Nemo stood in thought for a while, then decided to contact "Haven" and ask to be connected to number 21. He needed to move Jetro to a hotel and start preparations. At the last moment, he changed his mind and called Muha. Enough procrastinating on the decision about Willie and Fiji, especially since they would wake up soon.
The Tydorian responded quickly.
"Semon Karvo at your service," he chirped cheerfully into the comlink microphone. "How can I be of assistance?"
"You can," Nemo smiled. "We spoke today. Recognized me?"
"Ah, Mr. Nemo," the alien oriented himself after a second's pause. "Are you eager to buy the girl from me?"
"I would be very concerned about her safety, in my current situation..." Nemo smirked. "But you're thinking in the right direction. I'll give you the hangar number where Fiji and Willie are. I'd like them to be handed over to the Imperials, the sum that's owed for them will go towards paying for Weymi. Minus your percentage. Does the offer suit you?"
"Hmm..." Muha pondered. "Selling my own people to the cops could hurt my reputation. But the offer is interesting, yes. You know how to puzzle me... I think this problem can be solved. There's a hunter who will do it for you, but it's a favor for a favor – you keep quiet about my role in this, and I'll consider a small discount for you. Deal?"
"Deal," Nemo nodded to the invisible interlocutor. He was also satisfied.
"Then tell me where to pick up these losers, and wait for the hunter. His name is Lis."
"Sector three hundred sixty, fifty-second level, hangar number seventy-one, I'll be there. In forty minutes."
Nemo disconnected and climbed back into the "Patch," he needed to take Jetro's stealth belt and just chat.
The duros, who had been treated and fed, was shamelessly following the doctor's recommendation. Simply sleeping. Smiling, Nemo knocked on the ship's bulkhead, to start.
The cabin was quiet. Then a disgruntled grumble was heard.
"Just fell asleep..." the duros cursed, lowering the ramp.
"We'll sleep in the next life," Nemo smiled, climbing inside. "There are a couple of questions we need to discuss now, because we might not see each other for a long time later."
"You humans are such a restless people," the pilot sighed. "What else do you have that can't wait a couple of hours?"
"First, give me your devil device, who knows, maybe I'll have to hide again," Nemo pointed his finger at the stealth belt. "Second, a group of unidentified individuals will arrive here soon and pack you into a food crate."
Nemo paused, giving the duros time to process what he said.
The processing ended with a scream:
"You decided to sell me for meat?! How cruel!"
"You're not worth meat," Nemo shook his head. "Choose yourself: fruits, vegetables, grains. If you're very lucky, you'll be a crate of lume. Although, no, the containers will be too small there."
"Good thing it's not fertilizer..." the duros sighed. "You could have just said it was an evacuation. Don't shake me too much, I want to sleep. Bus works better than any sleeping pill."
"That's the second question. Are Bus and Larius both shamans?" the guy asked directly.
Jetro nodded.
"The kind of people you don't want to mess with. They'll take your luck, and then you might as well shoot yourself... Some have already shot themselves."
"Luck... I don't believe in luck. I had a wild ride with those two today," Nemo grinned. "That's why your voice sounded familiar. Alright, I'm going. I'll let you know when the evacuation group arrives."
"They'll wake me up again..." the duros grumbled, settling in more comfortably. "It seems they took mine too... No peace..."
"Tell me about it," Nemo said over his shoulder and began to sing, "And eternal battle, we only dream of peace..."
Behind him, the hatch cover slammed shut with an angry thud.
"...And may nothing disturb your dreams," Nemo sang along to a verse of a song that came to mind, finally reaching Tardi. "Gray night, and sleeping pizzas... Something from the blue silence."
"Pizza sounds delicious..." the sleepy voice of the ex-SIB responded. "I'm listening."
"Good that you're listening. You need to go to Anx and persuade him to take another half-dead guy," Nemo spoke inspiredly, as if he had just taken a ryll. "He should be picked up and quietly brought to you, perhaps using the same scheme as you. And for the final touch, how are you doing there?"
"Music, a beautiful girl, a needle in my vein... I was happy until you called," there was harmless irony in the force pilot's voice. "If the doc releases me, I'll arrange it."
"You must send an envoy," the good mood didn't fade. "You both have the same headache. Me. A lot in common. A whole merchant caravan. And a small freight."
"When he wakes up, I'll definitely send one," the pilot's quiet voice became serious. "The girl is exhausted. Or is it that urgent?"
"The sooner, the better," Nemo walked confidently towards the hangar exit. "Don't send an envoy, call Jiro to you. And arrange it. He has money. He'll do everything perfectly. You have the hangar number."
"Understood, received," came the reply. "I'll report the result."
"I'll call myself," Nemo suddenly became serious, first of all to himself. "Your call could seriously damage my health. And then yours too."
After that, Nemo disconnected, heading quickly to meet Lis.
Nemo arrived at the planned meeting ten minutes before the agreed time. But he didn't go out into the visible area immediately, sitting on containers covered in red patterns in the shadow of the building.
A few minutes later, a light engine hum was heard. A swoop flew up to the hangar, stopped some distance from the gate. The driver, in loose black jacket and pants, turned his head. The helmet's visor flashed and stopped on the sitting person, as if locking onto the target.
Nemo smiled almost imperceptibly, glanced at his watch, and waved his left hand in greeting. His right remained on his hip, closer to the blaster.
The visitor hesitated, turned off the engine, and jumped to the ground. As he walked towards Nemo, a slight limp on his right leg became noticeable. Because of it, his gait acquired a subtle irregularity. A holster for a heavy blaster swung on his left hip.
"I'm looking for a man named Nemo," the driver stopped three steps from the containers.
He could have played games. First, the person who arrived was eight minutes early, and second, the laws of pulp fiction dictated it. He could have, but the guy didn't.
"You've found him," he said, looking at the stranger.
After a second's hesitation, the stranger clicked the helmet's clasp. The visor rose, revealing a face with sharp, hard features. His tea-colored eyes looked with slight wariness and equal interest.
"Lis," the driver introduced himself. "There was information that you have goods for the cops."
"True information," Nemo nodded. "I have two people for whom a bounty has been set, but first let's discuss the terms of the deal."
"That's why I came," Lis pulled a chip from his breast pocket and tossed it in his palm. "You, as I understand it, don't want to show yourself. I can make the exchange. But if I say I'm carrying out someone's order, the cops will want to know who actually took them."
"My identity should not be revealed at all during the exchange," the counter added, shrugging. "You take them, hand them over, we split the money, and part ways."
"Did they see you?" Lis clarified.
"No, but they heard."
"Excellent," judging by his reaction, the hunter was quite satisfied. "Ten percent of the reward, plus a contract for the next shipment, if there is one."
Nemo considered what he heard. In principle, ten percent wasn't such a large sum to regret it. Especially if the money was obtained for free, almost for free.
"Deal," Nemo extended his hand to seal the deal.
The hunter pulled off a thin glove before extending his own. A dull ring gleamed on his middle finger. The handshake was confident and strong, without any attempt to assert dominance.
"Here are my coordinates," Lis handed over the chip. "When should I pick them up?"
"You can now," Nemo nodded towards the hangar, hiding the chip. "They're in the hangar, sleeping. Don't approach the fighter."
The hunter took out his comlink.
"Come over," that was the only thing he said before dropping the call. "A vehicle will be here soon."
A nod of his head in agreement.
"I'll send you the account details later," after which he stood up. "I won't show myself unnecessarily."
"The key," Lis reminded him, extending his palm. "I don't want to break the lock. It'll take two minutes, but..."
"The lock is coded," the guy smiled. "Kresh, seven, zero, one, aurek."
The hunter nodded and headed towards the gate. The sound of an engine was already heard from the passage between the hangars.
Now nothing prevented Nemo from attending to his own affairs. First, he went to the duros's room. He put the stealth belt and visor on the charger, stretched out on the bed, letting his body finally relax. How long had he been on his feet? About twenty hours? With this endless day on the smuggler's moon, one could go crazy.
He needed to get some sleep, decide where to start making inquiries.
Carefully folding everything into bags, he left them by the door. He wouldn't be dealing with electronics anytime soon. Taking another pill, he decided that getting out of bed was excessive and fell asleep the next moment.
When you wake up after another binge, you feel bad. But when you wake up after a whole day on your feet, two shootouts, running with an extra hundred kilograms on your shoulders...
It was lousy. The tail felt best. Because it was absent. Everything ached: the legs, which had a week's worth of load dumped on them; the arms, which worked no worse than the legs; the head moaned that thinking so much was harmful and, in general, at least spare the sides. They got it during the shootouts.
Nemo sat down in a meditation pose. His left leg maliciously informed him that he was being cruel. His hands, cupped, were offered palm-up to the lightbulb. It didn't give off much heat. But if he concentrated...
Nemo began to energize his body through the Force, increasing cell activity: clear bruises, reduce contusions, without general stimulation of the body – no need to waste precious internal reserves. He might not have enough later.
Breathing immediately became easier, but he had to run to the bathroom, take a shower, and realize that life wasn't such a piece of shit as it might have seemed immediately upon waking.
After the shower, Nemo dove into his jumpsuit, which had become like a second skin in the last day (how much time had passed, he wondered?). He didn't call Tardi right away, deciding he needed to eat first. He had to make do with leftovers from what he'd bought yesterday, though he wasn't complaining.
When the instant coffee was finally drunk, the crackers eaten, and the colors finally became bright, Nemo slipped the trophy blaster into its holster and stopped. The next moment, two business cards and a received memory card appeared on the table, which were subjected to a meticulous inspection.
Mookh's business card tried in every way to emphasize that its owner was a successful businessman. Embossed font, vignettes in the corners, holographic coating, network address, and comlink number – everything necessary and a little more.
The mercenary was simpler and more restrained. Name, number, a terse line: "Business cooperation." The letters L and B as a background.
On the chip was a small dossier on Lis, clearly compiled by himself. Photo, list of bounties, contact coordinates, a database of wanted individuals he could take on.
Nothing more than this could be discovered without special research.
Sighing, the guy picked up Larrius's business card and, immersing himself in the Force, began to examine it. Paper in the Force would be uniform; if there were any foreign inclusions... He would see, especially if there were any devices. There were no devices there. There were inclusions. The business card turned out to be reinforced with metal threads. And it faintly glowed in the Force.
This was interesting. Could you really find a person by these inclusions? Although, if the material was rare, imbued with the Force, then probably. But such a small object... How was this possible?!
Putting off further investigation for later, he put the business card in his pocket. Simply because Larrius was on his side. Or so he thought. But allies had to be trusted.
The Mookh business card was subjected to the next total inspection.
There were no surprises. Ordinary wear-resistant plastic, quite capable of stopping a blaster bolt. Provided someone decided to shoot at business cards with a blaster.
The business card was also put into one of his chest pockets. What did the shamans say in some movie? "The cautious are protected by the spirits"? Well, let them protect him.
Nemo began to examine the memory card with some enthusiasm. He had only encountered Lis once; it was interesting what he had prepared. He knew the internal structure of this item and could determine if anything additional had been installed.
Regarding additional devices, the chip was virgin clean. The inspection of its informational component showed the same.
As a result of the inspection, the infochip was left on the table. The counter had received the information; if anything, finding Lis wouldn't be a problem. From his deck, he checked his account balance, which he had transferred to the hunter. There was no money. However, little time had passed, and it was too early to worry about being ripped off. The next query in the holonet was information about all the intermediaries on the smuggler's moon. If there was Mookh, there would be others.
A huge number of intermediaries were found. For every taste, size, and weight. Nemo began to filter the lists unhurriedly. First, he filtered out all the aliens, simply because he needed to read his interlocutor, and that might not work with them. Then he began to remove those whose coordinates were in other time zones, another hemisphere, and generally limited the search to a hundred-by-hundred-mile area, centered on a station two stops from where he had last been. As a result, he had a list of eighteen people on his deck. All men.
Eighteen faces... Who did Nemo need? A person without principles. Someone who would want to grab a big piece... Or... Mookh's direct competitor. Rumors spread quickly. Surely his competitors knew that he had messed up. And they would want to profit. Quite likely. He was risking it anyway. Using Karvo's office as a reference, he began searching for the three closest intermediaries.
Two were found nearby. One at the station, the second at the largest casino in this sector. And the third had his office directly above Karvo's, in the same building.
So, what do we have? Where should he go? To the one sitting above Karvo? Quite logical. The heir of the murdered, inexperienced, insolent, and therefore... stupid. Careless. Whom he could outsmart, right under Karvo's nose? To outmaneuver a Tydorian... Sitting on his head... Literally. This could be instilled. But first...
It took little time to get ready. This time he had neither his stealth generator, nor the "Kylana," nor the visor. His eyes were hidden by a fringe that constantly fell on them. His hair had grown quite a bit, and his beard hid a good part of his face. It was time to go on the job. But first, to make a series of purchases.
The bulk of the counter's purchases was clothing. He had already felt all the advantages of his jumpsuit, but now he needed to change his skin. First, he used hair dye, and after some time, he turned from a light brown-haired man into a burning brunette with a beard of the same color.
After combing his hair, giving it some semblance of a hairstyle, and trimming his beard, he put on his new clothes, throwing semi-finished meals into the microwave at the same time.
He sat down to eat as a neat person, at first glance, the memory of technology would hardly come to mind. Even his eye color had changed from gray-blue to brown. In tune with the new hair color. Lenses were a good thing...
After eating, he looked at his hand and the scar left as a memento of the innocent, unknown beast on Arkania. Then his gaze fell on the vibro-knife.
A memory pricked him in the ribs. Of how he stood over Jetro and knew he could do something. But he didn't know how he could do it. He had to change again.
Drawing the curtains and turning off the light, the counter was left alone with himself.
Now he needed solitude. Because what he was about to do... It was better for no one to see. He himself didn't know how he decided on this step... But the situation with Jetro showed that he had to be able to heal. He had to.
And any excuses were inappropriate here.
His jumpsuit was habitually removed to the waist, and now Nemo looked at his left hand, clenched into a fist. In his right hand was a knife.
How is it done?
Natural regeneration of the body? But by stimulating it, you disrupt the balance. You disrupt it so much that healing a scratch means a sharp deterioration of the body as a whole. An effective method in an emergency. In theory. But there had to be a simple, elegant way to fuse tissues, bones, tendons.
How?!
He was going to find out right now.
Immediately.