Madlands

7. Better than Bacta

Mando wished that Grey would stop leaning back in her chair. Whenever she did, she disappeared behind the frame of the doorway to the makeshift cantina. Her conversation partner stayed in one place, but was remarkably fidgety. The man kept looking from his drink to the back wall, to Grey, and to the door, while bouncing one leg and toying with what looked a bit like a data-stick in his left hand.

This was ridiculous. He should be in there. The fact that he'd been talked into keeping watch through a scope from halfway across the settlement was a true testament to her ability to get her way, especially in light of the fact that Grey going out on her own had yet to go well.

The settlement was cloaked in the heavy yellow haze that wrapped itself around the entire equatorial band of Ignitius Minor while casting the area in a perpetual ochre-hued dusk. The terrain was primarily yellow sandstone, and the low-slung buildings were roughly hewn from that same rock, giving everything from the ground to the structures to the air an oddly monochromatic, yellow-y look.

Earlier that morning, when they'd regrouped to analyze the completed update-scans of the Lithu system, she'd noticed a recent coded ping from one of her contacts coming from Ignitius Minor, and not much else of note. She'd given Mando an overview of the various terrains, populations, politics, and dynamics of Lithu's worlds and their satellites, but her focus kept drifting back to the planetoid with the ping.

While Grey wouldn't go so far as to call Cyrin Toh a friend, she'd said he had value as a contact due to his comfort in dipping in and out of less savoury circles. It meant that he had access to spheres of so-called-society that she preferred to avoid direct exposure to. When they bartered, she could stay once-removed without missing out completely on the intel-underworld.

Mando knew the type well, and had to admit that he'd be a decent source for any available insight into the Empire's stealth presence. She would also enquire about the current locations of other mutual contacts, since she'd fallen sorely out of touch during "Jawa camp," as she was now calling it. She would, however, not ask him about sightings or signs of Mandalorians in the sector. Even asking the question would likely send Cyrin digging and spreading rumours.

Grey had at least agreed to keep the comlink with her, the meeting short, and to meet Mando at a rendezvous point at the edge of the settlement's small commercial quarter immediately afterwards.

A particularly soupy swath of haze drifted between Mando's rooftop vantage point and the cantina, making his surveillance even more useless. He almost missed Grey reaching into her cloak and then palming coins across the table to cover their drinks. The meeting was wrapping up, and she'd kept it short indeed. As she rose from her chair, Cyrin bolted up from his stool, bumping the shoddy table and sloshing his drink all over his data-stick in the process. Cursing and shaking the liquid off his hands, he still came around the table, one arm outstretched, to wrap her in it. She accepted the obligatory half-hug and he watched her say her goodbyes.

It would take Grey longer than him to reach their regroup, so Mando stayed on Cyrin, who was, in turn, observing her departure down the street, cloak sweeping behind her as she threw up her hood. Through the scope, he watched as the man eventually resumed his seemingly customary fidgeting—with a focus on the likely ruined data-stick that he shook in one hand, tapping his foot, and constantly checking over his shoulder.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

He seems great.

Indeed. Cagey, self-absorbed, and nosey as always, and less helpful than usual—what's not to love?

Set in the south-east corner of the settlement, the commercial quarter was nothing more than an informal open square dotted with market stalls and lined with the few official businesses in town. Grey and Mando had met outside the tailor and were headed down a side-street in the general direction of the Crest.