Dirty Money

[Estrea Shan]

Even in the office, enshrouded in layers of soundproofing and the finest sound dampening equipment money could buy, the music could be heard. Or perhaps heard was the wrong word, for the music didn't really enter the body through the ears, but through the entire body, the vibrations invading every last pore. Out on the dance floor, beyond the holomasked two-way mirror, it must have been nearly deafening.

And not a one of them seemed to care.

From her lofty vantage point, looking out across the main chamber of the club from the second floor office, Estrea could see a thousand souls write and twist, moving their bodies to the transcendant noise and screaming wordlessly for more. Half of them - at least - were drunk on the famed cocktails served by the scantily clad staff at the bar, and many of those who weren't had sampled some of the less legal substances that were available to those who knew the right questions to ask. But still they kept dancing. Surrounded by swirling colours and cavorting hologramattic images of every description, they always kept dancing.

"How long's it been," Estrea mused, "Since last time the music stopped?"

It wasn't really a question, but the answer came quickly enough nonetheless, supplied by the grating mechanical tones of her ever present protocol droid, P3-RC, "There was an interlude of point zero, zero, zero three one seconds during the last changeover. It seems that brain-node 3 suffered a momentary glitch. I have already arranged for replacement and maintenance."

Half-turning, the woman let her gaze linger on the droid for a moment. It looked innocent, in the way that only a lifeform with an entirely immobile face could manage, yet she couldn't help but feel it was gently winding her up. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and not for the first time Estrea found herself making a mental note to have the droid memory wiped at the first opportunity. For the time being, however, she simply nodded, adding, "Thanks, Arcee. That's very... accurate. Entirely unhelpful, but accurate, at least. Points for trying, and all that." Turning back, she watched in silence for a moment as the vast array of holographic projectors that covered most of the walls flickered and shifted, transporting the revelers onto the edge of a volcano that threw geysers of neon magma toward the heavens. The shift marked the end of a time slot, and dozens of lesser holograms that had previously been dancing with lonely clients flickered out of existence as the panorama changed. Even as Estrea watched, many of them began to fight their way across to the various bars, intent on buying another hour of holographic companionship. Pathetic really, but if they were so intent on giving her their hard earned credits, who was going to argue?

Certainly not she, not when she might need everyone one of those credits sooner rather than later.

"Have we heard anything from Adriot?" she enquired after a moment's pause, pointedly keeping her gaze on the sea of swaying bodies.

Behind her, a rustle of movement suggested someone straightening up in response to the question, and she allowed herself to turn in time to catch a glimpse of a towering man (who surely had a trace of Wookiee somewhere in his heritage) pulling himself up from where he had been lounging on one of the couches set against the wall. "The King," he grunted, placing heavy emphasis on Adriot's title even as he twisted a kink out of a neck almost as thick as Estrea's entire torso, "Hasn't been in touch since yesterday."

"Hmm," murmured Estrea, entirely unperturbed by the goon's unspoken rebuke. She knew where the lines were, understood what the King in the Shadows would tolerate and what he wouldn't. And calling him by his given name? That wasn't even close to the limit of what he would tolerate from one who brought so much money into his underground empire. He was, in that way at least, refreshingly pragmatic. "Arcee? Have them ready Moonfall."

"Certainly, madam," the droid answered, even as the goon spluttered out an incredulous exclamation. "Where shall I tell them we're going?"

"Where the money is, of course," came the breezey reply, before Estrea fixed her gaze on the thug and smiled wickedly, "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to upset Adriot too much."

Not yet, at least.

 

[Estrea Shan]

How could one best describe the Moonfall?

Perhaps it would be best to speak of it as a dart of quicksilver; a small, narrow craft that tapered outward from its pointed tip to the edges of its swept back wings. Every inch of it gleamed like polished silver beneath the glare of Adarlon's sun. It was the very image of a spoilt little noble's plaything, and perhaps, if one was willing to stretch the metaphor of the King in the Shadows to extend to a court and aristocracy in the same mold, that was precisely what it was. But it was also a vessel that, like its past and present owners, was more than capable of using its outward appearances to mask hidden depths. Depths like the system of scan-evaders, weapon-lock foilers and false IFF generators that were concealed beneath the main cabin. Or the onboard sensors that would have left an Imperial slack jawed and drawlings. And the engines... well, let it just be said that more than one order had been placed with the manufacturer after Adriot had first shown off his onetime prize.

In short, it was the perfect vessel for a woman with more than a few secrets to hide.

Now it waited, engines thrumming impatiently. It was strange; for much of her life, Estrea would have scoffed at anyone who felt the need to project human emotions onto an inanimate object such as a starship, but in the time since Adriot had grown tired of the Moonfall and passed it across to her, that had changed. She had come to feel that, maybe - just maybe - there was something to what they said. Certainly, the yacht never seemed to perform as well when it was planetside or in orbit. No, it seemed to want to soar, to pierce the heavens as it was created to do. And that was a sentiment Estrea could understand; to know that you were meant to be somewhere else, doing something else... it was a wretched feeling, one that gnawed at the depths of your soul. She'd spent years fighting against it, struggling to find her place in the galaxy. And now that she was getting closer, maybe it was time to give the Moonfall more of a chance to do what it was made to do.

"Plannin' on tellin' me where we're goin' yet?" grumbled a voice from behind her, startling her from her reverie.

Estrea paused a moment, letting out a frustrated breath through clenched teeth before answering, "All those muscle enhancers eating away at your memory? I've already said we're going where the money is." Scathing words delivered, she stepped forward, ready to board the Moonfall, only for a hand to lash out and catch her arm in a crushing grip. Instantly, she froze, her back stiffening while cold fire flashed across her eyes. "I imagine you're attached to that hand of yours," she remarked, her voice dangerously soft and chill as the breeze on Hoth, "If you want to keep it like that, I suggest you remove it."

A long, drawn out moment followed. Would Adriot's hired thug listen? He didn't want to, that much was obviously. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull, seeming to radiate heat like a cutting laser. But, eventually, and with much reluctance, he slackened his grip upon her, not quite releasing her altogether but allowing her to pull herself out of his grip. "Better be careful," he snarled, the snarl contorting his features audible in his voice, "The King's gone through more than one whore in his time."

"Maybe he has," answered Estrea, continuing on toward the Moonfall with measured steps lest she turn and plant a dagger between the man's ribs, "But I bet he can remember all of them. Think we'll be able to say the same of you?"