Star Wars_ X-Wing 02_ Wedge's Gamble - Michael A. Stackpole [78]
She returned with a small glass of ale, half of which was foam. He tossed a couple of credit coins on the bar and they disappeared instantly in her grey fist. He sipped the ale and found it wasn’t as bad as he expected, though it could have benefited from being colder. His was the only small glass being used in the place, which he took as a not-so-subtle measure of his popularity with the staff. He knew he’d not get served again, and he wasn’t inclined to linger over his drink.
By the same token, if he just turned around and walked out, half the regulars would be all over him like chitin on a Verpine. Running away would have the same effect as flagrantly flashing credits around, or opening his jacket and letting everyone see he didn’t have a blaster with him. He considered, for a moment, trying to buy a blaster from someone, but that would put him in direct contact with gun-carrying criminals who might decide killing and robbing him was easier than selling him a weapon.
Corran leaned on the bar and drank more of the ale. Realizing he was not in a good position, he started to look around and assess the threats suggested by the cantina’s patrons. Dozens and dozens of criminal profiles flitted through his brain. He classified people based on their species, the amount of interest they showed in him, and the kind of hunches he got when he looked at them. The people inside seven meters provided him with two definite class-one threats, a half-dozen class-two threats, and one Gamorrean who appeared scared enough that Corran tried to attach the face to any warrants that had been outstanding when he’d been in CorSec. He came up blank, then started on the booths along the wall to the left.
What? Corran blinked his eyes and shook his head, then took another look. Through the swirling smoke, seated facing a tall, slender figure in a cloak and hood, Corran saw Tycho Celchu. Impossible.
He looked away, then back for a third time. The individual to whom Tycho was speaking stood, eclipsing Corran’s view of the unit’s Executive Officer. In doing so the figure also managed to destroy Corran’s interest in Tycho because despite the dim light and the thick smoke, he knew the hooded and cloaked figure could only be one person.
Kirtan Loor.
Corran set his ale down and began to move around the bar. Loor and Tycho! He is an Imperial agent! I have to get to …
He slammed into a large Trandoshan and rebounded from the reptilian’s chest. Someone clapped a hand on Corran’s right shoulder and he felt the muzzle of a blaster jam into his ribs. The Trandoshan closed in on the left, pinning him against the man with the blaster. “You’re going nowhere, pal.”
Corran looked to his right and couldn’t recognize the man holding the gun on him. What he did notice about the gunman was that he had a comlink clipped to the lapel of his jacket and a small lead to an earphone in his left ear. As Corran looked back to the left to see if the Trandoshan was similarly equipped he saw the cloaked figure disappear out one of the back entrances. Tycho was gone as well.
Depression blossomed full in the pit of Corran’s stomach, yet he knew things could easily continue to get worse.
They did. Very easily.
Through the doorway that swallowed the cloaked man swaggered a person swathed in garish and gaudy clothes. The smoke would have been enough to conceal his identity until he drew closer, but the cantina’s dim light allowed the diamond pupils in his eyes to shine brightly.
Corran shook his head. “What you see when you don’t have a blaster.”
Zekka Thyne didn’t bother to smile. “Your thoughts parallel mine.