"So, are your knees shaking? Is your nerve twitching?" Rick hid his concerns under the usual good-natured smile of a village boy. "After all, you're going to meet a representative of the most terrifying faction in the galaxy..."
"Pah," the pirate's carelessness would have been enough for a dozen felinxes fattened to complete sphericality. "Do you know what Quint says in such cases?"
"Interesting to hear," the nod coincided with another maneuver, and the aero-speeder wedged into the stream, occupying a free space.
"Quint says: if something depends on you, you'll do it, and there's nothing to worry about. If nothing depends on you - then there's nothing to worry about at all."
"Uh-huh, why worry," the counter calculated the mileage to the destination, the numbers sharply began to decrease. "Zabraks, damn it. Okay, let's go the standard way. I don't know any other anyway."
The standard route led them to the parking lot near the club. A pleasant contrast after most of the dive bars of Nar Shaddaa - almost clean around, armed guards, face control at the entrance.
"Are you expected?" the guard's sharp gaze swept over the arrivals.
"We're by invitation. To Jarr," Rick said casually, putting his hands in his jacket pockets for greater credibility and looking at the facade of the establishment with little interest, while studying the surroundings.
The entrance to the club was in a dead end. All intersections were left behind the parking lot, and no stairs were visible.
"I'll show you," the guard touched the microphone pea, reported that two people had arrived for Jarr, listed the weapons he detected. He received an answer and nodded towards the door: "Let's go."
"After you," Rick objected, tilting his head slightly, letting the guard go ahead and thinking about the information he had received. He wasn't asked to introduce himself, he wasn't asked anything at all, not even to surrender his weapon. Several conclusions could be drawn from this: the place was very well guarded, and they had already been detected on the way here and informed of everything known about them, and Nemo's type, from which he had not strayed far, should have been recognizable now. This means that the bouncer at the door was likely decorative, hiding the establishment's main defense systems. For example, a couple of automatic turrets.
Without looking back, the guard headed for the doors. The guards at the entrance had apparently already received instructions and silently parted, letting the procession pass.
Inside was a hall decorated in a strict style. An administrator's desk in the corner by the entrance, an open passage with a drapery opposite the door.
"To Jarr," the guard said.
"Sixth office," the droid administrator pointed to the passage behind the curtain.
Rick looked questioningly at the guard. He had no desire to search for the office himself. After all, he had been invited, even after he had achieved it. In his opinion, it would have been more correct if the door to the sixth office had been opened not by him, but by the guard.
"First time here?" the guard understood him. "I'll show you."
The corridor behind the curtain was empty and dimly lit. On both sides were identical doors with numbers. In front of the door with the number 6, the guard stopped, pressed the intercom button, and reported:
"Mr. Jarr, your guests have arrived."
The door began to open.
Rick tilted his head slightly in gratitude to the guard, and then, nodding to Jethro, headed into the office. There was no fear or apprehension, there was no time to be afraid.
Inside, a set table awaited them - fruits, a decanter of wine, glasses. Three people were sitting at the table: a Falien and two humans. When the guests appeared, the humans stood up. The reptilian remained seated.
"Sit down, gentlemen," the Falien's voice was insinuating, with hissing undertones. "My name is Jarr."
Rick smiled, refreshing everything he could dig up in his head about this race and, at the same time, thinking that the faction had enough resources to stuff a Falien here. Tilting his head in greeting, he decided to introduce himself:
"Captain Monroe," after which he accepted the invitation to sit, pondering whether his specific skills could protect him from the strange charm of the lizards.
"I've heard of your exploits," the crest on the lizard's head and neck bristled as he turned to one of the humans. "Jamie, pour the guests some wine. Does your companion have a name?"
"I can answer for myself," the Durog, who had maintained a most independent demeanor until now, stretched his lipless mouth into a grin. "Jethro. I represent one of the free captains."
Rick gave a crooked smile, using a brief pause to formulate an answer. He decided not to refuse the wine, but, touching the Force, he examined it for harmful substances. The wine was ordinary wine. There was nothing extra in it.
"These are not my exploits," he finally said in a casual tone, fighting the surge of adrenaline. After all, this meeting was very important. "This is the local faction's miscalculation."
"When one benefits from others' miscalculations, it says a lot," the Falien smiled thinly, tasting the wine. "A good vintage and a good harvest... When others' miscalculations are used to destroy an opponent, it also says a lot, Mr. Monroe. We expected you to use the element of surprise and try to take over the leadership of the faction you had a falling out with."
"Taking that position would be a miscalculation for me," Rick took a small sip, tasting the wine and finding it excellent. "I clearly assess my strengths and abilities, and taking this, albeit a tempting piece for me, would be a manifestation of greed, which, without proper control, will lead to my defeat."
He took another sip, appreciating the taste and aroma of the noble drink.
"But to not profit from the situation would be extremely... weak-willed," he said, pausing, and then he smiled restrainedly at the master of the house.
"You're right, this is good wine."
Falien clicked his claws on the polished table.
The second human placed a sheet of flimsie in front of him.
The reptilian nudged the printout towards Rick.
"This is a list of victims and destroyed objects, Captain Monroe," whistling notes became more noticeable in his voice.
"And the total damage to the factions that were affected during your... profit extraction. Judging by the numbers, calling you weak-willed would be... imprudent."
"It was imprudent to try and collect a bounty on my head," Rick examined with interest what they were trying to pin on him, and was surprised to find that several points were missing.
"I won't pity those who are incapable of soberly assessing the situation, setting aside emotions and greed. They got off easy. But I'm not here because of that. Or rather, not only because of that. You know what my confrontation with the Troy faction led to, and, so as not to recount what is already known, allow me to know what you know about how it all began."
Rick was a guest here, but nevertheless, playing the game that Jar had started, trying to make him guilty of something, was difficult, and he wouldn't bet on himself in it.
Therefore, he needed to take matters into his own hands.
"Information is expensive," the claws with metal plating touched the table again.
"You claimed you had something to interest me, Captain Monroe. But I haven't heard your offers yet."
Rick set aside his wine glass and looked into the Falien's eyes.
"Troy received information through his channels. Information that could have brought him great dividends at his level. It was the realization of this information that led Troy to his death. First, he killed the intermediary my friend was flying to, then there was an unsuccessful kidnapping attempt, which I managed to thwart. During our acquaintance, Troy told me what kind of information it was. The coordinates of a large transshipment base of one of the factions that had broken away from you."
After that, he looked at Jar.
The reptilian's narrow tongue touched his hard lips.
"That's interesting information," the Falien admitted.
"Troy was an ISB agent. That's why you interested us, Captain Monroe. A person who so openly goes against the Empire... is either crazy, or he has a very big trump card up his sleeve."
Rick pondered.
On the one hand, the Falien was right, on the other...
"Jar," he remembered how Kailas had fooled the ISB, and what the confrontation with the Empire had cost him personally.
A sad schadenfreude mixed with pain distorted his smile.
"Do I give the impression of being crazy?"
"To tell you the truth, your entire race is so prone to emotions that it sometimes gives the impression of being slightly unhinged," Jar rudely replied politely, while avoiding the question.
"So, to business. What do you want for the information, Captain Monroe?"
"Before Captain Monroe answers," interjected the Duros, who had been silently drinking wine until then, "I'll say what I want. My intermediary is dead, and I need a new sales channel. Not nonsense. Electronics, jewelry."
"For the information, I want several favors," Rick didn't wait for what the Falien would answer his companion.
"First, to consider my comrade's offer and satisfy it, second, to ensure that there are no more bounties on Nemo's head, third... I was counting on you to help me destroy Troy's base, after clearing it out and allowing me to take whatever I deemed necessary, but... Now, I think I'll ask for some equipment and gear. I can make a list right now."
He looked at the Falien, again waiting for his reaction.
The reptilian listened attentively, the tips of his claws tapping on the wood.
Not a single muscle twitched on his green face, but in the Force, a distinct threat emanated.
"Captain Monroe, right now you truly give the impression of being crazy, because for the information that we will find ourselves one way or another, you want... disproportionately much."
Falien leaned back in his chair.
"A sales channel for the loot is an acceptable price. Equipment is an acceptable price. Everything else..."
The crest's teeth stood on end.
"I didn't set the bounty on your head, Captain Monroe. I can only remove it in one way – along with your head. To come into conflict with the ISB, clearing out a base where their agent operated... Tempting. But irrational. We'll risk fighters, and you'll get the cream? No, Captain Monroe. Unconditionally – no. This base is yours. If you have the capabilities to take it."
"I am saving you time, Jar, which is priceless. However, I cannot disagree with you, so I will rephrase my 'second'. Spread disinformation, so that in a couple of weeks, no one will be able to say exactly what Nemo looked like, what race, gender, or age he was," the glass emptied with another small sip, "I think this task is quite trivial for you."
"The triviality of this task will depend on your plans, Captain Monroe," the Falien sipped his wine.
"If you intend to continue such an active life here, I would prefer to earn from you rather than help you. It will be a significantly more profitable investment of effort."
"I plan to leave the Hutt Space soon," there was no particular point in hiding this information.
"So earning from me here will be somewhat problematic."
"But cooperation won't work either," Jar concluded.
"Well, at least you've disrupted the balance of power on Nar Shaddaa, Captain Monroe. That could be useful... Write your list. Now, Mr. Jethro..."
The reptilian switched to the Duros.
"You spoke of a sales channel. Therefore, your free captain can supply more or less stable batches of goods. That's an interesting option. What volume of batches and how often can they arrive?"
Jethro finished his wine and set aside his glass – the conversation had turned to business.
"There will be no constant supply schedule," he hastened to disappoint the Falien.
"Free captains are free captains; today you're up to your neck in business, tomorrow you're broke. Although, it rarely happens to the captain... But at least three times a year I can supply... say, up to a centner of valuable items that can be sold without prior processing. Of course, you retain the right to your own percentage above our requested price."
Rick began to sketch out a list on the flimsie in a technical font that revealed nothing about the author except that he was familiar with it.
First, he sketched what was truly needed, and then he began to expand, adding what might be useful, and what he personally desired.
In the end, he rewrote the list, breaking it down into groups, and placed it on the table, closer to the Falien.
He didn't interfere in the conversation, deciding to wait until Jet resolved his problems.
The negotiations with the Duros ended quickly.
Jethro didn't ask for anything beyond what was necessary, didn't offer stars from a neighboring galaxy, and an agreement was reached in a matter of minutes.
After that, Jar reached for the list.
Falien read it, glanced at Rick.
The Force emanated bewilderment, then disbelief.
He read it again. Aloud.
"Paraglider 'Winged Shadow-4' x2
Immediac Model 10 spacesuit x10
HR211 Power Suit / HR211 Powersuit x1
AV-1s Reconnaissance Armor x4
4 repulsor belts
First Aid Kit x10
'FastFlash' Medpack x10
Field Doctor's Bag x3
Medical Sensor RFX/K x2
Medical Backpack (Field Kit) ECM-598
Plasma Replicator 'PFG-700'
System Diagnostic Filter
Shock Blanket
Field Cauterizer
LSW-983 Welding Machine
Fusion Cutters PCW-876 x3
Cleaner Droid x3
Auto-cook.
Auto-blaster Ship Turrets x3
Q6 Model Hunting Pistol x5
IR-5 'Intimidator' x2
Firelance blaster rifle
HBt-4 Blaster Rifle
HB-4 Hunting Rifle
Verpine shatter gun
Ammunition."
The reptilian raised his gaze again.
"Captain Monroe, am I to understand that you accomplished all that is attributed to you with your bare hands?!"
"Jar," Rick smiled, looking into Falien's eyes, "we will compensate for the lack of equipment with our skills. I was planning to get a similar list from Troy's base. As you can see, I don't need any cream. But to go there with only my team... I won't risk it. You don't like the length of the list, let's shorten it to an acceptable one. Or... I am willing to consider options for cooperation in the near future without shortening the list."
Falien's gaze became sharp. Very sharp.
"I'm starting to feel a desire to see the skills that can compensate for this... in action."
A claw pinned the flimsie to the wooden tabletop.
"We will do this, Captain Monroe. I will give you what you ask for. On my terms. You will go with my team to clear the base, the coordinates of which you promised me. You will receive the equipment before the operation. After it – you can keep it as payment. Does that suit you?"
"Three points," Rick stopped smiling, gathering himself, "after this, neither you nor I owe each other anything. My team is not going to the cleanup. And after this, you will deliver me wherever I say."
Everything was starting to feel like he was being set up... Again.
"You have a ship, don't you?" Jar reminded him, flicking his tongue again.
From the outside, this movement might have looked like teasing, but the Force revealed only extreme tension.
"Absolutely correct, I do," the human agreed, "but I, not possessing full information about the operation you are about to undertake, do not want to expose my ship even a dozen parsecs from the operation site. And I would prefer to be delivered to a planet of my choice, from where I can then fly away on my own. Fallens are known for their elegant multi-step intrigues, Jar, and... I wouldn't want to be a pawn in one of your, I'm sure, magnificent plans."
He said the last part with undisguised admiration.
The way this race conducted its business was indeed admirable.
"There's no need to even intrigue here," the reptilian pushed the flimsie towards one of his men.
"You've told me everything about yourself, Captain Monroe. Just now. I can use the information I received against you. I can simply use it. I can... keep it for the future. Depending on what I deem more profitable. You will be contacted when the operation is prepared. And for now... The coordinates."
Another, pre-prepared piece of flimsie went to the reptilian, on it were the coordinates the guy had received from Troy.
Barely glancing at the sheet, the reptilian sent it after the list and rose with the heavy grace of a predatory reptile.
"Have a pleasant evening, Captain Monroe. The room is paid for two standard hours."
And accompanied by his retinue, he headed for the exit.
"Interesting," Rick said, as soon as the trio left, and, finishing his wine, he leisurely began to eat the fruits he knew and had already tried.
"Interesting, where and how did you slip up?" the Duros clarified, snatching a large bunch of dark grapes from the dish.
"Slip up? What are you talking about?" he asked the Duros.
"Even I would have drawn some conclusions in this crocodile's place," the pirate chuckled.
"You probably drew him half the Imperial arsenal there? So, you have zero gear, no money to buy it – otherwise you wouldn't be asking. At the same time, you're taking down a serious faction with all the cosmic demons and hinting at some special skills that supposedly allow you to do without gear. You're not taking the team into action, so the special skills are only yours. You either trust your team more than yourself, or you've found a way to ensure unconditional loyalty... If you were in his place with such a character, what would you think, huh?"
"Jethro, my friend, you see Jedi everywhere," Rick smiled again, "I shoot a blaster well, and for the most part, that was enough to pull this off. That, and your stealth generator, and new acquaintances. And everything you said... I'm sure a retired Imperial commando would have done it better than me."
"And now try to prove it to a creature that breathes and with a couple of cunning intentions per breath," the pirate snorted and crunched on the juicy berries with appetite.
"I won't prove anything to anyone. He wants to test me, he will test me," the guy shrugged, "You got a sales channel, I got almost a full list of equipment for the team without extra cost. And a chance to stretch my legs."
"From the Black Sun – and almost without cost?" Jethro tilted his head, examining the smuggler.
"You have a fever. Are you going to wait here until they contact you, or would you prefer to return to the ship?"
"I see no reason not to have a snack," Rick poured himself another half glass of wine, "before heading to the ship. By the way, are you with me now? Or should I take you somewhere?"
"I think it makes sense to wait for them to come for the cargo, sell it, and leave," the Duros continued to imitate a locust.
"The captain probably already lost me... and this green one promised to send an appraiser within an hour."
"Hmm... Can you manage alone?" Rick needed to collect something before going to take the base.
"Or should I keep an eye on you?"
"Keep an eye on yourself," Jethro advised.
"Because I have a feeling – the gear will cost you dearly... But if anything – call, we'll figure something out together."
"I'll definitely call," Rick smiled, finishing his wine.
After all, he liked drinks a notch stronger, "Just put my number on speed dial. If anything happens, call. As one of my acquaintances, now deceased, used to say, I am a very fast person."
He got up from his chair and headed for the entrance, turning back only at the door, and said:
"Clear skies, Jet."
Leaving the establishment, Rick headed for the parking lot, adjusting his blaster on the go.
It was time to return.