• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Who teld ye thet?”

“Does it matter?” Courteous and diplomatic most of the time, Typho could be tough when the occasion demanded. Here in the bowels of Coruscant, occasion did more than demand: it positively screamed. “Can you help me or not?”

“Depends.” The Nikto groomed his facial scales with his long claws. “C’n ye pay?”

“I didn’t take you for a philanthropist.” Typho unsealed a pocket and brought out a fistful of credit chits. Avarice replaced some of the disinterest in the Nikto’s large obsidian eyes. He licked his narrow lips.

“How d’ I know ye’re net thee police?”

“Get serious. Do you really think a dreg like you is worth the sector’s time?”

The Nikto cackled, halting only when his laughter degenerated into a hacking cough. Typho made sure to stay well out of respiratory range while waiting for the attack to finish.

A clawed right hand swept the credits from the captain’s grasp. “Twenty-third level,” the Nikto said. “Quadrant D-three, Sector Two-Twelve. Ye didn’t hear eet from me.”

“Hear what?” Typho turned and walked away.

Nighttime downlevel on Coruscant wasn’t all that different from daytime. In the abyssal ferrocrete depths the sunlight hardly ever penetrated to any perceptible degree; the light came from fluorescents, electroluminescence, and other sources. Even so, the combination rarely amounted to more than a perpetual twilight. Down here life surged and pulsed to rhythms unsettling to the average citizen. It was best, Typho had found, to move at a brisk clip, to project a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. Uncertainty, more than anything else, drew the attention of predators and scavengers.

The entrance to the address Typho had been given was on the bottom row of what appeared to be a rundown resiplex. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew his body was being scanned by a plethora of security devices. If he could see them, he reflected, they wouldn’t be very secure.

“You’re armed,” a voice accused from a hidden speaker.

“Of course I’m armed. What kind of idiot would come to a place like this without being armed?” He hoped the scan had only registered his blaster. The lightsaber was secured in the inside lining of his jacket, along with a small confounder that was supposed to render it invisible to detection.

“The exact extent of your idiocy is yet to be determined.” There was a click, and double doors parted. They were much higher and wider, Typho noted as he entered, than was necessary to accommodate the passage of the largest humanoids on Coruscant.

The female Cragmoloid who met him displayed no weapons. Given her impressive size and bulk, none were needed. “Check your lethal devices, please.”

“Certainly.” Typho had no compunction about handing over his blaster and vibroknife. Not in light of the fact that the female asking for them stood more than three meters tall, massed over two hundred kilos, and could kill him with a blow of one massive fist. It was strange, however, to be frisked by a trunk as well as by hands. Despite their immense size, they traveled over his person with surprising delicacy.

Satisfied that she had relieved the visitor of every instrument of destruction, regardless of size, she stepped back. “Follow me.”

The chamber where she left him was occupied by one other. It spoke to Boulad’s confidence that he would meet alone with a complete stranger. Of course, help was likely only a trumpet away, and while it was one thing to talk oneself into the fixer’s presence, it would be rather more difficult to get out in the event that things did not proceed as intended. The fact that the average adult Cragmoloid had the strength of half a dozen large humanoids was threat enough.

Boulad’s kind were known for their directness. Typho’s host did not disappoint in that regard.

“The fact that you found your way here means that you seek something you cannot find anyplace else.” Typho could feel the deep, sonorous voice vibrate the floor beneath him, heard it echo off the cavernous walls. The entire block of resicubes,