Pre-Flight
Previous Episodes
"Thought I'd find you here," Cleaner said, leaning against the doorjamb. Fixer 43 looked up from his console, "Oh. Hello, Cleaner. I thought you were still piloting. I didn't notice the transition to hyperspace," he said. Cleaner meandered into the storage area where the Fixer set up his station. He must have taken the opportunity of their brief stop on Dromund Kaas to restock his favorite soap or cologne. A light, pleasant fragrance graced the room along with Fixer 43's pleasant visage. "Haven't yet. Letting Kaliyo take a turn. Don't worry. Autopilot's set to kick in if she heads to close to a gravity well," he said with a quick laugh. Fixer 43 twitched a smile, "She won't, will she?" he asked. "Doubt it," Cleaner said. Kaliyo wasn't quite reckless enough to brush atmospheres or buzz other craft. Not if she wanted out of Imperial space quickly. "How come you're not working with the Doc? Thought you were collaborating." "Oh, we are, sir," 43 said, "but there's quite a bit I can do on my own." He squirmed in his seat, "To be frank, as much as I enjoy our project, I find Doctor Lokin a little frightening," he admitted in a conspiratory whisper. So did everyone. Cleaner leaned on the makeshift desk, overlooking the workstation. Took a brief inhale of the Fixers perfume. "Is he bothering you?" Cleaner asked. "No, not as such,'' 43 said, "He has a most brilliant intellect. I'm not accustomed to working so closely with an experimental physician." Lokin best not be experimenting on his favorite fixer. "He hasn't volunteered you for anything, has he?" Cleaner asked. "No, no, sir. Nothing like that," 43 denied, "He’s quite intense and focused. It’s a bit intimidating."
Cleaner nodded as though in agreement. Better lay out some more ground rules with the good doc. "You let me know if he bothers you, yeah?" "Of--of course sir," Fixer 43 said.
“Is that what you’re working on now?” Cleaner asked, glancing at the console’s display. The microscopic size of the font alone was enough to give him a headache.
The Fixer flushed, “Oh, well, technically no, sir. I was catching up on some of the periodicals. There’s so much less fuss over clearances on the homeworld. Not that publishers don’t ask,” he hastened to add, “but the checks come through quicker. Even through the Nar Shaddaa bureau channels I was always a month or more behind.”
Cleaner smiled. Couldn’t have asked for a better segue. “You’ll be pleased to see this, then,” he said, removing a crimson datacard from his trouser pocket, “Got some more out of Darth Zhorrid’s files on the Eradicators." "Really?" Fixer 43 asked, reaching for the data card. Cleaner didn't release the card right away, "I wanted you to see them first," he said. He let 43 have the data, his fingertips trailing over the Fixer's soft skin. 43 pulled back and hurriedly shoved the card into the read slot. "Gentle!" Cleaner admonished, "That's the only one I've got," he said with a wink. Fixer 43 suddenly found the station's display riveting, "Oh. I--I'll be sure to make a copy, then." He risked a glance at Cleaner out of the corner of his eye. "Please do," Cleaner said. He leaned in a bit closer. Thought about touching his lovely hair and decided against it. Patience. Fixer 43 wasn't going anywhere. "Let me know if you need anything else," he said. "I-- I will, sir," Fixer 43 stammered. "Good," Cleaner breathed. He slid off the desk. "It looks like Jadus did a pretty thorough purge," he said, all business again, "but if he left anything I'm sure you'll find it." "I will do my best, sir," the Fixer replied. "Excellent," Cleaner said. He left the storage area for the lounge and its oversized holocom. Checked the scrambler and entered coordinates in Hutt space. His contact was sure to run a trace and he didn't want to come up deep in Imperial territory. Pulled out his sole remaining pack of cigs--two left. Thanks, Kaliyo, for cutting short the last Nar Shaddaa visit. He stuffed them back and entered the holofrequency then stepped back into visual capture range while the idle tones played. The connection alert chimed and a heavyset figure resolved in the field. "Hey, Horell. Glad you picked up," Cleaner said in basic with a strong Huttese inflection. "Tan’araan!" Horell cheered, "I was just thinking about you. Don't suppose you've exceeded my bag, have you?" he asked with a laugh. Cleaner laughed with him, "Did pretty well on Nar Shaddaa a while back. But then I don't keep count the way you do." "Hardly sporting on Nar Shaddaa," Horell said, scratching his Van Dyke, "like fish in a barrel." "True," Cleaner admitted with a shrug, "You change your..." he trailed off as though searching for a word and mimicked Horell’s gesture, "...face-fur?" he said at last. Horell guffawed, "Beard! Beard. Yes, yes I did." "Beard. Yes," Cleaner said, accepting the correction he didn't need. "Looks good." "For face-fur," Horell said, snickering, "Got rid of the muttonchops. Wife says she likes it better this way. She says it makes me look more serious. Executive," he said, his voice pitching lower for the last few words. Made him look fatter, in Cleaner's opinion. "She knows best," he said. Horell guffawed again, "She does! Well, about that sort of thing." He turned serious, "You didn't holo me about my appearance, Tan. I doubt it's to invite me on another Evocaii hunt, either." Cleaner sighed, "It's not." Horell nodded in sympathy, "Republic not to keen on your employer's business practices, eh?" "Oh, they like the guns just fine," Cleaner replied with a derisive short, "It's the ‘collaborator' label they hate." "Hypocrites," Horell said. Cleaner shrugged again, "Good thing I was offworld at when it changed hands." A little smirk twisted Horell's furry lips, "I suppose you're out of a job, then." "Got a new one already, thanks," Cleaner said. "Oh?" Horell said, surprised, "still in weapons?" "No," Cleaner replied, "At least not exclusively. Concierge of a sort. Clients want something, I get it. For a fee, naturally." "Naturally," Horell said, scratching at his beard again, "sounds interesting. Are you accepting new clients?" "Depends," Cleaner said. He had a bribe in mind for Horell’s cooperation, but it wasn’t part of his new cover story. Bit late to backtrack now. "What do you want?" he asked. Horell laughed, "Right now?" "Sure," Cleaner said, "though I holoed on behalf of an existing client. I wasn't planning on soliciting new business." "I see," Horell said. "If you’re in the market..." "No, no," Horell started. "...I can offer an associate discount," Cleaner finished. "Hmm, I might just take you up on that in the future," Horell replied, "so what were you looking for?" "I've got a client who's big on archaeology. Not a pro. A dedicated amateur," Cleaner said, "A collector. Current obsession is--hold a sec, I gotta check the spelling." He made a show of retrieving the datapad and selecting a file. "R-A-K-A-T-A. Rakata. I'm saying that right?"
“Long ‘aurek,’ that’s right. Rakata,” Horell corrected, putting the emphasis on the second syllable.
Bingo. Can’t deny knowing what they are now. “Rakata. Thanks,” Cleaner said, repeating Horell’s pronunciation, “Rakata. And I thought, I bet my friend Horell at Czerka knows a thing or two about the Rakata.”
Horell straightened a bit. Probably flushed as he realized he was trapped, but it didn’t show in the holo’s blue monochrome. “I don’t know, Tan.”
“Come on, Horell, this stuff is tied up in museums or academic’s offices, gathering dust,” Cleaner said, “or going for ridiculous sums at auction. I need something else.”
“Czerka has clearances, Tan,” Horell objected, “I can’t just wander into one of the research labs and drop a nugget in my pocket.”
“What about stuff in storage?” Cleaner asked, pressing the issue. “Tan, you’re asking a lot,” Horell insisted. “I smoothed things over with Nem’ro for you,” Cleaner said, “He even gave you a reward for putting down an Evocaii rebellion instead of kicking you off his part of Hutta. You owe me one." "It's not that simple, Tan," Horell said, "Anything that reaches Corporate is catalogued. Inventoried. If things go missing it will be noticed." Cleaner ran a hand over the top of his head, "I'm really in a jam, Horell," he said, quieter, "I would have charged the client a lot more if I'd known what Rakata were at the time I took the contract. I'm going to take a loss on this job as it is. But I need the business. The reputation. Help a guy out, willya?" Horell held his hands wide, "Tan-" he started. "Look, how about a list of sites?" Cleaner asked, "I'm sure Czerka already cleaned out all the good stuff but there's got to be something left. I can get it myself." Horell considered for a moment, "You realize you're asking for company secrets. Privileged Czerka information." "Yeah," Cleaner acknowledged. Now for the actual bribe. He took a deep breath, "I do still have a few prototypes left. Demo models. Nice plasma rifle, high-end scope with some experimental compensators tied into the barrel and emitters. Probably won't ever hit the market now that the factory changed hands." He met Horell's eyes through the holo, "Hate to see it scrapped." Cleaner imagined he could see Horell's brain working. "Is it for sale?" he asked. Score. "Gotta cover my loss somehow," Cleaner said. This part was for public consumption. Horell's cover in case he was found out. Of course corporate communication was monitored. "Standard reload?" asked the Czerka executive. "For the type, yeah," Cleaner replied, "Nothing proprietary. I've even got a couple spares on hand." "I'd like to see it," Horell said. "Any time," Cleaner said, "When's good for you?" "I've another safari planned in a few months," Horell answered, "so the sooner the better." "I'll be near your system in two or three weeks," Cleaner said. "Perfect," Horell said, "Holo me when you're close and we'll set an appointment." "Will do," Cleaner agreed, "Talk to you soon. Tan'araan out," he concluded. The blue image collapsed and Cleaner shut off the terminal. He looked up to see Lokin in the doorway. Cleaner stood, "Have your data in a couple weeks."
"Jadus was right," Lokin said, "you were wasted in your former life." Bastard. "Yeah," Cleaner said, "Too bad you people enslave everyone not human. Might discover more." "Societal reform doesn’t much interest me,” Lokin said, “and your particular skills don’t quite recommend the remainder of your species.”
“Neither do yours, Doc,” Cleaner replied.
Lokin shrugged, uncaring. “There is a matter I would like to discuss with you,” he announced, changing the subject.
Great, “Can it wait until we hit hyperspace?”
“I believe it is of immediate import.”
Wonderful. Probably wanted to remind him that Zhorrid's data should go to him first. Cleaner depowered the holoterminal and followed him into the medbay.
Lokin closed the hatch behind him, “You asked me to look into ways to alter your conditioning,” he began.
He had. Lokin made it sound so benign. So not a complaint, that was something. “Yeah?” he prompted.
Lokin remained behind, at the door, “Fascinating topic. I’ve outgrown it, of course, but the Research division has an extensive body of experimental results. Quite a variety of species involved as well as conditions and circumstances. Excellent and thorough work, I must admit. My research notes are on the datapad, if you care to look.”
Cleaner dragged the datapad across the bench and glared at the open file. Examination and Chemical Alteration of the Neptheline Transfer System in the Twi’lek and related species with Concurrent Behaviour Modification. In the first paragraph, the abstract, the only word he understood was ‘abstract.’ It referenced a full-color chart, handily reproduced, of a number of non-human species and...something on the axes. Maybe dosage or serum concentration, over probably time. Maybe. His eyes narrowed further, willing himself to understand it. No good. No wonder Doc didn’t worry about leaving his stuff lying around.
Lokin rapped the counter, interrupting his study, “The most relevant parts are farther in,” he said.
“How about you give me the quick version?” he grumbled.
One white eyebrow raised, “The quick version? Well then: no.”
“Fan-fucking tastic,” Cleaner complained.
“Not without knowing the precise commands implanted,” Lokin went on, “Experience suggested as much. The serum proved particularly effective on you. Something to do with the structure of the Twi’lek brain, I expect. It activated strongly in the cerebral tissue resident in your lekku. Since that area houses both long-term memory and some motor functions, it provided excellent control and long-term effectiveness.” Lokin continued, “I don’t often get such encouraging results from an early trial. Intelligence outdid themselves in practical applications. I almost wish I’d not let them have it so cheaply.”
“Figures. The one thing you humans create that works on my species just makes us better slaves. You know something?” Cleaner said, shoving the datapad back across the counter toward Lokin. The creator deity of Twi’leks was truly evil. “I’d hate you more if you didn’t do half your experiments on yourself.”
Lokin snorted in derision, “Really.” A statement, not a question.
“No, not really,” Cleaner said, “Not a lot of point to hating you. I can’t do anything about it.”
“You could,” Lokin said.
“What, kill the only doctor who knows how to program the damn bugs?” Cleaner groused, stomping toward the door, “can’t do that anymore than I can shoot myself. Amounts to the same thing anyway.”
Lokin harrumphed, “Bugs. Another application I handed over to Intelligence without enough thought. Have you any idea what Sith would give for what you deride as mere bugs?”
“Sith don’t need ‘em,” Cleaner countered, “Sith have the Force.”
“Sith like backup,” Lokin replied, “Reassurance. Certainty.”
“Okay. So. On occasion they’re useful. Mostly they ruin two of my three favorite pastimes. Not a good trade, on balance,” He reached for the door panel, “I need a workaround. Something that won’t tip everyone off to the fact my brain has a password.”
Lokin covered the door controls with his hand, "You should also know I've discovered an anomalous signal. A communication of some sort," he said in an almost conspiratorial whisper. Nerves prickled all down Cleaner's spine, "What kind of communication?" he asked. "It is a simple signal, likely a code or cipher," lokin said, "buried in the background of the ship’s long-range comms. I only discovered It by chance looking for unused bandwidth for my own receivers." Same old Doc, keeping tabs on all his lairs. "Whose?" Cleaner asked. "Unknown," Lokin replied. "What's it say?" Cleaner demanded. "Likewise unknown," Lokin admitted, "I only just discovered it. I thought you should know of its existence even if I had no other information to convey at the moment." Who was it? 43? Kaliyo? Both? Could be Lokin himself throwing suspicion on the others but his gut said no. "Keep me informed," Cleaner said. Lokin's only response was to remove his hand from the door controls. Bastard.
“As you wish,” Lokin said, retreating back into the medbay. Cleaner continued on to the bridge. From the hatch he saw the back of Kaliyo’s head, ghost pale against the starfield. Was the transmission hers? The Sith had a whole book of proverbs about dealing with enemies. Zhorrid’s idea of light reading. One read Embrace your foe. Hold him close and he’ll never taste the poison on your lips or feel the dagger at his back. He didn’t even know if Kaliyo was responsible. It might even be an official tracking device in case he made off for the rim. "Having fun?" he asked. She reached forward and clicked off a toggle, "Controls are a bit spongy," she replied. Embrace your foe. He advanced and planted a kiss on the triangular tattoo at the top of her skull, "I like her soft," he said, running his hands over her shoulders, "yielding." Kaliyo tipped her head up, meeting his eyes. The pilot's seat rocked back with a wheeze and Cleaner's hands ended up lower on her chest, "I bet you do," she quipped. He gave her a squeeze, "You prefer stiff?" he asked. "Maybe," she teased. She pinched the tip of his left lekku where it fell forward and grinned at his wince, "depends on my mood." "What are you in the mood for now?" he asked. "You offering?" she asked. "Maybe," he said, giving her another languid kiss on the top of her head. "Guess I should put her on auto, hmm?" Kaliyo said, "You got a hyper destination for me?" Cleaner nibbled on her ear and the seat muttered a complaint, "Corporate sector. Bonadan system." "What's there?" "An old friend," Cleaner said. Horell was neither, but Kaliyo wouldn't care. "Speaking of," Kaliyo said, "What about Yjal?" "Holo him when we're back in real space," Cleaner said, "Set a meet, if he'll do it. Just you and him." She stoked his lekku, "Aww. No playing bounty hunter?" He could make an identity, register as a hunter, take the contract, set a meeting to collect and then blast Kaliyo's annoying former lover. He changed cover identities like clothes. But unlike Tan'araan, established for the recovery op on Hutta forever ago, he really wanted to keep Kaliyo’s mess out of Intelligence's files and anything he crafted wouldn't be as good. Wouldn't pass Yjal's sniff test. Wouldn't pass his, either. "Naa. Too much hassle," Cleaner said, "Set a meet. If he asks about me say you dumped me." "Why'd I dump you?" Kaliyo asked, her fingers tickling on his skin. "An argument over your bounty," Cleaner whispered, "It's believable. From what you said he'll check up on me. Probably already has." Kaliyo turned toward him and nipped his lip. "And it's almost true," she said.