"It's not a Black Market. None of what they're selling is illegal in this jurisdiction."
I needed a ship. Well, technically, I needed another ship. The ship I had liberated from the pirates, a wallowing tub of a bulk hauler I was in no way qualified to fly for any length longer than a football field was more than enough to get me across the galaxy, but it came with one small flaw: it had last been seen on Taris flown by a certain man calling himself Janus.
For Nestor to show up on Dromund Kaas aboard it would raise a few uncomfortable questions.
Which was why I was in the galaxy's largest grey market: Nar Shaddaa. If there was anywhere I could tacitly acquire a ship and never be seen again, it was here. But that just meant I needed to land somewhere seedy. Somewhere people could people disappear. Somewhere dangerous.
Which, according to the HoloNet travel bulletin I had picked up as soon as I had entered the system, meant the Red-Light Sector. Not the red-light district, no. The red-light district was where people sold their bodies. The red-light sector was where people sold body parts. And organs. All of it existed for the sake of highly unethical experiments that would have been illegal in either the Republic or the Empire.
Luckily for me, that meant territory was in constant flux, people disappeared overnight, and I had to stay on my toes. Because the lightsaber components I had salvaged needed some more tender love and care before I could turn them into a functional weapon.
But that could wait. Change ships now, build laser sword later.
Nar Shaddaa traffic control proved easy to circumvent. No, I'm being serious. The entire moon was controlled by a selection of crime lords and mobsters; there was no central traffic control system. If you landed at the very edge of one gang's territory, that territory's boss would assume you were part of another's boss' gang. So why bother asking for landing permission or documents or anything of that nature?
I had taken measures to disguise my identity, at least a little. My red button-up shirt had been abandoned in favor of a plain white undershirt with a centuries-old Jedi robe, looted from the Endar Spire, over top. Combined with the black trousers, it no doubt made for a slightly schizophrenic outfit, but that just helped disguise me a bit more. A shame I had not been able to get a helmet or mask for my face, but I could cope.
Given that I was greeted by the sight of a lone figure blocking the far end of the landing pad, I was going to have to cope rather quickly. As per usual, all things considered.
The man was an alien, sporting leathery brown skin speckled with small horns. The kind of features that were common among Nikto.
"Are you lost, friend?" The Nikto asked from the far end of the landing pad. Past the platform, actually, standing squarely in the middle of the walkway leading to the maze of streets. "This here's Nikto territory. I suggest you find another landing pad."
Ooh, 'Nikto Territory'. That almost made it sound like a ghetto. I'd never been to one of those before. This could be a learning experience.
Wait a minute, being a human in an alien ghetto was bound to attract some attention. If my only goal was to get another ship and leave, that was the opposite of what I wanted. But if I left now, that would only cause rumors of a strange outsider to spread.
And that would only cause people to ask questions and take a closer look.
Which meant that I had to play this… well, like I played everything else: like I had planned for this exact situation while improvising like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
"I appreciate the concern," I said amicably, not breaking my stride as I made my way toward the short walkway from the landing pad that stretched into one of the mile-wide canyons in the planet-wide cityscape of the planet. "But I am right where I want to be."
"That wasn't a suggestion," the Nikto said, his tone no longer friendly. It appeared that my refusal to take the hint had ruffled some feathers. Or whatever the Nikto term for going against the grain was. "Back in your ship. Find another pad. This is our turf."
To further highlight the point, his hand dropped to his waist and the blaster comfortably resting in a holster.
"That gesture is a lot more threatening when the safety is off," I commented idly not slowing my pace. Reaching out with the Force, I pushed gently against a button near the weapon's power pack. Hopefully, it was the safety.
"I keep it off," he growled, finally drawing the weapon.
Only for a rectangular box to fall out of the bottom of the weapon. Clearly, I had mistaken the magazine release for the safety. Or power pack release, in this case. Same end result, but this was a bit funnier.
"You certainly keep something off," I said dryly. "This is a rather sad excuse for a shakedown. Maybe I can go back to my ship, and we can try again from the start."
"How about you go and jump into the chasm and spare me the trouble?" the Nikto grumbled, lunging for the fallen power pack from his blaster. Unfortunately for him, the inanimate object chose that moment to become sentient and capable of jumping into my hand. Or, more likely, I used the Force to grab it.
"Oh."
"That is the correct response," I said amicably, my voice slipping back into its imperial accent as the power pack spun lazily above my palm. Rumors of a Sith in Hutt Space were nothing unusual, almost commonplace, far more so than independent Force users. Ironically, that would serve better as a source of anonymity. "You may retract your previous statements at your leisure."
"O-of course – I d-didn't mean anything by it – My boss told me…" the Nikto began to verbally trip over himself as he tried to offer every possible excuse at once. Tried being the operative word.
"Enough," I said, letting the power pack fall back into my palm. "Your boss. Who is he?"
"That's… uh, we call him Boss Kajain'sa, but he's not the big man in charge, see, because he answers to one of the slugs- the Hutts, I mean! Yeah, one of the Hutts, not sure which one though, I'm just a street tough…"
"Clearly, the man I have to see is this Boss Kajain'sa," I cut off the stammering Nikto's logorrhea and tossed the plastic block full of high-pressure gas back at the small-time gangster. "Take me to him."
The guarding of the landing pad scampered off, still spouting excuses and apologies for his rudeness that I tuned out after about half a minute of listening. Surprisingly, the streets and alleys of this part of Nar Shaddaa were a lot less crowded and maze-like than anticipated, though this became a lot less surprising as I saw where the street brought us: a warehouse. Judging by the Basic signage all around, which still took an embarrassing amount of time to decipher, the landing pads around here were all linked to this particular warehouse.
Alright, maybe this was more than just a small-time gang I was about to deal with.
Unfortunately, my 'guide' was still babbling endlessly, which meant getting answers out of him was a losing proposition. Thus, I waited until we got into the warehouse. The warehouse with a conspicuous lack of traffic. A red flag, that. An idle warehouse was a drain on resources, an economic inefficiency. Of course, given that I was about to deal with organized crime, that may well be a feature instead of an issue.
A rolling door was most of the way open, yet another sign of mismanagement, and lacking guards. Even though my guide had not had the chance to call ahead, I took the precaution of walking directly behind him in case this was, in fact, an elaborate trap for an unsuspecting traveler. Once I got a view of the inside of the warehouse, my suspicions of mismanagement were quite swiftly vindicated.
Shelves were broadly spaced but narrowly built. With a generous amount of clearance at the top of the shelves, it was easy to see ways to improve the efficiency of the space. Improvements that would have seen the removal of a lounge situated squarely in the middle of the floor space, consisting of a semi-circle of couches and a round table stacked high with shining credit chips and lined with partially empty bottles and more Nikto.
The Nikto guiding me called out what I assumed was a greeting in his native tongue, and the table full of Nikto looked at me and at the one in their middle seemingly at random. No doubt the center Nikto was this 'Boss Kajain'sa' I had been told about. If I was correct, then the one I was seeking was... middle-aged for a Nikto? I lacked the familiarity with the species to be able to tell. The wrinkles and folds of his leathery reddish-brown skin were deeper than the other Nikto, and his horns were a bit less pointy.
And, as I swiftly learned, entirely proficient in the native tongue of the Nikto. Or Huttese. That I could not recognize the language being spoken should have been a red flag, but that was hardly the biggest one present. No, that honor belonged to the fact that I was a major party to, or at least a subject of, this conversation while not knowing what was going on.
Time to do what I do best: improvise.
...
Hey guys I would really appreciate it if you could throw some power stones to help elevate the ranking.
...
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