He wasn't lying. He... was telling the truth? More like half-truth, but then how does it differ from a lie? Or was he flying here... Had the events of recent affairs affected him so much? He had a ship. He had something that, if sold, could provide a comfortable living, and still leave something for his grandchildren. So, was it... The phrase that escaped him was a surprise even to himself, so much so that his mouth went dry, and he had to croak out the last word.
"I hope your tastes haven't changed?" he said, regaining his composure, and pointed a finger at the bottle.
"Someone died in space," Annette stated after a few seconds of intense study of the face she knew well. "Rimon, is that really you? Honestly, I expected a passionate speech in defense of the romance of eternal wanderings... No, my tastes haven't changed. Are you going to order anything?"
"After the ration pack..." Rimon made a few notes about his order. Meat, garnish, a couple of additions, "...you can order in a restaurant without looking. You still haven't answered my question..."
"Which one?" Annette chuckled softly. "If it's about our mutual acquaintances - they are all right. Relatively."
"How relatively?" his eyes narrowed sharply, and all traces of goodwill and slight fatigue disappeared from his face. Now Rimon looked most like a guard dog that hadn't yet decided whether to bare its teeth at an uninvited guest or not.
Annette sighed, accepting her order - a light salad, fish, fruit in jelly, and coffee.
"What do you think, when the adopted son is wanted, will his family be left alone so easily? Of course, they were interrogated several times and searched, I think they even listened to conversations. Now they should lift the surveillance, since you are no longer being pursued... What do you plan to do if this intention to settle here was serious?"
"I'm a good technician," Rimon said modestly, calming down. "I'm also a decent pilot and a decent trader. I have many talents in general."
Rok filled the glasses and, after sipping his, continued:
"In general, I planned to rest first. Visit a restaurant - I'm sitting in one, go to some performance or exhibition. Don't you want to join me?"
The innocent suggestion caused an unexpected reaction: he was squinted at suspiciously from under her bangs, which hung over her blue eyes.
"Why not?" the light tone didn't match her gaze. "By a happy coincidence, I have a day off today."
Rimon almost instantly plunged into the Force, barely touching Annette's consciousness: to feel what she was feeling, thinking, to know the motivation behind her actions.
Strangely enough, the girl's suspicions concerned precisely the cultural part of the program. This suggestion somehow displeased Annette. She would have shown about the same enthusiasm if she had been offered to fly to Dathomir to feed rancors by hand.
"There isn't much choice, really," Rimon grunted, not even taking out his deck. "There's an art exhibition at the Cornet exhibition hall, the central museum recently opened a new historical complex dedicated to the Clone Wars and the Empire, and in one of the theaters today there will be some performance. I've seen everything else personally. So, you choose."
He was genuinely interested in everything except the theater. He didn't like plays. But most of all, he was interested in the reaction to the art gallery.
"Personally, I've seen everything," the girl shrugged slightly. "So you choose."
Her suspicions hadn't lessened, but their cause remained unclear.
"It's sad that you won't discover anything new in any of them," Rok sighed, then smiled mysteriously and added: "So, we'll expand my horizons, and we'll do it sequentially. First the gallery, then the museum. And then, maybe, we'll visit the theater. A good plan?"
Another squinted look, and the girl switched from salad to fish.
"The plan is excellent," she didn't object. "But I'll need to change. It's improper to go to the theater dressed like this."
"No problem," Rok said briefly, leisurely finishing his order and not forgetting the wine. "We'll order a car, stop by, you can change."
Was the girl somehow involved in the artist's disappearance? This thought didn't leave Rimon's mind, but he didn't show any concern. Instead, he tried to feel through the Force if there was any other motive behind the change of clothes.
There was definitely a motive. But its essence remained as unclear as the reasons for Annette's tense attention to the smuggler's intention to improve his cultural level. One thing was clear - Annette wouldn't have gone home just to change clothes, her ID would have opened not just the door to the auditorium, but the director's office.
"We'll do that."
A carefree tone and a smile – and the tension, ringing in the Force like a taut string...
"Well, tell me, how did you end up like this? Is it true that you were shot down on Carida?"
"No one has ever shot me down," Rok frowned. "And on Carida, before the lambda I was flying was shot down, I managed to switch to another freighter. So, an uncontrollable shuttle was shot down there."
"Not a life, but a holovid..." Annette shook her head. "Was it after that operation that you were drawn to a settled life?"
"Well, it played a role too," Rimon smiled, only for a moment did the state he had been close to on Dantooine flash in his eyes. "But that's not something one talks about at the table. And what kind of fugitive is the CorSec chasing in your face now?"
"I can chase you," the girl snorted quietly into her glass. "But I'm afraid the surrounding people won't appreciate it..."
"Let's not upset the administrator," Rimon decided after a moment's thought. "I think we should order a car now to get to you, and then to the gallery? Or should we place another order?"
"I have enough for now, but if you haven't eaten enough..." Rimon received a questioning look. "And I have my own car."
"I need to watch my figure," Rok replied briefly, gesturing for the bill.
When they were done with both the food and the bill, Rimon stood up and, offering his hand to Annette, offered to help her up.
She readily accepted the help. The girl's hand seemed almost fragile, but she leaned on the smuggler's palm with unexpected strength, forcing him to support her.
"Do you have any plans for today yourself?"
"I prefer to improvise," he hadn't planned to go to the gallery today, and the museum was mentioned in passing. "Are you in a car? Or have you switched to a speeder?"
"As usual," Annette shrugged slightly, heading for the exit. "In the parking lot. Dark cherry. It's the only one there, you won't miss it. And also..."
She faltered slightly before continuing.
"I'll drive."
"It's your car - you drive," Rimon agreed, tensing inwardly, he didn't like this delay. Glancing around the hall before heading for the exit, he noted the attendees and, before leaving the room after Annette, looked again, diving into the Force, to see if anyone sitting there intended to follow them.
If someone intended to moonlight as a spy for them, they either left the hall before the smuggler bothered with this issue, or they weren't foolish enough to rush after them.
The dark cherry car in the parking lot was indeed the only one. The signal of the disarmed lock beeped, and Annette quickly dived into the driver's seat.
The car shot off as if Annette was going to report to her boss instead of the exhibition. And she was two days late for this report.
"If there's such a hurry because of the change of clothes, is it worth it?" Rimon asked. "You look great as you are. You could do without it."
"Rimon, you're good with technology," the girl sighed. "But you have no idea what a respectable girl is supposed to wear, even if she looks good... Oh. You learned to give compliments?"
"What compliments?" the counter asked in surprise. "I said what I thought..."
"It seemed so, then," Annette calmed down, skillfully slipping through a mouse hole between two houses. Putting the car on its side. "I thought you had been replaced. A compliment is a way to make a girl happy without spending a single credit."
The dark cherry car shot out onto the next street and turned somewhere towards the port districts.
"This is very interesting," Rok replied curtly, already preparing to make the girl stop the car and get behind the wheel himself. He was on the verge of panic. Immersing himself in the Force, Rimon looked at the girl. If he didn't get an answer that way, he could do it differently.
"Are your races somehow connected to me, or did you get yourself into trouble on your own?"
"Not me," Annet grumbled unexpectedly grimly. "They got into me... Never mind, in short."
Now she was driving calmly, but the girl's spoiled mood was still palpable.
Rimon carefully probed the girl's emotional sphere, trying not to delve too deep, but to catch only those flashes that related to the present. He was worried about her, but interrogating someone while driving was dangerous.
"If something is wrong with you, then it's important to me," he said, glancing at the dashboard, and began to observe the traffic.
"Rimon," Annet replied softly, "you know where I work... How can you help me if my service can't?"
"I can shoot someone," Rimon suggested insinuatingly, "or do something else illegal that your service can't help you with."
A quiet snort was heard in response. Whatever kind of trouble threatened Annet, a blaster couldn't fix it.
"If it would help, I would have shot him long ago," the girl said, parking the car at the exhibition center. "And the service would pretend that everything was as it should be... Shall we go?"
Rimon, just like in the restaurant, vanished from his spot, appearing before the driver's door and offering Annet his hand.
"It's not fitting for such a graceful creature to get out from behind the wheel herself," he said with a smile, mentally vowing to find out what problems Annet had. The VCK building rose before them in a semicircle, merging with its reflection in the lake. As long as Rimon could remember, the lake had always been mirror-calm, even ripples were absent, as if there wasn't water, but a huge puddle of glass around the center.
"It wasn't my imagination after all," Annet grumbled, taking his offered hand. A quiet click indicated the doors were locked. "You might as well send all the local idlers who hang around back alleys to Oovo – maybe they'll learn something too..."
"And I can also embroider, with a cross-stitch," Rok summed up, "let's go look for a brochure, I don't like going to places like this blindly."
"Do you want to be hired as an embroiderer?" Annet raised an eyebrow. "I can help with that too... Wouldn't an electronic map of the halls work for you?"
"It would," Rimon sighed, clearly regretting the absence of brochures, "except you can't hang an electronic map in a prominent place to show that you've visited such a cultural establishment. You're a girl, and a well-bred one at that, decide where we'll go first."
" Anywhere," was the flippant answer. "There's no better composition, and there never will be, everything else is not very interesting. Perhaps alien art is curious, but they've pushed it to the very back..."
"What composition?" Rimon raised an eyebrow, noticing something strange. Some nerd was dragging a vaguely familiar person somewhere. "We're in an exhibition hall, not a philharmonic. Or did I miss something?"
His gaze clung to the details, becoming more and more convinced that one of the most wanted individuals in the Empire was strolling through Coronet.
If Rimon had looked at his companion at that moment, he could have seen her face rapidly elongate, and genuine panic appear in her eyes.
"Mmm..." Annet managed, trying to pull herself together, "one of the key series of paintings didn't make it to the exhibition. Such a misfortune... But we can look at others, they are, fortunately, all in order..."
"Did the artist go on a creative binge?" Rimon inquired. "And did he drink away the paintings? What's the missing person's name and why is he so interesting?"
Rok was bursting with curiosity, which he didn't hide: who knows what could cause this feeling? He recognized this person, there was no doubt. The exhibition in Coronet seemed to be a magnet for particularly wanted individuals...
"The artist also disappeared, and a long time ago," Annet explained distractedly, carefully looking anywhere but in the direction Rimon was looking. "Tamir Mathieu, he's quite popular. Was. Now he'll be even more popular..."
Looking at the girl, Rimon glanced at her eyes in bewilderment and immediately asked:
"Hey, why are you talking like you knew him personally?" his gaze read bewilderment at the girl's behavior.
"Me?!" Surprise helped her overcome the panic. "Why would I? The public just loves sensations; if an artist disappears under mysterious circumstances, it will surely attract attention to him. And if the remaining paintings have also disappeared – then it's not just sure, but absolutely certain."
As he asked the question, Rimon expected a reaction. But not the one Annet wanted to show, but the one she actually felt. She didn't answer the question directly, which meant more clues were needed, and Rok turned to the Force: to see the true nature of what was happening to the girl.
Whatever was happening to Annet, it wasn't good. The girl was holding on by sheer training as a special agent; without it, she would have run away screaming "Help me!" But her face remained neutrally bored, as befits a visitor who had already seen everything there was to see.
"Annet," Rimon tried to put as much sympathy into his voice as he was capable of, and it wasn't an act. Taking her hand, he covered it with his other and squeezed gently, "just say the word, and we'll leave here."
If he had more experience, he would have tried to calm the girl through the Force, but there was a risk that instead of calming her, he would transmit to her what Rok himself was running from, and all he could do was hold her hand and, looking into her eyes, try to help in any way he could, and all the wanted people could go around Tatooine to the edge of the galaxy. First, he needed to help his own, even at his own expense, and one of his own was standing before him right now.
Annet sighed softly, closing her eyes for a second, and smiled somewhat helplessly.
"It's time to retire if everything is written on my face... No, Rimon, he'll get me everywhere, so it doesn't matter where we are. You wanted to see the exhibition? Let's look."
"Who is he?" Rimon didn't dare to ask who exactly could get to the girl everywhere. So he concentrated on Annet's mind and asked. Not to the girl, intruding into her mind would be... it would be unacceptable. He asked the Force, asked with an exhale, with a hoarseness, as if asking about his mortal enemy, but no sound escaped his mouth, held in a smile. "Who is he?!"
The Force answered. The image the smuggler saw was not clear – in full accordance with the question. What appeared to him stood behind his back, hidden from view, but this image exuded an irresistible power that he could not overcome. In the hands of the unknown, thousands of threads were concentrated, and each of them, barely stretched, could set millions of destinies in motion... A power whose limits he could not comprehend, and patient, calculating waiting – Rimon could not grasp anything more. Except for a dim glimmer of a royal crown.
The smuggler's face showed nothing. He continued to smile, only the thought flashed in his head: "What have you gotten yourself into, girl?" – and immediately faded. Now he really couldn't do anything. But only now.
Pulling the girl by the hand, he moved towards the first work that caught his eye, which turned out to be a painting with a rather simple plot.
"I never understood how one can create such beauty…"