Purge (Star Wars)

The Luck of a Jedi

A loader droid arrived outside of the Mantis early the next morning with several crates of parts and supplies Greez had ordered in tow. At Greez's insistence, the crew spent most of that day helping him offload and store the supplies and assisted with some of the bigger repairs while Cal used some scrap parts to build a pair of weapon racks on the walls of the holotable room where they could lock up Ilyana's staff and rifle.

As the sun began to set, Cal took Ilyana into town to finally do some reconnaissance and hopefully pick up the trail on their first lead.

"How do you usually start these searches?" Cal asks Ilyana as they walk down the main street back toward the market.

"Well, that depends on the situation," she replies, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the crowd that has filled the street as many of the shops close and the cantinas open. "When I could I would wear a disguise of some sort, work my way into the population and listen for any signs of my quarry but that's a method most commonly used by the ISB. Command preferred Purge Troopers to be accompanied by ships, troops, and a lot of blasters: the overwhelming, imposing presence of the Empire as it were," she says, gesturing emphatically.

Cal stops walking and looks around, "So you're telling me there could be an undercover Purge Trooper here right now."

Ilyana shrugs, "It's possible but unlikely. While I preferred quiet infiltration, the others preferred to make themselves known. They like terror. Either way, I don't have access to those resources anymore. So what do you suggest?"

"Well," Cal begins, scanning the shops that line the street, "why don't we start with a drink?" he suggests, gesturing down an alley toward a nearby cantina.

"Your kind drink?" she asks, purposefully not using the term 'Jedi' in a crowded street.

Cal rests his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. He had been so young when the Jedi Order fell that there was so much about his own people he didn't know. Instead of trying to answer he just says, "People talk in cantinas," and starts off down the alley.

The Cantina is completely underground beneath another shop that has closed for the night. They entered through a staircase sheltered by a heavy canvas canopy to prevent sands from blowing down into the bar. At the bottom they step through an aging metal door that opens slowly with a grinding whine, clearly overdue for maintenance.

The Cantina is dim and thick with smoke and jovial though tired chatter. Most of the patrons are likely residents and workers that have stopped in to socialize after a long day, rather than transient traders or mercenaries.

"Hey, barkeep," says Cal as he approaches the bar, Ilyana keeping her distance a few feet behind him. A squat, round human with graying hair responds and approaches him suspiciously.

"Haven't seen the likes o' you around here before. Whaddya want?"

"Just looking for a couple of drinks for myself and my friend here and a place to sit a while," Cal answers kindly.

The barman looks Cal over, then Ilyana in turn, clearly not convinced that they are friendly. "We don't want no trouble here. If ya here to start anythin' you should take ya'selves somewhere else. We just workin' folk here."

"We're not here to cause problems, I promise."

The barman huffs then asks, "What'll it be then?" with no less suspicion.

"I'll have an ale. What about you?" he asks, turning to Ilyana.

"Phattro, extra ice."

"Ice costs more," says the barman but she just stares back at him. "Ya got it," he says and shuffles off to get their drinks.