“Sit down gentlemen, sit down.”
Praxis and Korban looked down, at two extremely small, wooden chairs. They weren’t very comfortable from the looks of them, and once they sat down in them, they agreed they weren’t very comfortable from the feel of them either.
Baxter shifted in his seat a little bit and pulled out a small manila envelope, ripping the end off and pulling out two white papers. He read them for a moment, and then sat them down, rubbing his nose as he spoke.
“Gentlemen, I have some orders for you. They come directly from Warrant Officer Patroy in Bestine.”
Praxis looked Baxter in the eye and asked, “What are they sir?”
“Yesterday at 0900, a YT-1300 landed at Mos Eisley Starport. The pilot had 3 passengers with him, and some cargo he bribed the customs officer to ignore. We now have been given information from a local source that the content of those containers was a very illegal, potent spice, Gold Muon. Our source also has told us that they are setting up shop somewhere downtown, in the old Slave District. We don’t know exactly where, so I want you to go to the local cantina there and ask around. Grease some palms if you have to, I just want that information. Once you have the location, go to where they are and arrest them.”
Praxis nodded, relieved that the whole thing was just a spice dealer. From all the suspense that had been built up, Praxis half expected this to be a terrorist plot of some kind, some Rebel scheme.
“Just one more thing Ensign. Whatever you do, do not, I repeat do not destroy the containers, do not harm them, don’t even mishandle them. There contents are very dangerous, and if the spice were ignited, it could start a very powerful flame that could consume the entire slave district. Be careful, your lives are residing on it.”
“Yes sir. We’ll move out now”, Praxis said, his temporary state of relief completely vanished. Baxter waived his hand and the two of them left the office, Korban still smiling as they exited the building.
“What is up with you Korb? Didn’t you hear him, this could be worse than we thought.”
Korban laughed, rubbing the back of his helmet as he spoke, “Nah man, it’s just his usual stuff. This will be a simple mission, nothing more than that. And then maybe, I’ll get my shuttle…”
“What is with you Korban? I mean, every other guy on this planet has high dreams, Money, fame, adventure, the Life of an Outlaw. But you, all you want is a Shuttle, to be an Imperial shuttle pilot. Why not think big?”
Korban shrugged, “I don’t want any of that. Those things don’t matter to me Prax. I just want to be a shuttle pilot, fly across space, deliver important people to important places. I’d be happy with that.”
Praxis sighed as they continued to walk down the long streets of Mos Eisley. They walked for what seemed forever, passing all kinds of aliens, shops, speeders, and various other things. About an hour later, they finally turned the corner and came to their destination, the slave district. It was a gloomy place, long abandoned by slaves and now only inhabited by the lowest forms of low lives on the planet. Beggars, thieves, homeless children, suffering forever in their prison. A prison without bars or guards, their only oppressor their own poverty.
“So Prax, where’s this cantina we’re looking for?” Korban asked, interested in a dead Jawa hanging upside down by his feet off of a Bantha tusk.
Praxis stooped and looked around a little bit, his keen eyes searching for anything that looked remotely like a cantina. He then saw it, a medium sized building, pretty poor from the looks of it called, “The Shadow Plane”.
“That’s it over there Korb, the Shadow Plane. Be careful while inside, these people aren’t exactly friendly towards Imperials.”
Korban nodded and unsheathed his DL44 Blaster Pistol, gripping it firmly as they walked across the street to the front door of the cantina. When they reached it, they looked down and saw a ragged looking Human, wearing torn rags plucking at a guitar-like instrument.
The stranger looked up at Praxis and nodded to him, giving him a pathetic smile.
“Hello son, I’m the lonely one. Would you like to hear a tune?”
Praxis shook his head, “Sorry sir, we’re on official Imperial business. Please vacate the premises, this is a dangerous place.”
The homeless man just laughed and folded his body over and began to sleep, snoring loudly as Praxis rolled his eyes and continued inside the cantina.
As the doors behind the two men closed, a musky odor filled their nostrils, a pungent stench, something of a mix of smoke and garbage. Korban smiled as he walked down the entrance hallway, looking at the pictures on the wall, showing various creatures of Tatooine.
“Look at this one Prax, it’s a Jawa! I think the little buggers are adorable don’t you?”
Praxis shrugged, not really knowing what to say to his friend.
“They are alright. I mean, kind of creepy, but very friendly guys from what I’ve seen of them. Once you get your shuttle, we can visit new species, maybe even more cuddly ones Korb.” Praxis was trying to make up for his attitude earlier, he knew that he was more than a bit out of line. Korban was his best friend, and he would look out for nobody like he would for him.
Korban patted Praxis on the back, now stepping into the main area of the Cantina, just above the small 3 steps leading down into the bar itself.
“Thank Prax, I’m glad you believe it too. You just watch, someday we’ll have a…”, but just then, a large sound rang through the bar, a bolt screaming through the air, smashing into Korban’s helmet, sending him against the wall. Praxis looked down, astonished at what happened. Then, a half a second later, he dropped to the floor, a blaster bolt barely missing his body as he fell down onto his best friend’s body.
“I’m…I’m so sorry Korb…I promise, whoever did this to you will pay, I swear that..”
Praxis’s attitude then shifted, from a state of sorrow to anger, his blood boiling, his anger rising at an alarming speed. He gripped his DL44 and stood up, like a statue stretching out his arm, focusing on a Rodian chest, ducking down gripping a small blaster. His eyes narrowed, all attention focusing on that one object, everything into that one shot. The millisecond he stood up, Praxis clicked the trigger, dropping the alien to the ground like a boulder. Once he was done, Praxis walked into the silent cantina, blaster in hand, shifting his glance around the cantina.
“I am Ensign Halefoller of the Imperial Navy, but you people can just call me death. For that is what I am to you all at this point, and be very convinced, if I do not get exactly what I am looking for, I shall execute my wrath upon every being in this room. I will turn this entire cantina into a graveyard if anyone so much as reaches into their holster, so remain very silent, and very still.” Noone moved, noone breathed, it was like a photograph. Not even the droids moved, it was just, motionless.
“Very good. Now, who here can tell me the location of some smugglers who are in this quarter. They are moving Muon Gold, so they shouldn’t be very hard to choose from your assorted list of gangs.”
Noone did anything for a moment, then, a Quermian stood up, shaking profusely as he spoke, “Si…sir, I do..do.”
Praxis looked over and nodded to him.
“They, they are called the Shade Riders, they are from the old slums of Coronet. They are located two blocks from here, in Deja’s Cloth Shop. That’s where they’re based at, I swear it.” After he finished, the alien just stood there, closing his eyes as he shook, awaiting his judgment by the dark figure in the room. Praxis raised his gun and aimed it at the man, as tears began to flow from the Quermian’s eyes, mumbling prayers to his god as he tried to keep his stance. Time stood still as Praxis aimed, noone daring to do anything to provoke the officer. Praxis grinned and clicked the safety on his blaster, leaving the cantina briskly. As soon as the door closed, the man opened his eyes, as everyone in the room sighed in relief.