Chapter Text
“What is it you wish to hear? That I once believed in the code of the Jedi?” - Kreia, Knights of the Old Republic 2
There was something to be said about a smuggler's luck, Blue thought, as she stared down at the body at her feet. She wiped a hand over her face tiredly as she took in the features of the orange-skinned Nautolan. He’d been only one in a series of copilots that she’d accepted over the last several years, all of them dead now, all of them, she suspected, at the hands of various bounty hunters. His name had been Kentu. He’d been with her for less than a year. Less than a year!
She supposed that the universe was kriffing with her. Surely that would explain why every time she got even vaguely comfortable with someone, they ended up dead in some street market in Nar Shaddaa or a back alley in Mos Eisley. She hadn’t even liked Kentu all that much, only tolerated him, since he did decent work and kept the ship together.
Now she would have to find a new mechanic, a new crewmate, and soon. She had to be off of Mon Cala in the next rotation or things would go badly, considering the stormtroopers swarming the area. She groaned, rubbing at her eyes again in frustration as a headache formed. A moment later, heavy footsteps thudded up next to her. Pulling her hands away from her face, her gaze landed on a tall, dark-skinned Kiffar male, the yellow tattoo across the bridge of his nose a stark contrast to his dark skin and dreadlocks. He grinned down at her, and for what seemed like the hundredth time, Blue wished she was just a little bit taller so that she could smack the smug look off his face.
“What a shame,” he commented, his deep voice borderline sympathetic. “He seemed like a nice fellow.”
“What do you want, Vos?” she said flatly, giving him an unamused look.
She had always thought he might be a Jedi. No one was that kriffing good at cheating at pazaak without a little jetii osik. That mir’shebse shabuir — she stopped herself before she could think of it further. Somehow, he reminded her too much of her old life, of the ways in which she’d been so carefree and unworried.
“Is that any way to talk to your dearest friend?”
Blue almost groaned aloud at that. As it was, she closely missed rolling her eyes. “We’re not friends, Vos,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing, “the full extent of our relationship is that I bring you supplies and you use your fancy little network to give me information in return. That’s it.”
Vos only looked at her, that stupid smug smirk still pasted on his face. “Well lucky for you that I have a lead for you then. Supplies still in the same place as usual?”
“Docking Bay 5, yes.”
“Good.” he said, then motioned to the still form of her ex-copilot “Coincidentally, I have a new crewmate for you.”
Blue narrowed her eyes at the Kiffar, searching for any hint of deception on his face. She didn’t see any, but then again, she’d been fooled before. She respected Vos, liked him even, but she hadn’t survived as many things as she had without a bit of skepticism. The Kiffar had an extensive network of buyers and spies, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he had been doing this for a very long time. But that was the problem, she supposed. She didn’t know him well enough to say whether he had or not. She hadn’t made it this far by blindly trusting anyone with a bit of kindness and credits to spare.
He seemed to pick up on her mood, and his face grew grave.
“Look kid,” he said, waving a hand, unusually solemn, “Beyond my better judgment, I found out that I actually do like you, and I care enough that I worry sometimes. This guy? He’s good. He’s important. I promise you, it will be fine.”
“And if it’s not?” she asked, skepticism lacing her tone. She had co-pilots in the past that seemed too good to be true, then ended up like poor Kentu-- stone dead; another bounty collected for some unknown entity in a faraway system.
“Then I give you full permission to punch me in the face” he grinned, “Go to Mos Eisley on Tatooine. He’ll be waiting for you at Chalmun’s Cantina there.”
And just like that, he was back to his casual sarcastic self. Blue opened her mouth to retort but more footsteps sounded, this time at the mouth of the alley. She turned as an assassin droid, an HK unit from the looks of it, strode forward.
“Query: why are you standing in front of my bounty?” the droid asked, its vocoder hissing with static. She supposed it might be water damage; Mon Cala was one of the wettest places she'd ever been to, and that was saying something after the summer she’d spent in Glee Anselm.
“Why did you kill my co-pilot?” she shot back, placing her hand on her hips. She slipped into her old, familiar persona, that of a rough-edged, prickly smuggler. She supposed that’s exactly who she was, but somehow it always felt like slipping on a jacket whose fit was just ever so slightly wrong . “Do you realize how much this is going to put me back? I have deadlines to keep, you know! What’d he do?”
“Response: Bounty target 483829 was requested by Hutt Szaldekec due to outstanding debts,” said the droid, its vocoder flat and unfeeling, “Collection Rate: 4,000 Credits. If you have any complaints to file, send them to the Hutt Council. Good day.” With that, the droid bent over and grabbed the empty hand of her co-pilot and dragged him away, his heavy footfalls echoing in the large hangar.
Vos clapped his hands together and strode forward. “Well now that that’s over, let’s get those supplies. I’ve got to get home before the missus starts to worry, and I know how you are with your ship.”
Indeed, the Corellian YT-2000 freighter was her pride and joy. She’d stolen it right out from under Imperial noses at the Impound Yard on Novka, flying up and into space before they even knew she’d been there. She’d gotten a new transponder for it, of course, and had named it the Shriek-Hawk . It was the last remnant she clung to of her old life.
Without another word, she followed Vos as they trekked toward the docking bay. Tatooine, he’d said? In the very least, she’d get a drink and maybe even a job, but at the most, she may be able to find another copilot, whether it would be Vos’ friend or not. She resolved to go as soon as she offloaded her cargo into Vos’ care. After all, she thought to herself, there was no use in wasting time when she didn’t have anything better to do.
The off-loading of the goods Vos requested took a bit as each box was taken, opened, and cataloged against his list. Most of it was food, mechanical supplies, and a few blasters, but others were sets of clothes for children.
Blue handed off a small stuffed rancor that she’d found in a market on Bespin the last time she’d been there. “I found this,” she said gruffly, motioning at the toy, “Figured your son might like it. He’s what, seven, eight, now?”
It was almost comical to see the way that Vos’ face lit up at the mention of his son. “He’s almost nine,” he replied, and pride spilled from his voice. She smiled faintly. The man’s joy was infectious, and she supposed that children made you like that; happy. His mood didn’t last long, however. He stiffened a moment before footsteps sounded once again, this time approaching her ship, and Blue narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious.
“If you’re headed to Tatooine,” called out a gravelly voice, “I’d say keep clear.”
Blue turned to see a dark-furred Bothan with an eye patch limp towards her and Vos. The man’s name was Vam Sus'iru, a smuggler she had interacted with on occasion when finding parts for her Corellian.
“The Hutts are making a power play against some of the other factions in the system,” he stated, “Not sure you wanna be around when Rancor tusv'choasdo hits the fan.” he motioned to her ship, “Besides, even if you get there, the Hutts are selective on who they give jobs to. Might not be any by the time you drop out of hyperspace.”
Blue glowered at the Bothan.
“ Da doth donkd poodoo and you know it, Vam” she growled, “Not even half of the smuggler’s guild can match the Shriek-Hawk’s speed. She made the Kessel Run in 14 Parsecs, and it only took me three days.” she pointed to the retreating assassin droid. “That’s more than what I can say about whatever the HK droid is flying.”
She strode to the Bothan, putting a little swagger in her step.
“And it is most definitely faster than the
Night Shadow.
” she grinned, leaning in.
“You done gabbing over there, Blue?” called Vos waving his data tablet, “I’m on a schedule here!”
Vam gave a disgruntled chuff as he hobbled away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he called as he rounded the hanger’s entrance. Blue went back over to Vos, snatching the tablet from him. “Not a word, Vos.” she grumbled, “No one is stopping me from doing what I do best, not even a petty gang war.”
“I didn’t say anything” he chuckled as more boxes made their way off the ship. Tatooine , she mused, let’s hope this new guy can stay below the radar if things do hit the fan.
••••
Chalmun’s was busy as usual, and Blue slipped in the back, sitting at her usual booth. It had a good vantage point on the door, the cantina itself, and could even see the shadowy back corner. You could never be too careful around here. Mos Eisley was something else entirely, something that Blue would never get used to.
She set her drink on the table in front of her, surveying the room as she did so. There was a red-skinned Devaronian by the exit, two green-skinned twi-leks; probably sisters, in one of the booths near her, and way in the far back corner was a shadowy figure sitting in another booth. She frowned. That… wasn’t right. The area was lit well enough that she should have been able to see him, but the harder she tried to focus on the figure, the more her eyes slipped away.
It was jetii magic, she kriffing knew it.
She willed her facial muscles to be perfectly still, to not react to the knowledge. Then, as if a black curtain was removed, the dark corner was revealed. Sitting with his eyes closed was a man in a dark jacket, a forest green scarf, and some sort of rebreather. He reached forward with a gloved hand to where his drink sat just out of reach, the cup smoothly gliding into his hand, pulling the mask aside as he brought the cup to his lips. A glint of dull metal caught her eye. Strapped to the inside of his sleeve was some cylindrical object. A lightsaber. Then it was gone as it had appeared as he put down the drink, his face calm and serene.
Vos was right , she thought to herself. She did know who he was almost immediately. Stifling a frustrated scream, she reached for the cup in front of her and knocked back her drink, almost choking at the taste. That was truly terrible alcohol. She waved a hand and ordered another. The next time she saw the Kiffar, she vowed, she was going to hang him by his hair from the sensor array on the Shriek-Hawk . That might teach him a lesson about sending her right into the middle of trouble.
Because that’s what this man was, trouble. She almost buried her face in the table and groaned, but restrained herself only because she didn’t know when the last time these tables were cleaned was. A kriffing JEDI ? What was Vos on about? He knew what would happen if the Imperials caught wind of this whole operation. It was too risky, Blue thought, too risky for her .
She made to get up from the table but stopped in her tracks as she felt a presence brush up against her mind. It had been so long – no, she wouldn’t think about that, not now, not ever. She only then realized that she had frozen, halfway out of her seat, and whipped her head around to look at him. He was staring straight at her, she realized, cup halfway to his lips. As she watched, he raised the cup in her direction and got to his feet, heading in her direction. Kriff! Double kriff!
She almost ran, but it felt like her feet were glued to the floor. Like a ghost appearing before her, the Jedi walked by her table, placing his emptied cup next to hers.
“Tomorrow. Here at noon. Don’t be late” he said, his rebreather making his voice sound harsh and cold. Then he was gone, vanishing into the crowd of patrons, leaving her gaping like a dehydrated Bantha. Kriff! Triple kriff! She stalked out of the cantina, murder on her mind as she tried to find the Jedi who had the audacity to tell her, her , what to do. As she made it out into the dusty street, she tried to spot the masked menace.
He was gone.