CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

7 1 0
                                    

The tram dropped the team off at the Blue Sector. Named after Blue Sky Boulevard—the main road connecting the area to downtown—its notoriety as one of the most dangerous parts of the city didn't dissuade off-worlders from visiting. A plethora of cantinas, tattoo parlors, casinos, brothels, pawn shops, and flophouses could be found in this area, which infused the district with excitement and an air of menace. Treasure Ship Row, an open-air market, attracted throngs of shoppers and visitors.

"This city sure has everything" Gorin was fascinated by the change of location.

"Wait until we get to Coruscant," Elynn said in a condescending sing-song.

Theleema took the group to a bar, called The Sarlacc Pit, with a row of swoop bikes parked up front. It was a place built on an industrial tower whose original purpose had long been forgotten. Heavy Isotope music thumped from within.

"Stay close to me," Syrran said without looking at Elynn. "If everyone gets nasty, be assertive and keep your hand near your blaster. If they're nice, keep an eye on your credits."

"And if they just want to talk?" Elynn said.

"Don't hesitate to shoot first."

"Fun."

Inside, Twi'leks danced atop small stages that were dispersed throughout the busy dim-lit joint. Rows of scaffolding balconies ringed the height of the tower, where patrons could enjoy themselves. Holoscreens dotted the central shaft, showing the dancers and the band. On the main floor, B1-series droids served as waiters; most were covered in graffiti and always seem to have drinks thrown at them.

Syrran recognized some of the bounty hunters in the crowd, though nobody recognized him thanks to his Ubese raider armor: the human, Chanath Cha played sabacc. The Zabrak, Sugi, played grav-pool. The human, Dengar, was leaning against the bar.

Theleema spotted the Mon Calamari pirate, Tuz; and the Caskadag assassin for the Cularin syndicate, Anglang Lehet, at the sabacc table. The thief droid, 4-LOM, stood near one of the dancers' stages. And the Bothan spy, Koth Melan, hung out at the bar.

The mercenaries like the Gigoran, Moroff, played darts, while smugglers, like the Zeltros, Dani, and the Ithorian, Murr Danod, were familiar to Jarriss.

"Hey, handsome. Wanna private dance?" said a green Twi'lek dancer, leaning over to caress Syrran's face.

Syrran brushed the hand off. "I'm good."

"What's the matter? I don't bite—hard."

"What makes you think I don't?"

The girl leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "I wouldn't mind."

"Go hang yourself by your lekku." Theleema looked daggers at the dancer, making her slip away.

"People are really friendly here." Gorin leaned on his staff.

"And the more credits you have, the friendlier they get," Addia said.

The group approached the bar, tended by a Swokes Swokes, who growled a question in his native language with his dreadful maw of sharp teeth.

"Prow and the house special." Theleema tossed a datacard that had a logo of three red concentric circles with rows of thorns pointing within.

"Ne'tra gal," said Syrran and then looked at Elynn.

"I only know cocktails and fizzy drinks," Elynn whispered.

"She'll take a tsiraki." He noticed the query in her expression. "It's made out of fermented salakberries and pickling spices. You'll like it."

FORSAKEN - Target: ZeroWhere stories live. Discover now