An Altogether Different Deal

[hugo]

---

Bas was pissed off.  He pulled sourly on the acrid Raltiir Red clenched between his thin lips.  He brushed his long hair back behind his right ear as the cigarra's burning tip grew bright.  For "safety reasons" these dumbass orbital station authorities wouldn't let him smoke in the docking quarter.  The sallow young human's mood improved as the nicotine began to course through his veins, scratching an itch long denied.  Once the Cleo had been docked and properly accounted for, Bas had head out for the rendez-vous.

He was on Circumtore, a real shit hole, or at least in its orbit, for business.  Fortune, or for the more mystically inclined, the Force, had been on his side last week, when shit had gone south with a rough band of Nikto back on Metellos.  He shot one of them, and by some distant grace, they'd missed him.  Long story short, they made off with most of the spice and all of the credits, but had left behind something very . . . . interesting.  

As infatile as Bas' mastery of the Force was, the crystal's he'd found in the felled gangsters' satchel called to him strongly  They were kyber crystals, of which he knew very little, vague recollections of his elementary instructions as a Youngling.

Whatever their spiritual value, Bas knew the crystals were valuable.  It had been cake to find a buyer on the darkholo.  Dealing in clandestine Force artifacts was not exactly his preferred line of work, but Bas followed the credit trail, and it had lead him to a particularly motivated buyer eager to meet somewhere in Hutt Space.

And here he was, somewhere in Hutt Space.  Bas wanted to get the deal over with and get going, preferring to avoid the wild and tumultuous atmosphere on the planet's surface.  So he'd arranged to meet this anonymous buyer in the small station's cantina, which Bas noted as an unexpectedly lively joint as he strode through the main entrance in a cloud of blue smoke.  He was dressed, as per usual, in the finest, a burgundy YvesStCoruscant hoodie left unzipped over a plain, white and gray t-shirt with somewhat baggy, charcoal joggers and JulieKatarn sneakers.  His long ebony locks fell in a more or less orderly fashion above his shoulders, framing his pale, handsome face in textured black.  Resting on his shoulders was a small krayt leather backpack which contained the goods: the odd crystals the buyer had been so eager and generous in acquiring.

He took a seat in a vacant but yet cleaned booth near the end of a semi-circle of like seating on the outer ring of the cantina.  Before long, a serving droid had come along and cleared the table before taking his drink order, a corellian rum and cola.  He told the guy/girl he would wear a red jacket, so he hoped he'd been conspicuous enough.  

If things went sour, he'd come prepared.  Charged and loaded, his holdout rested discreetly in his hoodie pocket, and his phrik-alloy quarterstaff hid behind his back.  You never knew in interactions like this, so it always payed to be vigilant.  But there were a lot of credits on the line and he hoped for a quick deal and to get the hell out of the messy shit show that was Hutt Space at present.

[Symm]

Hutt Space. A section of the galaxy that the Jedi had hoped never to visit. The very idea of them made Kathar's skin crawl. The mission, however, led him straight to Circumtore - and the task was too import for him to ignore. It was not the usual type of job Kathar would typically take on, but one bit of advice provided to him by his mentor was to get out of his comfort zone. This den of scum and villainy, though, was in another galaxy of discomfort.

As he stepped off of his ship - an unmarked courier vessel - he reviewed the mission in his head. A few weeks ago, a shipment of Kyber crystals on its way to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant had its cargo stolen. It concerned the council on many levels, not least that someone had the gall to attack a Jedi transport. The Jedi put out feelers throughout the galaxy, using resources unknown to Kathar, searching for those responsible, but came up empty. Kathar volunteered for the mission, knowing it was well outside of his skillset; so it was a surprise when they picked him to go.

Just as Kathar was about to depart to Ilum, a report came through. An anonymous seller, located in Hutt Space, looking to offload the merchandise for an exorbitant price. Immediately he put in an offer and scheduled a meeting, then departed for Circumtore. That was the reason he found himself wiping his boot to clear it of the something he'd stepped on immediately off the ship. Kathar grimaced and walked away, flipping a credit to one of the dock droids, "Make sure no one gets near it." The ramp ascended back into the ship, a hiss of hydraulics locking it up behind him.

The Jedi was very aware that his kind wasn't particularly welcome in a place like this, so he took some time to conceal his appearance; deception wasn't his strong suit, but he understood at least not to wear Jedi robes and not to flash around a lightsaber. So the man that stepped into the cantina looked more like a mercenary than a monk: No-brand black lightly armoured jacket over a grey shirt, brown pants suited to riding Bantha's on Tattooine, and dark combat boots make up his ensemble. On his hips, he'd strapped a blaster and over his shoulder an empty backpack. The lightsaber he'd concealed along his belt line behind his back - but he was well aware igniting such a weapon would invite unwanted scrutiny.

The red-haired definitely-not-a-Jedi looked around the cantina, but his senses had located the target before he'd even stepped inside; the red jacket notwithstanding. He felt the force emanating from a particular booth and Kathar made his way over - fully convinced that the feeling was from the crystals, and not the occupant himself. His eyes barely passed over Bas, keenly focused on the backpack on the seller's back.

"Nice jacket," he said, as he slid into the booth - across from Bas, but still able to watch the room if necessary. "I've travelled a long way for this. Better be worth my while." Kather had practised his gruff indifference on the way - but his eyes kept betraying him.

[hugo]

The redhead that seemed to slide into the booth opposite him was a Force sensitive.  That Bas divined after only a moment.  He felt like Io'an and Vance had to him aboard the Peak and in that whole debacle.  Distinct.  Significant.  The Force which he had only just recommenced to know echoed  throughout the drab station, sounding faintly from each lifeform therein.  But just before the client had joined him, he'd felt that same, queer tinge of energy he'd felt aboard the cruise liner.  No this man was different, touched by the Force in the same way that Bas was.

Yet the man had done what he could to not look the part.  He was dressed like a common hutt space ruffian, and had presented himself with a sort of professional matcho the young human found altogether unconvincing.  No, this was not his lane at all.  Bas met his nervous look with his own cool, dark eyes, a vacant look on his face as he pulled for a long time on the nearly exhausted cigarra.

Curious.  It made sense, he supposed; Kyber crystals were a particular product that attracted a particular type of customer, conceivably one interested in Force artifacts.  Frankly Bas did not care.  It was a sale.  He doused the dying cigarra butt into a crystal ashtray that set between them, exhaling the gray-blue smoke through his nostrils, which flared just so as he did.

Whatever his motivations, the carrot-topped, though handsome, purchaser was here, and so were the crystals he'd come for.  

"Sure." he said, his smoke-stinking hand withdrawing under the table to fish the parcel out of his leather bag.  He'd placed the crystals in a simple, unmarked metal case.  It would hardly raise suspicion to those unattuned to its contents.  Swiftly and with discretion, he placed it gingerly on the tabletop between the two men, sliding it gently towards the other.

But his white, slender hand stayed firmly pressed on the nondescript container, his dark eyes darting up to the human across him expectantly.  "You're not the only one."  Of course Bas was waiting for his credit chips.  He'd requested them in chips because transfers always left data, always left a trail.  That was an indiscretion he could not afford.  

[Symm]

The atmosphere of the cantina brought back painful memories. A decade ago where Kathar and friends snuck out to celebrate success at a Trial had found them at a place similar to this. He shifted his hands beneath the table, fingers running over the scars left as a physical reminder. Sure he could have had them removed effortlessly, healed over without a trace, but he decided to keep them - something to keep him grounded. To remember that no matter his skill, he was still only human. So the cantina setting kept him on edge, and he extended his senses through the place, hoping to spot any trouble before it flared up.

He couldn't help furrowing his brow at the cigarra and the smoke Bas issued into the room. It was apparent the man wanted to say something, issue a rebuke, but he bit his tongue. Best not to upset the seller. Especially not as he presented the box and pushed it across.

Kathar brought his hand up to reach for the box, revealing those scars, but stopped when Bas was obviously not relinquishing control of the object. The Knight looked up at Bas and finally saw him - or rather, saw his presence in the force. Clearly defined now that the crystal's auras shifted away, it was apparent to Kathar that the man across from him was sensitive. There was something oddly familiar about it as well, but he pushed that thought aside as Bas replied in kind to Kathar's earlier statement. The force sensitivity was a curiosity for another day - and frankly, he had seen how unrefined it was, and felt little threat from the man.

A tight smile spread across his lips and Kathar ducked his head in a nod. He reached up with his other hand and withdrew a package from his pack, which he slid to the middle of the table - and he too kept his hand on it. "All there. Once I've seen the goods."

Meanwhile, back at his ship, a dock droid was hung upside down from a beam with its arm, torn off, thrown across the room. A group of very angry thugs moved through the station, getting closer to the cantina with every moment.

[hugo]

Bas acquiesced with a small nod, rotating the container so that when he gently lifted the lid, the man could see its contents.  "Yeah I don't know much about them, some crystals the Jedi are always after, but they seem to be in good shape.  They definitely have a presence about them, if you know what I mean."  He looked over his opposite once more appraisingly.  He was good-looking, light with a strong jaw.  What interest he could have in the relics, Bas could not say, but hoped to glean more.  Not that he cared what he did with them so long as he got his end.  

Rather, he was curious about Force users now.  It was something to peruse the holo for what knowledge could be had there. But the Force was such that its techniques could not be learned from a screen.  You needed flesh and blood.  Even from what comparatively little time he'd spent with Io'an and Vance, Bas had learned much.  He was, as a rule, a quick study, and could pick things up here and there just by observing.  Yet he had not come this hellhole in the void for a tutorial, but for money.  He was about to suggest ,as cordially as the circumstances permitted, for just that, the credits, before he jerked his head to the right and met the red-haired Human's eyes. 

He'd sensed it too.

Bas' hand was already on the holdout and it was hot when the Nikto came bounding down the hall.  Before the sound of their rushed footsteps sounded, however, the cantina went on as normal, only the pair of humans low in their booth aware that it was about to become a plasma ridden hellscape.  In those precious few seconds, he motioned to his opposite to exit the booth and join him behind it for cover, taking care to recover his precious product and deposit it in the backpack.  

They were out of view when Bardos lead a half dozen of his fellow thugs into the cantina in a huff.  Among them were three other Nikto,a Trandoshan, and perhaps the largest Human Bas had ever seen.  And they had not come empty-handed.  Bardos carried a heavy pistol in one hand, and a heavy vibrosword was slung across his back, his compatriots being similarly armed.  Only the big human carried a heavy repeater, eyeing the patrons meanly with his black eyes as the cadre began fanning out and searching for their quarry.  They had a description.  A skinny punk with dark hair and nice clothes.

Obscured for now by the row of booths, Bas crouched nearest the corner, stealing a glance at the assailants.  His holdout was charged and humming quietly, grasped with the white knuckles of both hands.  This was insane.  How had this gone wrong?  What were the odds of the Metellos gangsters finding him all the way out here in desolated Hutt Space?  That was, unless he'd seriously fucked with the wrong people.

He whispered urgently, though his voice did not betray his frayed nerves.  "What in the fuck do we do now?"  

[Symm]

Though he knew the crystals were inside the box, it was still a relief to see them with his own eyes. He reached out to touch one of them, to feel it in his hand, but suddenly froze. Eyes focused on the crystals suddenly came up to his companion's face where they shared a knowing look. Kathar found it interesting that an untrained force user would have such prescience, but he pushed that aside in favour of the current situation. Something dangerous this way came.

The Jedi, retrieving his pack of credits, followed Bas behind the booth. He crouched down and, notably, didn't reach for the blaster at his hip. Such a motion just wasn't second nature to the man. Instead, his hand disappeared behind his back, but Kathar paused before retrieving the weapon hidden there. A rapid assessment of the situation told Kathar that he could not reveal himself as a Jedi right now, in this very public place. If word got out that there was a Jedi on board the station, they would soon find themselves swarmed by thugs looking to make a name for themselves and bounty hunters who ascribed to the Mandalorian way.

"Friends of yours?" Kathar hissed through a clenched jaw. He leaned back against the hard wall of the booth, hand setting flat against it. The man stretched out his senses, searching for a way out of this mess. It took a few precious seconds but eventually, he let out a breath and looked to Bas. "We can't stay here - there's an exit behind the bar, through their storeroom. It leads to some maintenance corridors, I think. We need to find a less public place to deal with this."

The man glanced out past the booth, "There's going to be an opportunity in a few seconds. When it happens, run to the back. I'll be right behind you." He glanced back towards Bas, "We'll be alright." An attempt at a reassuring sentiment - perhaps to mollify himself as much as Bas.

Kathar then stretched his fingers out on the side of the booth once more, and once again reached out with the Force. Invisible fingers reached across the bar and silently pulled a passed out drunks blaster from their holster. The Jedi carefully maneuvered the blaster, keeping it low and out of sight out of the drunks booth, to an area where there was no one in the line of fire. "Get ready." The pistol turned, roughly in the direction of the antagonists, and the Jedi pulled the trigger in rapid succession.

The shots went wide by a significant margin, no chance of actually hitting the targets, but that wasn't the objective. The noise and light of the shots attracted the attention of the thugs, and soon they opened up on that corner of the cantina. "Go!"

Kathar was true to his word - he'd stay right behind Bas if the man ran. If he didn't, Kathar would stay right there.

[hugo]

See it didn't really matter if you had the Force or not.  If you didn't have a good head on your shoulders and a blaster ready to go, you wouldn't last long in this world.  It seemed his client, whatever his affiliation, had some wits about him, and they might just get out of this poodooshow alive. 

"Yeah, can't you tell?" It was still crazy that they'd been able to find him so fast.  The cartel must have paid BIG bucks for these crystals if they would expend the resources to have a Nikto death squad sent his way.  Whatever, they were his now.  There was no way crystals like that were legal in Republic space (case in point being that he was now selling them on the black market), so the same rules went for them as went for spice.  If you were tough enough to take it and keep it, it was yours.  Of course the journeyman drug dealer had no illusions of his own toughness, so he'd been all too eager to offload the hot commodity as soon as possible.  Apparently, it had not been soon enough.  

Seeing no better options, Bas nodded as his ginger companion explained his plan in a hurried whisper.  By some sleight of hand or trickery of the Force, the dude was able to cause a scene relatively far from where they were hiding, throwing the half-filled Cantina into a hellscape of blaster fire and screams. 

Bas didn't hesistate for a moment when the fit hit the shan, bolting from behind the booth toward the bar.  Bas was pretty quick on his own, being light and lanky he'd been almost good at track during secondary.  But it was not Human dexterity that propelled the ebony-haired boy across the walkway and over the bar.  Of all the Force disciplines, none had come back to him so clearly and so suddenly as that which augmented ones body.  In fact, it was a situation like this exactly: a quick deal turned violent.  The fear, the adrenaline, the focus it brought, allowed him to feel the Force in a way he never could among the Jedi.

He landed with a thud, hard on his right foot, causing him to stumble slightly before catching himself and crouching behind the bar.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Duros bartender eyeing him incredulously as she sheltered behind the sturdy metal bar.  The smell of plasma was in the air, and the pew pew of a half dozen blasters setting about their gruesome work filled Bas' ears.

"Rough fucking day huh?" he managed as he shuffled toward the swinging door that lead to the bar's storeroom.  

Easing into the small room, he was relieved to see a heavy durasteel door with an aurebesh inscription faintly glowing "exit."  He stood up, hugging the small space of wall immediately on the side of the swinging door.  His heart was beating through his chest and the world was set in an adrenaline-fueled clarity.  His red-headed client came bursting through the door a half second later, Bas thankful he hadn't situated himself on the other side of the doorway and received a face full of door.  

Time passed by extremely slowly, Bas' thoughts racing a million directions between each heavy thud of his heart.  It was then, just before he moved to follow the other Human through the exit, when an opened crate across the narrow room atop a long counter among various other incidents caught his eye.  He could hardly believe it, but it was a freshly opened box of Raltiir Slims Menthe, his favorite brand of cigarettes.  They were impossible to come by in the Core, having been banned by Republican health authorities for "devastating respiratory blah blah blah.  Even as near certain death pilfered the cantina savagely, searching for the skinny dark-haired thief that had robbed the cartel of its prize, he couldn't resist.

Bas leaned over the narrow walkway and reached in the box, grabbing a pair of cartons and began pulling them out the box.  But suddenly, he ducked, almost involuntarily.  A millisecond later, a smoking hole had punched through the wall where his head had been.  He smelled singed hair, but had evaded the stray bolt by some mystic fortune.  Time to go.  

Twisting his thin lips into an expression that said "woops" he tucked the cartons under his arm and hurried out the exit, the door still ajar from the client's rushed exit.  

---

It was not a few minutes later that the pair had scurried through the stations main avenue, a circular, wide corridor that linked the station's hodgepodge of modules together.  Several side corridors served as arteries to the hangar bays, markets, and accomodations.  The cantina was situated in the center of the main avenue, one of a few central locations conveniently located near the main hangar entrance.  That was fortuitous.  

After tucking the invaluable cigs into his backpack along with the infinitely more valuable crystals, he suggested they try to blend in and make their way to the hangar bay, where they could find a quiet corner to finish their business and go their separate ways.  In truth, Bas was growing to really, really hate Hutt Space.  He was 0/2 with getting jumped during supposedly seamless deals in this Force-forsaken stretch of void.  It was a shame the Archeri hadn't leveled the whole goddamn sector.

Pulling up his jacket's hood, Bas adjusted his backpack's straps so that the bag clung tightly to his back.  No chances.  It was high time for a cigarette at this point, he thought.  Though his lungs ached from the sudden burst of activity and the not so sudden, consistent respiratory abuse, Bas got a little excited as he drew a long menthol from the crumpled packet in his jacket pocket and lit it up in a minty puff.  Sweet release.

"Let's find somewhere discreet in the docking area," Bas said quietly to the client alongside him between long, acrid drags.  

[Symm]

When Bas took off like there was a fire under him, Kathar watched for a moment, amused. Sure, he'd expected the kid to be quick on his feet, but Bas didn't even hesitate. Kathar shook his head with a chuckle and then jumped up from behind the booth they'd sheltered behind.

Immediately he pirouetted to the side as a stray blaster bolt speared through the air, missing him by a hair. "Hutt Space," he grunted out in annoyance before taking off after Bas. Surprisingly, he was only able to match pace with the younger man - not something Kathar had encountered outside of the Jedi, at least not to a human. The Jedi's thought on that matter, however, was rudely interrupted by a hail of blaster fire coming his way.

Unlike Bas, Kathar didn't vault over the bar. Instead, he hopped up and over it, sliding along its surface and knocking mugs and glasses onto the floor behind it. A lucky, or unlucky, blaster bolt punched into Kathar's side and sent him rolling, where he smashed into the rows of alcohol carefully arranged behind the bar. Kathar hissed in pain and huddled up against the bar, where he shared a look with the bartender.

"Sorry about this. Big misunderstanding." He gestured behind him into the room, "They'll figure it out in a sec, I'm sure." Kathar crawled, on his hands and knees, to the door. He paused before leaving though, looking back at the bartender. "For your troubles." The man fished out a handful of credits and threw them towards the Duros before he shoved himself through the door at lightspeed. At least, it felt that way to him.

"Come on," he said through grit teeth, once again tapping Bas on the shoulder, "can't stay here."

The Jedi continued past the young drug dealer, only pausing briefly to observe the thieving fingers snatch up something. He didn't say anything - merely rolled his eyes - and hurried out of the door.

---

The blaster burn hurt like hell, and Kathar kept a hand plastered to it as they walked. Epiphets unworthy of a Jedi flowed through Kathar's mind as he cursed the very idea of Hutt Space. If he'd been able to use his lightsaber, he wouldn't be having this problem right now.

Try to blend in, he says. Kathar looked at Bas, clearly a little annoyed, but nodded in agreement. First things first: Stop looking like you just got shot. The Jedi sucked in a breath, then slowly released it, allowing the Force to centre him. With each exhale and inhale, he pushed the pain away. It wasn't that the pain was gone - just ignored; an ability that came in useful more than Kathar liked to admit. As his mind cleared of this distraction, Kathar's walk straightened, and he began to walk like a normal human being.

Bas suggested they find somewhere discreet, to which Kathar agreed, "Yes, let's."

The pair walked - in a hurried, non-hurried way - towards the docks, while Kathar reached out to sense any upcoming threats. Feeling nothing imminent, Kathar then started to look around, seeking a place for them to hold-up while the mercenaries searched for them.

Eventually, his eyes fell on a small doorway opposite the bays, and Kathar grabbed Bas roughly by the arm and dragged him in. He practically shoved Bas into the small room - a janitor droids closet - and then entered himself, closing the door and keying it locked.

Kathar turned back to Bas and realised precisely how small the room was - they barely had a foot of space between them, and the width of their shoulders nearly met the walls. He narrowed his eyes and tried to pluck the cigarette from the other's mouth, "Really?"

Successful or not, Kathar leant against the wall, allowing the pain to come flooding back. "Let me guess," Kathar began, starting to lower the backpack to the ground with a wince, "You stole the crystals from them. They want them back, and you have nothing to do with them aside from that. How close am I?"

Ah, that Jedi intuition.

[hugo]

"Woah br-" Bas was indignant as the red-haired Force user drug him into some tiny closet.  He scarcely maintained his balance when Kathar shoved him roughly, nearly tripping over a mop bucket near the door.  He caught the wall and steadied himself, his dark eyes narrowed incredulously.

He was quick, but Bas was quicker.  The burning end of the cherry missed his livid grasp by an inch, his form seeming to shift a foot to the left in an instant.  It was then, in those fleeting moments that passed between thoughts, when egged on by fear, anger, or surprise, that the Force was most at his command. "Command," he admitted, may have been something of a misnomer, as this what made for volatile potency did not always make for control.  That only came from discipline, and it only took one good look at Bas, cockily posed, ostentatiously clad, and pale face contorted in disgust behind the rancid cloud of the still-intact cigarette, to see he was everything discipline was not.  Anyone, not least of all the human a couple feet from him in the cramped closet, would find it impossible to believe he'd once wore the robes of a Jedi neophyte.

"WHAT THE FUCK MAN?" he bellowed, his right hand crushing the nearly spent smoke on the wall with a forceful swat.  His big dark eyes were on the other's face, searchingly, with no less irritation in the muddy irises than before.

Am I gonna have to cap this motherf*cker? He asked himself the question silently.  He could just whip out his hold out, bust him, and take the money and the crystals.  But he wasn't that mad, he realized, after a moment of quiet had passed.  He did not like to be touched, least of all manhandled by a stranger for something completely out of his control.  

"Dude."  The word was for friends but the tone was for children.  "What forcedamn difference does it make where, why, how, or from whom that I got them? Did you think this was some fucking curated sale?  What's next? You wan't a title and bill of sale?"  He reached towards his backpack mockingly.   "Yeah, sorry they shot up the cantina.  It's Hutt Space, bud, shit happens everyday."  He exhaled long and hard, the taste of Raltiir Slim still fresh in his mouth.

"Look," he began, an iota more conciliatory," do you want the rocks or not?"

[Symm]

The Jedi kept only half his attention on the seller, so all that came from Bas's contrived apology was a rolling of his eyes. Well, almost. Halfway through the frustrated expression, Kathar slid a bandage over the top of the blaster burn, which sent a flash of pain cascading through his system. So the eye roll rapidly became a wince of pain before the anaesthetic balm pre-coated on the patch took hold. He let out a sigh of relief as the drug worked its biological magic.

"Yes," he eventually replied, slowly straightening up from the wall. "But two things." He brought his hand up, fist closed, and palm towards Bas with the thumb extended, "One, you're going to get a quarter of the payment." He continued quickly before the other could reply, "And you're lucky you're getting that. The plan was I find who stole them and bring them to justice or stop them from stealing again, but that's not you, so you get to walk away.

"Secondly," The Jedi raised his index finger, and the small purse containing the credits started to float up between the two, guided only by the Force, "You're going to tell me who taught you to use the Force. Because no-one is as naturally gifted as you seem to be."

It wasn't that Bas seemed especially powerful; it was just the uses of it were particularly potent and pointed.

Kathar's other hand remained at his side, but he stayed at the ready to draw the lightsaber in case Bas took issue with his terms. He hoped the Force would provide him with ample enough warning, should Bas open fire with whatever weapon, if any, he had on him.

He felt the terms were fair. A quarter was still a significant amount of credits that would more than cover any expenses incurred.

[hugo]

"First, fuck you. And second, fuck you." His tone now was less threatened, less hostile.  Even so, indignation dripped heavy from his unfriendly rasp.  Who did this guy think he was?  Lieutenant Ginger Space Police?  They were his crystals and he could sell them to whoever would buy them.  That was the only stricture that governed Hutt Space commerce.  Especially now.  Before there was the loose and de facto regime of the Hutts, and now there was only an entropic, primitive law of force.  Whatever claims to authority could have been made a few sectors over in the civilization of Republic or Imperial space were null here, unless extended from the end of a charged blaster.  

This was an impasse, though.  Bas didn't want to leave this closet with the crystals still his problem, much less the forceforsaken space station.  And he could see the case for a discount.  He hadn't exactly offered the most professional of performances, he admitted only to himself.  

"What about half?" Kathar was correct.  Even at quarter-price, selling the crystals would set him straight for the foreseeable future.  At half though, it was a small fortune.  It was really no wonder that its former owners--Force knew who they'd in turn stolen in from--were so eager to have them back.  Wages for a band of thugs, plus the costs of replacing one or two if Bas had proved to be more formidable than his scrawny frame and yuppy clothes suggested, were a tiny fraction of the profit margin they could expect with the right buyer.  

Yeah, he would take half.  The original price was exuberant, but it was clear that the rude red-head was not a loner at this point and could afford it.  He was merely a hand, behind which was an invisible body.  The crystals were clearly not for his usage, and his pocket book was not the one being opened.  Bas wagered, loosening up a little as the risk of violence between the young men passed, that he needed the money more than whatever mysterious body guided his counterpart.

Sure the haul on Nar Shadaa, despite the roadbump of blasters being pulled a few times, had been handsome.  But after he'd split it with Gork and the smuggler Jack, invested a piece of it into some long-term funds, and went bust aboard the Peak of Pleasure, money was not as plentiful as it used to be.  That said, he had no worries for his day to day expenses --he could make a month's worth if he hustled hard in the glitzy clubs over a busy weekend-- but if he wanted to get out of the business of selling keys to undergrads or high risk runs to Hutt Space, he needed some serious capital.  Even at half value, this sale would be a solid foundation.

It was while the other man was pondering his counter-to-the-counter-offer that Bas came to a forceful realization.  Of course.  The other man's Force sensitivity had been plain to even his poor senses, so the possibility had not been lost on him, but it was clear now.  The stiff, assuming attitude.  Kathar, handsome and livid two feet from him, was a Jedi Knight.  And Bas knew him.  

"You know you don't have jurisdiction here, Jedi."  It was true, to his knowledge.  What court would the Jedi drag him in front of? And after he retained one of his dad's sleazy attorney-friends, Bas was confident of his chances in front of a Coreworld jury.  

But he was not really concerned about his freedom or physical safety, after, incredibly, he recognized the man for the first time.  Ten or twelve years younger, not even a man, without the beard or the confidence.  Yes, he hadn't recognized the name, nor had he actually known the boy well--Kathar was several years his senior--but as Bas heard more of his voice and observed more of his movements, he was convinced it was the same apprentice he remembered from Coruscant.  But of this he said nothing, he was more interested in the man's second question, to which he judged his initial, flippant dismissal as insufficient.  

Bas was not talkative, but he was also not shy.  That said, he'd always been coy about his time as a Youngling.  It had been a sign of shame during his youth, an unceasing reminder of his greatest disappointment throughout his teen years.  Yet after the events of the past year or so, when his powers truly came alive, Bas became much more interested in the Force, and step-by-step, he rebuilt his connection with it.  If before he managed to walk clumsily, he could now maintain short sprints, the latent connection within him having matured only far too late to be appreciated by a prospective Jedi mentor.

And after meeting Io'an and Vance, himself a former Jedi, Bas had become less paranoid about opening up about his connection, particularly when he met a trained adept from which he could glean some wisdom, if only by observation.  

"Well, not that I have to tell you, but I was a youngling, a long time ago.  Long story short, everyone, me included, thought that my connection was too weak to ever amount to much, so they tried to send me off to the Service Corps.  I said fuck that and ended up with my family.  Some shit went down, and the next thing I know, I feel the Force.  Like before, after concentrating and being guided along for hours in the Temple, I could just barely feel it, but now, I feel it always.  I'm not sure what it's really supposed to be like, but it feels...stronger than before, it comes easier, especially when I'm in a tight spot."  

He let his brief monologue sink in for a moment.  "Not that I'm like, even Padawan level competent with it.  It's just like an edge, like a natural push when I'm almost there, as normal and as natural as if I'd been this way my whole life.  But the weird thing is, I never felt like this on Coruscant, surrounded by great Jedi minds, training everyday.  I was mediocre at first, but as my cohort advanced, I never did.  Then all of a sudden, it comes to me with ten times the clarity."  He paused.  Bas might have been oversharing, he realized, but even his self-synopsis had a strategic element to it.   The other man opposite him seemed suspicious of his indiscreet affinity, and he hoped to defuse the situation somewhat, maybe get a better deal or at least prevent making another enemy (something he seriously needed to work on, minding recent events).  Perhaps the ginger Jedi would see something in common with him, in spite of, he observed, their every outward dissimilarity.  

[Symm]

The initially flippant responses brought more amusement than annoyance. Something about the situation, being holed up in a janitor closet with barely half a metre between them, hiding from mercenaries trying to kill them, and haggling over the price of crystals cracked a bit of the Jedi's resolve. A brief smile flashed across his face before he forced a dour expression back on his face: He was trying to be intimidating, or at the very least serious.

He remained silent as Bas made a counter-offer, then questioned Kathar's authority. As he started to formulate a response to that, Bas continued and explained his past. How he used to be a youngling at the Temple, how he had issues with his powers; how he left the Order. It all sounded so familiar, but not because he remembered Bas. No, Kathar couldn't picture the young man before him as the boy he'd once been, so he couldn't dredge that memory up. Perhaps he just needed something more to jog his memory.

Instead, it reminded him all too much of his past. Much like Bas, Kathar had issues with his performance as a youngling, to the point where the Jedi considered him nearly unfit for progression. Fortunately for Kathar, though, the Order figured out Kathar's problem. Bas, it seems, was not so lucky.

"I'm...sorry, to hear that." His voice revealing genuine contrition even though it wasn't his fault. "I can empathise with that more than you can understand." Kathar looked at Bas as though seeing him for the first time, green eyes searching for something in the others face - some recognition, perhaps? "It seems as though the Order made a mistake, and for that, I can only apologise."

It was too late, of course. The Jedi Order would never take Bas back, even with his newfound affinity. The man was too old, and clearly - Kathar glanced at the cigarette - had impulse control issues.

"But because of that, growing up as a youngling, you understand the importance of the crystals. I need them back, and I need to find who stole them." Kathar paused, considering the next part carefully. "The crystals were stolen from a Jedi transport; several crew members were killed in the process. I need to find justice for their families, and I need to know that it won't happen again."

Once again, the Jedi paused. He brought the purse to his hand and tipped some credits into his other, "I'll give you a third, rounded up, for the crystals and the name of whoever you stole them from, if you know it. And I'll make sure you get back to your ship alive."

[hugo]

A mistake? Bas raised an eyebrow.  No, they had not made a mistake. There was nothing in him that was Jedi, not anymore.  In some ways, though he missed out on a life of adventure and importance and had pouted about that amply, Bas was relieved his powers had lain dormant.  He had time to grow into his own man, of sorts, to make his own life, without the Force or its disciples to influence how he understood himself. 

"Oh, I don't know." His tone was sincere.  "I think it was more of a mutual break-up."  The analogy might fall flat, he thought, remembering back to his days of younglinghood and the celibacy they tried but failed to instill.  Thank the Force, he thought, or I'd be as wound up tight as this dude. 

For the first time and only in the briefest of passing, there was empathy for the first time between them; one saw the other really for the first time.  Not a client, not a Jedi-cop, but a person--a person with which Bas had more in common than he would allow himself to admit.

He didn't care about where the crystals came from.  That was hardly his fault, and hardly reason to lay a hefty profit down by the wayside.  Former youngling or not, he held no sympathy for whatever efforts of the Jedi required the crystals.  They could pay for them if they really wanted them that bad.  Wasn't that how the rest of the galaxy worked?

A third.  That was still quite a hit, but Bas was tempted to bite.  He looked back at the booksack hanging from his shoulders, pressed gently against the wall, as if he were peering through the leather exterior and right at the crystals themselves.  Still.  Less fuel, docking fees, and the no small degree of incurred irritation, it was still quite the haul.

"Deal."  He slung the sack over his shoulder in a whisk and had it unzipped in a second.  As quickly, he grabbed the crystal-laden container and produced it for the Jedi to see.  Yeah.  A third was too tempting, especially because he needed to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible and didn't want to be caught and shot dead in a broom closet over a few percent.  

He doubted there was much risk of being jacked at this point, considering the circumstances.  He tossed the silver box to Kathar gently and extended his hand impatiently.  If the Jedi really wanted, Bas postulated, he could pull his saber and take it anyway, though that scenario seemed unlikely by now.  

[Symm]

"Still," Kathar began, shaking his head slowly, "it's clear to me that you have more potential with the Force than they might have realised." There was a noticeable pause while he considered his next words. "I had a similar experience, I suppose. When I was much younger, I struggled a lot before we figured out what was holding me back. Perhaps things could have been different if someone had taken the time."

Still, Kathar knew that was a difficult task. There were so many younglings and such fewer Knights and Masters. They were exceptionally low on qualified Jedi following the wars and conflicts that drew the Jedi in and cut down so many of his fellows. That thought, however, made Kathar realise something else, but he pushed it aside until they'd completed the deal.

As Bas reached for the crystals, Kathar mirrored his actions and pulled out the purse. While he counted out the correct amount, he deftly caught the box of goods and pushed it deep within his bag, intending that they should never fall out by chance or sought by stray pickpockets. It was Hutt Space, after all.

"Here. A third," Kathar said as he pushed the credits into Bas' hand, then secreted the purse into his backpack as well.

While Bas checked the sum, Kathar looked at the other man closely, casting his mind back to his time as a padawan and earlier. The spice dealer across from him couldn't be much younger than Kathar himself, so surely he should remember the young man - especially one so attractive should have caught his eye. Yet, he couldn't recall, perhaps because he spent too much time studying and less time socialising than he should have.

So, instead of continuing to search his memory, he opted for an easier path, "I'm Kathar, by the way. I figure if we're going to be potentially fighting our way out of here together, we should at least know each other's names."

The Jedi checked the bandage around his blaster wound in preparation of leaving. Didn't want that slipping off at an inopportune moment. Luckily, the adhesive remained strong, and it stayed in place, for now.

"Alright. Which bay is your ship in?"

[hugo]

"Preesh," came Bas' sarcastic reply as they exchanged credits and crystals.  Math had always been a simple thing for Bas, and it only took a few seconds for him to verify the sum was correct.  He hefted the chips in his white palm, taking a moment to appreciate their weight.  It was not the most money he'd ever seen, but it was the most he'd ever held in his grasp.  Still, the thirding of his prize left Bas with the necessity to scale back his most ambitious designs--a necessity he resented. 

The small fortune in his hand notwithstanding, he couldn't help but feel that he was far from done with the transaction.  There was still the affair of returning to his ship--much less the relative shelter of Republic space.  Fortunately, the Jedi, Kathar apparently, was willing to lend a hand.  Perhaps Jedi altruism would present itself useful for once.

"Bas.  Bas Keldrova."  It was hard to say that Bas had much good-feeling towards the red-haired, well-built Jedi across him.  The familiarity in his young face and their evident common frustrations as younglings did little to cultivate them.  Whether or not their connections to the Force were similarly latent or not, it was clear that they were not the same, at least to the dark-haired boy in the broom closet.   But there was really no need to be rude, nor much risk in giving his real name.  He did not, even if he had wanted to, know what to say to the Jedi's words, which he found not unkind.  

He motioned to the left.  "Bay 7, that way."

Jedi, it turned out, were good at the Force.  With his meager senses, and the honed ones of his ginger counterpart, they were able to mostly evade their bloodthirsty pursuers.  Thankfully, the corridors of the docking bay module were more or less empty, with the exception of a few dock workers or spacers going about their normal business.  Apparently, the disturbance in the cantina had raised few eyebrows around the station, as no alarms sounded, and folks seemed altogether unaffected by the violence.  Bas was sure somebody had died, with all that stray blasterfire.  Sucked to suck.  

Thus, it did not take long to reach Bay 7.  Rounding the corner in as much of a hurry that could be managed without drawing undue attention, Bas nearly knocked over a Cathar in a pilots suit when he skidded to a stop, the rubber soles of his black boots scooting audibly against the dirty metal panel.  In the same moment, he had jerked back to the obscurity of the corner, heart beating and hold out gripped tightly in his jacket pocket.  

"There's two."  Through the opened access door, he'd seen them just in time.  One was a woman, a green Twi'lek with elaborate tattooings and, more pertinently, a pair of heavy plaster pistols.  Over her shoulder he could see the Trandoshan, vibrosword still menacingly hanging from his back in a black leather scabbard.  He was currently hunched, having bent his great frame down to the small access pad that afforded access to the main boarding ramp, which was directly below the cockpit.  He must have been trying to slice the panel and take possession of the Cleo.  "You see them?"  Bas knew the Jedi couldn't actually put eyes on them since he was further back from the corner, but Kathar knew what he meant. 

For his part, the Transdoshan was barely perceptible to his Force senses, though he could faintly detect the Twi'lek, and more immediately and brightly, Kathar to his left.  "We need to get rid of that bitch first."  He peeked just past the obscurity of the corner spot, a minute passing between each heartbeat, it seemed like.

"I have an idea.  On my signal, we're gonna sprint to that door and lock her out.  Then we can handle scale breath."  

This was some dumb, made-for-holo-spy-thriller shit, but Bas did not find himself with a wealth of options.  The Cleo was his baby, and his only ticket out of Hutt Space alive.  Adrenaline began doing its thing, and before long, he felt that familiar, heat-of-the-moment grasp come over his spirit, and he felt the Force properly, fully.  He was no less untamed than before, only now, puissant; it had substance.  Power.  

He reached into his back pockets and found the spare energy cell he'd fortuitously brought along.  Closing his eyes, he tried to see the next corridor, the head-tail pistolero, the bay beyond, not with the limits of his human vision, but to see them as they were, as the Force did.  A gentle clarity settled upon his countenance, and though he could not sense the surroundings an iota as well as Kathar, he could see in the same way.  But rather than clear forms, lights or sounds or movements manifesting before his mystical perception, he saw only blurs.  For Bas had been instructed in the rudiments of the sensory disciplines, and it was one of the few fields of Force study that seemed to come to him, if belatedly, naturally. 

It was no matter.  A blur, a hint was all he needed.  He hadn't ever experienced precognition per se, more like a vague inkling (the same sort of inklings that lead untrained Force sensitives onto lives as athletes, statesmen, or capable warriors).  His other forte, if such an infantile but relatively advanced talent could be called a forte, was that of Body.    

Bas had always been fairly quick; long legs, a light frame, and, of course, the subtle but substantive boons granted by his Force affinity.  He didn't much fuck with sports, but had won a few trophies running track at prep school.  Well that was before he started skipping practice to smoke Dagobah Diesel with his hood-rat friends and almost got expelled for doing so in the school speeder bay. Sorry mom.

But when, a year ago, his Force sensitivity finally blossomed into what it was meant to be, it was using that connection to augment his physical endeavors, be it a sprint, a quick draw of his trusty hold-out, or an unusually stiff backhand to a nerf-herder talking on his name, that came most easily, so clearly.

His eyes were still shut tight, when he breathed loudly, as if to say "here goes nothing", and chunked the metallic, glowing cylinder hard down the hall, ten or twenty feet past the gun-toting sentry.   His eyes shut tighter, as if in earnest prayer to a mysterious God that she'd take the bait.  He looked at Kathar and nodded, taking a last look over the side.  As to plan, the gunslinger had pistols drawn and was facing the opposite direction, mislead by Bas' ad hoc distraction.  In a forceful whisper he blurted, "Now."

Bas ran like he was a few meters behind his track arch-nemesis.  The boons, both the biological ones in his blood and the mystic ones flowing throughout him, propelled him in a half-blurry line toward the open port.  Thirty feet.  20.  Then danger.  Bas hit the floor a half-millisecond before three pinpoint-accurate blaster bolts shot over his head and splashed corrosively into the ancient durasteel wall panel.  He never stopped, rolling closer to the doorway, drawing the charged hold-out, glinting acid and silver in the sickly yellow lighting, and firing three wild bolts in the shooters general direction.  Rolling to his feet and completing the last couple feet of the live-or-die sprint, Bas bolted upright and took shelter behind the threshold just in time.  Four more bolts, one striking so close a fleck of molten metal burned a hole through his jacket before singing to the shirt underneath.  If he'd had the time, Bas would have been furious, maybe even killed the bitch.  Instead, he fired a couple more shots wildly, hoping to cover Kathar's own sprint.

Once they were both safely within Bay 7, Bas unloaded half of the handout on the interior access panel, and the heavy, magnalocked doors closed tight in a half instant.  He was breathing so hard he couldn't hardly stand it, his mistreated, aching lungs laboring to replenish precious oxygen.  That reminded him, he really needed to fucking smoke.

But they had bigger, literally, problems to deal with.  Old scale breath, who Bas had to admit had an uncommon, golden hue to his hard scales that might have been alluring but for the thug's deeply scarred face and overall menacing disposition.  He was truly massive, perhaps seven feet, and well over 300 pounds.  And he was not deaf or blind.

The mercenary was already charging the pair of adepts, the absurdly wicked blade hefted above his shoulder humming ominously.  One touch from that thing and he could kiss an apendage goodbye.  Much less with three hundred pounds of force behind it.  With ten feet to spare, Bas darted sharply to his right, away from Kathar.  Split his attention, his mind seemed to call out, the empowered nexus of Force energy carrying it to his quasi-ally.  The holdout, by his count, had 1 shot left.  He leveled it at the charging marauder, a juggernaut of momentum and murderous intent, firing square at the chest, where he thought the heart might be.  

Bas was incredulous.  The Trandoshan shrugged off the bolt, staggering a little, but losing only an iota of momentum.  That had to hurt, but not too bad apparently.  The vest he wore must have been some kind of blast mesh, and hold-outs didn't quite have the punch to burn through.  That left one option.  

He put shifted right again, drawing the collapsible phrik quarterstaff that had become his preferred weapon.  He pressed the copper release, and the foot long baton grew five times.  A half second glance at Kathar revealed fear, but also anger.  No one fucked with Cleo.  And he was about to beat the every living bantha shit out of this big lizard boy.  "Let's dance, pussy," came the taunt before a flourish of the simple weapon.