Aves slid off his seat. "Looks like you have another buyer anyway."
"When banthas fly, Aves." Fen jerked her head back toward Karrde. "Boss wants you."
Aves was beating a retreat when Fen's shoulder sagged suddenly under the weight of a heavy, six-fingered hand. "Coming back here wasn't the healthiest thing to do," a menacing voice threatened behind her.
She glanced up into the bristling face of Gecee, a Gran Fen about as much fun as Tatooine parasites...but bigger. Fen had made a point of avoiding him ever since she started taking his business. "Come on, Gecee," Fen replied, shrugging his hand away. "It's not my fault that Jabba wanted a smuggler who could actually operate a nav computer."
The Gran pointed a fat finger in her face and growled, "I'll deal with you later." He knocked her roughly aside, clearing a path straight for Dogder.
Dogder answered Gecee's challenge in a contemptuous, aristocratic voice that sliced through the hum of the tavern. "I should think you'd be too embarrassed to return here."
"Embarrassed?" Gecee's three eye stalks swayed menacingly. Fen felt the other activity in the tavern grind to a stop as everyone tensed to watch the unfolding spectacle.
The con didn't even bother to move from her barstool. The Gran took another step and towered over her. "The code you sold me brought a patrol down on us the minute we broke into Kuat!"
Dogder reached for her glass and took a sip. "And only a fool would have entered Imperial space with an untested recognition code for which he paid only two hundred credits."
Fen choked back the guffaw. Gecee wasn't the sharpest tool on the belt. Others weren't so polite, but then they weren't within swinging distance either. The tavern burst into raucous laughter that had a slightly hysterical edge.
Still, Dogder had to be dumber than Gecee to cheat a mark, return to the scene, and then publicly taunt him. The Gran evidently thought so too. He roared furiously and raised his hand, looking to swipe Dogder off the barstool as if she were a bug.
Fen snapped up a bottle off the bar and smashed it over Gecee's head. He crumpled to the floor. Fen slowly turned back to Dogder, just in time to duck as a barstool sailed overhead.
The crash of the stool meeting a crowded table was the spark igniting the smoldering tension of the bar. Roaring in a dozen languages, fifty anxious smuggler scum, most of them pretty good friends of hers, surged up like a dirty, debris-laden tide. With a deep breath, Fen thanked the stars she'd had a stiff drink - it would dull the pain, but not her reflexes.
Before she could even stride into the fray, a hand grabbed her arm. Human, instinct told her. Fen pivoted hard, ducking her head to the side. His fist sailed over her shoulder. She grabbed her assailant's flightsuit and swung him out of the way.
Fen turned back around just in time for her luck to run out. Someone grabbed her from behind, and swung so fast, she didn't have the time to duck. Her head snapped back as a fist of fur smacked into her chin.
Flung back, she could at least wind up for the return. Balling her left hand and putting muscle from years of hauling cargo pallets into it, she swung up and landed a really sweet punch right into the Gotal's jaw.
Fen winced as she got a better look at whom she had just hit. Hrdinah was one of her best suppliers and she hoped he would respect the punch in the spirit in which it was thrown, rather than remembering the sting that accompanied it.
He grinned at her, showing no hard feelings, and peripherally, Fen saw his right fist rise. She leaped up, grabbed the Gotal's sensitive head cones in both hands and twisted. With a howling yell, Hrdinah doubled over with a blinding headache and fell to the floor.
Feeling like a datasheet caught in a sandstorm, another hand seized her sleeve and swept her around. All Fen caught was a shock of sandy hair and brown eyes, then a pair of lips landed on her own, followed immediately by a boot bashing her ankles. With a harsh snap, Fen went down.
Fen scrambled up, looking to land a real good one that would make up for dropping into the middle of an armada, all the Jedi jitters, Karrde's grating smug superiority, and a kiss from a smuggler who didn't stick around long enough for her to hit back. The part of her brain not looking for something to clobber realized that this was why Ancher was letting the fight go on. Tonight, it wasn't about violence or petty grievances. Tonight, it was about the release of tensions caused by overthrow of the Fringe hierarchy. After taking Hutt lumps for so long and getting dragged along by the Imps like mynocks latched to a ship cable, this was about catharsis. And it felt really good.
Fen spied the back of the jacket of the being she thought might be the phantom kisser. She was winding up for a swing when the Duros lunged. She and Radek had always been on friendly terms, so Fen raised her left leg, spun on her right, and let the momentum carry her foot smack into the Duros' torso. With Radek's Duros physiology, the blow would barely wind him. Too bad it didn't do that. She'd forgotten about Radek's point two above light speed reflexes. The Duros snatched Fen's upraised leg and flipped her to the floor. Fen landed with a jarring thud.
A blaster shot reverberated through the tavern, perfectly aimed to bring down the brawl, but not the roof. Every being in the place froze in mid-pummel. Two Rodians were sprawled across a table, motionless, each with long fingers locked around the other's throat, a centerpiece to the bizarre spectacle of broken furniture and busted glassware.
"That's enough!" Ancher bellowed from behind the bar, Calli-Merc blaster pistol cocked at his side. "You've had your fun. Anyone who doesn't help clean up pays the bill!"
Fen sat on the floor, sucking her knuckles contemplatively. Hrdinah came up, still rubbing his head cones with one hand. He extended the other hand to Fen.
She took the offer and let him haul her up. "Sorry about the headache."
The Gotal shrugged. "No worse than the last telepath I ran into."
He ambled off, leaving Fen's spirits decidedly lower. Chuba! Weren't Jedi telepaths, or at least empaths? Was it true they could control minds?
Gecee was still comatose. She stepped over the snoring Gran, righted a barstool, and sat. Ancher just stared at her.
"Come on, Karl," Fen grumbled. "One more for the lanes?" An upended glass rested on the bar. Fen grabbed it and slid it down to Ancher.
"Table goes in that corner!" Ancher shouted to the Rodians. He turned a disapproving and surly glare on Fen. "We needed a good fight to clear the air, but why were you the one who had to start it?"
Fen nudged the Gran with the toe of her boot. "Gecee was going to wipe that con out, and use the leftovers to clean up the mess."
"And that was your problem because...?"
Fen shrugged.
"She could have at least stuck around to split the bill with you."
"Maybe she knew you were a friend of mine?" Fen asked with more hope than she felt.
"House rules apply, Fen," Ancher said sternly. "Even to you," he added with a pointed finger.
Wearily, she nodded. Fen patted down her pockets and fished out the hundred credits she'd bargained off Karrde - undoubtedly one of the shortest wins of her less than stellar information - brokering career. She tossed the hundred to Ancher. "That should cover it."
He shook his head. "Not even close."
"Come on, Karl," she protested, gesturing about the tavern. "It's not that bad in here!"
A really wicked smile slowly broke out on Karl's face. "You have to cough up at least another fifty for your share of Karrde's tab."
"I didn't drink anything off Karrde!" Fen yelled.
"Karrde paid down his crew's bar bill when the fight started. "The smile got bigger and Fen fought the urge to bust it off his face. "He said you owed him fifty and would cover the balance."
Good thing there weren't any bugs around to fly into her open mouth. Galling as it was, Fen knew as well as Karrde did that if a Corellian smuggler was worth five hundred, a Coruscanti con was only worth fifty. Especially at pre-Collapse-of-the-Empire rates. Even the glorious bottles lining Ancher's bar wouldn't
dull this pain. With a disgusted sigh, Fen dug deeper into her pocket. "What's my total, Karl?"
"Four hundred," the barkeep replied. "And if I were you, I'd get off planet before Gecee wakes up or worse, his pals come looking for him."
***
Space take the galaxy and everyone flying in it! There were plenty of good candidates for venting her frustration on the road from the Black Dust to the Soco-Jarel Spaceport, but Fen resisted the urge. If I kick a rock, it'll just kick me back.
Why didn't she ever learn? Why did she always stick her nose into the middle of things? Gecee had never forgiven her for taking away customers who preferred a hauler who didn't lose, drink, or steal their cargo. The Gran was just the sort of sore loser who'd use a lousy bar fight as another excuse to chase her exhaust trail across the galaxy. And how did she ever think she could walk away a credit richer from any information exchange with Karrde? If this was the future Fen was married to, she wanted a divorce.
It wasn't a long walk back to the Star Lady, but it was a tense one, as she kept alert for any sign of Gecee's gang. She took a deep breath and glanced up to watch the ships cut bright lines in the night sky. Some of her frustration ebbed. Eyes fixed above, Fen stumbled and nearly fell over a rock in the road. Now they weren't even waiting for her to kick them.
The port's exterior landing pads were just ahead. The ships squatted in their desert berths like banthas in a sand wallow. Fen usually docked inside the port, a privilege that came with being a good customer for twenty years who had decent contracts and tipped well. But, like every other smuggler bolt hole, Soco-Jarel was filled well past capacity. Not that it mattered, Fen considered grimly. There didn't appear to be an Empire to issue a fine anyway.
The first ship loomed closer and Fen pulled her hands out of her pockets. If Gecee's pals were lurking anywhere, it would likely be here. Weaving through the outer berths toward the Lady, she approached every extended ramp and pile of cargo cautiously, knowing they could conceal an ambush. She kept an ear cocked for the whine of swoops that might signal an attack.
When the ship finally came into view, Fen whistled with relief. She had left the Lady's running lamps on and the YT sat gracefully, and alone, in a pool of yellow light.
Fen automatically counted out the eleven rungs up the ramp to the side port side hatch. She glanced around, but no one had followed her. She thought the area really was as deserted as it seemed to be.
Reaching to the seam where the hatch met the ramp, her fingers found the thin pin she had wedged there before leaving for the tavern. The pin was there, but -
Fen's hand went to her blaster as the thoughts flowed faster than her comprehension of any single one. With enough time and equipment, Fen could hack through the Lady's security. She generally credited her competitors and enemies with the same skill, even if she hadn't thought Gecee could open more than a bottle.
A pin wedged into the hatch seam was Fen's last security failsafe. If someone managed to crack the hatch, the pin fell out. Her pin was there, but the customary distance separating it from the side had widened to more than four fingers, which meant someone had boarded her with a personal message to deliver. Fen didn't like personal messages. They usually came attached to personal grudges and blaster bolts at close range.
Fen pulled her blaster, took a step back, and keyed open the hatch. "I hope your life policy is paid up, because your next of kin are going to need it," she called into the ship.
"I haven't any next of kin," a woman's voice responded. "And you haven't a single glass that isn't chipped."
By the Emperor's bones, what was Ghitsa Dogder doing on her ship? The woman herself emerged at the hatch, in one hand holding two glasses and in the other, Fen's treasured bottle of Reserve.
"What are you doing here?" Fen snapped, fingering her blaster. "Nurturing a death wish?"
Dogder eyed the blaster with all the concern she'd give to an insect. "If you shoot, I'll drop your only glasses." Then, she twisted the vibroblade. "And the Reserve."
"Why do you think you're still standing there?"
The con pivoted around on her heel. "Besides," Dogder called over her shoulder. "Should you shoot me, you'll never know why I went to all the trouble of breaking into your ship."
In Fen's experience, a ship thief sharp enough to get through an Incom 433 security system in an hour wasn't stupid enough to turn her back on an itchy blaster finger. But then, they usually weren't so brainless as to try to unload a bad code on Socorro. Fen loitered at the hatch. "You got any other company?"
"Why would anyone bother?" Dogder shouted back. "You haven't anything worth killing or even maiming for, and I'm sure Gecee is still out cold."
More or less true. But that still left why Dogder had bothered. Fen stalked in after her boarder.
Dogder was already sitting at the gaming table with a filled glass in front of her. "I should imagine you are thirsty after that long walk," she commented, splashing a couple of fingerfuls into the other glass.
Fen quickly surveyed the cabin, looking for any disturbances. Apart from the liberation of her Reserve and two glasses, and the addition of an unwelcome guest, all appeared to be as Fen had left it. Dogder, despite her calm facade, was moving carefully and keeping her hands above the table. She'd obviously been in someone's sights before.
Dogder slid the glass to the table's edge, but Fen wasn't taking it. "You've got a real dangerous way of getting a person's attention."
The con shrugged and took a sip of her brandy. "It's effective and has not proven fatal."
"Yet," Fen warned, leaning one shoulder against the bulkhead, blaster resting at her side.
"I wished to thank you for extricating me from that mess," Dogder finally told her.
"I'm only interested in the apologies that come with compensation attached to them," Fen retorted.
"I would like to repay you -" Dogder began.
Fen cut her off. "Six hundred will cover it."
Dogder scrunched her face. "How do you figure that?"
"Three hundred and fifty to Ancher for the damage. Another fifty to cover someone's bar tab."
"What about the last two hundred?" Dogder queried. She gestured to a pocket of her coat and Fen nodded.
"The rest is for my pain and suffering."
Dogder slowly withdrew a fistful of credits and began counting them out on the table. "An injured party is not entitled to pain and suffering damages under Socorran law."
"That's not a problem," Fen assured her. "I'll jut haul you to the nearest system that does."
The tiny con artist looked up from the pile in front of her and arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Or kill me and take whatever I have?" she replied mildly.
Fen nodded. Why did this woman insist upon providing useful suggestions for her own demise?
Dogder returned to her calculations, setting out four hundred. She slid the credits over to join Fen's untouched drink at the table's edge.
"No time like the present to pay up the rest and get off my ship," Fen told her.
"Oh, do sit down, Fen," Dogder said. "You are spoiling my drink just standing there glowering."
"It's my drink," Fen reminded her.
"Kas tulisha abia al port," the grifter murmured, glancing at the credits she still held. She frowned, not liking something she saw.
"Excuse me?" Fen stammered, although she was very familiar with the Old Corellian proverb.
Dogder looked up, a quizzical expression crossing her face. "Chaos opens the door to opportunity," she repeated in Basic. "I had thought you'd be familiar with the phrase."
"I am," Fen assured her. "I'm just surprised you are."
"What kind of provincial do you think I am?" Dogder laughed. She reached into a pocket, returning the credits, and removed a nail file. She turned her attention to a fingernail that had apparently perturbed her. "My point is that out of the chaos of Jabba's death and the Rebel victory, opportunities are arising even as we -" she paused pointedly, before ame
nding, "even as I drink."
Fen ignored the obvious invitation, but was interested enough to listen to what the con had gone to all this trouble to say. She holstered her blaster as an overture to encourage Dogder to talk. It worked.
"Smart beings, those with vision, are beginning to look for these opportunities," Dogder continued.
"Like taking the opportunity to pay me before I just take whatever you've got from your broken and bleeding body?"
"Precisely, Fen!" Dogder had the gall to raise her glass. "I can pay you a hundred- "
"You owe me two hundred, and another twenty-five if you keep drinking my Corellian."
Dogder waved her nail file impatiently. "I will pay you what I possess, or you can take the opportunity and see if I have something much more valuable to you."
"Like what?"
"Value depends on need. What do you need?"
"Peace, inner harmony, and a full bottle of Reserve," Fen told her, pointing to the half empty bottle.
"All three can be acquired easily, then."
"Is that so?" Fen mocked.
"Peace and inner harmony follow consumption of a full bottle of Reserve," Dogder blithely assured her.
"No," Fen corrected, biting back a grin. "What comes after consumption of a full bottle of Reserve is called a hangover."
Dogder nodded slightly, conceding the point. "So, apart from inner peace, harmony, and a Corellian, what do you need?"
Fen glanced at the con, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Dogder was showing some unexpected talents. Maybe...before she could think about it too much, Fen slipped into her seat.
"As it happens," Fen hesitated, searching for the words, "I'm looking for a vacation property."
"A vacation property?" Dogder asked blandly.
Fen nodded.
Dogder looked down and began working gently on another nail. "What are your requirements?"
Fen put the sound of a shrug into her words, wanting to see how Dogder would play this. "The usual. Not too out of the way. Civilized."
A Credit For Your Thoughts - Gamer #2 Page 2