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| - It was times like this when I hated the hellhole that was Coruscant. The crowds of people were often beneficial, making disappearing into the throng easy, especially when attempting to shake pursuit or avoid Imperial officials. Other times, it proved to be a curse. The explosion of Dredcot’s munitions dump in the lower levels had stirred up a womp rat’s nest of Imperial Army troops, and even a platoon of stormtroopers. Last thing I needed to do was get caught and linked with the destruction of Imperial military property. My assignment was pretty hush-hush, so an Army lieutenant would probably be more inclined to believe that I was an enemy of the glorious Empire, rather than a mercenary hired to take care of Dredcot and the munitions by any means necessary. Trigger-happy Army troops aren’t the way to finish off my night. I had managed to shove a group of Arkonans out of my way, just making it to the public turbolift to the higher levels. My ship, a Skipray Blastboat dubbed Hell’s Call, waited on a rented landing platform near the government district. I wanted to get off and away from Imperial City before dawn. I punched the button that would take me to the level of the platform. From there, it hopefully would be a short walk to my ship, and to freedom. It’s always at an inconvenient time when someone tries to get in touch with you by comlink. Right now couldn’t have been more inconvenient. The corner of my helmet’s visor began blinking with a glaring red light, signaling an incoming transmission. I opened the link, silently hoping it wasn’t the Army trying to triangulate my position by comlink. I left it on voice-only for transmission, in case someone managed to hack a supposedly secure signal and got a nice shot of my face for an Empire’s Most Wanted poster. The man on the other end, however, left his on view mode. I was greeted with the sight of an older man, possibly in his late forties, with graying hair and harsh blue eyes that contrasted with his darker eyebrows. He wore the uniform of an Imperial Moff, one of Palpatine’s sector governors. Their authority had recently expanded, due to the dismissal of the Imperial Senate. Men like him now had complete control of their sectors. Last thing I needed was pomp attitude. Hopefully he wouldn’t give me any. “Greetings, Phiht Piroc,” the man began. “I’m Moff Tieres of Bilbringi. I have a job I require someone of your skills to handle. A few years ago, my daughter Naelah disappeared, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. You may have heard this on Imperial HoloVision not long after the incident.” I did, in fact, recall this incident. My understanding was she ran away, frightened by something she had seen in her father’s office. “I have heard of the incident, yes. It’s a big galaxy, Governor. She’s probably long gone by now, if not dead.” “On the contrary, Mandalorian, I have recently received word from an anonymous informant that Naelah is very much alive. She was recently sighted in the Dancing Ronto cantina on Coruscant. I’ve only been to Imperial City on a few occasions, so I’m not familiar with the planet. I had hoped you would be willing to travel to the planet to investigate this for me. You will, of course, be paid well.” “Very well. My schedule can fit it in, I believe.” He obviously didn’t know where I was. I’ll keep that to myself for the moment. “I will require as recent a holo of her you can obtain. You can transmit it to thru this link.” The Moff nodded. “I can do that. I wish words could convey the gratitude I feel for your assistance. Please, try to keep her alive. I understand you have a reputation of-“ “Of getting the job done,” I cut him off. “If you want her alive, you’ll have her alive. It’s a rather simple concept, Governor. I don’t blast things for the hell of it.” I didn’t need to mention that not even a standard hour ago, I had blown a munitions dump to Corellia. Probably wouldn’t help me out. “I understand. Thank you in advance, hunter.” “You mentioned payment, I believe. What is the figure for the job?” “Ah. Yes.” He named a figure. It’s a good thing he couldn’t see my eyes bulge. With that kind of price… “You don’t seem to want her found.” Maybe I could squeeze a few more credits out of him. The governor shook his head. “I can’t afford any more, Mandalorian. That amount is practically all of my life’s savings I have left.” “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.” I cut the link and hit another button on the turbolift. The lift reversed, shooting down towards the undercity. The Dancing Ronto was dimly lit. It was a smart choice for a fugitive on the run. The dim lighting, coupled with a staff that didn’t care who came in their doors, even underage girls, as long as the customer was paying, made it a wise choice for someone who didn’t want to be found. I pushed my way past several sentient beings watching viewscreens broadcasting sports events from across the Galaxy. I slid between a massive, hairy Wookiee and a horn-headed Zabrak to the bar. A Bith was behind the bar, cleaning a few glasses. They didn’t look the least-bit sanitary at all. The black-eyed alien starred at my helmeted visage, then asked simply, “What can I get for you?” “I’ll take a Corellian Ale,” my voice rumbled from within my helmet. I looked at the glasses the Bith held. “Bottled, please.” A bottle quickly appeared in front of me. I popped the top off with my thumb. I removed my helmet and put it on the bar as I took a seat at one of the stools. Lifting the bottle to my lips, I took a small sip. “Perhaps you can help me,” I said to the Bith, who was futilely scrubbing at the glasses in his hands. “I’m looking for someone.” The alien’s featureless eyes stared back at me. “A lot of people come through here. Perhaps you could narrow it down.” His gaze bored into my gray eyes. “Perhaps a few credits could refresh my memory, as well.” I held his gaze, unblinking. “That’d depend on the information you’re going to give me. I’m looking for this girl.” I produced a holo of Naelah, scanned from my helmet onto a small holocard. “Her name is Naelah Tieres. She’s a human female, age sixteen, approximately 1.56 meters in height. She apparently was here within the past twenty four hours.” I patted the blaster belted at my waist. “I think your information will be free.” This alien didn’t seem to take the hint. “I get that all the time. I’m not afraid of you.” “Bad mistake, buddy. I’m a Mandalorian. We don’t make threats. We make promises. Am I clear enough for you?” He got it that time. “She was here last night. She had ordered a drink, but barely had anything of it. She left around 2130 local time. She’s a regular here, so she’ll be here either tonight or tomorrow.” I nodded, then put my helmet back on my head. In some ways, the helmet was more menacing than even the harshest glare I could throw at someone. As I got up, I tossed a small coin onto the bar. “Keep the change,” I muttered as I walked out the door and into the night. My plan was simple: stakeout the bar and wait for Naelah to return. I would have to find something a little less conspicuous than my battle armor. I went into a back alley and quickly stripped the majority of my armor from the jumpsuit underneath. I kept the chest plates in place, covering it with a dirty shirt from my pack. I rolled up the sleeves up the jumpsuit so they were hidden under the short sleeves of my shirt. I pulled a vest out and pulled it on as well. I kept my weapon belted at my side. That wasn’t unusual in this part of town. Everything else I put into my bag. It was some time before I saw the Bith leave the bar, his shift done. He had been the only one to see my face, and I couldn’t have him compromise me. I went back into the bar. Much of the clientele had changed in the past few hours. The bar was now kept by a grouchy-looking human. I went in, ordered another Corellian ale from the bartender, and took a seat in the back corner of the bar. I quietly drank from the bottle, trying to draw as little attention to me as possible in this dive. I somehow managed to draw the attention of a trio of thugs near the bar. One kept sizing me up, looking like he was itching for a fight. Another looked almost uneasy, fingering his blaster every few seconds, as if he was unsure it’d be there if he needed it. The third looked like he wanted to come over to my table, kick it over, and stick that knife he kept tossing up in the air in my ribs. Amusing. I returned their glares, coldly sizing them up in return. If it went to combat, I had no doubt that I’d walk away. Those three most likely wouldn’t share that fortune. But perhaps they’d play it safe and keep to themselves, with luck. There was no such thing as luck. The two that had been glancing me over walked over to me, the one still flicking a knife up and down, swaggering like they were large and in charge of the bar. The third, the one that struck me as very uneasy, followed at a distance, seemingly more hesitant about attacking a newcomer to their hangout. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The first one, the one who looked like he ached for a fight, spoke. He was the largest of the three, broad-shouldered and made of pure muscle. He was a bit shorter than his companions, but his muscle mass compensated for it. “I dunno, Jredge, but it looks like our friend here could use a lesson in manners.” The one with the knife had a lower voice, almost menacing. He was leaner than the first, and a little over a half-foot taller. He was still messing around with that damn knife. One would think he’d get bored after a while. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves, newcomer. We’re members of the Hawkbat’s Blood gang. We own this street, and this bar. You better show some manners and pay our fee for sitting in our bar.” “Yuro,” the uneasy one, the skinniest and tallest of the three, he appeared to be a Near-Human of sorts. His eyes were a vivid green, unnaturally green. “I don’t think he’s the guy to be roughing up for credits. He looks mean.” “I’ll show him mean, Vert.” The first reached for a holstered DL-44 blaster pistol. A nasty weapon, not something I wanted to tangle with in close quarters. He probably was a sucky shot, but thugs could get just as lucky as the best soldier. I spoke. “Jredge, I wouldn’t pull that blaster if I were you. Half-credit thugs such as yourself aren’t much of fight for a Mandalorian.” The Near-Human, Vert, seemed to pale in the dim light of the bar at the word ‘Mandalorian’. The one with the knife, Yuro, took a visible step back. The knife finally stopped flipping through the air. Jredge, the one with more muscle than brain, remained as he was. He smirked. “I doubt some slime-scraper scum like you is a Mandalorian. Where’s your armor? Mandalorians wear armor.” “We do.” My voice seemed to be intimidating Vert, as it typically did with weaker-willed opponents. He kept shrinking back, hands in clear sight. Smart move. “I don’t think I need armor to crush you like an insect, Hawkbat. Why don’t you go back to your drink, before this gets ugly.” Vert was all too happy to comply. He practically ran back to the bar. Surprisingly, Yuro followed, though he was much more cautious about it. He glanced back at me as he walked, as if to ensure I hadn’t moved. Jredge, however, must have had some sort of muscle growth take over his brain. The scumbag kept at it. “I own this bar, Mandalorian. You had better pay to be here.” His blaster had cleared his holster. He kept it at his side for the moment. It was only a matter of time before he brought it up. I had some time still. “Fifty credits.” “It’s not going to happen, blaster or not. Go back to your buddies, and your drink. Final warning.” My hand had fallen to the grip of my Bryar, but the thug didn’t see that. The table hid that from his view. I slowly pulled the blaster out until it was clear of the holster. “I’m leaving when you give me my fifty credits. No sooner.” “I warned you.” With that, I kicked up, flipping the table into the air and down on Jredge’s foot. He hollered in pain, his concentration momentarily lost. The last thing he felt was a well-placed blaster bolt burn through his chest. He fell backward, foot still pinned by the heavy table. He was dead. No one survives a Bryar’s blaster bolt at that close a range. Activity in the bar came to a complete standstill. Everyone had stopped drinking, talking, and playing sabacc games to stare at the body lying crumpled on the floor. I lifted the table back to its original position, then sat back down and took a gulp of my drink, as if nothing had happened. I continued to sip my drink until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and then felt a metal cylinder, no doubt a blaster, press against my temple. A voice behind me rumbled, “It’s time for you to leave, bud.” Grabbing my gear bag, I calmly stood up and walked to the door, the bouncer tailing behind me. It had started to rain, and still no sign of Naelah Tieres. I was back in my armor suit, the gunmetal gray of the Mandalorian iron reflecting little light in the gloom of the alley. The downpour of rain pinged on the armor suit, making a cacophony of noise in addition to the noise of the foot traffic of Coruscant’s undercity. Even in the rain, rare on Coruscant’s artificially-controlled surface, didn’t stop the trillions of sentients from carrying out their daily work. I continued to scan the crowd with my helmet’s identity profiler. It was programmed with Naelah’s picture and some statistics on her, including last-known height, weight, and hair color. My HUD was alive with the profiler’s scanning of individual people in the traffic going past the bar. No one matching her description had gone by in the past three hours since I had been forcibly removed from the bar. I was just about ready to pack it up for the evening and head back to the Hell’s Call. I didn’t feel like renting a room in a flophouse down here, much less sleep in the trash in this alley. I stepped out of the alley, every intention of heading back to my ship, when the HUD profiler pinged. It had found a probable match for Naelah Tieres. I turned toward the bar and saw her, a short girl throwing back a hood to reveal long, flowing brown hair, pulled back tightly. She appeared to be accompanied by a tall, bald Human male. He was nearly my height, with an athlete’s build. Friend, or bodyguard? The two entered the bar. Keeping my helmet on, I followed. In the past few hours, only the clientele of The Dancing Ronto had changed. It was louder, rowdier, and more packed than earlier this evening. Sports events were playing on the HoloVision viewers on the walls. There were several card games going on around the bar. It was very easy to hide in this sort of environment. Nevertheless, my helmet’s HUD found Naelah. She and her escort had taken a seat in a back corner, not far from where I had sat earlier. I sat down on the opposite side of the room, where I could keep an eye on the duo. I wanted to avoid a conflict with the athletic man and the bouncer if possible. Maybe Naelah would have to use the refresher, or her escort would choke on an appetizer, or something. I waited some time before my opportunity presented itself. Naelah’s escort had risen from the table and headed in the direction of the bar, no doubt to get drinks for him and his friend. I rose as well, but headed toward the table Naelah sat at, now all alone. She didn’t seem to notice me until I had sat at her table. I pulled out a chair, moved closer to her, and seated myself. “Excuse me, but can I help you?” Her attitude betrayed her noble upbringing, and showed she needed an attitude adjustment. Her daddy could take care of that. “In fact, you can,” my voice rumbled. I heard her gasp as my blaster pistol pressed into her stomach. “Your father is looking for you. You’re going to come quietly, or I’ll finish our business quickly.” She got the hint, telling by the pale expression on her face. She quietly stood up, pushed in her chair, and walked to the door. “Don’t try alerting your friend. I’m more trouble than it’s worth. Run, and I’ll make sure your legs don’t ever work properly again. Clear?” The young girl in front of me nodded. I followed her out the door, my blaster at her back, and into the night.
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