, becoming certain of the notion as he spoke aloud.

”If they hold any intelligence at all, they would know to either hand off the holocron, or otherwise dispose of it. Ruthenia is by far the closest place to do so.”

[Squee]

“Esfera maleït?” Nezda parroted. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “Though I take the sound to mean very, very, very bad, it’s fun to hear and say.”

She let him turn her aside, so only her thoughts lingered on the puzzle that was the evil ball. A frown reasserted on her lips as she sub-consciously flexed the injured hand. A deadly puzzle indeed, potentially carrying powerful secrets. Secrets she didn’t necessarily care to want, and secrets she shouldn’t care escaped. She didn’t care what happened to the galaxy, or which side won, or whether the light side or the dark side was better.

The ball’s secrets, she thought, therefore, did not apply to her. For all Nezda knew, or cared, the round object of evil contained an ancient fertility statue that was worth the amount of money she was receiving. Whatever it contained, someone with more fingers was going to have to break it.

Still, information and secrets are merchandise. The warm stinging on her palm reminded her, one last time, this merchandise was not worth losing more of her fingers. Nezda was already at a disadvantage at minus two.

Seated by now, Nezda scanned the dashboard for abnormalities, but Ximo was an excellent mechanic. No danger warnings, no annoying blinking lights… ship shape.

Just like that, she regretted yelling at him. And getting him slapped (she’d seen the red streaks). And then upsetting him. The ship shivered as it lifted from its struts. He was obviously unnerved by the ancient ball of doom’s presence. While creepy, unless played with, no one was likely to come to harm. That wasn’t the point though – the man was extremely superstitious. Although Nezda did not exactly have an encyclopedia on Humani superstitions, Ximo had been around long enough that she knew what it meant when he grasped his crystal with a serious frown.

Her lips parted to call him. And do what? Apologize? Now? The words stuck heavily in her throat. Closing her mouth, Nezda just piloted the ship.

---

A muggy breeze wafted inward as the ramp lowered. The expanse of Ruthenia’s shipyard greeted her, and an Amaran dockmaster was skittering toward her on his stunted little legs. Her waist was heavy with the blasters decorating her belt. Her gloves covered the scars of her missing fingers and the evidence that she had tampered with the artifact. Said artifact was carefully secured in its box, which Nezda held.

“Ximo,” Nezda said conversationally as she casually pulled the docking fee from a pouch. Her straight hair swept over her shoulder as glanced at him. “When are you gonna tell me what ‘nuvi’ means?”

[Meira]

Once Nezda had seated herself in the cockpit, Ximo had turned back and moved toward his quarters, giving the ominous box a wide berth as he passed it. Once the door was closed behind him, Ximo deflated slightly. The whole situation had been one hit after another. It had only taken a few minutes to go from a lustful embrace with a beautiful stranger, to hurtful rebukes and possibly evil artifacts. He was exhausted from the journey. And they still had a ways to go before this whole mess was done and behind them.

He dropped himself down onto the bunk, the red of the sheets and the familiarity of his things around him comforting as he sighed and tried to banish the stress from his mind and body. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind's sight on the wiring for the ship's navigation systems. He followed the maze of different colored pathways, each seemingly the same as the other, seemingly jumbled and impossibly tangled, but each leaving from and leading to very specific places; a masterpiece of coordination and utility. His breathing slowed and his muscles uncoiled. The pious had their prayers. Ximo had ships.

-----------

He was not quite asleep when he felt the ship's movements change from the gentle rumble of travel to the slight banking and uneven speeds of landing. He opened his eyes, leaving behind his imagined layout of the water filtration system for another time, and stretched. Standing up, he looked at himself in the small mirror that hung on the back of the door. He scratched at his jaw, which looked like it needed a bit of a shave, and ran his hands through his hair. Then, tired of the tangles, he pulled it all back and tied it up. A few strands still fell free, but it was good enough. With a yawn, he opened the door and moved toward the ramp where he found Nezda preparing.

She had armed up. Ximo elected to stick with the hidden blaster in his boot. He supposed a surprise element of an unexpected weapon might work in their favor should the need come for it. But he really hoped such a thing would not be necessary. He'd had enough excitement for today. Ximo wanted Nezda to finish the job quickly so that they could possibly get something to eat and then be on their way.

"Si?" he replied when she spoke. As the ramp lowered, the sounds of the world flooded toward them, and Ximo stepped closer so that he'd be able to hear her as she continued. When she did, he smiled and a small part of the worry that still nagged at him fell away. She wasn't angry anymore. He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again, his smile turning mischievous. The dockmaster was almost to them now. Really, no time to explain.

"Not today."

[Neology]

“Huh. Ruthenia it is.” Handy, that. If nothing else, Dr. Hyul's local knowledge saved them some time. Hopefully the thieves were outsiders, like her. She logged their destination in the ship's computer, switching off the stolen security footage as an afterthought. The NZT-331 hummed to life, thrusters whining as it rose slowly into the air.

“Wont take two hours. In fact, I'm thinking we'll beat them there.” Novus flashed a slight grin. As far as she was concerned, the best thing the Sith Order ever did was to give her a fast ship and get out of her way. She brought the fast courier up to speed and set the autopilot, releasing the steering wheel with a faint click as it locked into place.

“Well. It may not be as nice as yours, but you've got the run of the ship. Galley's central, help yourself.”

---

“Alright, for the rest of the day, I am Kyra Arlos - bored spacer with time to kill. Agamar's a backwater but there's some easy money to be made dropping off mail for those ranchers on the southern continent. Poor pateessas don't always have the holonet out there.” Novus tucked a laminated ID card into a plain leather wallet, along with some loose paper credits and nondescript credit chit. She spoke to Rase, but the words were mostly for herself, cementing the idea of this cover in her mind. No costume necessary this time, save for the addition of a large thumb ring – a glass serpent's eye set in aged bronze, a delicate hinge disguised as part of the setting.

“Might as well play to our strengths. I'll question the Humani, you see what you can find out from the Vahla.” She passed him a comlink. “Call me on this if you need to.”

---

Novus waited in the main terminal, sipping from a bottle of chilled tea and watching arrivals carefully. Rase's guesswork proved itself some ten minutes later. There was the woman with the box. Novus pushed away from the wall, heading the opposite direction, searching for her dark haired companion with an air of casual nonchalance. Spotting him, she deliberately steered herself into his path.

How to play this? She couldn't risk violence at a Republic starport. Luckily, the man had seemed … Well, friendly was and understatement. She remembered that wink. Closing in, she flashed her crooked smile, feigning delight.

“Huh! How about that! I was on the clock before but ...” She reached out her free hand for him to shake. “Kyla Arlos, courier. Hey, I don't suppose you'd want to get a drink?”