Madlands

2. We Have Everything

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The shale crunched with each step away from the Crest and towards the looming trawler. This would not be an ideal world for covert tracking.

Luckily, he was fine with being seen, even flying in two low circles in the twilight sky above the land-trawler before coming in to land—making his intent to do business more clear. As he hit the half-way mark between the two vessels, the back wall of the trawler groaned and clanked as it started to descend. The ramp finally thudded into place, and the dim light from inside the Jawa's hold flooded across the rough ground, causing each frozen flake of rock to cast a soft shadow on its neighbour.

Mando stopped his approach a few metres from the ramp. The leader of the caravan stepped forward from the gathered group and descended almost to the base of the incline before addressing him in Jawa Trade Talk.

Buying, selling, trading, or all?

Buying, possibly, depending on the merchandise.

This was clearly the preferred response, as a small wave of excited chatter erupted across the throng at the top of the ramp.

Well, what do you seek? We have everything.

There was no value in wasting time or dancing around his needs. The negotiation could be done for one all-in price.

Fuel, rations—edible by humans, an accelerator coil—not burnt out, I'll know, hydraulic oil, and information.

Without a word or a sign from their emissary, the Jawas closer to the hold scattered into action and disappeared into the bowels of the vessel.

Sounds like you have travelled far. Will you also need suggestions on places to stay, to relax, to find company? We know everything.

No.

What is the information you seek then?

I... well, maps. I need up-to-date maps of the sector.

The leader flapped his robed arm at a nearby Jawa, who scampered off to retrieve the goods.

And?

Information on the perils of the Madlands... particularly the spatial anomalies and hazards.

Ahh, this is difficult. Ever changing, always more.

Mando sighed.

Well, whatever you can give me.

Another flap, and another one off into the depths.

And?

Mando considered the difficult search that lay ahead of him.

Do you have profiles of the worlds and factions of the sector?

This is not everyday information you seek. It's price will match its rarity.

Mando nodded and the flapping of the leader's arm was almost joyful. The first of the supplies started to arrive—rolled and carried down the ramp and onto the frosty shale. Mando looked over the bulk ration packs and unscrewed the cap of one of the fuel barrels before sloshing the contents around. It made the right sound and had the right consistency. If the sun would hurry up and rise he could judge the colour. He turned to the coil.

I said not burnt out.

With more excited chattering the useless coil was dragged away and a replacement presented. Along with it came a datapad.

Have a look and see the quality of the materials.

Mando brought up the first map. It seemed to show not only the basics of each of the sectors' systems, but the common navigation courses and even the more minor inter-planetary stations. It was very good, as far as sector-wide maps went.

Does this go down to planet level? Populated areas, topography, elevations?

You want that too? We surely have it.

Mando paused. The longer he stood here, the more requirements for information he would come up with. The trip would not only be difficult but unpredictable. It was almost impossible to anticipate everything that he could need to know or have access to while negotiating this deal.

What about... the source? I want the whole library, wherever you're storing all this.

The leader shook his head and those gathered around looked at each other, some laughing.

No, no. We have it. Grey is not for sale.

What about Jawa code? Everything's for sale.

You won't like the price.

Well, let me see it and we'll discuss.

A hush fell and the others looked to their leader, who, in turn, considered Mando—his possession of that much Beskar in particular. An eventual last wave of his robed arm sent two of the rearmost Jawas back into the trawler one more time.

Mando waited for a rolling droid or a computer console that had been snatched from its housing to be trundled down the ramp. Nothing appeared for an unexpectedly long time. Were they disconnecting the data core from their own system? Twilight was melting into dawn.

His other purchases had been fully loaded onto carts before the two Jawas sent to retrieve the data system finally reappeared, but empty-handed. Instead, they were followed by a woman. She looked at him briefly before turning her gaze towards the imminent sunrise and drifting to a halt, off to the side and half-way down the ramp. She was draped in a long, light grey, hooded cloak, and dark grey boots over grey leg-wrappings. Her breath became clouds in the cold air. While she was the last thing he'd expected to emerge from the Jawa land trawler, it didn't answer the question of the data source.

Where is it?

See? Because of her clothes, we call her Grey.

... SHE is your source? You can't sell a person.

We caught her trying to steal our salvage. She's been helpful. Very valuable. You won't like the price.

Mando gave her a longer look, trying to make eye contact. This didn't make sense. She seemed almost placid, arms folded gently across her front, and a loose braid weaving its way out from her hood on one side. He thought she might even be smiling slightly as she stared out at the horizon. This was no scavenge thief. Plus, who would need to resort to that with this quality of information at their disposal?

I'll need to talk to her before we negotiate.

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