Smuggler Archive

lest we forget!

Dallet! wake up!

zzzzzz*snort**Cough* huh? must've dreamed all that stuff about becoming a Jedi... wait, why am I holding this glowstick then?

/bumpage

My 3k post will definitely be another Dallet story. 3.0 is almost done, finally. Few more days for the last pages and the proofreading, and my boss goes on vacation tomorrow. I go on vacation next week. I make no promises, but if were a betting man, I'd bet on Dallet 3.0 this week.
It's called 'Credit where Credit is Due', and marks the beginning of what I see as the 'second half' of the story. As if I'm going to be able to write a dozen more installments at this rate.
Bottom line:
Keep reading, it's coming soon.

(and thanks for the notes, they're always welcome)

Man this system sucks I keep double posting.

Sorry,

/back out stage left

Message Edited by TacRunner on 07-28-2005 04:49 PM

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NerotheHurricane wrote:
Don't forget about us Frank! I needs mah fix!

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Sorry for the delay. Things didn't go as planned, but I had enough spare time today to get the story where I wanted it.
Might be a few more weeks before I can start the next one, but I'll start on it when I'm able.

3.0
-Credit Where Credit is Due-

Y'Toub System - Nar Shaddaa

Coming out of hyperspace had been a something of an anticlimax. During one of the rare exchanges when we were all awake, NC chimed a cabin alarm and told us he thought the situation might be good for a deceleration. We decanted more or less as crippled as we'd entered hyperspace, which is to say not much more fell off of the 'Knob, and nothing miraculously repaired itself.
En-See took a while to get a fix on our exact location, but already the stars were starting to look familiar to me. Familiar but different, as if I was paying attention to different things, or some stars were brighter, and some dimmer than they had been before. The system was right on the tip of my tongue, when NC announced it.
"Y'Toub system Captain. Homeworld of-"
"I know, NC. Nal Hutta, and Nar Shaadda. Home system of the Hutts."
I said, distaste coloring my voice. I'd been here before. I'd done business here before, and had 'business' done to me. Marginally better than starving to death in space, I thought, almost unconsciously feeling for the reassuring heft of my new weapon. Really marginal.

We didn't really have much of a choice about where we docked. Orbital control was not exactly keen about our unannounced arrival, or so they said. In Hutt space, information is power. If the stationmaster could get some information out of you, he or she (or it) could sell it to someone. All knowledge has a price, and the Hutts wanted a percentage. They usually got it. The stationmaster was the first line of inquiry. I had NC handle the exchange of information with the harbormaster. I'd heard stories about inventive comm officers using advanced models of protocol droids to run linguistics filters, stress analyzers, and background enhancers on even the shortest docking interrogation. I figured if they tried to pick NC's brain via the droid-generated audio he gave them, they might go as crazy as he was. He could quite possibly cause a system-wide failure; I know he’d given me some serious headaches, and I had the luxury of ignoring him. I told him to give out as little information as possible, and he played the exchange back over our speakers for us.
"Y'Toub control. Identify yourself immediately or exit the system, " a sluggish, bored voice said.
"Hello there, " NC twanged, accent vague. He sounded rushed. "I AM Captain of the Angry Knob. I AM bound for Nar Shaadda. I AM ready for docking clearance." I hadn't told him to sound like he was tripping on Pixie, he added that bit of finesse himself. Apparently improvisation was not part of his programming suite. "Thank you!" he added, about three beats too late. There was a meaningful pause before Control responded.
"Your transponder signal is garbled. Whatever it says, it doesn't say 'Angry Knob'. So why don't you tell me who you are, what you're carrying, and where you're from. Maybe then I’ll think about not blowing you out of my sky." The voice was no longer sluggish or bored.
"NC," I said quickly, cutting in on the in-ship comm. "Give me voice to him, but modulate our background and wash my signal. Drop my pitch. A lot."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Ready to transmit."
"I am Ranthalax of Corellia. This is my vessel, and my droid says you were giving him a hard time. What seems to be the problem?" To my ears, I sounded like a Trandoshan talking into a steel drum, but it would mess up the interpreters.
"Well, Ranthalax, your transponder is malfunctioning, and your incoming vector does not indicate you came from Corellia. We are very selective of whom we allow into the Jeweled System." He left it open, you could almost hear the snicker in his voice.
"Nobody jumps straight to Hutt Space. And my transponder... requires repair. I will need a competent service facility."
"I am not an information service for junkers."
"There would of course be a finder's fee." This was all part of doing business here. Haven’t even set foot on the dirty planetoid, and I’m bribing government officials already. Ah, the nostalgia.
"I know someone,” the faceless voice confided, “He is very good, but very busy. I could perhaps get you an appointment next week. For say… five thousand credits."
"Five? I can buy two new transponders for five. Perhaps you meant five-hundred." I waited, knowing that this exchange was much more important than the cash we were talking about. If I agreed too readily, it meant I needed to get insystem fast. They’d be looking for my pursuit, and willing to sell the information. Too argumentative, and they’d think I was broke, or hiding something. Not the position to be in while in Hutt space.
"I might have been mistaken, Captain. I meant three thousand."
"One grand, and it has to be this week." I said, falling into the old rhythm.
"Two, and we both know you'll never meet him." The station operator said.
"Two grand it is." We made arrangements for delivery of his finder’s fee. I didn't have two grand. I keyed the mic off, and looked around. "Empty your pockets, I'm broke. Anyone got two grand?"

The forward cabin was a rush of activity as NC handled the actual approach and docking maneuvers. I rummaged.
"Ranthalax, right? I said Ranthalax?" I asked NC, as I tried to find some clothing that didn't scream 'Alliance Issue, please shoot on sight'.
"I wonder if I’m going to have to spell that."
"Ranthalax, of Corellia, Captain. Shall we begin to call you Ranthalax in public?" En-See asked, without the slightest tinge of remorse for the deception. He seemed happy to have been given a task of significance during our landing.
"There isn't going to be 'public' on this one. You're all going to sit tight, and I'm going to get us repaired and off this ball of slime."
"Ranthalax?" Fiti asked. I could feel her tension through the Force, her anxiety about spending another few weeks up in the crowded ship. "Zillik, Dallet, Ranthalax." She glared at me. "How many names do you have?" I ignored her. She turned back to searching her gear bag. “Have you ever tried just being you?”
I have, it’s just hard to remember which one I am, I thought silently. "Sit tight until I get back. If I show up with company, unless I say 'Buzzard' you should be ready to shoot. Them, not me." I tried to grin easily, but it wasn’t working. Instead, I looked hard at the droid trying to will him to understand how dangerous this place was. I was going to turn the same glare on to everyone, but Fiti was already searching through her gear, and Kah was headed to my chair to get some sleep. As long as they weren't bored or asleep if I needed backup, I guess I didn't really care how they took it.
I turned my dust cloak inside out, hoping it didn't look too military-issue. I strapped my gun belt on underneath it, and hesitated. My blaster hung on my hip, but already its weight felt… off. I checked the charger and the pumping chamber; the device was clean and ready to kill. It just felt wrong. I frowned, considered moving up to my arm-harness, but to do that I'd need to remove the saber. Not that I actually knew how to do anything with the saber except invent new forms of trouble to get myself in, but the idea of letting it out of my reach was loathsome. I shrugged, and folded the cowl of the cloak up over my head. The gun should keep my out of trouble, for now, I thought. If it gets too hot, I can always take my chances with another hyperjump.

My first stop should have been the bar. I'd promised myself I'd indulge in a little good old-fashioned drunken debauchery to make up for all of my dry time on Tattooine. I had every intention of hitting a watering hole first, but I had to take care of a vulgar truth first; I needed to know how much credit I really had. I had a vague running balance in my head. When I'd been in business, I could keep a tally going off the books for months, figuring interest and debt in my head. Now that I wasn't making many, well, any transactions, I found that I'd grown very rusty. It was my distinct impression though that I would not be able to afford much of a drunk; maybe a short evening's worth, and that was kind of depressing. It didn’t make me reconsider drinking, of course, but it made me fret about how little I’d be able to drink.
Nar Shaadda is where the Hutts hold court. Because they deal with so many different races, they need a kind of buffer zone for their influence. Few non-Hutts set foot on Nal Hutta, the adopted homeworld of the slimiest sentients in the galaxy. Maybe they don't want their sty diluted with offworlders' sense of cleanliness and taste, maybe they just hate non-Hutts. Xenophobia is hardly a rare trait in our day and age.
Shaadda is a moon. Or was a moon, before it became urbanized. Hutt urbanization is fungal in nature. In the scope of its conversion, it rivaled Coruscant. There was virtually no portion of its surface that was natural anymore. Unlike Coruscant however, the city-moon's growth was far more parasitic in nature. Developers renovated or altered old structures, but never really removed the previous skeletons. The pace of renovation was constant, but crawling. It managed to be huge and oppressive, instead of stately and impressive. The city was tall and slick, but it was coated in a deadly layer of slime, not the crowning beauty or the shimmering power of Coruscant.
The byways were still alarmingly familiar to me. It had been years since my last visit, but it seemed that the city grew bodies to replace those that had been murdered or repossessed. It was as if the inhabitants were more like limbs or organs for the greater whole than they were their own creatures. Here on a corner, a beggar who was an information broker. Not the same one I remembered, but certainly serving in the same function. There in an entryway, a human working on a swoop I doubted had ever been operational; a prop for a lookout. A host of drug dealers prowled the walkways, sometimes afoot, sometimes cruising low and slow. Their smiles were there business cards, and my glare was my 'not interested' sign. We must have had a way of looking at one another, because I didn't get offered any product, and I understood that it would be fatal for me to start selling in that part of town.
I finally came to a banking kiosk. I'd spotted it much earlier, but sometimes it doesn't pay to go straight at your objective. Especially not on a planetoid whose inhabitants were all professionally interested in your destination.
I 'accidentally' wandered up to the terminal and coded my account sequence. I loaded my credit pad into the machine, ready to convert the markers in my account to bearer-instruments. We don't exactly have cash-based systems on most advanced planets, but there are ways around credits. It had never been safe to deal exclusively in credits if you were making your money illegally, and the Hutts had made a fortune by hiding fortunes. Their banking system had layers and layers of blinds and anonymity.
My sequence took some time to process. My account had eight-hundred credits in it. More than I expected, I thought sarcastically to myself. I can get pretty drunk on eight-hundred. I transferred the amount to my 'pad's bearer-utility. It was an encrypted ordeal with more bells and whistles than I cared to investigate; it was almost impossible to slice a bearer device. It was much easier to kill the bearer, because the device didn't actually care who cashed it in. I didn't expect trouble for eight-hundred credits.
I noticed that the device was cycling, again. It should have been finished; it shouldn't even have blinked, for such a small amount. It asked for a processing fee, and encryption verification.
"What the...?"
I took a closer look at the account.
Account balance: 800 credits (Thousands)
I almost dropped the reader in shock. I'm a professional though, so I didn't giggle and I gave it a new encryption sequence. My hands were shaking when I authorized the transfer fee. I cashed ten-thousand credits to blank, untraceable chits (the most the machine would allow) and dumped the remainder into my pad. The chits went into a pocket of my dust cloak, which was still inside out. I didn't bother with subtlety this time, and went straight to another banking kiosk only a kilometer away. By then I'd had time to think things through, and I knew what I was going to do.

I bounced my new found capital through a series of financial devices and shelters, each one adding a layer of ambiguity and upping the tracking difficulty. I knew that there was something very badly askew, but I wasn't about to let money like that get past me. The moves I made cost me; of the eight-hundred large, I only walked away with a little more than six hundred thousand. The cost was worth it though, because I had virtually untraceable bonds when I was finished. Only someone watching the transaction happening would have been able to guess where my credits came from. Getting them off of Nar Shaada would be harder, but I had a plan about that too. I got myself to a bar, and settled in for a drink and a think, in that order.

The Jeweled Chalice was one of those pseudo-cultural bars that spring up around money, but not big money. The booze was only slightly better than the swill at the dockside bars, but it was triple the cost. The patrons were almost uniformly rich, and uniformly egotists. They were all about impressing themselves, and each other. Very little business got done in this bar, I could tell right away. Much posturing, much self-aggrandizement, but no real trade.
I called NC on his commo, and told him to buy me some clothes. I gave him some limited access to my account, we were partners after all. I also had him book me a room in the hotel associated with this bar, and get the stuff delivered. Then I got myself well and truly sloshed. Somewhere before the booze hit, I figured out where my money had come from. When I realized it, I hit the bottle twice as hard, and had them send another up to my room.
I spent half an hour or so listening to a performer in the bar, but eventually I went up to make sure the bottle didn't get lonely. The music was too depressing, and I didn’t want to take the mood to bed with me.
I kept drinking, eventually passing out on my bed with my boots still on. When I woke up dazedly to relieve myself, it was nighttime. After weeks sleeping in my pilot’s chair, it took me some time to orient myself and successfully navigate across the large empty room to the ‘fresher.
I smiled with the thought of having accomplished my main goal, which was to get drunk, and then smiled again when I realized I'd actually set 'get drunk' as a priority. I wondered vaguely what the hangover would be like in the morning, but the idea seemed far off and unimportant. I stripped off all but my underclothes, and passed back into a more normal sleep.

(Elsewhere)
“Exalted Master Bor-Chutta, we have a trace on one of your outstanding files.” The human spoke, and bowed her head obligingly.
The Hutt gurgled furiously for a moment, and a droid translated.
“His Exalted Superiority, Grand Master Ollibar Bor-Chutta, slayer of the many Wings of –“ a thump interrupted the protocol droid, “Bor-Chutta says to bring the file up on the screen.” He finished quickly.
“There it is now, Exalted Master. Minor account fraud, perpetrated some time ago from a remote location on Tatooine. Perpetrator listed as likely deceased, but the account for one ‘Zillik’ was activated yesterday, and several rapid transactions followed.”
“Who oversaw the account?” The droid translated.
“Tar-Narra the Filthy did, Exalted Master.”
The answer started the fat Hutt on a veritable earthquake of what were, to those familiar with Hutts, obviously laughter. The shaking went on for almost a minute, but eventually subsided.
“He has not tracked the account yet?” The droid dutifully interpreted.
“No, Exalted Master. Your software brilliantly obscured the trace. Praise be to Bor-Chutta.”
“Of course, “he said through the droid. “Tar-Narra is an idiot, almost as stupid as a human.”
“A dreadful disgrace, “the human said tactfully, “Exalted Master.”
“This is what you will do…” the Hutt began through his droid.


I did not wake fully, or regularly. I floated in the half-awake state where thoughts flow curiously and aimlessly. I had the distinct impression that I was supposed to do something, to wake and go accomplish some task, but my mind couldn't remember what it was I was supposed to do. Oddly however it could readily and rapidly trace back the unusual course of events that had lead to my current wealth.
I could see in my mind's eye the furtive last moments in Buzzard, as Sifer explained that he'd stolen some credits from the Hutt's banking institution. Not an impossible task, of course, but it took skill, cunning, and a suicidal desperation. Because they ran their own banking system, they were intimately acquainted with every nuance of its accounting. They had reached a point in its design where further security would hamper its effective use, and stopped there. They could have mandated biosignatures, in-person transactions, and other tests or proofs of identity for their transactions. The problem was that the more secure the business of banking became, the more legitimate and documented it became... and the less appealing it became to the kind of people the Hutts generally did business with. So the Hutts made a decision. They left their network vulnerable to specific kinds of attack, but they accounted it the cost of doing business. Usually it paid off. It took a special kind of desperation to convince someone to slice the Hutt network. The requisite skill meant that a greater-than-normal intelligence was driving the thief, and that intelligence usually indicated enough common sense to leave well enough alone. In Sifer’s case, he probably figured that he’d rather die in a few weeks when the accountants caught up with him than die on Tatooine, and I could hardly blame him.
The problem was that he’d used my biosignature.
Of course he’d fudged the actual amount, and meant to cut himself in on a little nest egg after the war. Likely, he’d spend a huge chunk of what he set aside just staying alive if he survived his enlistment; there were people to buy, people to hire to kill the people that couldn’t be bought, and physique-altering surgeries and treatments. But the real genius was that he’d used a dead man’s biosignature, giving himself an instant head start on his hunters, because they’d have to track down one dead rebel in a sea of dead bodies, at a location that would likely have been sanitized by Imperial Special Forces. The plan was as foolproof as any theft from the Hutts could have bee, except that I hadn’t had the good sense to stay dead. Not only that, I dreamt lazily, but I came right into the hornet’s nest by coming here.
Oh well, I consoled myself drunkenly; at least I’ll die rich!

Waking up was not nearly as much fun as passing out had been, and I could barely remember passing out. Getting sloppy drunk on Nar Shaadda is not that great of an idea. Getting sloppy drunk on Nar Shaadda after you’ve ripped off the Hutts is an even dumber idea. Doing it while your only backup was comprised of a political zealot, a religious Trandoshan, and a crazed droid… that bordered on terminal lunacy.
“NC!” I chimed his commo, when I found my handset, and shortly after I decorously threw up into what I believe was the sink. “Where am I?” I wiped some throw-up from my chin with my arm.
“Captain Ranthalax, you are staying in the ‘Prosperous’ Suite of the Jeweled Chalice. Are you in need of room service? It can be arranged.”
“What happened to your voice, when’d you get so… proper?” And loud, I thought morosely.
“I purchased a diction module, sir.”
“I asked about your voice, not your-“ I raised my voice, which made my head hurt. I was lucky he interrupted me, because I couldn’t concentrate long enough to finish my sentence anyway.
“Sir, you authorized several purchases last night. We discussed this.”
“I did? When did I?”
“Some time before I inquired as to the prices of renting dancing girls, per your request.”
“Oh. I don’t really remember…” my mind wandered a bit, “how much were they?”
“Nine hundred credits an hour, sir. And they stressed it was only to dance.”
“Oh.” I muttered. “Belay that then, I don’t want any of that.”
“Yes sir, you said the same last night.”
“En-See, please do me a favor and talk like you were yesterday, ok? You’re going to make my head explode.”
“I AM sorry SIR. I AM not trying to cause you INJURY or ILL-“
“PALP’S BALLS droid! Enough!” Shouting really hurt. “Just talk normal, alright?”
“Roger, Ranthalax. Sorry I misunderstood.”
“No problem. Now, where’s Kah? Where’s Fiti? Where are my pants?”

Apparently I hadn’t made clear to NC quite how important it was to not spend very much money. Apparently buying drinks for the house and giving the droid carte-blanche with my credit had given him the impression that he could splurge. I didn’t dare bring up an accounting review, I didn’t want to have any more transactions on my accounts than absolutely required. I cringed wondering what other upgrades the droid had bought himself, and I winced knowing that Kah was burning up my credit while I dressed, down in the hotel’s shop. When he and NC finally got up to my room, I almost had myself together enough not to scream or vomit (or both) when I berated them. When I got a look at them, thoughts of rebuke fled entirely.
Kah stepped in smoothly after I voice-coded the door open, and glanced about. He seemed to take everything in, which was typical, but he had a forbidding aura about him today, which I had not felt since the first days of our acquaintance. It could have been condemnation of my obvious drunken stupor the night before (I was sure the droid spared no detail in relating whatever I’d said to him). It could have been the sharply cut, very dark outfit he wore, that made every line of him scream: Hired assassin, please stop breathing and save me the effort. Probably though it was the combination of the sternly cut jacket and slacks, the harsh glare, and the almost liquid grace with which he poured himself into the room. I let the lizard out of my sight for one night, and he turns into the Angel of Death. Nice.
As I approached equilibrium and recovered from the sight of angry-Kah, I got my second shock, and it almost sent me back to the head (or the sink) for a second time.
Droids look stupid in clothes. Clothes are an organic being’s defense against the vicissitudes of nature and climate, visual devices of social customs, and a few other psychological things that we seem to attach to them. I’d seen Kah spend weeks naked in the desert, and I knew he reveled in behaving in such a natural, balanced way. That’s probably why seeing NC dressed in a dark thug outfit similar to Kah’s seemed so heartily unnatural that I thought briefly that they were going to a masquerade as ‘the beast and his idiot’. I clamped that thought down though before it could get out, because I knew En-See couldn’t handle that kind of criticism.
“Ranthalax”, Kah growled, his Trandoshan tongue having some difficulty with the name, “We were worried when you did not return last night, and almost came looking for you.” His eyes swept the room again, wondering if I’d been held against my will, and ready to launch in to action.
“Uh, well, I’m ok. I spent the night here.”
“Drunk, it appears.”
“Yeah, I thought I could afford a night on the town.” Wrong choice of words. I heard his quick intake of breath at my flippant remark. I felt him come at me long before he did. It was unusual (as if feeling imminent attack were now a ‘normal’ thing) but he struck with no malice, but more of a sense of shame and duty. I distinctly felt him think: Avoid the face, and don’t break anything, when he hit. I had plenty of time to move, I could have countered, or maybe even struck back at him with the Force. It wasn’t a matter of if I could move, but if I should move. I remained seated on the bed, and his three-clawed fist barreled into my ribs, driving the wind out of me in a cough. He hit hard. NC closed the door behind him, like he was the classy half of a pair of Hutt legbreakers. I rose slowly and went to the sink to throw up again. I took my time rinsing my mouth out; it hurt like hell to bend over at all. As I returned to the foot of the bed, Kah began his sermon. It was blessedly brief.
“Have you no idea what rests upon you, Dallet-cha? Have you no concern for your ‘partners’? Do you remember nothing of what you have learned?” His voice was full of real scorn. I could tell he’d been worried, and he probably hurt more having struck me than I did being struck. I knew it in the same way that I knew it was important to let him strike me.
I’d been back in civilization about three hours before I’d gotten myself drunk. A few hours after that, I’d been making unencrypted calls on an open comm Link, on a planet where virtually every inhabitant could profit in one way or another by turning me in. My response to this threat had been to pass out in my hotel room, rented under the name I’d docked with. Real sly, Zillik, I thought darkly.
The droid came up even with Kah, and stared at me.
“Do you not realize how upset you made the droid?” Kah asked, at a loss for words.
I looked at the droid, and he looked back at me. Somewhere between the door and the foot of my bed, he’d completed his ensemble by adding a round black hat with a floppy brim. I don’t know if he shot me a plaintive, blaming stare, or just abject stupidity - because I couldn’t get past the utter absurdity of the hat.
I knew it would be breaking the stream of the rant I was supposed to endure, but my ribs started hurting, so I spoke.
“NC, seriously, what’s with the hat?”
“We decided new clothes would be in order, “ Kah answered for him, unusually talkative today, “and we went shopping. These clothes are part of our cover story.”
“Oh yeah? What’s he? Exotic dancer?”
Kah ignored my jibe, and NC just kept staring - and looking ridiculous. “We are ‘hired hands’ to protect you as you conduct your business on this planet.”
“Hired ‘muscle’ Kah. If you were hired hands you’d be washing my socks.”
“Hired ‘muscle’, then, and we are trying to look the part. You left us little choice. We hope that the ruse will warn enough people away from you while you see to the repairs of our ship.”
“Why would I need muscle? I’m just a small time operator.”
“You obviously stole the money,“ Kah accused, “and will need protection from the other thieves on this moon.”
“I didn’t steal the money, by the way. Sifer stole it, in my name.” I only got drunk, I didn’t try to wreck a corrupt empire or anything.
“A pity he probably perished above Tatooine then.” Kah growled. “He would have enjoyed being a millionaire.”
“Don’t you think you’re stretching it a bit? I only have six-hundred grand in there.”
NC chose now to stop practicing his hurt/angry/stupid glare and speak.
“Captain Dallet, as of this morning, in the account you indicated to me last night, over an unprotected comm., “ he almost snickered, “contains twelve point seven million credits. Approximately. The interest it accumulates makes it difficult to know precisely.”
Even though Kah was still glaring at me, I looked around the room for last night’s bottle.

“No sir, it clearly shows a deposit last night.”
“That’s friggin’ impossible NC, I was passed out drunk.” We were sitting at the room’s terminal, risking the look at the account so that I could prove Kah and NC wrong, and show that we’d only stolen six hundred thousand credits, not twelve million. I guess the magnitude was important to me.
“I concur, but the deposit is definite.”
“Who deposited it?” I asked disconsolately. Ah, the injustices of being a millionaire. Next thing you know I’ll be complaining about the Trade Federation’s attention, and Imperial Tax Shelter laws.
“No depositor listed, Sir. Several of the transactions you made last night were likewise poorly documented, so perhaps you were mistaken as to the actual-“
“It wasn’t a mistake, NC. I had eight hundred grand in there.”
“I thought you said you had six hundred thousand, Dallet-cha,” Kah added scornfully. I’d obviously been too drunk to know for sure, in his evaluation.
I scrolled back my datapad and showed him the accounting slips. Then I realized how stupid I’d been to leave them there. I downloaded some to NC’s storage unit, and wiped the pad’s history. Only NC seemed convinced, because he had the data in a format he could understand. Kah still seemed to think that my misfortune had come about because I’d made indulged in a little booze.
“I had eight hundred when I started. It cost me a quarter of it to move it so fast.”
“Why move it?” He asked.
“So it’d be harder to trace.”
“And then you gave the droid your authorization over an open frequency.” He was not amused.
“So maybe someone picked it out of the air, eh? And what, just happened to have eleven and a half million more they wanted me to look after for them?”
That gave him pause. He stared at me harder.
“This is why I consider it likely that you made a mistake.”
“Consider all you want, NC has the data.”

The morning crawled along in the same fashion, and no answers were to be had. Kah finally conceded that browbeating me about my drinking wouldn’t advance ‘the cause’ at all, and let us get a late breakfast. Since I was newly rich, we splurged and got room service.
Kah seemed mollified by the idea, maybe it was the sheer luxury of not having to eat proto-bars and space rations for the billionth time. The hotel became remarkably accommodating considering that it really wasn’t top-notch; but I suspected that there might be a bit of a ripple effect being felt by the recipients of my newfound wealth. The effect was evident in the fact that when I perused the menu and chimed our serving droid, he informed me that the menu was only for the regular customers, and we should consider ourselves apart from that rabble. Further, he asked that we excuse his mistake of failing to notice the excellence of our presence, and he assured us that it was the greatest pleasure to serve us. The menu was to be only a guide, and if we desired anything not listed, it would be his sublime pleasure to acquire it for us.
I tried to dress while our order was processed. We didn’t get anything outrageous, just some fresh food and juice. It arrived in record time, the juice and milk still cold enough to frost the glass, and the cooked foods still piping hot. I had figured out about a third of my new clothes by the time the droid signaled our meal’s preparedness. NC intercepted the droid pushing a hovercart, and I could overhear his hallway interrogation from inside, as I fumbled with my new shirt.
“Is your kitchen staff trustworthy?” NC rattled, having dropped his normal audio output down about three octaves, and added a raspy growl to it. He sounded like Kah minus the parts of his voice that actually made him menacing.
“Sir, my staff is beyond reproach. We have two of the finest chefs to be had in this entire sector! Why, we-“the droid began, but NC cut him off.
“I do not care how they cook. Captain Ranthalax is a very important person, and I am responsible for his safety.” NC sounded officious. “Has this food been tampered with?” He asked bluntly.
“Tampered with? Kind sir, how does one ‘tamper with’ eggs and juice? Could I perhaps speak with your Master, or deliver the meal while it is warm?”
“Oh, now you want entry into the room, to see Captain Ranthalax.”
“I am a representative of the establishment Sir,” the droid said carefully, trying not to offend even the appliance of an important personage such as myself. “My programming is fully documented and verified. I am a protocol droid Sir, not an Assassin model.” The last was added as a joking aside, but I could tell En-See took it literally.
“I think I should inspect the food before you deliver it, droid.”
“That’s enough, “I called to NC, “let him in before my breakfast gets cold NC.”
“Roger that, Captain.” NC shot the concierge-droid what must have been a droid’s version of a dirty look and let him by.
I’d managed to slip into most of my new clothes by then, and I was again mystified. I took a look at myself in a long mirror beside one of the windows, and nodded grudging approval. For one, though NC seemed to have an utter lack of taste in his own garb, he’d selected appropriate attire for me. For another it all fit as if a professional tailor had spent an afternoon fussing over my biological asymmetries. I later learned that a profession tailor had in fact spent several hours on the ensemble. In place of combat togs and a dirty dust cloak, he’d picked a set of clothing that would befit a mildly extravagant trade Captain, who’d been successful of late. The pants were a dark charcoal gray, complete with subdued Corellian blood stripes running from hip to hem. I’d not exactly earned them, but I doubted anyone would challenge me, and they fit the cover story. The jacket wise likewise dark, and favored the same rather severe cut that he and Kah wore, but was offset by the length and color; it was more formal than I usually wore, but again it fit the part. A long over-cloak, done in a marginally darker gray completed the look.
When I’d first unwrapped them, I guessed immediately that they’d been too small, too long, and too narrow about the waist to fit. I realized looking in the mirror that my time both on Tatooine and in space had done very beneficial things for my physique, if I ignored the whole torture, radiation, and death aspects of my time there. A shave, a haircut, and a real night’s rest would help even more.
We ate in relative silence, though it was punctuated by NC’s frequent admonition that he did not trust the staff at the Jeweled Chalice, and that I should report any digestive irregularities to him immediately.
When the droid returned to clear away breakfast (or the plates, as there wasn’t a scrap left over), I asked him if the hotel had a barber service that was qualified to work on humans. He set the tray back down, and exclaimed that he was indeed qualified to offer such services, in a variety of the current cultural motifs of my race.
He reached into his torso chassis and produced a pair of clippers. I only had time to recognize them as such before the poodoo hit the impeller.
I heard a click and a whir from NC, and then the now-familiar sound of a blaster being discharged. In the close confines of the room, I could already smell the ozone stink of an ionizing bolt. The concierge sparkled briefly, stiffened, tottered, and fell forward on his face.
“Damnit NC! He was going to give me a hair cut!”
“He advanced with a sharp instrument, Captain!” His head swiveled towards me, weapons tracking his focus point. He looked quickly to Kah for confirmation, and so my distinct surprise, Kah shrugged and nodded.
“He did not warn you, Dallet-cha. He should not have drawn a weapon without some warning.”
“They’re clippers, guys. They cut hair.”
“They could puncture your flesh,” En-See added, voice rising in concern. “What kind of guardian droid would I be if I let you be murdered by a protocol unit armed with a pair of scissors? The shame would be unbearable.”
What am I, an invalid, I thought. I looked around to see if anyone was coming to see what the commotion was all about.
“NC, shut the door.” He did. “Listen. I’m not completely incapable of defending myself, I just wanted a haircut, ok? It’s a thing humans do. And you’re not a ‘Guardian Droid’, you’re- I paused, trying not to sound dismissive. “You’re a partner. No more or less valuable than me. Or Kah. See if you can fix him, and tell him you had a momentary malfunction. You’re very sorry. He’ll probably be happy to believe you. Then tell him I still need a haircut, and that I’ll be back this afternoon. You fix him, Kah and I are going out. And we’re um, very pleased with his service.”
“Sir, I should be with you-“
“You should be here fixing this thing. Do you know how much they’ll charge us if we have to buy it? We don’t need that kind of attention anyway.”
“Still, my duty is-“
“You can do your duty here. Did you ever think that perhaps when you put this hunk of junk back together that maybe you could make some ‘improvements’ to it, and then you could be absolutely certain of its loyalty.”
“I had not considered that,” NC admitted, his guns concealing themselves. “I could rewrite some of its code…”
“It’s a very important task NC, and it has to be done well and quickly.”
“I’m on it, Dallet!”
“Roger that. We’ll commo you when we approach, to let you know we’re on our way back.”
NC set to removing some of the frazzled droid’s cladding, while I slipped my long cloak back on.
“Ready Kah?” I asked. He nodded silently, and we left.

I developed a pretty quick learning curve for being rich. It wasn’t something I had a whole lot of experience with, but it wasn’t an education I was prepared to squander, either. We hired an enclosed speeder to take us out of the port-city area, and halfway across the planet. I reasoned that the extra distance might aid me in staying one step ahead of pursuit. Probably not, I mused, but it can’t hurt to be discreet.
Our first order of business was some more shuffling of funds. I’d never dealt with this magnitude of money before, but I knew that if I wanted to keep any of it (and I did want to keep it, being a millionaire was growing on me) I’d have to get it away from such an easily observable, easily altered account, and get it into something a bit more legitimate and disciplined. I still felt like I was the brunt of some gigantic joke, and that the punch line would probably kill me; nobody gives a thief interest on his stolen funds. The sudden and unexplained growth of my capital bothered me, but I prioritized it just below ‘enjoy being rich’.
We exited the speeder and told it to wait for us. The price-per-minute was exorbitant, but I probably could have bought a fleet of them with just a few days’ interest on my account.
We walked gangways and byways for half an hour, Kah frequently lagging behind to see if we’d been followed. I had little doubt that we were followed, but the bottom line was that they didn’t get close enough to capture or kill me outright. We both knew that there would be no escaping surveillance on this planet, so we had to settle for a protective corridor. Eventually, we arrived at our destination, a Banking Guild branch office.
The Banking Guild had a long and sordid history, and I hoped it would work to my advantage. Hutts were great at hiding money; the Banking Guild would be legitimate enough to help me launder it. To hedge my bets, I wasn’t leaving my whole nest egg with either of them. I’d stopped earlier and cashed another max-value bearer chit, and checked my account balance again. Apparently I earned interest at a rate of something like twenty thousand credits a day, so I’d already recuperated the expenses I’d incurred on Nar Shaada. By this time next week, I expected to have paid for today’s shuffling of funds.
I’d juggled various schemes and ideas for laundering the money on the ride over to the bank. I settled on the most audacious, and least likely of my ideas. I bought five million credits worth of rapidly-maturing Imperial Treasury bonds. I bribed the Guild official with a paltry five thousand to add Kah’s biosignature to my own as Payee, so he’d be rich if I didn’t survive to claim my bonds. The bonds themselves were bearer instruments (after maturity) and would be matured in ten standard days. The Empire had to be in pretty rough shape to be allowing bonds with such short terms, but it made life much easier for me. I wouldn’t earn very good interest on them in the interim, but after ten days, they’d be making a better return than my whole account had been previously. All I have to do now is stay alive a couple weeks, and I’ll really start raking in the money.

We tend to think of our purchases in a very narrow vein, when we don’t have millions to spend on them. For instance, in my former life, if I wanted a new speeder, I’d go to the market, find an artisan or mechanic who specialized in such things, and I’d bargain with him for a price. The less overhead he had, the less gouging I’d take on the speeder. Rich people, I learned, did not think this way.
A fabulously rich gentleman has no problem going into a speeder dealership and asking for a mug of spiced tea to nourish him as he considers his purchase. The dealership has no problem providing one. Both buyer and seller realize that the cost of this nicety will be passed on to the consumer after being greatly inflated. If the same rich gentleman wanted tickets to an evening’s entertainment, the dealership would be most pleased to provide, as well as happily performing chauffeur service, to showcase another fine vehicle. It struck me that I’d never thought of running a full-service drug dealership, but then again most of my customers were not the kind that would pay for anything more than twice-cut pixie.
I commo’d NC and we took lunch back at the hotel. We couldn’t discuss it openly over the comm, but I got the impression that he’d taken care of the unfortunate shooting in our hotel room earlier. Certainly the concierge said little about it, save that he expressed shame at having lost consciousness in our presence, and that his services for today would not be charged against our room. Make that rooms, I noted to myself, because we’ll need one or two more for Kah and NC.
The concierge was thrilled to book two more rooms, and in fact had asked the hotel’s owner for the option of allocating the whole floor to us. I told him that would not be necessary, but I had the suspicion he’d do it anyway.
Over lunch, I noticed that the entertainment was again a musical performance. Over scorched steaks and felwa dressing, I listened to the intriguing piece, wondering at the levels of complexity in it. The level of the performance far exceeded what I figured the hotel would pay for it.
The music moved me. I’ve never been a connoisseur of that art, the stuff I liked tended to a harshly over-stressed mandoviol and a lot of distortion, but there was something gripping about this piece. He was playing it on a nalargon with a lot of synthesizer pads and a droid that was obviously running his mixer for him. The music told a story, and though I couldn’t say if it involved one person or many people, whether it was about building a house, fording a river, or fighting an army, I could start to sense things in the flowing chords and themes that hinted at a bigger story. Something small, maybe a single person, fought something big, overpoweringly big. It was amazing that I could get such a firm impression without the slightest hint of language.
I let my mind wander, and quit analyzing the song. I’d set my utensils down, and wasn’t hungry enough to pick them back up. While my mind wandered, I dreamt.

I was far from home, on a planet of dark forests, and grim, eternal winters. I was alone, miles from the nearest sentient settlement, deep in meditation. My frustration with the Order had driven me, through equal parts neglect and spite, to seek retreat far away from the madding crowds of the populated city. What city? My conscious but captivated mind wondered. Coruscant, the answer rung in my mind.
In my months-long reverie, my body suffered at the hands of spacers’ rations and the harsh weather. All the soft roundness of city living had faded, but none of the vaunted hermetic wisdom of the ancient Jedi had bestowed itself upon me. I feared that I might have to return to the Jedi with no more knowledge than I had left, looking as hard and stark as the mountain whose foothills offered me dubious shelter.
I’d left the Temple full of swirling apprehensions, but I’d found no answers here in the cold.
I had a talent for imagery, it had manifested early in my capacity to draw very specific and accurate images in both two and three dimensions as a child, and moved later into a gift for both remembering things with clarity, and conveying those images in a clear, poignant way.
This is not my memory, I concluded. I have never been to this place, and I don’t remember these things that are supposed to be my past. The dream brooked no interruption however, and my concern drifted away as the image continued. I had a vague sense that I was forgetting something, a nagging doubt, but it could be suppressed. I was oblivious of the fact that Kah had turned in his seat to see what I was staring at.
My talent only improved when I began to learn how to use the Force. I could send images and recollection with stunning depth and lucidity; the Force was a canvas to me, a language that the spoken or written word could never hope to imitate. There were no restrictions on the Force as a medium, words and idioms didn’t need to hamper translation. Different ranges of sensation, species that neither saw nor heard, cultures that spoke no tongue common to my own… these things could all be overcome with the Force. The exchange of ideas, the conveyance of thought and the interconnection that made us greater than plants and simple animals… this was the facet of the Force in which I excelled. I could communicate with any species that thought, sometimes over vast distances in space. In that, I was a profound success. In all other aspects of the Force, I was a dismal failure.
If a falling feather drifted lazily on the breeze, I could barely disturb it by exerting my will in the Force. I could not drive my body to hyperbolic sleep, nor feats of strength and will. I was so far below the standards by which most Jedi judged themselves that I was almost normal. Master Yoda had said that judging myself by another’s standard was self-deception, and that the Force would give what I needed, not what I wanted. Once I’d learned that lesson, I’d be among the most powerful Jedi that had ever lived. I’d left the Temple to find this understanding, and thus the power, but I did not yet realize that the harder I sought that understanding, the less possible it was to learn it.
I struggled first against my ignorance, and myself. The struggle could be heard in my music. Such ignorance was only a prelude to the real tragedy though, to come as I wondered self-consciously if I would ever be able to use the Force to move a tree limb or heat my aching limbs into comfort.
Days stretched into weeks, and weeks to months. I saw them with a kind of blurry but complete view, as if I knew I could recall any single moment, but that none of them were worth recall.
The end of my hermitage came abruptly. I lay shivering, half-asleep, wrapped in my robes. For days I had been seeking with my mind, covertly breaking the terms of my own hermitage; for one gifted in the way I was, silence was a kind of agony.
I sought among my friends from the Temple, the valorous Knights of the Jedi Order. My chaotic nature and slow learning did not endear me to many of the Knights, but I counted several among them my friends. There seemed to be a cloud between us, no matter who I tried to contact. I had felt the dampening cloud on Coruscant, and it had been one of the reasons I’d left for my failed hermitage. Sensing it here was not particularly frightening, but it was surprising. I pushed against it, the way one would push against a billowing sheet, with about as much success. Frustration led me to push harder, perhaps with more force than was required. I knew it was a wasted effort anyway; the veil had not parted for Master Yoda, it would not part for me.
I pushed, strong and fast against the supple barrier. I could not survive the solitude any longer and craved contact more than I did warmth or food. I pushed, and eventually I burst through the dark barrier into the light of contact and communion.
It was in this fashion that I was with them when they died. I felt the grip of betrayal, in some I felt a flush of fear and an almost animal urge for survival and flight. I felt one break and reach for the Dark Side, striving in vain for a tool to escape. I felt the cool, steely resolve of my old Master as she fought, wounded beyond all hope of recovery, but a Jedi with every fiber of her being. I felt her fairly glow in the Force, so that the moment of her passing, though covered in ash and gore, shines to this day in my memory as the most beautiful of all my memories. As she slid beyond, she followed the bond our contact back to me.
Remember, she thought to me. Learn. Trust in the Force.


When the musician finished a set, he changed nodded to a recording droid, and it played a subdued intermission song, something trivial that paled in comparison to the previous work. I sat in a daze as I slowly came back to myself, and the musician left the stage.
My hand throbbed, and I saw that Kah had gripped it in one of his clawed hands and was squeezing it painfully.
“Captain. Captain!” He was saying. “Are you all right?” Under his breath, he added: “We are in danger, I must speak to you in private.”
We left hastily, and the concierge-droid was only too happy to have the remainders of our meal sent to our rooms. He stayed well back from the table until we left, as if he was tentative about approaching too closely. NC must have added some new programming, I thought.

“I have seen him before, Dallet-cha,” Kah said as soon as we were back in my rooms.
“Where?” I asked, still confused by what had happened.
“It is a difficult thing to explain. It was many years ago. When I was younger, Dallet-cha, when I lacked wisdom.”
I didn’t comment, sometimes it’s best to let them think you were mulling something over. Even when you’re actually mulling something over.
“When I was newly risen to Master of the Steel Hands, I tested myself against all foes. I fought against any species, with any weapons, so long as the combat was personal and the trial was difficult. It was a foolish venture.”
Again, I paused. Silence can usually make me look smarter, and talking usually doesn’t.
“I eventually tired of the tests, not because I understood how meaningless they were, but because they were not difficult enough. I sought the most dangerous prey of all.”
“Which was what? Krayt Dragon?” Where is this going and what the hell just happened at lunch?
“I sought to legally hunt sentients. It is a common practice on my homeworld. I chose from the Imperial list of wanted criminals.”
“You went Bounty Hunter? I can’t really see you sipping starshine in some ‘hauler bar, looking for information, Kah.”
“I did not associate with the Hunters, they are crude and untrained, for the most part. I worked alone, and I never filled a contract. I once had an opportunity, but I let it pass. It was the first step in a journey to truly understanding the Path of Teras Kasi. It is a shaming memory, to be so stupid, but little permanent damage was done.”
My head was still spinning after my absurdly lucid daydream. “Why are you telling me this, Kah?” Insight crept up on me slowly. “You saw the musician on the list of criminals? Not a real shocker, we’re on Nar Shaada. If he didn’t have a criminal record, I’d be surprised.”
“He committed no crime, no real crime.” Kah said patiently. “His listed offense was for practicing the outlawed religion of the Jedi.”
“How is he still alive then? I thought they hunted down every one and killed them.”
“They would have, I am sure. He undoubtedly survived because I failed to fulfill my contract on him, so many years ago. I reported him as having died in a crash, Dallet-cha.” Kah spoke the words slowly, letting the full weight of them slam home.
“You? You hunted Jedi?”
He began to respond, when the door chimed. En-See was of course at it instantly, guns extended and ready for combat. I’d forgotten about him in the confusion, but he was still taking his new position to extremes. I heard him interrogating someone through the door’s communication panel while I stared dumbly at Kah.
Kah? A Jedi hunter? Not a possibility. I must have misunderstood.
The door slid open partially, NC still at the ready but at least letting the visitor in far enough to speak.
The musician stood in the doorway, and I frowned in recognition. It has been his vision, his memory, that I’d shared through the music. If his vision was accurate, then it had been his Jedi powers that let him share it, and it meant that he’d somehow survived these long years.
He nodded as the truth worked itself over slowly in my head, the ghost of a smile fleeting across his finely-boned features. Amusement faded into concern, and he spoke without waiting. His voice was pitched to be heard inside, but not in the hallway.
“I could see you enjoyed my music, friend, and I thought you might like some advice. The Trandoshan you travel with is a hunter of Jedi, and low company.” He paused, as if to give Kah a chance to dramatically reveal some devious treachery, but Kah simply stood his ground. The Jedi from my vision did not press him, and Kah seemed unperturbed, even relieved to have his past revealed.
“I once was, but no longer. Captain Ranthalax, this man, “ he lowered his voice, “is a known Jedi. His name is Yonas Vogg, a wanted man.”
The alleged Yonas Vagg nodded.
“I know Kah, we’ve been… introduced.” I turned back to the almost-stranger. Maybe it was all the skulking I’d done in the morning, maybe it was the still-fresh memory of the vision he’d sent me just minutes ago, and the painful but powerful moment of his Master’s demise. Maybe it was Kah’s belated revelation of his past, or maybe it was just an urge I had. Maybe it was the Force. Maybe it was something I ate, I don’t know. Strange situations seem to have an infatuation with me.
“I’m Dallet Greenstar,” I said, and there was not the slightest hesitation that I’d called myself a different name than Kah had just called me.
“May I come in, sir?”
“You might as well, mister Vogg. I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
NC said nothing as he stepped aside, but he left his hardware tracking Vogg all the same.

Very nice work Frank

Just when I start to give up hope, you come back and kick ass like there is no tomorrow. There arent many people I will cheerlead for, but I had a miniskirt and pom-poms in my hand before I finished reading! Another excellent installment! Whens the next? lol

Very cool, thanks for remembering us Frank. Can't wait for the next part!