Private Sound of the Underground

[Sam Rodarch]

The Invisible Market?

Before the concept of such a thing could even graze the top of Sam's mind the pair were caught in a blinding light. Something about shitters. The woman turned to Hacks in complete befuddlement (as was her right in this scenario) before she witnessed the slicer being blasted off her feet by a powerful jet of water.

In her limited imagination, she didn't think that this day could get any more bizarre, but there it was, happening right before her very eyes. At least it wasn't something to complain about, the process looked brutal but it was preferable to being clarted in shet. It even smelled quite pleasant.

With a fistful of wit and hope, Sam braced herself as the water cannon was then fired upon her too. To the Mandalorian's credit, she managed to stay on her feet for a solid few seconds before the stream of water travelled downwards and took out her leg instead, which resulted in a wonderful face plant.

It was as brutal as it had looked.

Didn't care.

All she wanted was to feel clean again.

By the time it was over, the evidence of their log flume ride had almost been erased, their open skin left raw from the exfoliating power wash. It had somewhat settled Rodarch, enough to stop her from yelling about how awful everything was, at least for the time being.

Didn't quite handle her confusion on the topic of invisible markets, however.

“So...so,” Sam began, slowly clambering back to her feet as the scented water dribbled down from her top knot and into her eyes, “...so what, people jus' live in the sewers on every planet?”

She blinked. What a strange new world bounty hunting was.

“Why?”

 

[Hacks]

The water cannon hit Hacks square in the chest, her vision blurred suddenly as she felt her feet go over her shoulders, her back hitting the stone floor of the sewer tunnel. She tumbled and rolled. The water cannon pushing her further back down the tunnel till it redirected at Sam and slammed her in the chest, but she was as tough as she was thick-headed. The woman held her ground till they swept her feet out from under her and she smashed her face into the stone.

An hour later. . .

The two women sat in something that could be likened to a cantina. It was a stall with cast-plast crates for chairs, a wooden table for a bar and a strung-up dirty tarp for a roof. There was one other patron present, a woman sitting off to the side covered in enhanced cybernetics and wearing fluroscent neon-blue clothing. The barkeep was a scarred and disgruntled Rodian who didn't take kindly to two shit stained customers. The beer in Hacks hand, if that is what it could be called, was warm and tasted of alien piss. She didn't want to think on it too much.

Her back wasn't aching anymore and her lip had stopped bleeding. She had bit down when she hit the floor. The guards with the cannon had checked them over, scanned their fingerprints and faces, then they were on their way in when someone from within the markets had vouched for them. Hacks had no idea who it was, and Sam didn't seem to either. They made their way for the makeshift cantina to discuss their plans from here.


Hacks scratched hair head and reflected on what Sam had asked earlier, but didn't have the time to answer at the time, "Not every planet has people living in the sewers, but enough." She took a swig of her beer, "It provides safety from those above, the galaxy can be pretty cruel to the poor and unfortunate. Although Invisible Markets aren't that common. More likely to find them on Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant. . . Denon." The woman nearby seemed to perk up at that, Hacks noticed from the corner of her eye that the cyborg was listening to them. Hacks made a subtle nod to Sam, hinting that someone was listening.

"You can find anything on these markets, things you can't find on the Black Market. Even slaves on planets that don't have slaves," she raised an eyebrow in uncomfortable thought. A repulsorlift pallet floated past the stall next to Hacks and Sam, crates of disruptor rifles were thrown in a heap. Nearby a cloaked peddler was offering Sith artifacts and holocrons to interested collectors. "It's probably the only place that is going to have a smuggler talented enough to get us off planet without getting caught," she said.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Even in the bloody sewers, you couldn't escape cantinas.

Rodarch bucked the expectations shoved upon her from appearances by not being a woman that enjoyed a strong drink and an even stronger root afterwards by being a furiously teetotal prude. No beer for her, and given their current location she took a pass on the water too, choosing to stubbornly sit with that taste still lingering in her mouth.

“Well kept secret, huh,” she commented, leaning back and giving an awkward side-eye to the cyborg that was lugging in on their conversation.

Every single day it was something new, layers upon layers being torn off the Mandalorian's perception of the galaxy. It was a little difficult to process some of the time, and this was no different. She caught sight of beskar'gam being peddled. That shet was prized, but down here didn't even seem to attract so much as a sniff.

“Damn,” she muttered under her rotten breath, lip curled at the thoughts that the glimpse of that armour brought.

Forget that shet.

“So what? We gotta poke around an' ask?” Rodarch inquired, looking back at Hacks and then giving her beer a withering glance, “Or do ya'll do things different?”

It wasn't hard to imagine that Sam's blunt methods sat in direct opposition of a place called The Invisible Market.

Hacks

 

[Hacks]

"You don't usually ask questions around here," the woman from the other table chirped up, she stood and moved closer, "I don't know your smuggler but I've been watching the news." She gestured to her datapad left back on the table where she was seated before, "Saw the chaos you all caused. I had a holo-drone following the action, especially when that naked.. person busted in on you all," she said, disgusted. "Could use talents like that, and balls as big as that," she tossed a chip onto the table. "That chip will get you some leeway with smugglers down here," she explained and then finished, "Look for me on Denon, Darkwire is waiting. I'll be at the Staysh in Seven Corners."

Hacks looked confused as the cyborg woman collected her datapad and walked away, down a sewer tunnel and vanishing into the darkness. "Uhh," she muttered, filling the sudden silence between the two of them, "What the kark just happened." She scratched her hand and picked up the chip, a small eye was inscribed into the metal. For a second she wondered if there was a projector-recorder in there sending a feed to someone. Nah, she thought, that's a bit too paranoid. "Let's find us some ugly arse alien to fly us off this miserable rock, eh?"

 

[Sam Rodarch]

They did indeed do things different.

In a state of permanent offence, Sam's back stiffened and brow furrowed as the eavesdropper answered her question. Maybe the real way to get answers in these kinds of places was to speak loudly enough for others to hear and frustrate them with your ignorance (which, frankly wasn't a bad strategy if you prayed upon 'intelligent' ego but that kind of thinking was beyond the Mandalorian).

She relaxed upon the compliment of her balls, leaning back into the rickety chair as her mind spiralled down a hole of thinking about surveillance. So she had been secretly watching Sam, who had been watching over Hacks, who had been watching ove-

The Mandalorian tilted her head, suddenly far more concerned about the presence of Big Brother's sewer-bound cousin as the cyborg tossed them a chip and buggered off.

“Reckon we just got our ticket offa this dump,” Sam grumbled, having to assume the obvious in the face of Hacks' confusion. If the slicer didn't know what just happened, then she definitely didn't know. Rodarch wasted no time in standing up, wishing for nothing more than to get off Geonosis, and cleanse both body and mind in the wake of their joint bounty hunting experience.

“So uh,” she began, as the hunt for a willing smuggler began, voice still too loud as if she expected more strangers to interject with answers, “what's a Darkwire when it's at home?”

Hacks

 

[Hacks]

Hacks shrugged, not particularly sure of what Darkwire was. "I don't know," she said then her head turned to the tunnel her and Sam had come from. There was giggling coming from the darkness as two figures emerged into the market, soaking wet from the routine drenching to prevent them smelling of feces and urine. One of them was a street kid, he wore his hair in tall blue liberty spikes and his heavy vest was covered in enough studs to weigh down a Bantha. The woman was in a hooded jumper carrying a plastic goose, they were both drunk and swaying as they beelined for the bar.

"Huh," Hacks said, looking at the strangers. "Let's go before they annoy us," Hacks advised Sam and thumbed in the direction of a few spacers mulling about some smaller shipping containers. "Might find us a smuggler who's thinking about jumping off-world eh?" She walked from the bar and snaked her way through the thickly populated market, eyes turning here and there to stare at all the rare curiosities. There was even a lightsaber on sale, she had heard of those. Rare powerful weapons used by a wizard-monks. She wanted one but couldn't waste the credits right now.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Huh, it was nice for somebody to be just as clueless as Rodarch for once. Turns out that Darkwire was a mystery to both of the women. Just as the Mandalorian was going to consider the meaning of the cryptic word the sound of sheer aggravation began to echo from the sewer entrance of the market.

Great, a pair of loud and obnoxious drunks, a perfect cherry upon the turd of the day. Judging by his vest and her garden ornament, the pair often did their shopping here. Fethin' freaks. Sam stood up with great ferocity before Hacks could even finish her senten-

“Already 'noyed,” Sam scowled, immediately making a beeline out of the bar and into the thrum of the market.

Wait, you interrupted me too.

She'd never been one for shopping, but the sight of beskar'gam being peddled before left the woman with a wandering eye as they sought out a decent people smuggler. A lot of technology, the sight of which went straight over her head and into the bin, well, except some of the cybernetic limbs, some of which looked like they could punch a hole straight through a gamorrean.

Feth, that'd be handy.

The sight of a particularly wicked pair of shockboxing gauntlets actually stopped Rodarch in her tracks for a minute as a twinge of nostalgia ran its course through her mind. A simpler time. With fewer sewers. Fewer credits too, but as her brain pined with want for the gloves Sam quickly realised that she didn't even have credits now.

Why was she bounty hunting again?

Miraculously managing to frustrate herself with a mere moment's thought Sam swiftly turned her back upon the stall and folded her arms across her chest. What was the easiest way to find a smuggler?

“Oi!” Rodarch hollered in the middle of the market, her face seeming just as violent as her voice, “Any smuggler headin' off soon that can give me an ma bud a ride?!”

Sam had apparently not gotten to grips with the, 'You don't usually ask questions around here' deal yet.

Hacks