Em Teedee bubbled happily. “Ah, Master Lowbacca, good morning to you! I must say, I feel thoroughly recharged. How utterly restful it is when we’re not out having dangerous adventures.”
With a click, Lowie attached the little droid to the glossy fibers of his belt.
“I trust you slept well yourself, Master Lowbacca?” the droid asked.
Lowie gave a noncommittal grunt, which Em Teedee took as a yes.
3
Inside the bustling, hollow asteroid of Borgo Prime, signs along the walkway fluoresced and flickered, leading Zekk back to Shanko’s Hive. The dark-haired young man had received his first bounty assignment inside that popular cantina—and he had come back empty-handed.
Zekk rehearsed various explanations. The blue-skinned bartender, Droq’l, had hired him to find a scavenger and his cargo, but Fonterrat, the missing scavenger, was dead and his cargo of precious ronik shells destroyed. He had no idea how his employer would react to the bad news.
How would Boba Fett have handled this situation? Zekk asked himself. Fett, one of the most respected (and feared) bounty hunters in the galaxy, would waste no energy on lengthy explanations or excuses. Fett would come straight to the point. Zekk decided he would have to do the same.
Tossing his ponytail over his shoulder, Zekk stopped before the entrance to an enormous cone-shaped building with horizontal ridges like smooth circular waves up its sides. He took a brief moment to perform a Jedi relaxation technique, something Master Skywalker had taught him—not Brakiss of the Shadow Academy.
Then, projecting all of the confidence a professional bounty hunter ought to feel, Zekk strode into Shanko’s Hive.
Air clouded with exotic scents and flavors enveloped him in a pale gray haze. Though the interior of the hive cantina had no flat edges, the contrasting islands of sound and silence, of light and dimness, gave the illusion of dozens of shadowy corners. A quick glance at the bar told Zekk that the insectoid proprietor Shanko had emerged from hibernation and was in no mood to humor fools.
Brief, confident, professional, Zekk reminded himself. His steps did not falter as he walked toward the bar and tossed a credit chit on it. “Osskorn Stout,” he said without preamble. “I have business with your bartender.”
Dark, foamy ale sloshed onto the counter from the flagon Shanko thunked down in front of him. As Zekk scooped up the tankard to take a gulp, one of Shanko’s many glossy arms roughly swept out to mop up the spill while another gave an abrupt jerk, indicating an area to Zekk’s right.
Still drinking thirstily, he looked over to see Droq’l in conversation with a patron who stood just outside the circle of light cast by the bar’s globe-lamps. Zekk nodded his thanks, and with renewed confidence strode toward the three-armed bartender. As if he had an extra eye in the back of his head—which he did, Zekk now recalled—Droq’l turned just as the young bounty hunter approached, tankard in hand.
“Did you find what I sent you for?” the bartender asked, his blue face eager.
“Fonterrat is dead. On Gammalin.”
Droq’l grimaced, showing his shiny black teeth. “Gammalin, huh?”
Zekk shrugged. “Fonterrat accidently exposed the colony to a plaque. He was imprisoned after the plague hit. The frightened colonists destroyed his ship and burned his cargo, but the sickness swept through the colony anyway. It killed every human.”
“And Fonterrat wasn’t human,” the bartender mused, “so he starved alone in prison after those colonists ruined my shipment of shells.” A glint of pleasure replaced the disappointment in his eyes. “At least it was a slow, lingering death.”
Zekk nodded warily. He reached into his vest pocket and produced the holocube that contained the scavenger’s final message.
Droq’l watched the entire holomessage, sighed, and spread all three hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. “Just as well. I might’ve been tempted to terminate Fonterrat myself for his incompetence.”
Then, to Zekk’s pleasant surprise, the bartender paid him in full.
“Glad to see a young trainee with some presence of mind,” he said. “You finished what I sent you to do, and you had the good sense to bring back proof of it. That’s more than I could say for some bounty hunters two or three times your age.”
A thoughtful look crept over the bartender’s blue-skinned face, and he drummed the fingers of two hands on the bartop. “Come to think of it, I may have another job for you, if you’re interested. Got a client who’s looking for a bounty hunter. Wants someone resourceful and trustworthy—but unknown. That might just be you.”
“You seem to be a good enough judge of character,” Zekk said, crossing his arms over his chest. “After all, you’ve judged me correctly.”
The bartender chuckled at his bravado. “You’ll take the job, then?”
Zekk didn’t dare let his excitement show. “Of course. May I speak to him?” He felt a sense of exhilaration. He’d fully expected to come away in disgrace, without pay, after reporting his failure … but now, because of his sense of honor—something he’d feared the dark side had stolen from him forever—a new job had dropped right in his lap!
The bartender grinned. “He’s pretty particular, even a little skittish—I think he’ll want to talk to you himself before you’re hired.”
Zekk could learn nothing for certain about his prospective employer. Sitting at a low table in the shadow of a staircase that spiraled up the inner wall of Shanko’s Hive, Zekk stared at the … creature in front of him.
“My name is Zekk,” he offered. “I hear you need a bounty hunter.”
“Yes. You come well recommended,” the creature replied. “Call me … Wary. Master Wary. Yes, that will do.”
Zekk shrugged in amusement. “Whatever.”
Wary’s voice was masculine, but synthesized. His body and arms were engulfed in gray robes and furs that made it impossible even to guess the creature’s species or probable shape. He wore a holographic mask set to randomize so that his features changed constantly. A reptilian tail coiled out from beneath the robes and furs, but this could have been part of a disguise. For all Zekk knew, he could have been talking to a female Wookiee, a Jawa on stilts, or even his friend Jaina Solo.
The thought of Jaina made him smile again, and he patted his vest pocket, in which rested two message packets—one from Jaina and one from old Peckhum; the bartender had found them for Zekk in the general-delivery message area behind the bar.
“And who exactly do you want me to find, Master Wary?” Zekk asked, deciding on a direct approach.
Wary looked around, as if to be sure no one was listening in. Zekk glanced unobtrusively toward the nearby tables. A Devaronian played Sabacc with a pair of disreputable-looking spacers; a Ranat consulted a Hutt information broker; a furry white Talz and a hammerheaded Ithorian drank colorful intoxicants and sang duets to the accompaniment of a nine-stringed wrist harp. No one paid any particular attention to Wary.
“I want you to find a man who’s been kidnapped,” Wary said, though the mouth of his disguise mask did not move. “His name is Tyko Thul.”
Zekk’s entire attention snapped back to the creature in front of him. “Did you say Tyko Thul?”
The holomask blurred and shifted. “Yes, Tyko Thul,” Wary repeated. “He was recently abducted by several assassin droids. I want you to find him.”
“Every other bounty hunter in the galaxy is out looking for Bornan Thul,” Zekk pointed out. “Are you sure it’s Tyko you want?”
Wary nodded. “The two are brothers. I have reason to believe the disappearances are … related—just as the two men are.”
An interesting twist, Zekk thought. Finding one brother might lead to information about the other. After failing to find Fonterrat, Zekk had intended just to strike out on his own, looking for clues to Bornan Thul, hoping to repair his reputation. But this direct commission was a much better prospect.