Star Wars - Credit Denied - Unpublished by George R. Strayton Page B

neck.
    Before she let her frustration get the best of her, she shoved her blaster back into its holster and charged up the stairs and out into the cool night air. As she pulled her comllnk from her belt she looked up to the starlit sky. “Okay, Nopul,” she said into the link. “Let’s get out of here.”
    She put the comlink away and watched a tiny speck of light descend from the sky.

    “Sounds like a bad idea to me,” Nopul Etrefa said, his husky, Kerestian voice accenting his pronunciation. The breathing holes set beneath his eyes expanded as he breathed out—what in human physiology would definitely be considered a sigh.
    Rendra glanced off into the cantina’s eclectic crowd—a collection of aliens from across the sector and beyond: some off-duty security officers drinking themselves silly a few booths away, an intense game of dejarik festering off in the corner. Standard patronage for a space station bar in the Periphery.
    She finally looked back to Nopul, who was staring at her, apparently still expecting her to comment on his remark. “We owe GalactiCore more credits than some planets earn in a year. And if we don’t pay them, we’ll be stranded—and I don’t want to go through that ordeal again. I don’t think I could handle it.”
    Nopul said nothing, just continued to fiddle with the hololocket he kept on a chain around his neck. She wasn’t sure exactly what he might be thinking, but she knew she didn’t like it.
    “What, you think I want to do this?” she said. “I would think you’d know me better than that.”
    He looked into her eyes, his face set in an accusatory expression, but still he remained silent.
    “Look, if you’ve got a better solution, let’s hear it.”
    He breathed deeply and shook his head. “No, no. Your synopsis of our situation is accurate, and I don’t have an alternative. I just wanted to make sure this job didn’t at least bother you a little.”
    Rendra stared at her companion for a few heartbeats, and then couldn’t help but smile. “You know, you’re a better friend than I deserve.” She grabbed her drink from the table. “Just don’t let it go to your head,” she said and then swallowed the remainder of the Corellian whiskey in a single swig.
    “So, when are these mercenaries supposed to show up?” he asked, scanning the latest group of arrivals.
    “Not sure. Dania said we should just—”
    “Whoa—you let Starcrosser put this deal together?”
    “Yeah. Why?”
    Nopul looked at her as if an arm had suddenly grown out of her face. “Gelgelar? Fiery conflagration? Loss of all cargo? Any of this sound familiar?”
    Rendra felt her defense mechanism kicking in. “That wasn’t Dania’s fault—”
    He shook his head, and his eyes squinted in that annoying Kerestian expression of shocked disbelief. “You’d better cut down on that whiskey, it’s starting to affect your memory.”
    “Okay, okay, we’ve had our problems with Dania in the past, but right now we don’t have time to establish a new contact in this sector or travel out into the Rim to hook up with Keleni. If we don’t take care of this job immediately, we’re out of luck and out of credits. And then we’re out of a ship.”
    Nopul’s expression slowly shifted from incredulity to understanding and then finally to reluctant acceptance. “Fine, point taken. But I’m still not happy about it—about any of it, for that matter.” His eyes shifted to survey the crowd again. “I can’t wait to get this over with.”
    “You and me both,” she said as she gestured to the waitress at the bar for another whiskey. “Just keep an eye out for anyone wearing a red sash or scarf or something. That’s the sign.”
    “Well, so far I don’t—”
    The sound of shattering glass interrupted his statement, and their attention was immediately drawn to the dejarik table in the back corner. Two aliens were standing on either side of the game board shouting at each other in languages that the