As the dark sky grew darker and began to glow with its unholy light the working class of Nar Dundo began to file into their favorite watering holes and sources of oblivion from the pain of their existences. In the Downtown Packing District of Cedrekharon, the favorite source of liquid annihilation was known as the Unlucky Moon. It was a modest establishment, sandwiched between a clothing store specializing in affordable off-world styles, and a barber shop catering to the pelted species of the galaxy.
Stacked above the bar, encompassing the entirety of the block, was the Wrifkad building; officially offices for big business. The steel and stone tower rose like a monolith from the slate streets and reached for the putrid sky of this over-industrialized world. Its surface glowed from the plethora of lights emanating through its pantheon of windows. Along its base were many box-like places of business, among which was the aforementioned Unlucky Moon.
Within the tavern’s walls were set circular tables in a spiraling pattern towards the center of the chamber where the bar itself could be found. The lights were kept dim, to simulate the faint light of night on some long-ago forgotten world from which the original owners had come. Hovering light-droids maintained that aspect of the atmosphere, as well as scenting the air with strange, spicy incense as they passed by. The center was more brightly illuminated by a ring of light above the bar. Within the donut of the bar’s counter sat a serving droid who never tired, and worked day and night. It had ten arms, each with a separate drink-mixing tool, and a central pod like head with four eyes and a speaker-grill.
The bartender droid was known by those who frequented the place as Harad.
Along the walls of the establishment had been placed plush violet velvet coverings, so that it was comfortable to lean up against them. Two bathrooms were to be found in large cylinders at either of the far corners of the box. The floors were standard deck plating cannibalized from some unfortunate ship, and the front door was made from the ship’s own access ramp rigged to slide up from and down into the floor.
Tonight the air was abuzz with the hundred tongues of the patrons, both alien and native. The heat from so many bodies threatened on the oppressive, nearly overloading the bar’s aging cooling systems. The smell was an indescribable mix of incense and body odor from a hundred worlds, with just a hint of someone’s cigarra. Serving droids floated and rolled about from table to table like Cynatian sting-bugs among chrome flowers.
Seated near the left-side bathroom tube at a table large enough for four, was a Bothan with a short-trimmed beard and a light shaded golden-brown fur. Her fur was beginning to show small streaks of gray at the edges, and she had a bit more weight about her than she should have, making her both plump and buxom. She was wearing a dark gray jumper which went well with her shiny black eyes, and a belt of spun gold and silver with the house symbol of Durgo the Hutt, indicating that she was a member of his organization and not to be trifled with lightly. She had a drink that glowed faintly blue in front of her, grasped in one red-clawed hand, and a datapad clasped in the other. Her eyes constantly flicked back and forth between the surface of the datapad, and the sentient sitting across from her.
The being who shared her table was dressed in a brown robe with a hood so deep that only his nose, mouth, and gently cut chin were visible from beneath its shadow. A lock of his hair peeked out on his right side, its color distinguishable from the cloak only by virtue of its honey-blonde highlights. If the lock was any indication of the length of this man’s hair, than his hair was grown past his shoulder blades. Unusual for a human, the Bothan had thought upon noting it. The only other features showing from beneath that robe were his highly polished black leather boots, his broad yet lean build, and his light-tan-skinned hands folded neatly before him on the table.
The Bothan knew that a human’s hands could tell a lot about what that human did for a living. In her position as a broker for the Hutts, she wound up dealing with humans an awful lot, and the ability to tell what they did with their hands could pick out a pickpocket, dock-worker, and even a smuggler from the crowd. This one’s hands had puzzled her. They were fine and dexterous, smooth except for calluses on the knuckles and where the fingers met the palms. She couldn’t figure out what line of work would give one calluses like that. He was unique, and a curiosity, which is why she’d found herself repeatedly engaged in conversation with him.
He’d been coming to the Unlucky Moon for about a week now. His habits had indicated that he was searching for someone, but after a week’s wait he apparently had no luck. He never seemed perturbed by this though, which the Bothan also found unusual for a human. He was always polite, and never drank anything more than water flavored with a drop of Urethel nectar. He was so unlike any human she’d met, that she had found him an irresistible conversation waiting to happen. That’s why she’d approached him roughly two days ago, and struck one up.
“Is he bigger than a Savrip?” the Bothan had begun.
“What’s a Savrip?” he had replied, and that was all it took for the pair to become nightly companions.
She had yet to regret that decision.
Tonight the unusually packed crowd had kept the conversation rather limited with the background noise interfering so much. The Bothan had resorted to checking up on her personal accounting between bouts of language with her companion.
“How fares your empire?” He asked.
“What?” The Bothan returned in only slightly accented Basic.
“How fares your empire?!” The human shouted.
The Bothan’s muzzle twisted up into a smile that was more teeth than most people were comfortable with. “Well as usual. Nar Dundo has been good to me.”
“Then I take it your child is well as well?”
“Yes,” the Bothan returned, “Mrae just managed his first paper in Huttese. He’s taking it as is required by the local laws.”
The human’s mouth smiled at her from beneath the shadow of his hood. “That’s good to hear. I hope I can meet him someday.”
The fur on her back should have bristled at that statement. Anyone asking to see family on this planet was never up to any good, yet for some reason she’d grown to trust this human more than any other she’d met. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she’d only known him for two and a half days. Sometimes it felt like she’d known him for a lifetime.
“Perhaps you will,” she responded awkwardly.
“I’m sorry,” the human returned, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“None taken, it’s just that one doesn’t usually ask such questions on Nar Dundo.”
“I shan’t do so again,” he responded.
Somehow she found herself feeling bad about that. She tried to remind herself that she shouldn’t feel so guilty over the perceived insult concerning her child, but again she found herself oddly close to this human and strangely wanting to please him.
“I took no offense,” she said after an awkward pause, “maybe you’ll get a chance to, really.”
The human nodded at this and took a sip of his usual drink of nectar-water.
To break the chill that had settled between them the Bothan fell back on an old topic. “So you’ve had no luck tonight yet either.”
“The night is still young, but I somehow feel that I won’t be having any satisfaction for my quest tonight either.” His tone was light-hearted, yet sad.
“What makes you think he’ll come here in the first place?”
“He will,” the human responded as he had days before, “it’s just a question of time now.”
“Right,” the Bothan responded.
“Why are you here night after night?” The human asked abruptly, and uncharacteristically.
The Bothan blinked a moment, “I like to come here to relax. I like being among the bustle of the masses.” The Bothan chortled.
“Ms. Urka,” the human responded, “it’s a pleasant fiction you weave.”
The both laughed lightly at that. It was another of the human’s talents. If she didn’t know better she’d say he had some sort of internal lie detector. Despite this, he remained discrete about it, never calling her on any of her falsehoods, though he seemed to know she was going to fib before she did.
Ms. Urka took a gulp of her drink, finishing half the glass.
“May I refill your drink ma’am?” it was a serving droid which had just hovered up behind her. The Bothan suppressed the urge to smack it.
“No, I’m fine.” She responded curtly, in a tone which would have been rude to an organic.
“I’ll have another Urethel water, light on the Urethel please.” The human stated the request calmly.
“Don’t you drink anything else?” Ms. Urka asked.
“Yes, but not here. They don’t seem to carry much of what I like here.”
“That’s a pity, I should talk to the owner.” The offer from her lips came naturally, and yet was out of character for her. She would one day have to figure out what the effect was that this human had on her. Was it possible she liked him?
“Unnecessary,” the human responded.
“You don’t like to inconvenience anyone, do you, Mr. Starborne,” Ms. Urka said coyly. It had been another observation she’d made in the past two days.
“Not really,” he responded, “there is too much inconvenience in the Galaxy as it is. I don’t like to add to it.”
Ms. Urka decided to go out on a limb. “You’re hiding from someone, aren’t you?”
Mr. Starborne, as she knew him as, for the first time in their short relationship, gave her a quiet look of disapproval, brief though it was. His face returned to serene a moment later, and he smiled warmly.
“Aren’t we all?”
“Point taken Mr. Starbourne,” she smiled back.
A gust of air passing through the room drew both their attention towards the front door of the ‘Moon.
The bar paused, everyone’s attention being drawn towards the can-like, transparent domed R3 unit as it rolled in out from the street. Its gray surface was stained heavily with the dirt of this planet’s wilder regions, forming streaks of red and black across the droid’s body. Its dome was not unmarred either. It had patches of the caked on dirt here and there, obscuring the view of its internal circuitry. The droid’s tripedal feet looked a little banged up, but outside of that it did not show any signs of being worse for the wear.
What it did show was signs of urgency. It rolled determinedly strait towards the back of the bar, ignoring calls of “you can’t come in here!” and “we don’t serve droids!” The human twisted in his chair for a better view of the little droid as it dodged two serving droids, and rolled straight up to their table and began squawking at Ms. Urka.
“I do believe you have an admirer,” the human said in an amused tone.
Ms. Urka was speechless for a moment. This was no droid she’d ever seen before. R3’s were military grade hardware, and very hard to come by. If it hadn’t been for the droid’s appearance and quirky behavior, she’d have thought the Sith authorities had finally come for her. As it was, she was baffled at what was going on here. It was not a feeling she was comfortable with.
“I don’t understand you,” Ms. Urka responded to the electronic chatter.
Mr. Starbourne stood up and turned to face the four droids who had come to enforce the somewhat ironic “No Droids” policy of the establishment. They whimpered in dismay, but conceded to him and hovered off after a time.
“Do I know you?” Ms. Urka asked the machine.
It rotated its dome back and forth.
“No huh?” Ms. Urka said, and leaned back in her chair, finishing her drink.
Mr. Starbourne sat down again, having fended off the offended enforcers for now.
“Do I know who sent you?” Ms. Urka asked.
The droid shook its dome back and forth while rocking its body forward and back.
“What does that mean?” Ms. Urka sighed.
“Maybe?” Mr. Starbourne offered. He spotted something on the dome. “This R3 has a holoprojector. Do you have a message for us?”
The dome swiveled.
“This is getting frustrating,” Ms. Urka commented.
“Can we use your datapad to let it communicate with us?” Mr. Starbourne asked.
Ms. Urka nodded, “of course! I should have thought of that. Here,” she said extracting a cable and jack from the datapad.
A panel flipped open on the droid’s body to reveal the female receptors for the jack in Ms. Urka’s hand. She plugged her datapad in.
The screen lit up.
WAS SENT BY HUMAN DESIGNATED DREX ODAGON OF THE WHEYGA MINING & PROCESSING CORPORATION ON THE PLANET AUSTERON. DESIGNEE ODAGON CURRENTLY INCAPACITATED, SENT TO MAKE CONTACT WITH KIRDAH URKA AT UNLUCKY MOON ON MISSION FROM DIETRICH. ARE YOU KIRDAH URKA?
“Yes, I am,” Kirdah responded. “Dietrich,” she paused to think, “I think I did know someone who went by that name. A Chev right?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“How is he doing?” She asked.
Mr. Starbourne leaned over and read the datapad quickly.
CURRENTLY LEADING RESISTANCE AGAINST DENTARI SHIPWRIGHT ASSOCIATION.
“I see,” Kirdah smiled.
“You mentioned that Mr. Odagon is currently incapacitated,” the human asked, “how so?”
CRASH LANDING CAUSED INTERNAL DAMAGE.
Mr. Starbourne looked suddenly very concerned. “Can you take me to him?”
STATE OF DREX ODAGON IS IRRELEVENT. MISSION HAS TOP PRIORITY.
“Can you tell me where he is?” Mr. Starbourne persisted.
BEARING 215.9 FROM PRESENT POSITION RELATIVE TO PLANETARY MAGNETIC APCICAL POLE. 6 KILOMETER DISTANCE.
“What is your mission?” Kirdah asked.
MAKE CONTACT WITH KIRDAH URKA, ARRANGE DEAL TO INVOKE AID TO HELP CRUMBLING RESISTANCE ON PLANET AUSTERON.
“Interesting,” Kirdah said. “I think I should take this droid someplace more private.”
“Ms. Urka, I must go after that man, Drex Odagon. If there is a chance he survived the crash I must save him. If I am able, it would be prudent to reunite him with his droid, and enable you two to talk in person.” Mr. Starbourne’s tone was urgent.
“I knew you weren’t a humble trader,” Kirdah smiled. “Alright, here.” She handed Mr. Starbourne a datacard. “You can reach me there. All the information you need is on that.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Starbourne responded. He suddenly stiffened and turned towards the door.
There was another gush of wind, temporarily clearing out the stench of the room.
Again the room paused. Through the open doorway poured in six humanoid figures clad in all too clean working attire. A seventh human followed in, dressed in too clean and neatly pressed working clothes. All seven had blasters poorly concealed under their baggy jackets.
The seventh human gave the room a once-over, and went to join his companions at a table near the door. All of them had close-cut hair, all in the same style. The seventh’s was dark brown. He also had piercing and distinctive green eyes. His hard features, combined with the vicious look in his eye and that showing through in his body language, made him stand out even more as a danger not belonging to this part of town.
Mr Starbourne closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again and spoke. “Ms. Urka, I believe those men mean you harm.”
Kirdah looked back and forth between the men and Mr. Starbourne. “How do you-?”
“Nevermind that,” he responded, “is there a back way out?”
“Of course,” Kirdah responded. She looked at Starbourne again. “I’ll take it.” “I’ll provide the distraction then,” He abruptly leaned over and whispered something to a Rodian sitting at the next table over.
Perplexed, Kirdah looked on as the Rodian nodded, got up, and headed over to the seven men at the table by the door.
“We should go now,” Mr. Starbourne said.
Kirdah did a double take, then nodded and rose with him. “Come on,” she said to the R3 unit while heading for the back. The droid complied.
Behind them shouts in Rodese and Basic began.