First Reply The Invitation

[Glar Ulchtar]

Go to the address 7512, Trentrin Road at 11:30, tomorrow morning. I have a job for you.



Glar Ulchtar puzzled over the odd slip of paper. He had found it conspicuously sitting on the desk in the hotel room he was renting for the duration of his stay on Duros. It displayed no signiature, nor any other means of identifying the sender. Evidently, it had been left in the room while Glar had been away browsing the various starships for sale. His current ship was showing its age, and it was time to buy a replacement.

It would seem that selecting an appropriate starship would not be Glar’s main concern this evening, though. His time would instead be spent considering his invitation. His immediate instincts were to suspect a trap, but the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed. Clearly, whoever sent the invitation had access to his hotel room. If the sender wanted him dead, why would they go to the trouble of luring somewhere else with an invitation he may or may not even accept, when they could simply kill him here? Then again, there was always the possibility that the sender wanted to capture him alive. That also seemed unlikely to Glar. The invitation did not say anything like “Bring no weapons.” And freely giving out their address on a written document was not a particularly wise strategy for a kidnapper. And besides, if someone did try anything at this meeting, Glar was more than capable of handling himself in a fight.

The next day, Glar found himself at the front door of 7512 Trentrin Road. It was an unremarkable, 5-floor office building with an exterior of metal panels. It was flanked on both sides by near-identical duplicates. He opened the door to the building, and walked in to find an equally unremarkable waiting room. Its only notable features were the low-hanging light fixtures which Glar struggled not to bump into, and the old, desiccated Duros acting as a receptionist.

“Name?” The aging receptionist croaked out to Glar.

“Glar Ulchtar.” Glar answered. He had considered using a pseudonym, but whoever had left him the invitation probably knew his real name anyways.

“Ah, yes. The “important arrival”. Follow me, please.” The receptionist said, as she slowly sat up from behind her desk.

She walked to a hallway leading further into the building, and motioned for Glar to follow her. He obliged, and she led him to a small room containing a few stuffed chairs and an ornate desk. “You should make yourself comfortable.” the receptionist said matter-of-factly. “You are going to be waiting here for a while.”

At this, the elderly Duros shuffled out of the room and shut the door, leaving Glar alone with his own thoughts. He wondered just who this mysterious person who had invited him was, and what kind of job they had for him. He also considered that he might not be doing this job alone. For all he knew, the next person to walk in the room would be just as in the dark as he was. And of course, there was still the possibility that all of this was an elaborate trap. But if that was the case, at least Glar would get some practice with his lightsaber.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

A bounty-hunter guild existed.

The guild was a perfectly logical and reasonable way to hire bounty hunters. There were special channels, encrypted datapads, protected accounts. It was a well-oiled machine of a system that matched professionals with clients.

But not everyone chose to use it, for one reason or another.

Some people did not know how to contact the guild. Some people had been blacklisted by the guild for breaking one of its rules. A rule that didn't require extermination. And some people had no intention of actually paying, which was a risk here, today.

But no one tried to disarm Tryk when he arrived with a strange note clutched in his gloved hand.

He'd simply been received and ushered into a room, where a grim-looking Pyke was already waiting.

Attitude and image were important in the bounty-hunting world. Especially for a diminutive Jawa who had no stature with which he could impress or intimidate others. Tryk gazed at the Pyke silently for a long moment before taking a seat, the vocoder mask over his face creating an eerie impression.

While Tryk did not flaunt his weapons, he made sure that his pistol and rifle could be seen secured on their harness under his cloak.

Then he pretended disinterest towards the other figure, as though he was above the curiosity that was consuming his mind. Who had sent the note? What did they want? Who was this other person?

The questions burned in him, but he said nothing and pretended at serene patience.



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

Glar had been waiting for some time, when the door leading out of the room opened, and let in a short individual wearing a brown robe and mechanical mask, hiding any sign of identity. However, Glar had been to Tatooine enough times to recognize a Jawa when he saw one.

This particular Jawa was gripping an invitation just like the one he had received in his gloved hand. So, apparently Glar would not be working alone in this “job”, whatever it was. He could also see that the Jawa was carrying two blasters at his side. Clearly, this was not the stereotypical scrap-stealing conman that outsiders typically expected when meeting a Jawa.

The Jawa took a seat across from Glar, and a moment of silent acknowledgement passed between them. Before either of them could break the silence, the door opened once again. This time, a shiny protocol droid with a metallic green paint job walked through.

“Salutations!” The droid said in a pompous and nasal voice. “My designation is Y-9VT. I am here on the behalf of my master, who has more important things to attend to than this mission briefing. I can assure you though—“

“Now, who exactly is your master? I would very much like to know before I accept this job.” Glar interjected, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. Whoever this man was, he surely seemed to hold a high opinion of himself, if he could not be bothered to even meet them.

“Hmmmf. That information is strictly classified. Now I strongly suggest you learn some respect before…”

At this point, Glar stopped paying attention to the obnoxious droid, and instead turned towards the Jawa sitting next to him. “Do you think you can get this droid to be less of a pain in the rear, by any chance? I would do it myself, but technology is not my area of expertise” he whispered.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk looked across at his fellow waiting-room occupant, who seemed utterly dissatisfied with the droid's explanations.

Tryk hadn't been a Bounty Hunter for a very long time, having only completed a couple-dozen jobs so far. So he wasn't as familiar with the usual hiring methods of often eccentric employers as this other fellow might be. Usually, the guild handled double-blind hiring practices.

He had to admit that the current situation made him a bit nervous. Whoever their unknown employer was, he knew who they were. But they had no knowledge of who he might be. This created a disconcerting imbalance of power.

Finally, after thinking it over, Tryk nodded.

He hopped off of his chair, turned to the droid, and quick-drew his Ion pistol. One blast sent a spiderweb of electrical discharges across the surface of the droid, with a similar unseen nest of discharges within its internal components. The protocol droid toppled over, seemingly dead as a door nail.

Then Tryk took out his multi-tool and went to work.

He dislodged the head of the droid in about one minute. Accessing the internals, he threw some dip-switches to get the droid to factory personality settings, which ought to make it more compliant and agreeable without wiping its memory. Jawas did this all the time in the sands of Tattoine and other worlds they made homes upon. When you didn't have a spare restraining bolt, this was how you got control of stolen salvaged droids.

Then he set the head back on and waited for the droid to reset.

His ion pistol had multiple settings, and the default setting wouldn't shut down electronics for long. After another minute, the droid re-activated itself, the internal circuit breakers performing an automatic reset once the voltage irregularities were deemed to be stable again.

Tryk stepped back and nodded to his companion, indicating that he could re-interrogate the droid, now.


Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

It seemed that they were both in agreement about the protocol droid. As the Jawa did his work, Glar watched silently. It was obvious that the Jawa knew more about droids than he did, and any comment by Glar would have been unhelpful at best, and annoying at worst. Once the droid had finished reactivating itself, it spoke once more. This time, it spoke in a far more pleasant and neutral voice.

“Good day, sirs. Now, what would the two of you like to know?”

“Who is your master?” Glar asked.

“My master is Mr. Warner Gadsden of Centax-3.”

Upon hearing this, Glar shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had briefly met Warner Gadsden once (It was at a formal banquet held by the Pyke Syndicate.), but mostly knew the man by reputation. And if reputation told him anything, this would be no ordinary job.

“What exactly does he want us to do?” Glar asked. He tried to sound confident with the question, but there was a slight waver in his voice.

“My master wants you to capture or assassinate Mr. Oltrum Estrakan of Jaemus, an enemy of his.” The droid took a moment to place a miniature holoprojector on the desk. It lit up, and displayed a hologram. The hologram showed a Givin with large eye sockets and a prominent chin. “Your reward for completing this would be 75,000 credits for each of you.” The droid finished.

“And if we refuse the job, what will Mr. Gadsden do then?” Glar asked. He had a feeling that he would not like the answer to this question.

“My master is aware that both of you have enemies of your own whom you would rather not have know about your whereabouts. If you refuse the job, he will inform them of your current locations, statuses, and potential—“

“I think we get the picture.” Glar interjected.
Clearly, Gadsden knew about his past with the Pyke Syndicate. And he evidently knew someone that the Jawa did not want to meet again too.

Glar thought about the situation for a moment, then turned towards the Jawa, and said “The way I see things, we have two options. We can either do the job, and hope that Gadsden chooses not to sell us out. Or, we can find and kill Gadsden to make sure he cannot blackmail us again.”

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk studied the hologram for a moment, and then looked to his waiting-room companion.

"Tryk come to get paid," he said, and it was the first time that he had spoken. His voice was not his own: a deep, modulated thing that came from his vocoder mask. Apparently, the Jawa didn't speak Basic... though he might understand it.

"Now Tryk know who hire.

If Tryk not get paid, Tryk know who else to kill."

It was simple math, as far as the Jawa was concerned.

"Seventy-five thousand credits a lot of credits," he added unnecessarily.

His companion would know very well that it was a good payout. It was enough to get a new ship if he wanted one. Or to expand his personal equipment to include a lot more tricks to help him get bounties. It was the sort of payday that only came once in a blue moon... if it was real.

He shrugged his little Jawa shoulders, "You know mark? You know where find?"



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

The Jawa whom Glar now knew was named Tryk seemed to have sound enough logic. 75,000 credits was quite a bounty indeed. “It is settled then.” he said, addressing both Tryk and the Protocol Droid.

In response to Tryk’s question about where the mark was, the Protocol Droid said “He is currently at the Tarantaka Building here on Duros, attending a conference of starship designers from throughout the Galaxy. Today’s portion of the conference ends in an hour and a half, so completing the mission just after he leaves would be ideal. Be careful of approaching him directly, as he travels with a pair of Echani bodyguards.”

When the droid finished, Glar looked at Tryk, and waited for his thoughts on this new information.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk considered the information they'd been provided with.

"Fancy Conference no like us around," Tryk said, "but Tryk think fancy guy have nice speeder, not taxi. With chauffer at lot nearby. If we find, we take out chauffer. Replace. Then pick up guy.

Nobody look at chauffeur. Fancy guy get on speeder. We kill him. Throw out of speeder. Take speeder to chop shop. Sell speeder. Come here. Collect pay."

There were another dozen angles they could take. Lots of ways to skin a bantha.

Tryk looked to his companion to see what he thought.



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

The plan was a risky one. But making some extra credits by cashing in the speeder was certainly an attractive prospect. Especially if their employer decided to have cold feet about actually paying them. But it was still risky.

“I like that plan. But we should have a backup, in the event that something goes wrong. For instance, if we cannot find his speeder, or replace the chauffeur.” Glar said. “One of us should be waiting near the building itself to take him down. There is an empty apartment building across the street from it. If we can shoot him from one of its windows, the job is as good as finished. However, I would like sell his speeder, if we can. That is why I am only suggesting this as a backup. I am comfortable with executing either half of the plan.” he finished. The obvious question hanging in the air was which half Tryk would prefer.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk listened to the man as he outlined an alternative.

It was a good idea. You should always have a backup plan, because you could never be sure when the sands would blow from the East.

"Tryk do speeder. Tryk know how make it go if locked.

But if we go two ways, Tryk need know who you are.

Tryk is Tryk Zhot, of Clan Zhot.

Tryk always do job right."

He held out a small, gloved hand. Most humanoids liked to shake on deals.



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

With Tryk doing the speeder hijacking, it would fall to Glar to be the backup. He had always been a good shot with a blaster, but this would be quite the shot to pull off. He was sure that he could do it, but hopefully he would not even need to.

When Tryk asked Glar who he was, he decided to respond truthfully. He was well aware that it could end up biting him in the rear later on if he was not careful. But for now, he needed to build trust with Tryk.

“My name is Glar Ulchtar.” he responded, as he bent down slightly to shake Tryk’s outstretched hand.



An hour later, Glar was walking down the streets of the city, carrying a large, metal case. When he arrived at the door of the condemned apartment building, his way was blocked by a highly apathetic Duros who could barely even be called a guard.

“You’re, uh, not s’posed to go in here. Company policy.” the disinterested guard mumbled, as if he was just waking up.

“Do not worry. I have a permit.” Glar said in a slightly sinister voice, as he subtly moved his hand.

“Uh, yeah. You’ve got a permit.” the guard agreed, as he moved aside to let him in.

Soon enough, Glar was on the building’s 6th floor, in an empty room with a window facing the Tarantaka Building. He set the metal case down on the floor, and opened it up to reveal an A-300 Blaster Rifle. He had used A-300s plenty of times before, especially back when he was a member of the Pyke Syndicate. Those days were over now, but that hardly meant he had forgotten how to use one. As he reminisced about those times, he took the weapon out of the case, and converted it to sniper configuration.

Glar checked the time. It would be another 15 minutes before the conference was over, and the mark walked out of the building. In the meantime, he decided to check in on how Tryk was doing. Taking out his commlink, Glar set it to Tryk’s frequency, and said “I am fully set up over here. How has your progress been?”

 

[Tryk Zhot]

SPEEDER PARKING PLATFORM
TRANSPORTATION HUB 8-A
​

Tryk came to the Transportation Hub on the train, which was the most common way to get around the city.

Duro was not as developed as Coruscant, which had a global cityscape that extended across the whole world and was thousands of levels deep. But it did have modern cities and industry. In fact, the world had been substantially poisoned by the incessant pursuit of progress, with some people preferring to live in orbital satellite cities rather then on the surface.

In any event, a city as developed and congested as this one demanded means to get around, and the speeder-train was a solution that had been chosen on hundreds of worlds. These trains needed places to pick up and drop off passengers or to change routes, and thus the Transportation Hub was as ubiquitous as the train itself.

Wealthy people could avoid the trains, of course. For such persons, premium parking was available on a parking platform above the hub. And thanks to an unfriendly conversation with a Parking Enforcement Droid, Tryk knew exactly which platform their mark's chauffer was using.

Now he arrived at Hub 8-A, wearing a concealing coat and jumpsuit which might belong to a maintenance technician from a hundred different corporations. His identity as an alien was not disguised, but the exact alien species was indiscernible to outside observers. Without the characteristic cloaks that Jawas favored, most people were unable to identify the diminutive Tattooine species. And so Tryk was an anonymous, vaguely workmanlike alien figure as he ascended to the parking level via elevator.

As the door to the elevator opened, Tryk got a message from his partner. He lifted his sleeve, where a com unit was concealed. "Tryk arrive parking. Operation: Take Speeder start now."

Tryk walked boldly across the lot, straight to the speeder belonging to their mark. The chauffer was outside of the vehicle, smoking a cigarra and checking his chronometer. Tryk unhooked a piece of equipment from his belt- a fuel purity gauge, not that most people could identify it.

He walked in a meandering circle near the man and the speeder, then stopped next to the chauffer, who had begun to look in his direction quizzically. "Pardon me, Sir," Tryk said, almost painfully using words foreign to his typical speech patterns. Jawa speech was a combination of odors and spoken words, with the words carrying the base vulgar meaning while the odors contained the nuance. But the vocoder couldn't pick up on odors, never mind the subtle shifting odors of a Jawa. So Tryk had to use words to convey politeness and nuance which were normally only employed by unfortunate Jawas who had pheromone gland disorders.

"There is a gas leak here. I need you to evacuate to the train level below." His vocoder mask was set to a less-intimidating and more nasal tone than usual, in accordance with his assumed identity.

The chauffer quickly dropped and stepped on his cigarra. "Chit, I'll just leave. I have to pick up my employer soon, anyway."

Tryk shook his head, "Exhaust burn gas."

The chauffer's forehead creased, "Hmm?"

Tryk gritted his teeth and forced out, "Sir, the gasses are flammable, and will catch fire if you try to take off. You must evacuate below."

Just then, another nearby speeder turned on and took off, speeding into the skies.

"What about them," the chauffer asked.

Tryk glanced over his shoulder, then looked back, forcing himself to mouth the extra words, "The gas is very localized."

The chauffer frowned, scrutinizing Tryk. "I don't believe you. In fact, I want to see some I.D."

Tryk sighed. "Okay," and unzipped his coat. Reaching within, he pulled out an ion pistol and shot the man without further preamble. The chauffer crumpled to the landing deck, and other people on the platform began to shout, scream, and call for guards.

Tryk quickly took the man's keys and spoke into his sleeve, "Tryk Maybe Late."

A parking attendant was on a radio, calling for police.

Tryk opened the speeder and hopped inside just as a Duros police speeder activated its alert lights in the distance.


Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

At first, things seemed to be going well on Tryk’s end of the line. A few minutes later, not so much. “Is that a police siren?” Glar asked into his commlink. “Look, if you cannot loose them, I can always just shoot the mark.”

Almost as if on cue, a steady stream of people began exiting the Tarantaka Building across the street. Evidently, the meeting inside had ended ahead of schedule. Glar put the A-300’s scope to his eye, and scanned the crowd for any sign of Mr. Oltrum Estrakan. There were a surprising number of Givins in the crowd, and it was not exactly easy to tell them apart from this distance. What did stand out were the two enormous Echani flanking one particularly well-dressed Givin with a prominent chin and large eye sockets.

Glar was not sure exactly how tall the two Echani bodyguards were from the distance he was viewing them at, but they both looked taller than he did. And Glar was tall by the standards of just about any sentient species. They sported identical black suits, which sharply contrasted with their chalk-white skin. At their sides, they carried holstered blaster pistols, but honestly looked as if they barely needed them. Their boss meanwhile, was engrossed in conversation with a Mon Calamari about something as the two of them walked down the front steps of the building. It was rather difficult to get a solid lock on the Givin, until he stopped at a trash can to throw away what looked like a disposable beverage cup. Glar focused in, and prepared to shoot.

Speaking into his commlink, Glar said “I have eyes on the mark. He has his two bodyguards with him. Should I do it?”

 

[Tryk Zhot]

Tryk slammed the accelerator on the luxury speeder and launched off of the parking platform like a rocket.

Behind him, the police speeder pursued, easily closing the distance between them. The siren was loud, being reproduced by the speakers within the cabin in accordance with public transportation and safety regulations. Blue and red lights flashed ominously.
Tryk knew that when the police speeder got close enough, it would be able to fire an ionized grapple gun that would seize and fry his own speeder's systems.

Things were not looking good.

"You got shot? You take. Tryk meet you after. Tryk bring speeder money."

Then Tryk set the speeder in autopilot and crawled into the back seat. In front of the speeder, a kilometer distant, a looming business spire rose from the pavement. It was one of the tall, hundred-story buildings owned by megacorps, clad in glass and steel.

Opening the moon roof of the luxurious passenger compartment of the luxury speeder, Tryk then jumped, climbing up so that his head, shoulder, and arms poked up through the opening.

The wind blasted at his face, even while facing away from the direction of travel. The turbulence of fast movement created a maelstrom of air around him. But his vocoder mask and optics protected him from the disruption.

The Jawa drew out his Ion pistol and took careful aim, thumbing the weapon to its highest setting.

He fired once.

High, to the left.

He fired again.

Low, and to the right.

The police speeder closed in, and the officer behind the wheel shifted his grip to the grappler firing controls.

Tryk fired one more time.

The ionized bolt struck the police speeder head-on, sending it spinning out of control. The officer ejected, a repulsorlift in his seat carrying him safely to the ground. The police speeder itself spun down and crashed into an alley. Tryk hoped there had been no one in that alley. He didn't like to harm bystanders.

The police speeder itself got terribly dented and crushed in places, but would probably be recoverable.

Dropping back down from the opening, Tryk quickly scrambled back to the driver section in time to see the corporate building a mere thirty meters ahead.

Those thirty meters shrunk to zero in an instant.

"UTINI!"

He pushed the control interface, directing the luxury speeder into one of the huge plate windows of the building.

Smash!

The glass blasted apart into a million pieces, and Tryk lifted the repulsorlift setting slightly to send the speeder just over a row of cubicles, scraping against the acoustical tiles of the drop ceiling.

Then the speeder smashed out of the window on the far side of the building.

Diving and swerving to join a stream of regular traffic, Tryk hoped to mix in until he could get to the chop shop which would buy this speeder for its parts. He was breathing like a terrified rat, which wasn't far from the truth.

Hopefully Gar managed to take out their target... and not keep the proceeds for himself.



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

It seemed like this task was going to fall to Glar. During his brief conversation with Tryk, Oltrum Estrakan had not moved from where he had been standing. Glar had already been aiming at him, so all he needed to do now was to pull the trigger.

Glar took a breath to steady himself, and fired. An instant later, Mr. Oltrum Estrakan had collapsed on the Tarantaka Building’s grass lawn, with a sizable chunk of his skull-like face missing. The deed was done.

After an instant of silent confusion and shock, the crowd in front of the Tarantaka Building erupted into unbridled chaos. Through the general panic, the two Echani Bodyguards of the assassinated Givin muscled their way through the crowd with grim determination. Glar however, was not sticking around to watch. As quickly as he could, he disassembled his blaster rifle, and threw it back into its case. After closing it, he picked it up, and made his way for the bottom floor.

When Glar reached the bottom of the stairwell, he decided to leave through a back door, which opened to an isolated alleyway behind the building. Just as he exited the doorway and turned, he felt a massive fist hit him square in the middle of his face mask. The ringing impact of the blow caused him to drop the case containing his blaster rifle, and fall backwards.

As he hit the ground, Glar got a good look at his attacker. He was an Echani male, and stood at a solid 2.5 meters tall. He had buzz-cut hair, and a toothy grin which was anything but friendly. Clearly, Oltrum Estrakan’s bodyguards had a contract which lasted beyond their employer’s death.

As the massive bodyguard approached, Glar instinctively reached out into The Force, and sent the Echani flying backwards. Glar had been hoping to send him further back, but it was enough. Before he could get back onto his feet, Glar had already drawn one of his DL-18 blaster pistols, and shot him twice in the abdomen.

For the moment, Glar thought he had finished the bodyguard off. Taking this opportunity, he activated his commlink, and said “Tryk, I am going to need some backup as soon as possible. I have killed the mark and one of his bodyguards, but I am going to need all the help I can get in getting out of here. I am behind the abandoned apartment building.”

As soon as he finished talking, Glar was sorely disappointed when the seemingly dead bodyguard rose to his feet. Glar was not sure if he was wearing body armor under the suit, or if he just that tough, but it made little practical difference. Instead, Glar tried aiming for the Echani’s face. Glar’s sense of aim had not fully recovered from the punch he had taken earlier, as the shot missed completely. By this point, the guard had drawn his own blaster pistol. Glar was not sure of its model. Whatever it was, it was firing far more powerful bolts than his DL-18. Thinking fast, he managed to avoid being killed by jumping behind the shelter of a nearby dumpster.

Clearly, Glar was approaching this fight the wrong way. He needed to use every advantage he had. To start, he consciously tapped into The Force, and threw the various garbage bags in the dumpster at the Echani. While the bodyguard was distracted by this unorthodox attack, Glar tapped into The Force once more, and sent bolts of lightning from his fingertips towards his foe. When the bolts hit the Echani, he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. This time, Glar would not be taking any chances. As he approached the Echani, he drew his lightsaber, and killed him with a decapitating swipe.

Glar took a moment to asses his situation. He had killed the target, and one body guard. That left one bodyguard left. As if on cue, Glar noticed a tall figure approaching from the other end of the alley. Sure enough, it was the second bodyguard. This one was female, but stood at an even taller height than her male counterpart had. Upon seeing Glar standing over the other Echani’s headless corpse, the second bodyguard brandished a long and thin object. As it crackled to life with sparks of purple electricity on both ends, Glar realized the object was an Electrostaff.

Speaking into his commlink, Glar said “Tryk, now would be a really good time to show up.” with a note of urgency in his voice.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Tryk was half-way to the chop-shop when he heard a call for aid over the agreed-upon com channel.

Jawas were not generally reputed for their bravery. They were sometimes mocked in popular media. Little figures in dirty cloaks yelling 'Utini' and running away.

This was an error of observation by people who mistook the things they did.

Every day for a Jawa was an exercise in bravery. They'd come out of the night, into sunlit sands so harsh that it could burn their eyes. Rather than shrink from the light, they'd found a way to shield their eyes. Then they'd figured out a hundred foreign technologies that were completely alien to them. Many Jawas had died merely to discover the properties of a high-voltage energy converter. Their names were still recounted, fifty generations later.

Jawas formed trading relationships with aliens who despised them. They shared the dunes with Sand People who hunted them. And, against all odds, they'd reached their furry hands into the stars.

But even failing these observations, a blind man could see that the Jawas rarely, if ever, left a clansman behind.

Tryk's clan was dead. Massacred to the last.

But he'd signed up with Glar, today. So Glar was his clan, now.

As deftly as he'd inserted himself into the flow of traffic, Tryk now departed it. He weaved into new aerial lanes, centering on the location he'd been given.

Soon enough, he came to the alley in question.

That's when he saw a Jedi sword-fighting with someone holding an electro-staff.

He nearly pulled up and away. No one in their right mind got anywhere near a Jedi fight.

Then he recognized one of the shapes.

Glar?! With a lightsaber?

There was surely a story there. Glar himself couldn't be a Jedi. Jedi didn't do bounty-hunting.

Though... could Glar be a Sith.

Sith were even more dangerous than Jedi.

"If is Sith," Tryk declared as he pressed the accelerator, "then is my Sith."

When he was fifty meters away, he shifted from acceleration to brakes. This was a luxury vehicle, and it had the best of everything. But it also had a lot of mass, and it could not stop on a cred chip. Or even a million of them.

The speeder did begin to slow, as the pair of fighters in the alley grew in apparent size due to the melting distance.

The speeder did not stop completely in time to avoid hitting one of them. The body made a loud thump as the bumper smacked into it.

Tryk pressed the 'passenger door open' button and turned the speeder to one side after making his intended collision.

"Hurry. Big one look tough. Get up soon."



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

Just as the Echani Bodyguard began preparing to charge at Glar, they both heard what sounded like a speeder. Glar reacted first, jumping out of the rapidly approaching vehicle’s path. The bodyguard was not so lucky. The luxury speeder collided with her head-on, knocking her to the ground with a dull thud.

When the speeder came to a stop, Glar noticed that Tryk was in the driver’s seat. When he opened the door, Glar only took a moment to deactivate his lightsaber and grab the case containing his blaster rifle before getting into the speeder. Tryk had seen him holding his lightsaber. That fact would have to be addressed at some point, but for the immediate moment, Glar needed to focus on getting out of the alley.

“Thank you! Now, where should we sell the speeder?” Glar asked after getting in. He noticed the Echani twitching on the ground outside the vehicle, so he hoped Tryk already had a place in mind. And besides, sooner or later the actual police were bound to show up.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Tryk nodded and gunned the engine once his partner was aboard, and the air-speeder launched itself back into the city heights. Just in time, too, as the humanoid he'd struck seemed to be recovering from the impact.

"Tryk know good Ugnaught Chop Shop. Good value. No question."

Gulil's Starship and Speeder Repair wasn't a luxurious outfit, their garage strewn with barely identifiable ship and speeder parts and pieces. Tryk's ship had been manufactured with odds and ends from a shop like this one. You could find diamonds amidst the rough.

But even though this was a good shop, its owner knew an extra-hot piece when it came in. And while this luxury speeder was worth a lot, it was hardly in prime shape.

"Five-thousand credits," the man offered.

"Ten," said Tryk.

"Seven," answered Gulil.

There was no real time for extended haggling. Tryk accepted the offer, took the cred chips, and split them with Glar.

Better than sand in your eye.

Departure required the indignity of a taxi. But it was a droid taxi, and so there was little worry about the driver taking an undue interest in their affairs.

"So..." Tryk said, "... you Sith?"



Glar Ulchtar

 

[Glar Ulchtar]

Tag: Tryk Zhot

During the brief visit to Gulil's Starship and Speeder Repair, Glar stayed silent. This was clearly more in Tryk’s domain than his, and there was no need to interrupt. Once the transaction was over, they both boarded a speeder taxi headed back to 7512 Trentrin Road. Thankfully, the pilot was a droid. That would definitely simplify things.

Once the chop shop was a decent distance behind them, Glar visibly relaxed. As the speeder taxi passed by a large, angular sculpture, Tryk asked Glar if he was a Sith. The truth was, Glar did not exactly know the answer to that question himself. “I sort of am. But not in the traditional sense.” Glar said after a few seconds of careful hesitation.

After a moment, Glar continued speaking. “I wield a lightsaber, as you saw, and I use the Dark Side of The Force. I study Sith philosophy and teachings, and collect Sith artifacts. So in those respects, I am indeed a Sith. But there are some discrepancies between the classic Sith and myself. I have never studied under a Sith Master, so I am entirely self-taught. I am not affiliated with the Sith Order as an institution either. I have goals outside of the traditional Sith path, and The Force is not my sole or even primary concern. In essence, I am a Sith when it is convenient for me to be one.”

Finished with his monologue, Glar sat back in his seat in the speeder taxi. He wasn’t really sure how much of that would actually have much meaning to Tryk. But it felt good to talk about it. His monologue about whether or not he was a Sith had taken a decent amount of time, and he realized it might be perceived as rude to not let Tryk talk for that duration. “So, what are you planning to do with your 75000 credits once we get paid?” Glar asked.

 

[Tryk Zhot]

​

Tryk listened to his partner for a long time without saying anything. He considered what this man was telling him. Self-studied Sith? No Sith Master? No real interest in the Force philosophies except for what he could use?

"You like Jawa," Tryk concluded, "Self-teach. Do what want. Nobody show Jawa how tech go. Jawa teach selves. Now Jawa in stars. Your story like Jawa story."

It was indeed the story of his people. And like Glar, Tryk had no master. He was free... but also alone.

Sometimes he regretted being alone.

"Tryk buy new gear," he said, "but... there nice girl Tryk like. Singing girl. Expensive girl. Tryk try take to dinner.

Maybe she like Tryk. If not, still have good dinner."

Tryk's gaze shifted as the Taxi slowed, approaching their stop.

"IF get paid."

It was the question in the air. Was all of this a ruse? Or was the payout legit?

Soon, they'd have their answer.



Glar Ulchtar
With brief indirect mention of Chessashai Umianai