Starmaker's Gambit
Denon, Industrial Spire Level 13
Darcee's Cantina
Darcee's Cantina
Razmir pressed the ice pack to the side of his head. The bacta had done a good job of keeping his brains from leaking out, but his head still pounded behind his eyes. Not many could say they took a direct backhand from a Mandalorian's crushgaunt to the face and lived with their dashing good looks intact. But then, most didn't have Razmir's luck. He might have pushed it a little in his confrontation with the Mandalorian admiral, but he'd had a feeling a successful raid would mellow her out.
He had guessed mostly correctly.
Now, following a few days in the medical hold, he was waiting in Darcee's cantina on Denon to meet a professional mutual. He needed confirmation whether an item that had recently fallen into his hands was as valuable as people said it was. That item, supposedly a Jedi datacron going by the corpse he'd taken it off of, sat on the table before him. It wouldn't quite fetch the price of a proper holocron, but he'd gotten appraisals that promised a good enough price with the right buyers if its authenticity could be confirmed.
It wasn't often that he got to return home, so he'd picked Darcee's to pay its owner a visit later. She wouldn't be in until the later hours of the night anyway, so he'd have plenty of time to get the business out of the way first. He'd brought a bottle of the famed Mandalorian Tihaar—traded off a Mandalorian for some junk—on his last job. Hopefully it would keep Darcee from throwing him out, again, when she saw him sitting in one of the booths of her cantina.
He gave a brief glance to the band playing tonight.
The act tonight had ended up being merciful on his permanent headache. It was a slower, rhythmic dusk trio instead of the usual heavy isotope act. The dusk trio sounded good. The Faleen bass vye player had caught his attention in particular. He could have sworn that earlier during a break she'd returned a glance of his with a smile. For the moment, however, she pointedly ignored him.
Raz leaned back into his booth with a resigned smile. Couldn't win every hand.
He looked out across the wider room again, scanning for his client. He didn't find the person he was looking for among the patrons or by the door, so he turned his attention to the datacron on the table.
The cube was small enough to fit into his palm, and it glowed with a faint blue hue through transparent surfaces on its multiple sides. It had twelve in total, and the polygonal geometry struck him as a little overdesigned for what was essentially a data storage device, but Jedi seemed to prefer things complicated.
He inspected the datacron against the light, holding it up between his fingers, unable to find a dataport or similar direct access method to get at the contents inside anywhere on the thing. It was geometry for geometry's sake.
Overly complicated. Exactly as the Jedi liked it.
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