"I never knew my grandmother," Rick honestly replied, his answer satisfied. "I'm warning you right now, I won't let anyone contact anyone."
He approached the system debug screen and entered the factory access request for the ship's databases and navicom. At the same time, he carefully observed Les through the Force.
"I'm not interested in boys," Les primly pursed his lips. "And there are no girls here, and no one to contact."
It was absolutely certain that Rayno was a living being. With the same certainty, it could be stated that he was currently showing a very strong interest in the design of the chair.
"The main thing is that we understood each other," Rick said, examining the black screen of the unpowered monitor. The system was de-energized. However, there was always the ship's black box with its recordings. "What's so interesting about the chair?"
He continued to study Les in the Force.
"Do you see anyone sitting in it?" the passenger, who looked more like a teenager than an adult, asked, raising his head. It became clear that his eyes were purple. "Well, I don't see anyone either... And yet the shock absorbers claim that something very heavy is resting on them... Look, they've sunk halfway into the floor."
Indeed, the pilot's chair looked saggy.
Rick looked through the Force at the chair, mentally trying to understand who the universe had brought him together with.
A cavity was clearly visible in the seat of the chair, occupied by an object of oval shape.
"Step away from the chair," the guy said calmly, drawing a knife, "now we'll see what exactly is pulling the chair to the floor."
Les didn't argue and moved to the control panel. Now he was interested in the fasteners of the protective panel covering the internal electronics.
The latch, recessed into the upholstery, wasn't found immediately. But it was found.
Inside was an object that, by all appearances, was of historical value. Rick almost scratched his chin in thought, but remembered the helmet in time.
"Well..." he drawled, examining the obvious contraband, "and what's wrong with the panel?"
"That it prevents me from accessing the navicom's memory," the answer was exhaustive and completely useless. "I don't see any signs of tampering, there's a chance it's still there."
Les stood up and peered into the hiding place.
"And this weighs so much? It's only the size of a palm..."
Rick handed Les a multitool, and he himself intensely studied the unusual stone. The density table, or rather its upper part, tried to surface in his mind.
"It's probably an expensive thing," the contr said thoughtfully, trying to lift it without using the armor's servos. Rick's navel almost came undone – the small object weighed no less than thirty kilograms.
Activating the servos, he tore off the upholstery from the chair, lifted the stone, wrapped it in the upholstery, placed it near the bulkhead, and began to observe Les, carefully studying his physiology in the Force. His knowledge of biology was sufficient to understand if he was looking at a human.
Rayno, ignoring him, unscrewed the panel fasteners. In the dark cockpit, hunched over the console, where there was hardly any of the meager light that penetrated through the blister, Les clearly felt great and never missed the narrow slots of the screws.
The Force indicated that he had all the organs a human has, and no extra ones. And yet something was wrong with him... A slightly different breathing rhythm. A slightly different pulse rate – as if he were deeply asleep. And... Slightly different blood.
"Why do you need information from the navicom?" the unknown was a curious specimen of a race unknown to Rick. Or forgotten. Although there were so many different creatures in the galaxy... You could encounter something new every day. The motives and goals of Les interested him far more than his species.
"Information is the most popular commodity," Les explained willingly, setting the panel aside and diving headfirst into the depths of the console. He didn't need a flashlight. "Something important might surface. Or valuable. Or something that can be sold... By the way, did you check the visit frequency to this base?"
Rick sent a request to the station's server, pondering the words of his new acquaintance. He hadn't even left the station yet, and he was already thinking about obtaining goods. An interesting character.
"And where did you get so smart on the yacht?" Rick said, not broadcasting his words, but then replied through the helmet's speakers: "Checking."
The young man grunted vaguely and continued to tinker with the electronics. The delivery schedule was found quite quickly. Jar had taken advantage of a slave trader's queue. Another one was supposed to arrive next. There were about four and a half hours left until Hour X.
"A slave trader arrives in four and a half hours," Rick added, activating the servos and picking up the unknown artifact, "when you're done here, go to the terminal in the hangar."
After that, he headed away from the damaged ship, calculating who he could sell the found item to, examining it for inscriptions in the brighter light of the hangar.
There were no inscriptions. There was a dense, intertwined pattern on the surface.
All in all, confirming whether the corpse was a shapeshifter didn't really change anything. Nor did it provide any answers. But Haylan took on this task precisely because at least something might surface.
Reaching the body, Solka pointed to it for the droid.
"It is necessary to examine this corpse. Determine its species. Externally, it strongly resembles me. Determine whether this is a consequence of intervention or the creature's own ability. Take the necessary analyses from me and conduct a comparison."
Glad to be given work and not be tried to be broken, the droid got down to business. Its capabilities were limited; it couldn't perform a detailed genetic analysis, nor could it determine species if the race wasn't on its list of available types, but after a series of manipulations, it reported that the deceased was not related to Haylan, was not human at all, and was not on the standard list of species available to this unit.
It wasn't as if Solka expected anything else. By and large, nothing was clarified.
"And was surgical intervention performed?" he clarified, "To change its appearance? Or is it a property of the creature's own tissues?"
"The scanners show no traces of cosmetic surgery," the droid assured him. "There are no internal scars in the soft tissues of the face."
"A shapeshifter after all," the Alderaanian concluded, and nodded to the droid: "Thank you for your work. You are dismissed."
The med-droid shuffled nearby and rolled away, freezing, blinking its indicators.
However, almost immediately, Solka had an idea.
"You know what... Examine the other bodies for now. For tissue similarity to this one."
Returning to the ship, Haylan looked around for Rick.
Rick, meanwhile, was walking to the terminal with the deck, holding the artifact found by Les in his hands. The contr didn't claim that he found it himself, but the decision to appropriate someone else's find was final and not subject to discussion.
The food, though simple, was hot and tasty. And with an appetite worthy of a starving predator – incredibly delicious.
Iris didn't fear poison – it wasn't profitable. Narcotics were within acceptable risk.
Falien returned even faster this time, placing a large teapot and a cup on the table.
"I must take my leave, my lady, matters require my presence," such a tone could be heard at the Royal Assembly. "I will try to resolve them as quickly as possible. You are completely safe here. Rest."
Another slight bow – and he silently disappeared into the corridor.
Looking at the door that closed behind the lizard, Iris merely shook her head slightly. She felt a special confidence in this falien. He was completely calm and convinced that he controlled everything here. It even evoked a slight envy. A feeling that drives one forward and to achieve more.
Iris was just finishing her tea when she felt the ship taking off. She shivered slightly, wrapping her hands around the hot cup and pondered.
Her position on this ship remained unclear. Her future – also.
She had to expect that she would have to pay for herself with a ransom. But... could her family pay the required amount? And what would that amount even be? Not ten thousand...
Her long claws tapped against the cup. Ransom would mean instant, calculated marriage for her, without a voice. Not the worst prospect, but a rather dismal one. Although, for her kind, it was necessary. Any other options? Perhaps. But what could she learn sitting here? And she needed to know.
Who was Jar? An aristocrat. A falien. Commander of those who attacked the slave trader base. Not wearing the uniform or insignia of any house... an exile? Who does he work for now? Himself? The Republic? The Empire? Or perhaps even... the Black Sun?
She was looking for an opportunity to join an organization that would not be a disgrace for Lady Xander to work for. Perhaps – now was the chance?
In any case, she should look around. No one told her to sit here. And in the worst case, she would simply be asked to return to her cabin. Perhaps even politely. Iris set down her cup and carefully peeked into the corridor.
A horned head immediately turned in her direction. A zabrak was leaning against the bulkhead next to the door.
"Ma'am? Do you need anything?"
"To look around a bit," the answer was as honest as possible. And her amber eyes with vertical pupils looked at the zabrak very attentively. Any of his answers was a source of invaluable information.
"The Cap said you'd want to see the ship," the zabrak replied with a questioning look. "I can't take you to the bridge or the cargo hold. Everything else is fine. What would you like to see?"
An unexpected answer – the falien woman was still very wary of everything that was happening around her. However, this was a natural reaction to the situation.
"I'm interested in everything," this was also an honest answer, perhaps too honest, "so it doesn't matter what I see or in what order."
The zabrak led her through the transport. There wasn't much to see – a galley with an auto-cook, a tiny mess hall with a holotable, a sanitary block – shared by everyone... and that was it. At the doors to the cabins, the escort hesitated.
"Ma'am, people are resting after the operation..."
"Let's not disturb them," the falien woman even lowered her voice slightly. A standard ship. Nothing unusual. No answers. On one hand, it was a bit annoying. On the other hand, it piqued her curiosity.
"And where is the ship heading?"
"To our base," came the answer. "To Nar Shaddaa. Would you like some caf? Or shall I turn on the holotable for you?"
"Can I have both?"
A careful glance would have noticed how her expression became very, very thoughtful. However, only her compatriot had enough attention here.
On one hand, nothing was hidden from her, on the other hand, nothing was shown. On the third hand, they were giving her additional access to information. Even with caf.
Something began to suggest that the ransom version was too banal.
"Of course, ma'am," the mercenary led her to the mess hall, turned on the comms for her, entered the password, apologized, and left – to prepare the caf.
And Iris began to watch the news. Perhaps she would learn something. Perhaps – she would just pass the time. It was probably worth finding out what had been happening in Nar Shaddaa in recent days. And somewhere nearby.
There was a lot of news. Among the most popular were the arsonist from the wasteland, who was already attributed to some terrible sect that made sacrifices, a video recording of a speeder fluttering in the sky as if gravity no longer existed for it, with many comments and offers to hire the pilot, the collapse of several companies, even brutal reprisals against the backdrop of local crime, and finally, an auction for a rare slave. Bids had already reached the annual budget of an outlying planet. Iris recognized herself in the holophoto.
Looking at the last piece of news, Iris visibly saddened. Now, many things fit together. A good, valuable catch, worth going after herself and ensuring it didn't get lost or killed along the way. But what was she supposed to do about it? There was nowhere to escape here. And she couldn't do anything against an armed team. Wait? Her family still wouldn't have enough funds for SUCH a ransom...
"Your caf, ma'am," the zabrak brought her a mug of hot drink. "The Cap will change soon."
"Thank you," the falien woman took the cup, continuing to watch the news. However, now quite indifferently. In any case, she needed to think about what she had learned.
"If you need me, just call me," the mercenary squeezed his trained body into the light plastic chair with difficulty. And immediately dozed off.
A quarter of an hour later, footsteps were heard in the corridor, and a tall figure of a falien appeared in the passage.
"Lady?" the voice was quiet. The lizard clearly wasn't going to wake the mercenary.
The falien woman raised her head, hearing the voice and sensing the familiar scent. She cares about her people, she noted mechanically, silently getting up from the chair that had become almost her own.
"Shall I escort you to your cabin, or would you like to stay here?" Jar asked, entering the mess hall.
"What a huge sum..." The figure from the auction flashed in her memory again, causing the crest on her back to rise slightly – an almost impermissible display of nervousness.
"I think the cabin will be more comfortable," she also spoke quietly. "Lord Jar, can you answer a few of my questions?"
"All that are within my purview, my lady," the lizard offered her his hand. "You are agitated..."
His voice held sincere concern.
"It's not surprising," her delicate hand, adorned with dangerous long claws, rested on his hand. "Because I still don't know where I am, with whom, or what will happen to me," her voice, however, sounded completely calm.
"You are on board my ship, my lady," Jar opened the cabin door for her. "And nothing will happen to you that could threaten your health or, even more so, your life."
"You are extraordinarily generous, my lord," Iris followed the invitation and entered the cabin. "And this, undoubtedly, extremely magnanimous protection only applies within the territory of this ship?"
"On any territory where I am present," Jar gave her an exquisite bow. "As you have surely seen for yourself, my lady, your situation is currently somewhat complicated by the consequences of your capture. You can only be safe at home or under my protection."
The falien woman nodded in agreement. The advertisement she received was simply magnificent. Any bandit who saw her or heard about her would not refuse such a reward.
"The first option doesn't appeal to me too much yet."
She tilted her head slightly to the side, thoughtfully examining Jar, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"How can I thank you for your patronage?"
"With your company," the falien brought her fingers to his lips, released them, and led her to the chair, sitting down opposite himself. "I miss worthy company very much, Lady Iris. Those I have to deal with are undoubtedly very useful. But you understand, one cannot live on usefulness alone..."
"I understand," the girl looked relaxed, settling comfortably in the chair. "It seems you have a very busy life?"
"It would be more accurate to say that it is tense," the crest rose slightly and fell again. "Busyness depends heavily on content, my lady..."
Iris's eyes narrowed slightly, betraying her extreme curiosity. The falien's offer was a bit ambiguous, but... There was something extremely tempting about it.
"And what do you usually do?"
"When you're not rescuing girls from captivity."
"Various things," Jar looked completely calm. "Business, finding profitable deals, selecting suitable personnel. All that a middle manager usually does."
Without a doubt, he was hiding almost everything. This was not surprising. No, on the contrary – it was natural, correct. At the same time, it was so interesting to piece together a complete picture from such fragments of information.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Lord Jar."
She smiled for the first time, tilting her head slightly – an expression of polite but sincere interest.
"What exactly interests you, my lady?" the falien asked politely. "About myself" could include many meanings, from genealogy to hobbies.
"Everything you deem necessary to tell me," her claws tapped against each other, emphasizing the seriousness of her words. "You need company, Lord Jar. And I need information."
The falien nodded almost imperceptibly, agreeing with this argument.
"I have my own home on Nar Shaddaa, where I try to maintain the spirit of our homeland. I collect antiques; in this sense, the Smuggler's Moon is a real gold mine. You can get if not everything, then a lot there. I don't keep pets – my lifestyle doesn't allow me such luxury. I love intellectual games... However, this is inherent in all of us."