"There will be no objections if I leave my person here?"
Now that the bargaining was over, he could show his usual caution. He wanted to make sure nothing happened to the ship, Karvo, and the seller. And when he returned, everything would be in the same condition.
"For an extra fee?" the Mirialan allowed himself a slight smile.
"If you're talking about the girl, then I don't object."
"I'm talking about another... girl," Rick replied with the same smile. Then he looked at Vaymi,
"Just a small precaution, so that nothing happens to you or Karvo."
"Pleasant company is never superfluous," the alien shrugged.
"One girl or another... Female company is rare in space, it's foolish to refuse."
"Agreed," he smiled again, this time more sincerely, "Vaymi, we need to go home."
Rick offered his hand to the girl.
The Lethan obediently stood up, accepting his help. Her round eyes looked with a silent question: "Did it work out? Did I help even a little?"
"You did well," he said with his lips only, smiling. It was hard to tell what was greater, the joy of acquiring the ship or the gratitude for the girl's timely appearance.
Larrius was waiting for them in the car. She was in the same place, in the driver's seat, and when Rick and Vaymi appeared, she just looked at them questioningly.
"The ship is almost bought," Rick would have smiled if he hadn't been doing it constantly since the purchase price was determined, "make sure nothing happens to the buyer and Fly, and we'll quickly go get the money. And... Do you have any "bracelets" to tie up the mercenary?"
"Already done," Larrius replied concisely, getting out of the car.
"I tied him up. Do you want me to wrap him up with you or warm him up here?"
"Let him lie here," the counter decided after a moment's thought, "and I'll take the bug-eyed one with me. I'm curious what he's like."
Without any objection, Larrius pulled the tied-up mercenary out of the car. The thin cord of rough fiber left no chance of escape without sawing through his throat.
Vaymi slipped like a mouse into the front seat and buckled up carefully.
Rick started the engine as soon as all the doors were closed, but before taking off, he looked intently at the Arkonian to understand his condition.
The alien was still unconscious. The opponent had badly bruised the exhausted vagrant, but even now he was in better shape than Kailas during his escape from Djenaris.
Smiling, the guy tore the car from its spot, flew out of the hangar, and almost immediately banked, gaining altitude. To do everything in the apartment without rushing, he had to put in a good effort on the roads.
After flying from the hangar to the hotel in record time, Rick parked the car in the nearest available parking spot and looked intently at the Arkonian. He shouldn't go anywhere.
The guy hadn't said a word all this time; driving through Nar Shaddaa was too tense, even for someone with his skills and experience.
"We need to pack our things, I don't think we'll be back here," he finally said, gesturing towards their room.
Vaymi looked at him questioningly. Female glances asking Rick what to do were definitely becoming a trend.
"You carefully pack the things into the bags while I count out the required amount of credits for the green-skinned one," he said as he walked, fiddling with the car's key card between his fingers.
"Then we get back into our car and head back to the 'Gale.' We need to change the ship's name."
Nodding, the Twi'lek went to follow instructions. Already not very talkative, the girl became like her own shadow after the aerial acrobatics. She was about as communicative.
He needed to talk to Vaymi. But Rick decided to postpone it until the moment he closed the door behind the former owner, and the ship became entirely his property. And for that, he had to count out forty thousand for him, a considerable sum.
Which he did, while observing Vaymi's work.
The Lethan worked quickly and accurately – in her shocked state, it became clear how deeply the slave was ingrained in her. The master gave a task – it must be completed, no matter what.
But as the work progressed towards the end, the Twi'lek began to look more alive. It seemed she was the type who needed something to occupy herself with to regain her former, unruffled disposition.
Rick himself, having finished the unpleasant work and double-checked the money for good measure, carefully put it into a bag and shoved it into the backpack he decided to wear on his back. He wasn't going to be in a crowd anyway.
When everything was finished, he reconsidered his decision.
"Vaymi, how are you?" he said somewhat stiffly. He hadn't had such conversations before.
Her lekku twitched – an uncertain, undefined gesture. The girl wasn't sure if she understood what he was asking specifically.
"I'm not injured," she finally said, smoothing the surface of the clothes packed in the bag before zipping it up.
"Just very scared."
"I would be scared too," he was scared too. Not much now, like before a fight. But the first time... He preferred not to remember his first time.
"If I were in your place. I'm asking how you are emotionally. You had severe stress. I'm worried not because you're injured, but because you were in a near-combat situation. I'm afraid it might hurt you... psychologically."
Vaymi's already round eyes widened again.
"I was afraid they would take us away, and you would think I ran away," she explained.
"When a slave runs away... It's very bad for them later if they're caught."
"I would be very upset if you ran away from me," Rick shook his head, "you wouldn't survive long on your own. And that knowledge would be a heavy burden for me. I wouldn't look for you. And weren't you afraid for yourself?"
Vaymi shrugged helplessly, as if the question had stumped her.
"For the first few years, I was afraid," she finally said.
"And then I just got tired of being afraid. One day, it just doesn't matter anymore. It's torture that's scary, because it hurts, and then there are scars. Who needs a disfigured slave? But to be killed... no. It's not long, a few seconds, and that's it."
Even if he had wanted to say something... He couldn't have. Words wouldn't come out of his mouth, only a sigh. What to do with a person who had stopped fearing for her life? How to communicate with her? They stood side by side, but a huge abyss separated them.
"This..." he couldn't find words, and that was the answer, "I can't describe my emotions... Shall we go to the ship?"
He wanted to change the subject. He had read enough psychology books, but he wasn't a specialist, which meant he could harm the girl with his words. He needed advice.
Vaymi nodded and zipped up the bag.
"Did I forget anything?"
She looked around the room. Perhaps at another time she would have taken something from here that didn't belong to the owner. But he wanted her to behave like a free person. And at the same time, he understood that she would die in freedom, just as a bird raised in a cage dies if it's released from prison.
This is a game, the girl told herself. Masters sometimes like to play. This one likes to play at not being the master, so let it be. When it's a game, it's clear and not difficult, after all, she had read how women of her race behave. Free women. Of course, she couldn't copy it completely, but she wasn't expected to conform completely, was she?
The slave, tired of fearing for her life, smiled and stood up.
"Let's check," Rick mused for a moment, immersing himself in the Force, exploring the room for his belongings. He didn't have much, everything had been taken, and he nodded with satisfaction. The injector and sedatives were tucked inside his shirt. As it turned out, this was a very useful thing.
The entire short journey back to the hangar, he thought about what he had just learned.
The minivan flew into the hangar. After parking the car, the counter got out almost immediately, preparing for a solemn reception.
Fortunately or unfortunately, no one met him. Casually, his right hand rested on the blaster's grip, and his entire demeanor, that of a near-captain, expressed thoughtfulness. In reality, Rick was studying the surroundings through the Force, looking for dangers.
The Force played a trick on him: it filled his mouth with water. There was no threat in the hangar.
Continuing to remain vigilant, Rick examined the ship, looking for Larrius's spark of life and other living beings.
Slightly relieved, Rick called Larrius to the car via comlink. There was too much valuable stuff in it right now. Enough to start a small war, and it couldn't be left unattended.
The woman didn't keep him waiting, and half a minute later, she was already descending the lowered ramp.
"I checked the ship," she reported quietly.
"There were no bad deaths on it."
"That's good," he smiled, thinking that on his ship, in theory, there had also been no bad deaths, but it couldn't be said that the ship was peaceful,
"how's our prisoner?"
"I locked him in a strategically important compartment," the mercenary replied.
"In the head. You can check, but for now, he seems alive."
"Which one?" Rick chuckled.
"I'll deal with him later, first I need to establish myself as captain. Keep an eye on the car. Vaymi, how about you, with me or will you sit here?"
"The one near the kitchen," the mercenary replied impassively.
"Closer to the incinerator, and the inventory is at hand..."
It was impossible to tell from her whether she was joking or being serious, like the mummy of an ancient Lord in his own tomb.
The Twi'lek didn't want to stay in the car and got out of it as quickly as if she were afraid the seat would bite her.
"Let's go," he winked at the girl. He noted to himself that the mercenary was on the second level, next to the captain's cabin. If not in it itself, - all my inventory fits on the tip of my tongue and fingers. But let's hope we'll manage with what's in the kitchen.
He nodded to Larrius and headed to the mess hall, where he had last seen the green-skinned one.
The Mirialan was sitting there, a dejarik board with a game in progress in front of him. It seemed Rick had interrupted the mercenary's game. Upon the arrival of the new ship owner, the alien raised his head, about to name his move, but saw that it wasn't Larrius, and only nodded in greeting.
"The documents are ready," a chip lay next to the board.
"And the money too," a heavy brick of banknotes lay next to it.
"Oh..." the alien looked somewhat bewildered.
"Cash, indeed. I'll have to find a reliable intermediary to transfer it to the bank..."
"An intermediary?" Fly woke up from the corner behind him, hearing the familiar word.
"Who needs an intermediary?"
"Cash is a more visual and faster way of payment," Rick said,
"and besides, there are often problems with banks. Money has never deceived or cheated anyone."
"But it's much easier to take or steal," the Mirialan sighed.
"Semon, will you take it?"
"For the usual percentage – right this minute," the Tydorian replied readily.
He received his due percentage of the deal, scooped up the money, and majestically floated out of the mess hall. The solemnity of the moment was somewhat spoiled by his desperately working wings. The Lethan giggled quietly in the corner, watching her former owner go.
"I heard everything!" Fly grumbled, and the door closed behind him.
"Well, there," the chip, after verification, disappeared into one of his pockets,
"I've become captain. Don't you want to give me a few tips about your little ship?"
"Yours," the Mirialan corrected him, standing up.
"Now – yours. Sometimes it has a slight thrust desynchronization. Insignificant, a fraction of a percent. It occurs if the ship has been docked for a long time. I couldn't fix this defect. Maybe you can. Bright stars."
The alien headed for the exit, taking the board and pieces with him.
Even a fraction of a percent can affect maneuverability in an asteroid field. Mentally ticking off what needed to be done first, Rick decided to escort the former ship owner to the exit. Not out of suspicion, nor even out of politeness. He just needed to drive the car and talk to the Arkonian. Judging by the scraps of data he could find about this race in his head, they had some problem with permanent residence off-planet.
The Mirialan didn't linger in the hangar – he left immediately. Fly was no longer visible. But the Arkonian was slowly stirring in the back seat – he was coming to.
Opening the back door, Rick looked at the alien with interest. He had a stimulator, but what it would do to an unfamiliar organism was unknown. He also didn't resort to the Force. One shouldn't rely so heavily on one thing. After a moment's thought, he activated the car's antigrav, set it to neutral, and drove the car into the ship's cargo hold. Although... It could hardly be called a hangar.
Securing the car, he returned to the alien again.
"Awake?" he asked the unknown person peacefully.
"Y-yes, mister," the humanoid replied nervously.
"W-we're awake."
"We?" the guy looked at the creature in surprise,
"I don't want to upset you, but your companion won't wake up anymore. Not at all. He's dead."
"We saw him fall," the Arkonian agreed.
"A pity. He was strong."
Some racial trait...
"About that – tell me how it all happened."
"Those two," the Arkonian looked around, as if expecting the bandits to be nearby.
"They said there was a job, and that we should go with them. They promised salt..." the alien licked his lips.
"But you said to wait, and we didn't go. They said they would take the women then, because the job would fall through without us. We didn't let them in, and they killed Finti. And then we lost consciousness."
"Why didn't you let them in?" A thought flashed in his mind: "Salt... Why would he need salt?"
"These are your women," the reptilian shrugged. "If we had let them take them, you wouldn't be giving us work."
"Logical," Rick mused. Alien had acted quite... nobly, and considering where they were, he was practically a hero. His companion, however, already was. "Two questions. Where did the blaster of the one you fought go, and why do you need salt?"
The Arkonian suddenly flushed.
"We... need it," he finally stammered out. "A little. A pinch a day, at least. Otherwise, it hurts a lot. And the blaster flew off somewhere. We didn't see. He tried to draw a weapon, and we struck with our claws."
"Is salt all you need?" There was something else, something Rick's mind grasped at but couldn't quite catch. Something about salt and this species...
"N-no," the confusion grew stronger. "And Dactil. A lot. A whole lot..."
Well, there it was, the problem. An unknown substance.
"And how do you get it on Nar Shaddaa?" the smuggler was still pondering.
"There are places," the alien replied. "You can buy it there. Expensive, but we work well. And we hardly ever have to starve."
"And how much do you earn a day?" This was likely the last question.
"About twenty credits," the Arkonian admitted reluctantly. "Almost every day."
"And what are you doing here? And what do you do?" For some reason, he didn't want to let the stranger go.
"Whatever they offer," the alien's yellow eyes gleamed. "Usually, I have to carry something, or dismantle something. Or guard something. It varies."
Yellow eyes. Yellow... They should be different.
"And what can you do?" Rick pulled out a few bills from his pocket and looked at their denominations. "And how did you end up on this moon?"
"We're pretty good at repairs," the eyes sparkled brighter. "We can shoot, too. And we're very good with minerals. Very good."
"Minerals? Where from?" He tried to keep his tone as free of mockery as possible.
"We worked in a mine," came the answer. "We're good miners. We were hired, but they abandoned us here."
"Alright, last question. What's your name?" Rick had made up his mind and was about to voice it.
"Shai Carr," the alien looked up at him hopefully. "Our name is Shai Carr."
Rick extended both hands, fists clenched, palms facing the ground. He remembered why Arkonians needed salt.
There was no worse drug for them.
"Shai, I can't choose for anyone, but I can offer a choice. Either," in his left hand were several bills totaling two hundred credits, "you take the money, it'll be enough for a week, maybe more, and we'll never see each other again. Or..."
His right hand was empty.
"I'll give you a place on my crew, but you'll have to give up your addiction to salt," his gaze became sharp and appraising. "The choice is yours. And you have to choose now."
If the alien had been a computer, one could have safely said: it froze. The choice was almost unbearable for him. To choose a crew meant enduring unbearable pain. For a long, long time... To take the money... Something prevented him from doing so, just as it had prevented him from letting the bandits steal the car with the women earlier. This human was strong, he managed, but those seconds the raiders lost might have been just enough to fail him...
"We can't..." Beads of sweat appeared on the Arkonian's dull green skin. "We can't take it. We can't join the crew. Many days of pain. We'll be useless..."
"I can help ease the pain," there was no concern or warmth in his voice, Rick stated a fact, understanding what it could lead to for him. "I'll be there. I'll help you through the journey. But I can't make the first step for you."
The yellow eyes stared fixedly at the credits clutched in the human's hand. It was salt. Lots of salt. Magical visions that nothing could compare to... Without them, life would become empty and dull, like shed skin.
But life without a clan was also empty and dull. The Aqualish had been a clan, but it had died...
"We won't take the money," Shai turned away, to help himself cope with the temptation.
"Good," Rick nodded. Perhaps he had just taken another step on the path he had been offered in the past, and which he had refused. Or perhaps he had just made a rash mistake. He wasn't sure. Kontr pointed to the wall where an evacuation schematic was hanging.
"This is the schematic of the lower deck. Next to the elevator, on each deck, there's an identical one. Take the belongings from the car to the captain's cabin."