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"All right, let's stay together," Jason said as they entered the bazaar.
"Oh, come on!" Walkerton complained. "You're so boring, all you want to do is buy supplies. You never want to browse or do anything interesting!"
"I hate to say it, but Walky's right," Thurl said. "It is mind-numbingly dull watching you negotiate and dicker over every little thing." Sal grunted in agreement.
"Well, excuse me for wanting to fulfill our not insubstantial needs at a reasonable price," Jason huffed. "And may I remind you that we are currently operating at a substantial loss? We'll be lucky to be able to get enough supplies at all, given our current poor credit status." He sighed. "All right, at least don't wander off too far, all right? And please, just this once, stay out of trouble?"
Walkerton wandered through the bazaar, taking in the sights. Most of the merchants watched him closely, as an unknown alien who could, for all they knew, want to make off with their stuff. He'd find this offensive if it wasn't more or less true. After all, Jason was annoying, but he was right about their poor credit. But sometimes there was something that he just had to have.
Like that cute blaster there. That merchant had dozens of little hand weapons on his table, and he was, unlike some, preoccupied with a rich woman (cute, but not really Walky's type) who was toying with a jeweled vibro-blade.
Walky surreptitiously took a closer look at the blaster. He was right--it was an almost exact match, or mirror image, for his own, a weird design that didn't look like anything else he'd ever seen anywhere, looted off some battlefield somewhere. He couldn't pass it up. Trying not to look too furtive about it, he picked it up as if casually inspecting it. Now all he needed was some kind of distraction...
"There he is!" a voice shouted.
Walky swore as he looked up and met the eyes of a Shoatan soldier. He didn't recognize them specifically, but his squad had definitely gone up against the Shoatans a couple of missions ago, and he may, potentially, have managed to offend each and every one of them before getting away clean. He stealthily slipped the blaster into his pocket as the Shoatan and his two comrades yelled out a battle cry and lunged towards him. Not quite stealthily enough, apparently, as the weapons merchant let out a yell as Walky dashed off deeper into the bazaar.
"What now?" Sal said as he bumped into her.
"No time--run!" Walky yelped.
"Well, now, that's just not right," Thurl said.
The blue-skinned alien was sitting on the ground, chained to a nearby metal post, so clearly a slave of some sort. He was also wearing a grey metal face mask which was fastened at the back of his head by an ornate lock.
Thurl knelt down beside him, and the slave looked up. "You okay?" Thurl asked.
"I am hot," the slave said. "And thirsty."
The mouth of the mask was only a tiny gap, and Thurl couldn't even tell how the slave would be able to eat or drink more than a very tiny bit at a time. Now Thurl knew that slavery was still a legal practice in some places, but it always drove him wild. Especially when the slave was the clear victim of maltreatment, like this guy.
He slipped a laser-cutter out of his pocket. "Now hold on there, guy, I'll get you out of there." The chain looked strong, but it was made of cheap metal and it only took a few seconds to cut through one of the links. He glanced around, but the slave's owner, if any, didn't seem to be nearby. At least, nobody seemed to be paying too much attention to them. The lock seemed at first like it'd be more of a problem, but on closer look, while it was made of a harder metal, the lock mechanism itself was more ceremonial than secure, and it only took a couple of minutes before Thurl was able to snap it open.
"There," Thurl said. "That's better." Between the two of them, they managed to slide the mask off, and the alien gasped as his face was revealed. Thurl gave him a drink from his canteen, which he gulped greedily.
"Thank you," the alien said. "I was sold into slavery on my planet a long time ago. Years, probably. Passed from place to place, traded like a trinket. And now you have freed me. I am in your debt."
"What are you doing with our slave?" said a shrill voice.
Thurl looked up to see a man and a woman at the other end of the square. "Oh, hell," he said. "Can you run?"
"I'm sorry," the supplier said, looking at his terminal. "With your credit rating, there's no way you'll be able to afford the quantities you want."
"Be reasonable," Jason pleaded. "I have a dozen troopers to supply here. Surely the bulk discount will cover it?"
"You think I'll just give you half of it for free?" The supplier looked at Jason narrowly. "That's five thousand credits, you understand. Your recorded assets are already deeply in hock, and you'll excuse me if I don't see any other visible signs that you can afford this..."
They both looked up as the sound of yelling and running feet came closer.
"Jason!" Walky cried. "We got trouble!"
"Of course we do," Jason muttered to himself. "Because you didn't stay on the ship."
"Friends of yours?" the supplier said acerbically as Walky and Sal ran into view. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, is that--"
Walky dashed up and put the wall of the supplier's prefab at his back. "Shoatans," he gasped. He checked the charge on both of his guns. Jason blinked. When did he get a second gun, and so obviously a match?
"A matched pair of Tellevilla blasters? I didn't know there were any of those left!" the supplied said with interest. "I mean, to a collector, I--I mean you--could sell them for, ooh, ten thousand credits easily."
"That's nice," Jason said, reluctantly getting out his own weapon.
From the other direction came more shouts and footsteps, and then Thurl came into view with an odd blue alien, skinny and long-limbed. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "But they had him staked up like an animal!"
Jason sighed. "Freed another slave, did you?"
"A Xoranti!" the supplier gasped. "You know, as a slave they're worth a lot, but the services of a free one? Nearly priceless--I mean, very valuable indeed! A considerable asset. I don't suppose you have--" He spotted an odd metal face mask Thurl was carrying at his waist. "The mask too? And the lock--is it intact? Also highly collectible!"
He looked around, as if assessing the situation, then said, "Clearly your financial situation is much more secure than mere records can tell. I think we can make a deal after all."