Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [28]
His forehead wrinkled in upper-class-pampered perplexity. “But on the other hand, Captain Drome is extremely hot-tempered in regard to what he considers his personal territory. If he knew I was even talking about this matter outside the compound, he’d be terribly angry. Especially with people like—well, like you.”
Seated across the table from Kellering, Shada D’ukal took a sip from her cup, the wine carrying with it a hint of remembered bitterness and shame. Like most girls growing up on their war-devastated world, the Mistryl shadow guards had been the focus of all her hopes. They had been the last heroes of her people, the enigmatic cult of warrior women still fighting to force justice for her world from uncaring, even hostile, officials of the Empire. She had begun her training as soon as they would take her, studying and working and sweating her way against the odds until, at last, she had been deemed worthy to be called a Mistryl. Assigned to a team, she had headed out on her first mission.
Only to learn that the Mistryl were no longer the valiant warriors of legend.
They were mercenaries. Nothing more than mercenaries. Hiring out to useless, insipid people like Kellering.
She sipped at her wine again, listening with half an ear as Kellering prattled on, letting the memories fade. Now, a year and seven missions later, the shame had faded to a dull ache in the back of her mind. Someday, she hoped, it would be gone altogether.
Beside Shada, Team Prime Manda D’ulin lifted a hand, finally putting an end to Kellering’s ramblings. “We understand your problem, Dr. Kellering,” she said. “May I suggest that you’ve already made your decision. Otherwise the three of us wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“Yes, of course.” Kellering sighed. “I suppose I’m still—but that’s foolish. The Mistryl may be somewhat—but still, you certainly come highly recommended. When my cousin was telling me about you, he said you had—”
“The mission, Doctor,” Manda interrupted again. “Tell us about the mission.”
“Yes. Of course.” Kellering took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the crowded tapcafe as if wondering which of the humans or aliens at the other tables out there might be Imperial spies. Or maybe he was just wondering what he was doing outside his pampered little academic world. Consorting with mercenaries. “I’m connected to a research project called Hammertong,” he said, his voice so low now that Shada could barely hear it over the background noise. “My superior, Dr. Eloy, is senior scientist of the group. A couple of weeks ago the Emperor’s representative to the project informed us that we were all going to be moved to some new location. We’re to leave in three days.”
“And you don’t think Captain Drome is handling security properly?” Manda asked.
Kellering shrugged uncomfortably. “Dr. Eloy doesn’t. The two of them have had several arguments about it.”
“So what exactly do you want from us?”
“I suppose—well, I really don’t know,” Kellering confessed, throwing hooded looks back and forth between the two women. “I suppose I thought we could talk to Captain Drome about you bringing in some people to help guard us en route …” He trailed off, apparently finally noticing the expression on Manda’s face.
“Let me explain something about the Mistryl, Dr. Kellering,” she said, her voice still polite but with an edge of chromed mullinine to it. “Your cousin probably told you we were just your standard group of fringe mercenaries. We’re not. He probably told you we sell our services to the highest bidder, no questions or ethics involved. We don’t. The Mistryl are the warriors of a forgotten cause; and if we hire ourselves out as temporary security to people like you, it’s because our world and our people require money to survive. We will not work with Imperial forces. Ever.”
Strong words. But that was all they were. There was a great deal of simmering hatred toward the Empire among the Mistryl, anger for their