Freelancers

Motives

The elevator opened up to a multitude of travelers: aliens, humanoids, and droids filled the station. Bright lights and signs adorned the shop fronts along the edges, as the central causeway led to an enormous, spacious rotunda where most of the spaceport's activity took place. Mouse droids darted in and out of foot traffic as they led various wanderers to their destinations, and any audible speech was drowned out by the roar of thousands speaking at once. Veriss and Jag exchanged knowing looks and exited the lift. The Vaiken cantina wouldn't be too far away; a hive of scum and villainy hidden in plain view.

The pair meandered through the surging crowds and arrived at the gaudy, neon front of the local Vaiken cantina.

"Let's have a seat," said Jag as he rubbed the back of his neck with his good right hand. "This broken arm of mine needs the stiffest drink this fine establishment can offer."

Before she could agree, Jag walked past her and headed towards the bar. Veriss let out an audible chuckle and followed him. Upbeat music reverberated throughout the small cantina, while idle chatter filled the space between song changes. At the bar, Veriss found herself scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The cantina was regularly frequented by undesirables who would love nothing more than to collect the bounties on their heads, and it was important to be mindful of their surroundings. She looked over at Jag and sighed as he was already staring at the bottom of his third drink. She stared back at her own swirling concoction, deep in thought. Her musings were interrupted by a shrill voice.

"Hey!"

Veriss and Jag, along with the other bar patrons, looked for the source of the interruption. A slender woman in a long, black, hooded jacket in a shoving match with a smaller, diminutive Bothan apparently over a game of Dejarik. The commotion ended as quickly as it began when the woman produced a small blaster pistol from the holster attached to her black trousers. The Bothan threw his hands in the air and muttered something unintelligible as he stormed off. Patrons returned to their daily consumption of narcotics and booze, while the band resumed their latest song. The hooded woman weaved her way to the bar and planted herself on the open seat next to Veriss.

"Bartender, here's a couple credits for the trouble. And several more for a Muon," said the woman as she tugged at her black gloves to hide her credit purse. The Ithorian behind the counter simply grunted, snatched up the credits, and brought her a drink. She turned to face Veriss and smiled.

"You look for trouble hard enough and you'll find it eventually. Maybe while looking down the barrel of a pistol," she said while gulping down the glittery liquid.

Veriss silently nodded in agreement. She glanced over her shoulder at Jag, who was sharing hearty laughter with a few other patrons, and let out a shallow sigh. She was not looking forward to babysitting her older partner.

"What brings you out here?" asked the hooded woman as she wiped the sides of her mouth. "You're a bounty hunter. When folk like you appear there's always someone being dragged out by now - usually frozen in carbonite." The woman waved the bartender away from refilling her glass. She lowered her hood and revealed black hair tied back into a single short braid that rested on her shoulder.

Veriss replied, "We're waiting to meet someone."

"Bantu?"

Veriss' eyes narrowed at the mention of that name. She glanced at her neighbor, trying to ascertain her true intentions. She surreptitiously lowered her right hand towards the pistol strapped to her armored thigh.