It was never the neon lights or the cacophony of motion of Chalcedon that told Klo-Ude Jinn to watch his back. It was the smell. Under the mélange of street foods, the ozone burn of ion engines, and the caustic workshop of oils and grease, there was one scent that defined the slaver world more than anything:
Desperation.
It didn't show up in any galactic travel agency holovids. It was a passing mention on the galactic news. Hell, it barely showed up on Outer Rim maps most of the time. If you made the effort to step onto Chalcedon's surface, was likely because it was your last hope, or you had none to begin with.
Klo-Ude was one of the rare exceptions. He was here on business. More specifically, he was putting a long-standing debt to rest and balancing his ledger.
His line of work was its own reward. The pan-galactic vacuum of power that occurred following the Resistance War put a high price on order and justice. With the rebuilding New Republic concentrating on shoring up the Core Worlds and hardening trade routes, it was up to system and sector leaders to keep the Mid- and Outer-Rim regions from devolving into lunacy and despotism. Mercenaries became arbiters of law and order, which often was written by the highest bidder.
Klo-Ude held himself to a higher standard than most, which led to little notoriety or wealth. He often took lower-paying work to help those who needed it. More often than not, he took his pay in meals and shelter for the duration of the job, asking only for enough to move along to the next settlement.
Favors were dead weight on the Rim, and Klo-Ude had been hauling this one around for years. But when he got a call from his old traveling partner, Klo-Ude hoped it would let him unshoulder the burden he had carried since the Amaran had freed him all those years ago.
"And now, here I am." A wry grin appeared as he regarded the hustle and bustle of scum and villainy. It behooved one who sought to disrupt the dealings of others, be they philanthropic or malevolent in intent, to not approach such things directly. Not somewhere like Chalcedon, where the criminals are free to stab you in the front.
And so, rather than fly straight like a shriek-hawk pursuing its prey, Klo-Ude loitered a bit. The stalls competing for space close to the spaceport's landing area were rife with interesting wares. He knew from experience, however, that the cheap things were probably illegal, and the expensive things were almost definitely stolen.
"Hey!" A watery voice snapped through the ambience, and a Quarren turned a corner sharply, shoulders squared to Klo-Ude and brow furrowed. His jet-black eyes were half-moons, regarding the human entering his stall with the default level of suspicion. "Hands off the merchandise. Break it and buy it."
Klo-Ude knew the routine, and had seen plenty of similar interactions in his time on the Rim. Vendors would startle a customer into fidgeting or bumping into a trinket or piece of junk, cause a scene, and fleece them for an exponentially-large sum to prevent the local law enforcement – who often taking a percentage for their part in the mummer's farce – from intervening. On Chalcedon, it was even more ruthless due to the lax (one might say non-existent) slavery/servitude laws. You could wind up spending your best years wearing a shock collar and making spice runs.
"Did you hear me? If I see one crack, one chip-"
"Is that a kyber crystal?" Klo-Ude jabbed a finger at what was very clearly not a kyber crystal. He imagined the Quarren didn't know the difference. "Pretty rare to find one out on the open market. Even in such a fine, reputable establishment as yours. I hear they are even more rare these days, what with, you know..." he made a gesture of a big explosion, doing his best "bwoosh" noise to drive the point home – and being sure to give the shelf a nudge in his reenactment.
The Quarren regarded him carefully, eyes darting back and forth between his customer and the crystal. "Might be. What's it to you?"
"Nothing. Do I look like I carry a laser-sword?" Klo-Ude's cheek rippled with a lopsided smirk. "I hear it fetches a good price. From the right buyer, of course. Then again, if someone from the New Republic catches wind of it, they're going to wonder where it came from. And that could lead to a trip to the Core on a less-than-comfortable freighter, a few months' worth of questioning – you have to love bureaucracy – and then, if it's linked to any of the now-illegal Imperial or First Order mining operations-"
"Oh, I assure you, all of my wares are curated from only the most authentic collections! I wouldn't be caught dead selling untraceable or-" the Quarren made a gesture expressing offense. "Or stolen goods!"
He pointed at the stone again. "Forgive me, shopkeeper. I didn't mean to suggest that you would ever do such a thing! But if someone saw this sitting on your shelf, and they saw the reward holos for any information related to the propagation of Imperial and First Order memorabilia, well..." he laid a supportive, apologetic hand on the Quarren's shoulder. "Let's just say you'd have to liquidate your assets rather quickly to cover your legal fees. I could, however, take this item off your hands for you..."
A short while later, Klo-Ude was the proud owner of a piece of useless quartz – and a handful of credits for his selflessness. Pocketing the stone, Klo-Ude set back to his primary task.
Amarans were hard to spot in a crowd. Mostly because you practically had to step on them to see them. They were small, but they were impossible to misrecognize. Fortunately, Dazu was tall for his species, so if he waved frantically, Klo-Ude might be able to see his fingertips.
There was a great deal of congestion in the streets leading from the spaceport. Klo-Ude imagined his tiny friend wouldn't dare brave the tide and would likely be parked in a cantina or alleyway off the primary footpath.
He did mention something about that time we got stuck in a swamp on Rodia...how it was important to keep out of waist-deep water if we didn't want a mouthful of teeth in our-
Looking up, he saw an uncomfortably-familiar image on a cantina's holo-sign. The name was The Svaper's Nest, with the nern in Nest replaced with one of the infernal creatures. Like angry noodles with more teeth than a wampa, Klo-Ude had spent months trying to avoid jumping every time he heard a splash.
Some things about your friends you never forget, and this place seemed like the perfect place for Dazu to be waiting. Cutting across the foot traffic, Klo-Ude ducked his head and entered The Svaper's Nest, hoping for the world that it wasn't an apt metaphor for what awaited him.
Desperation.
It didn't show up in any galactic travel agency holovids. It was a passing mention on the galactic news. Hell, it barely showed up on Outer Rim maps most of the time. If you made the effort to step onto Chalcedon's surface, was likely because it was your last hope, or you had none to begin with.
Klo-Ude was one of the rare exceptions. He was here on business. More specifically, he was putting a long-standing debt to rest and balancing his ledger.
His line of work was its own reward. The pan-galactic vacuum of power that occurred following the Resistance War put a high price on order and justice. With the rebuilding New Republic concentrating on shoring up the Core Worlds and hardening trade routes, it was up to system and sector leaders to keep the Mid- and Outer-Rim regions from devolving into lunacy and despotism. Mercenaries became arbiters of law and order, which often was written by the highest bidder.
Klo-Ude held himself to a higher standard than most, which led to little notoriety or wealth. He often took lower-paying work to help those who needed it. More often than not, he took his pay in meals and shelter for the duration of the job, asking only for enough to move along to the next settlement.
Favors were dead weight on the Rim, and Klo-Ude had been hauling this one around for years. But when he got a call from his old traveling partner, Klo-Ude hoped it would let him unshoulder the burden he had carried since the Amaran had freed him all those years ago.
"And now, here I am." A wry grin appeared as he regarded the hustle and bustle of scum and villainy. It behooved one who sought to disrupt the dealings of others, be they philanthropic or malevolent in intent, to not approach such things directly. Not somewhere like Chalcedon, where the criminals are free to stab you in the front.
And so, rather than fly straight like a shriek-hawk pursuing its prey, Klo-Ude loitered a bit. The stalls competing for space close to the spaceport's landing area were rife with interesting wares. He knew from experience, however, that the cheap things were probably illegal, and the expensive things were almost definitely stolen.
"Hey!" A watery voice snapped through the ambience, and a Quarren turned a corner sharply, shoulders squared to Klo-Ude and brow furrowed. His jet-black eyes were half-moons, regarding the human entering his stall with the default level of suspicion. "Hands off the merchandise. Break it and buy it."
Klo-Ude knew the routine, and had seen plenty of similar interactions in his time on the Rim. Vendors would startle a customer into fidgeting or bumping into a trinket or piece of junk, cause a scene, and fleece them for an exponentially-large sum to prevent the local law enforcement – who often taking a percentage for their part in the mummer's farce – from intervening. On Chalcedon, it was even more ruthless due to the lax (one might say non-existent) slavery/servitude laws. You could wind up spending your best years wearing a shock collar and making spice runs.
"Did you hear me? If I see one crack, one chip-"
"Is that a kyber crystal?" Klo-Ude jabbed a finger at what was very clearly not a kyber crystal. He imagined the Quarren didn't know the difference. "Pretty rare to find one out on the open market. Even in such a fine, reputable establishment as yours. I hear they are even more rare these days, what with, you know..." he made a gesture of a big explosion, doing his best "bwoosh" noise to drive the point home – and being sure to give the shelf a nudge in his reenactment.
The Quarren regarded him carefully, eyes darting back and forth between his customer and the crystal. "Might be. What's it to you?"
"Nothing. Do I look like I carry a laser-sword?" Klo-Ude's cheek rippled with a lopsided smirk. "I hear it fetches a good price. From the right buyer, of course. Then again, if someone from the New Republic catches wind of it, they're going to wonder where it came from. And that could lead to a trip to the Core on a less-than-comfortable freighter, a few months' worth of questioning – you have to love bureaucracy – and then, if it's linked to any of the now-illegal Imperial or First Order mining operations-"
"Oh, I assure you, all of my wares are curated from only the most authentic collections! I wouldn't be caught dead selling untraceable or-" the Quarren made a gesture expressing offense. "Or stolen goods!"
He pointed at the stone again. "Forgive me, shopkeeper. I didn't mean to suggest that you would ever do such a thing! But if someone saw this sitting on your shelf, and they saw the reward holos for any information related to the propagation of Imperial and First Order memorabilia, well..." he laid a supportive, apologetic hand on the Quarren's shoulder. "Let's just say you'd have to liquidate your assets rather quickly to cover your legal fees. I could, however, take this item off your hands for you..."
A short while later, Klo-Ude was the proud owner of a piece of useless quartz – and a handful of credits for his selflessness. Pocketing the stone, Klo-Ude set back to his primary task.
Amarans were hard to spot in a crowd. Mostly because you practically had to step on them to see them. They were small, but they were impossible to misrecognize. Fortunately, Dazu was tall for his species, so if he waved frantically, Klo-Ude might be able to see his fingertips.
There was a great deal of congestion in the streets leading from the spaceport. Klo-Ude imagined his tiny friend wouldn't dare brave the tide and would likely be parked in a cantina or alleyway off the primary footpath.
He did mention something about that time we got stuck in a swamp on Rodia...how it was important to keep out of waist-deep water if we didn't want a mouthful of teeth in our-
Looking up, he saw an uncomfortably-familiar image on a cantina's holo-sign. The name was The Svaper's Nest, with the nern in Nest replaced with one of the infernal creatures. Like angry noodles with more teeth than a wampa, Klo-Ude had spent months trying to avoid jumping every time he heard a splash.
Some things about your friends you never forget, and this place seemed like the perfect place for Dazu to be waiting. Cutting across the foot traffic, Klo-Ude ducked his head and entered The Svaper's Nest, hoping for the world that it wasn't an apt metaphor for what awaited him.
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