Star Wars: Fragile Threads

Fragile Threads

A YZ-900 cargo freighter arced in the air above the outpost. Its landing lamps flashed intermittently as the pilot searched for a suitable place to land. Recognizing the Stale Clout, Drake relaxed his hold on Tiaja's wrist. "That's my contact. If I don't meet him, he might leave. Go have a word with the outpost manager. Tell him we have a plan, a crazy one, but if it works we can solve his problems for good." He turned her around to face him and kissed her. "Don't kill anybody. Please?"

Supported by the Wookiee, Geerd staggered to his feet. "I'm sorry, Tiaja. We were trading with the Singing Mountain Clan. Jani was playing with a—"

"Don't speak to me!" Tiaja screamed, lunging at him. "You were supposed to watch over her!"

"Tiaja!" Drake growled. He took the lightsaber from her and shoved it down into his boot. Handing her a small, hold out blaster, he wrapped her fingers around it. "The plan, remember?"

"Get out of my sight!" she shouted at Geerd, startling him. "I never want to see you again!" Hands balled into fists, she stormed into the outpost manager's office.

~ ~ ~

The Trade Outpost's cantina was a refurbished greenhouse with barely enough space to house twenty patrons. A shabby, piecemeal bar, chairs, and a few tables crowded the diminutive taproom.

Among dirty-nailed farmers and scavengers, Densin Morgellep stood out. Dressed in cargo pants, a gray shirt, and a brown flight jacket, the Corellian wore a pair of thick, mirrored blast goggles pulled up over his forehead. An explosives expert, he was rarely without them, employing the goggles for protection from the volatile, signature compounds he used.

"Doaba ol'val tru, Captain Morgellep," Drake said, offering his hand. He motioned for Nikaede to take the seat beside him.

"The Little Prince of Socorro," Densin replied. Hailing from the southern hemisphere of Corellia, his voice betrayed a subtle, colloquial accent. A middle-aged man with a thin beard, graying near the chin, he grinned mischievously and rubbed a gloved hand through his closely cropped hair. "It's good to see you, too, Nikaede." He laid a small black box on the table and pushed it in front of the Wookiee.

Opening the lid, Nikaede bawled in sheer delight, her nostrils flared as the scent of the hot Rishii honey stix wafted to her nose. She grabbed one of the treats and bit into it, cooing her thanks to the smuggler.

"Uh-huh? See who's always got you covered?" Densin said. "You need to come work for a captain who can always provide you with the better things in life." He sat back in the booth and winked at Drake.

"Would you stop trying to steal my first mate," Drake complained. He signaled the barkeep for service. "Nikaede has an allergy to things that go boom."

Densin held his hands up to protest. "That's not what your most recent order tells me."

"Were you able to get what I need?"

Offended by the question, Densin frowned and rolled his eyes. "Of course, I did. Sixteen premium thermal detonators, hand crafted for maximum spread and output. Why do you need so many? Two or three would do the job. Are you trying to bring down a mountain?"

"Something like that." Drake sat smugly back in his chair. "Raava, if you've got it," he said to the waiter droid. "Bring the bottle."

"You're planning to bring down a mountain?"

"The Nightspider Clan stronghold. I intend to finish what the Empire didn't." Drake poured the raava into their glasses.

Densin leaned across the table. "Are you insane? Messing with Nightsisters is like conjuring the devil himself."