Post by Ghev Dralin on Oct 21, 2011 19:16:16 GMT -5
CHAPTER I
CLASH AT SUBTERREL
Little news ever made it as far into the Outer Rim as Subterrel, at least not in time for it to be of any relevance; by the time anything substantial slithered its way through the HoloNet to be broadcast on the acid-ridden, pockmarked planet, it was old news to the rest of the galaxy. Even the planet itself generated little in the way of gossip or intrigue; the occasional collapsed mine, or a bout of acidic toxicity, was usually the limit. Therefore, the day an old D5-Mantis landed in the meagre starport in the Northern-hemisphere town of Colony Twelve, speculation began to spread like wildfire.
The shovel-handed miners themselves were largely uninterested; their sole purpose was to mine resources. They'd been born and bred for it, created by the geniuses of the Kaminoan cloning facilities for that purpose alone. The arrival of any space vessel was as insignificant to them as the value of the goods they dredged from the corroded rock. But there were others on Subterrel who did take an interest, particularly the Kaminoan intermediary, Shan Faa. So rare was it for a Kaminoan to be found off their homeworld, Faa was an easy being to spot in a crowd, especially here on Subterrel. And right now, she didn't wish to be found. Of course she was aware of the price on her head; after the tricks she'd been pulling, she was surprised her people hadn't gone to the trouble of breeding an expendable subject with which to track her down and bring her in. Perhaps they were growing complacent, trusting in the abilities of another rather than their own genetic mastery.
The vessel itself was something to behold, she had to admit, watching the holo's provided by one of her low-life grunts. She hadn't personally gone to marvel at the spectacle, since that would involve leaving the safety of her commandeered cave, putting herself directly in the firing line of the being that had come to take her. She didn't much care for machines anyway, except for those that were used to create the creatures with which she and her kin earned a fortune. But this ship, a four-thousand-year-old relic, gave her pause for thought. Whoever owned the vessel must have lavished it with much care and attention. It was a wonder that such a ship was still in working condition, even with the obvious modifications made to it.
"I was beginning to think my superiors had forgotten about me" Faa lamented, switching off the holo. "Perhaps I misjudged them too early".
"We've cross-referenced the ship with known active mercenaries, ma'am" said the Polis Massan in charge of her security.
"I'd expected them to send Egravian" Shan Faa sighed, lightly drumming her elongated fingers on the wooden table before her. She craned her long neck forward to peer at the datapad in the Polis Massan's hand. "Hmph. Viszla. I should have predicted his surgically precise style would be in keeping with the mindset of my would-be captors".
"We could send a detachment to head him off" the Massan suggested. Faa wondered for a moment if the creature was Male or Female; she'd scarcely taken any interest in her security since the posting of her bounty, save for their efficiency and their demand for credits. These Massan's all looked and sounded identical to her, a rather unremarkable genetic pool producing equally unremarkable results. At least these particular ones had a good head for business, and a steady aim with a blaster.
"There's no point" Faa sighed, rising from the table, her small head almost brushing the low ceiling of the cave she'd converted into her living quarters for the forseeable future. "Tal Viszla's reputation precedes him. I have put measures in place for such an unhappy circumstance - I suggest you and your team take the rest of the day off. Or is it night?" Faa pondered aloud, looking to the ceiling as though she could see the sky through it. "It matters not. Go. Leave me be".
"But ma'am, there is a matter of payment. We will, of course, be forwarded the credits owed to us, since we're leaving by your command?" the Massan pressed.
"Pray to whatever deity you strange creatures believe in, that I am around long enough to continue emptying my cleverly-earned credits into your underworked coffers" Faa said dismissively. "Your accounts have already been credited. Now go".
The Massan head of security obeyed, rounding up the rest of his species gathered in the cave network surrounding Shan Faa's abode. They didn't care whether they made their credits guarding empty caverns or drinking in the local inn, so long as they did get paid.
*
Tal Viszla bore no ill will to the denizens of Subterrel, though even he had to admit the planet was a cess-pit. His battle-scarred Death Watch armour, modelled after that of the Mandalorians before they'd streamlined the design after the Yuuzhan Vong war, was showing signs of additonal wear and tear after only an hour of exposure to the planet's weather. There were very few buildings above the surface of Colony Twelve, and those that battled the corrosive conditions had been patched up so many times, they looked like they'd been cobbled together from whatever materials happened to be lying in the streets at the time.
Visibility was also poor, the entire town seeming to be shrouded in a greenish haze which stained everything over time. He knew he'd have to spend hours performing maintenance on his weapons systems and armour once this was over.
Reaching what he supposed was the town square, he looked around, scanning the area for visible life. Most of it, if his helmet's bio-scanner was still functioning correctly, seemed to be located inside a small tavern across from where he was stood. Careful to avoid a deep puddle of sickly-green fluid, he walked toward the tavern and pushed open the doors, flakes of rust falling around his gloved hand.
Inside were most of the species he'd seen when he'd first landed in this forsaken place, gathering around his ship like it was a beacon of hope from the outside galaxy. Once the initial excitement had worn off, and the mist had thickened, those onlookers had dwindled away to whatever small pleasures they could find in their hours away from working.
After his cursory assessment of the tavern and it's patrons, he made his way briskly to the bar. Considering the hostility of the weather outside, the tavern was a surprising display of gentle sterility. The customers were quiet, socialising among themselves. The barman used a clean rag to wipe his glasses, which was a rare thing in seedy holes such as this; though comparing the tavern to anything else Viszla had found himself in throughout the Outer Rim would be almost a crime unto itself. Even the drinks on display behind the bar looked to have an exotic quality to them, and probably carried a high price-tag too.
"Can I help yer, stranger?" the barman asked, setting aside the glass he was cleaning and tossing the cloth onto his shoulder. "Might wanna take off yer 'elmet, if yer wantin' a drink, mind".
"I'm not here to drink" Viszla replied, sitting on a cushioned stool before the varnished bar-top.
"Then I think yer in the wrong place, son" the old man chuckled, resuming his glass cleaning duties.
"Maybe. I'll decide that after we have a little talk" Viszla said, sliding a few credits onto the bar-top. The barman deftly palmed them, and they disappeared into the folds of his apron.
"Now, information is it?" he asked, leaning forward so that only a few inches seperated his wrinkled nose from the black visor of Viszla's helmet. "What is it yer lookin' to find out?"
"I'm looking for someone. Not someone who's difficult to find" Viszla said, flipping open the top of his gauntlet and pressing a button. A miniature hologram of Shan Faa flickered to life, rotating in a cone of light above his gauntlet.
"Ahh yeah, know that one alright" the barman muttered grimly. "Went ter ground, I'm afraid. Squandered a lotta Kaminoan credits, shippin' their cloned miners off to the highest bidder. Got herself a nice price on 'er head, once the Kaminoans failed to track 'er down themselves".
"She's still on Subterrel though" Viszla said; it was a statement, not a query. "And like I said - someone like her isn't hard to find".
The barman was quiet for a moment, his brow creasing further, as though he were mulling something over. He rubbed his stubbled chin, then leaned away from Viszla, nodding to himself.
"Last I 'eard, she was seen fleeing to the southern hemisphere" he said.
"Are the establishments in the south more sterile than the north?" Viszla asked, snapping his gauntlet shut. The barman laughed, drawing the attention of the quiet patrons for a moment. When they decided it was little more than banter, they returned to their drinks, paying Viszla and the barman no heed.
"Friend, there ain't no place on this holey rock that's sterile" the barman chuckled. "Don't see wha' that has to do with anythin' though".
"Kaminoans rarely leave their homeworld, and when they do, they gravitate to the most sterile locations they can find" Viszla said, matter-of-factly. "They can't stand imperfection".
"Probably what made 'er do what she did" the barman grunted. "Anythin' to get off this rock".
"Nice place you have here" Viszla said, ignoring the speculation. "Very clean".
"Yeah... yeah, takes a lot to weatherproof this place..." the barman said, warily.
"A lot more than the profits you make when half your customers only drink water" Viszla continued, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the patrons. Most of them were the cloned shovel-handed miners, who's only desires beyond their programmed mining duties were the means to survive. They didn't get drunk or overindulge in delicacies. It wasn't in their nature.
"Look, what're you tryin' to..."
"Where is she?" Viszla asked. The barman recoiled, finding himself suddenly staring down the business end of a DE-10 blaster pistol.
"You can't be..."
"She's funding you to keep this place clean, so she has somewhere cozy to retreat to when nobody's around" Viszla said, again a statement rather than a query. "And since credit intake on a dung-heap like Subterrel is rather lax, you've benefitted quite nicely from the arrangement".
"I don't know what you're..."
"Last chance" Viszla said, his tone lacking any emotion. This was all just business. He didn't find it professional to kill everything that got in the way of himself and his hard merchandise, as bounties were called in the trade, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to do it. He depressed the safety stud, and the blaster charge clicked into place. The barman flinched. Viszla's finger closed on the trigger.
"Alright!" the barman wailed. By now, everyone in the bar was watching the scene, though none rose to the barman's aid. Apparently, his drinks weren't that exotic. "Alright. Just... not here" he said, trying to whisper despite his panic.
"Why? Are some of these on Faa's payroll too?" Viszla asked. The small group of Polis Massan's that had been trying to sneak out of the door behind Viszla's back suddenly paused. One of them turned to look at the bounty hunter, only to find that his other hand was aiming a Firestar 10-K carbine at the doorway. "I'd recommend you return and finish your drinks" Viszla said without looking at them. Dutifully - and because their pay didn't amount to enough ultimately to risk their lives so foolishly - the Massan's returned to their table where their half-finished drinks awaited.
Viszla holstered the pistol, and brought the carbine to bear on the barman, the bright overheads reflecting on its polished barrel. He gestured the barman into the back, and followed him through.
"Okay, okay... if Faa finds out I talked..."
"It won't matter" Viszla cut in. "By the time she realises how I found her, she'll be on her way back to Kamino".
"Fine" the barman nodded, wringing his hands together. "Fine. Follow me".
Viszla followed the barman through the kitchens and out into the yard. Rain had started falling, a fine drizzle that cleared the mist and replaced it with an unclean shower of filthy corrosive. At the back of the yard, next to a pile of discarded, acid-eaten tools, was a wooden shed. It was patched up just like the buildings Viszla had seen in the town, and was showing signs of needing further repairs.
"My brother, who used to own this bar, used to run a secret smuggling operation. Yer know, back when Subterrel saw more traffic than it does nowadays..."
"Is this relevant?" Viszla asked, pausing with the barman before the wooden shed.
"This 'ere toolshed sits right ontop of one of the access holes to the mineshafts leadin' into the main cave network in this colony" the barman continued, ignoring Viszla's question. He hefted open the door, which sounded like it was ready to fall from its rusted hinges, and took hold of the central floor panel. Displaying a surprising strength for a man of his age, he hoisted the solid wood out of the shed, revealing an access tunnel wide enough for most humanoid species to be able to climb down.
"So she's down there?" Viszla asked. He touched a finger to the panel beneath his helmet's antennae, and his visor began displaying the results of an ultrasonic burst, showing the vast network of tunnels beneath his feet. "There's a lot of tunnel down there".
"Most of it's blocked now" the barman explained. "This section ain't much used anymore. Only the main access shaft and one of its branches remain, and the miners don't come this way since they stripped it clean of ore".
"Very well" Viszla said, moving to descend into the hole.
"Wait a minute! I was hopin' there'd be some kinda payment..."
Viszla levelled his carbine on the old man again, who promptly shut his mouth and waved him off.
When he returned to the tavern, the old man bypassed the main bar entirely, heading instead to the study, where he had a direct line with Shan Faa. He tuned in to her comm frequency, and looked around as though expecting to see the bounty hunter watching him.
"Yes?" Faa asked, her voice mired in static. She was still in the cave, then.
"It's me" the barman hissed.
"Ahh Jansen, you curious little human. What is the matter?"
"It's urgent!" the barman said, wide-eyed with fright and panic. "Someone's been sniffin' round 'ere. Wearin' armour. Mandalorian, though there were definately Death Watch markings on his shoulderpads..."
"Yes, I believed he'd show up at your tavern sooner or later. His name is Tal Viszla. I do hope you didn't give him reason to get angry" the Kaminoan sighed. She sounded more depressed than ever, almost as though she'd given up already.
"I sent 'im packin', but I think he mighta caught scent of somethin'" the barman lied. "Might be best if yer moved on..."
"Not to worry. I foresaw your inevitable betrayal, too" Faa said, almost with a laugh. "Do not worry, I am not angry. Viszla is reputed to be the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, it wouldn't be wise to lie to him".
"No... no, course not. Look..."
"Your discretion has been appreciated, Jansen. I highly doubt we'll be doing business again, however".
"No, I suppose not..."
"Goodbye, Jansen".
"Uhm... bye...". The line went dead, and Jansen the barman rose shakily to his feet. For reasons he couldn't explain, he had an undeniably bad feeling about all this.
CLASH AT SUBTERREL
Little news ever made it as far into the Outer Rim as Subterrel, at least not in time for it to be of any relevance; by the time anything substantial slithered its way through the HoloNet to be broadcast on the acid-ridden, pockmarked planet, it was old news to the rest of the galaxy. Even the planet itself generated little in the way of gossip or intrigue; the occasional collapsed mine, or a bout of acidic toxicity, was usually the limit. Therefore, the day an old D5-Mantis landed in the meagre starport in the Northern-hemisphere town of Colony Twelve, speculation began to spread like wildfire.
The shovel-handed miners themselves were largely uninterested; their sole purpose was to mine resources. They'd been born and bred for it, created by the geniuses of the Kaminoan cloning facilities for that purpose alone. The arrival of any space vessel was as insignificant to them as the value of the goods they dredged from the corroded rock. But there were others on Subterrel who did take an interest, particularly the Kaminoan intermediary, Shan Faa. So rare was it for a Kaminoan to be found off their homeworld, Faa was an easy being to spot in a crowd, especially here on Subterrel. And right now, she didn't wish to be found. Of course she was aware of the price on her head; after the tricks she'd been pulling, she was surprised her people hadn't gone to the trouble of breeding an expendable subject with which to track her down and bring her in. Perhaps they were growing complacent, trusting in the abilities of another rather than their own genetic mastery.
The vessel itself was something to behold, she had to admit, watching the holo's provided by one of her low-life grunts. She hadn't personally gone to marvel at the spectacle, since that would involve leaving the safety of her commandeered cave, putting herself directly in the firing line of the being that had come to take her. She didn't much care for machines anyway, except for those that were used to create the creatures with which she and her kin earned a fortune. But this ship, a four-thousand-year-old relic, gave her pause for thought. Whoever owned the vessel must have lavished it with much care and attention. It was a wonder that such a ship was still in working condition, even with the obvious modifications made to it.
"I was beginning to think my superiors had forgotten about me" Faa lamented, switching off the holo. "Perhaps I misjudged them too early".
"We've cross-referenced the ship with known active mercenaries, ma'am" said the Polis Massan in charge of her security.
"I'd expected them to send Egravian" Shan Faa sighed, lightly drumming her elongated fingers on the wooden table before her. She craned her long neck forward to peer at the datapad in the Polis Massan's hand. "Hmph. Viszla. I should have predicted his surgically precise style would be in keeping with the mindset of my would-be captors".
"We could send a detachment to head him off" the Massan suggested. Faa wondered for a moment if the creature was Male or Female; she'd scarcely taken any interest in her security since the posting of her bounty, save for their efficiency and their demand for credits. These Massan's all looked and sounded identical to her, a rather unremarkable genetic pool producing equally unremarkable results. At least these particular ones had a good head for business, and a steady aim with a blaster.
"There's no point" Faa sighed, rising from the table, her small head almost brushing the low ceiling of the cave she'd converted into her living quarters for the forseeable future. "Tal Viszla's reputation precedes him. I have put measures in place for such an unhappy circumstance - I suggest you and your team take the rest of the day off. Or is it night?" Faa pondered aloud, looking to the ceiling as though she could see the sky through it. "It matters not. Go. Leave me be".
"But ma'am, there is a matter of payment. We will, of course, be forwarded the credits owed to us, since we're leaving by your command?" the Massan pressed.
"Pray to whatever deity you strange creatures believe in, that I am around long enough to continue emptying my cleverly-earned credits into your underworked coffers" Faa said dismissively. "Your accounts have already been credited. Now go".
The Massan head of security obeyed, rounding up the rest of his species gathered in the cave network surrounding Shan Faa's abode. They didn't care whether they made their credits guarding empty caverns or drinking in the local inn, so long as they did get paid.
*
Tal Viszla bore no ill will to the denizens of Subterrel, though even he had to admit the planet was a cess-pit. His battle-scarred Death Watch armour, modelled after that of the Mandalorians before they'd streamlined the design after the Yuuzhan Vong war, was showing signs of additonal wear and tear after only an hour of exposure to the planet's weather. There were very few buildings above the surface of Colony Twelve, and those that battled the corrosive conditions had been patched up so many times, they looked like they'd been cobbled together from whatever materials happened to be lying in the streets at the time.
Visibility was also poor, the entire town seeming to be shrouded in a greenish haze which stained everything over time. He knew he'd have to spend hours performing maintenance on his weapons systems and armour once this was over.
Reaching what he supposed was the town square, he looked around, scanning the area for visible life. Most of it, if his helmet's bio-scanner was still functioning correctly, seemed to be located inside a small tavern across from where he was stood. Careful to avoid a deep puddle of sickly-green fluid, he walked toward the tavern and pushed open the doors, flakes of rust falling around his gloved hand.
Inside were most of the species he'd seen when he'd first landed in this forsaken place, gathering around his ship like it was a beacon of hope from the outside galaxy. Once the initial excitement had worn off, and the mist had thickened, those onlookers had dwindled away to whatever small pleasures they could find in their hours away from working.
After his cursory assessment of the tavern and it's patrons, he made his way briskly to the bar. Considering the hostility of the weather outside, the tavern was a surprising display of gentle sterility. The customers were quiet, socialising among themselves. The barman used a clean rag to wipe his glasses, which was a rare thing in seedy holes such as this; though comparing the tavern to anything else Viszla had found himself in throughout the Outer Rim would be almost a crime unto itself. Even the drinks on display behind the bar looked to have an exotic quality to them, and probably carried a high price-tag too.
"Can I help yer, stranger?" the barman asked, setting aside the glass he was cleaning and tossing the cloth onto his shoulder. "Might wanna take off yer 'elmet, if yer wantin' a drink, mind".
"I'm not here to drink" Viszla replied, sitting on a cushioned stool before the varnished bar-top.
"Then I think yer in the wrong place, son" the old man chuckled, resuming his glass cleaning duties.
"Maybe. I'll decide that after we have a little talk" Viszla said, sliding a few credits onto the bar-top. The barman deftly palmed them, and they disappeared into the folds of his apron.
"Now, information is it?" he asked, leaning forward so that only a few inches seperated his wrinkled nose from the black visor of Viszla's helmet. "What is it yer lookin' to find out?"
"I'm looking for someone. Not someone who's difficult to find" Viszla said, flipping open the top of his gauntlet and pressing a button. A miniature hologram of Shan Faa flickered to life, rotating in a cone of light above his gauntlet.
"Ahh yeah, know that one alright" the barman muttered grimly. "Went ter ground, I'm afraid. Squandered a lotta Kaminoan credits, shippin' their cloned miners off to the highest bidder. Got herself a nice price on 'er head, once the Kaminoans failed to track 'er down themselves".
"She's still on Subterrel though" Viszla said; it was a statement, not a query. "And like I said - someone like her isn't hard to find".
The barman was quiet for a moment, his brow creasing further, as though he were mulling something over. He rubbed his stubbled chin, then leaned away from Viszla, nodding to himself.
"Last I 'eard, she was seen fleeing to the southern hemisphere" he said.
"Are the establishments in the south more sterile than the north?" Viszla asked, snapping his gauntlet shut. The barman laughed, drawing the attention of the quiet patrons for a moment. When they decided it was little more than banter, they returned to their drinks, paying Viszla and the barman no heed.
"Friend, there ain't no place on this holey rock that's sterile" the barman chuckled. "Don't see wha' that has to do with anythin' though".
"Kaminoans rarely leave their homeworld, and when they do, they gravitate to the most sterile locations they can find" Viszla said, matter-of-factly. "They can't stand imperfection".
"Probably what made 'er do what she did" the barman grunted. "Anythin' to get off this rock".
"Nice place you have here" Viszla said, ignoring the speculation. "Very clean".
"Yeah... yeah, takes a lot to weatherproof this place..." the barman said, warily.
"A lot more than the profits you make when half your customers only drink water" Viszla continued, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the patrons. Most of them were the cloned shovel-handed miners, who's only desires beyond their programmed mining duties were the means to survive. They didn't get drunk or overindulge in delicacies. It wasn't in their nature.
"Look, what're you tryin' to..."
"Where is she?" Viszla asked. The barman recoiled, finding himself suddenly staring down the business end of a DE-10 blaster pistol.
"You can't be..."
"She's funding you to keep this place clean, so she has somewhere cozy to retreat to when nobody's around" Viszla said, again a statement rather than a query. "And since credit intake on a dung-heap like Subterrel is rather lax, you've benefitted quite nicely from the arrangement".
"I don't know what you're..."
"Last chance" Viszla said, his tone lacking any emotion. This was all just business. He didn't find it professional to kill everything that got in the way of himself and his hard merchandise, as bounties were called in the trade, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to do it. He depressed the safety stud, and the blaster charge clicked into place. The barman flinched. Viszla's finger closed on the trigger.
"Alright!" the barman wailed. By now, everyone in the bar was watching the scene, though none rose to the barman's aid. Apparently, his drinks weren't that exotic. "Alright. Just... not here" he said, trying to whisper despite his panic.
"Why? Are some of these on Faa's payroll too?" Viszla asked. The small group of Polis Massan's that had been trying to sneak out of the door behind Viszla's back suddenly paused. One of them turned to look at the bounty hunter, only to find that his other hand was aiming a Firestar 10-K carbine at the doorway. "I'd recommend you return and finish your drinks" Viszla said without looking at them. Dutifully - and because their pay didn't amount to enough ultimately to risk their lives so foolishly - the Massan's returned to their table where their half-finished drinks awaited.
Viszla holstered the pistol, and brought the carbine to bear on the barman, the bright overheads reflecting on its polished barrel. He gestured the barman into the back, and followed him through.
"Okay, okay... if Faa finds out I talked..."
"It won't matter" Viszla cut in. "By the time she realises how I found her, she'll be on her way back to Kamino".
"Fine" the barman nodded, wringing his hands together. "Fine. Follow me".
Viszla followed the barman through the kitchens and out into the yard. Rain had started falling, a fine drizzle that cleared the mist and replaced it with an unclean shower of filthy corrosive. At the back of the yard, next to a pile of discarded, acid-eaten tools, was a wooden shed. It was patched up just like the buildings Viszla had seen in the town, and was showing signs of needing further repairs.
"My brother, who used to own this bar, used to run a secret smuggling operation. Yer know, back when Subterrel saw more traffic than it does nowadays..."
"Is this relevant?" Viszla asked, pausing with the barman before the wooden shed.
"This 'ere toolshed sits right ontop of one of the access holes to the mineshafts leadin' into the main cave network in this colony" the barman continued, ignoring Viszla's question. He hefted open the door, which sounded like it was ready to fall from its rusted hinges, and took hold of the central floor panel. Displaying a surprising strength for a man of his age, he hoisted the solid wood out of the shed, revealing an access tunnel wide enough for most humanoid species to be able to climb down.
"So she's down there?" Viszla asked. He touched a finger to the panel beneath his helmet's antennae, and his visor began displaying the results of an ultrasonic burst, showing the vast network of tunnels beneath his feet. "There's a lot of tunnel down there".
"Most of it's blocked now" the barman explained. "This section ain't much used anymore. Only the main access shaft and one of its branches remain, and the miners don't come this way since they stripped it clean of ore".
"Very well" Viszla said, moving to descend into the hole.
"Wait a minute! I was hopin' there'd be some kinda payment..."
Viszla levelled his carbine on the old man again, who promptly shut his mouth and waved him off.
When he returned to the tavern, the old man bypassed the main bar entirely, heading instead to the study, where he had a direct line with Shan Faa. He tuned in to her comm frequency, and looked around as though expecting to see the bounty hunter watching him.
"Yes?" Faa asked, her voice mired in static. She was still in the cave, then.
"It's me" the barman hissed.
"Ahh Jansen, you curious little human. What is the matter?"
"It's urgent!" the barman said, wide-eyed with fright and panic. "Someone's been sniffin' round 'ere. Wearin' armour. Mandalorian, though there were definately Death Watch markings on his shoulderpads..."
"Yes, I believed he'd show up at your tavern sooner or later. His name is Tal Viszla. I do hope you didn't give him reason to get angry" the Kaminoan sighed. She sounded more depressed than ever, almost as though she'd given up already.
"I sent 'im packin', but I think he mighta caught scent of somethin'" the barman lied. "Might be best if yer moved on..."
"Not to worry. I foresaw your inevitable betrayal, too" Faa said, almost with a laugh. "Do not worry, I am not angry. Viszla is reputed to be the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, it wouldn't be wise to lie to him".
"No... no, course not. Look..."
"Your discretion has been appreciated, Jansen. I highly doubt we'll be doing business again, however".
"No, I suppose not..."
"Goodbye, Jansen".
"Uhm... bye...". The line went dead, and Jansen the barman rose shakily to his feet. For reasons he couldn't explain, he had an undeniably bad feeling about all this.