Alderaan. The second planet in the Alderaan system. Known across the galaxy for its flawless beauty, refined culture, and devotion to peace. This planet—recognized as the "Shining Star" of the Core Worlds—was covered in wild grassy wastelands and old mountain ranges arranged in such a way as to hint at an artificial origin. Oceans and numerous inland seas provided ideal conditions for the emergence of diverse flora and fauna, often non-aggressive.
Alderaanian cities, as a rule, were built with great care for nature, so they blended perfectly into the landscape. One such city, Crevasse City, was built along the walls of a canyon and was practically invisible from above. If Des hadn't pointed a finger and told me to look down, I wouldn't have noticed it at all. Other cities were built on pylons along the coastline, or beneath polar ice caps. The capital of Alderaan—where we were headed—was known for its university and was located on a small island in the center of a caldera.
As for culture… the main principles of Alderaanian culture were education, philosophy, art, and the peaceful resolution of conflict. The only issue was that Warren, telling me this, was smiling suspiciously, and the other guys couldn't hold back their laughter either. It was obvious they were setting me up somewhere, but for now we'd wait—interrupting is rude.
According to Warren, the average Alderaanian was very cultured and educated. Art flourished here: poets driven by beauty created works famous in the Core Worlds, and artists used enormous meadows as their canvas. And the cuisine… The huge variety of spices and herbs let local chefs experiment and create the tastiest dishes in the galaxy. Naturally—in the opinion of the Alderaanians themselves.
Among the main export goods were wine, works of art, luxury items, but the most important were academy graduates, who were snapped up like hotcakes. Engineers, designers, medics… It went as far as companies lining up to hire Alderaanian specialists—or outbidding competitors' salaries.
"All right, fine, what's the catch?" I folded my arms across my chest. "Your faces say it's not all that smooth."
"Heh-heh-heh… You bet. Guess who's in the top five planets that use mercenaries most often?"
"Alderaan?"
"Bingo. Fourth place, by the way, and that's official information. And they don't always use small groups like ours—often we're talking about full-fledged mercenary military formations, tens of thousands strong."
"Serious approach," I jerked my head slightly.
"And about the high culture… there's no poverty here, Shade. Everyone's an aristocrat. And there's no poverty not because the standard of living is high, but because poverty wouldn't have enough money to survive. You said our prices were high? Brother, you just haven't been to Alderaan!"
"Jesus. Wait—what about servants and the like?"
"What about servants? Either they're paid well, or they're slaves."
"Slaves?! On Alderaan???"
"Exactly. It's normal to take a slave under the guise of a servant," Des shrugged. "Last season we ended up as part of an entire convoy of… very expensive slaves."
"More than that, Shade. Do you know what democracy is?" Warren looked at me. "It's the power of money—elected for money, for the sake of money. And Alderaan is the most democratic planet in the entire Republic. They even beat Coruscant on that front. Although I should note, the planet itself is a monarchy, and it's ruled by so-called 'houses.' Like our clans."
"I'm losing my mind over this world…"
"And Alderaanian specialists aren't that simple either. To get into the Alderaanian academy, you need an obscene amount of money—we, ha-ha-ha, don't earn that much. Or you need the right connections. In both cases, the people there are such a caliber—literally—that they're guaranteed a job just by receiving the credential. On the other hand, the specialists they produce really are top-notch—we could use people like that…"
"Huh."
As we approached the capital, I was surprised, because it stood out sharply against the landscape. Tall spires reaching dozens of meters into the sky, and familiar aerial roads with speeders zipping along them.
"Research vessel Nemesis, this is Alderaan spaceport. You have been redirected to a private landing platform. Receive coordinates."
"This is Nemesis. Coordinates received."
"End transmission."
"So we've been invited right to the doorstep, or what?" I looked at Warren.
"Looks like it."
After making a half-circle, we bypassed the spaceport and headed for the new coordinates. Looking out the window at the city outskirts, I couldn't deny that they knew how to build here—and loved it. Build beautifully, in the best traditions of "feng shui." The only problem is designers forget practicality. I immediately noted vulnerable points in the structures—hit them once and you'd get a lot of destruction. Though… you wouldn't even need to shoot; it would be enough for something to "accidentally" crash into them.
The place we were flying to included several buildings and several spacious pads for starships. The main building stood out immediately because of its distinctive architecture and scale: tall, like a thick needle, with a flying saucer set on top.
However, even on approach, I almost immediately felt a disturbance in the Force, as if the balance had been disrupted—not just anywhere, but toward the dark side. At first I thought it was just me not fully recovered from hyperspace, but no. The planet truly had a noticeable imbalance, and the source was now not far from us.
"Hm…"
"What is it, Shade?" Warren asked.
"I can feel a sensitive here. A dark-side sensitive."
"That bad?"
"At the very least—nothing good."
After landing, our group headed for the hatch. Strange, but it felt like the source of the disturbance was nearby…
Studying the surroundings carefully, I saw two suspicious presences in the Force approaching us with an escort. After we left the ship, I could see who they were: a Bith, slightly shorter than us, in a formal suit like a local aristocrat's, and a tall Muun with a harsh, arrogant look—staring at us like we were dirt. Near them were several armed mercenaries in sealed yellow armor, a few servants, and droids.
Yeah. I didn't even need to squint to understand who that pair really was. Just—heh-heh-heh—two very clear Dark Side Force-users. Conspirators, damn it. No, seriously, those xenos were hiding well. On the surface—an ordinary aura, nothing remarkable… but only on the surface, and only for a normal sensitive. In my Force-sight, I could plainly see the accumulated dark side coiling inside them, separated from the world as if by a veil.
And there was something else: strange emotions coming from them—twisted by anger and contempt. I'd only felt that from those who'd lost balance in the Force.
"Hello… pshhh," the Bith greeted us. His breathing mask made speaking difficult, so he paused between words. "I am Rugess Nome… pshhh… I am the one who purchased your find… pshhh… and this is my colleague, Hego Damask…" The Muun nodded politely. If not for the look, it might have even been believable. Maybe. "… I am glad you decided… pshhh… to arrive so quickly."
"Warren," the Mandalorian introduced himself. "I found the ship, and my group members sold it to you."
"Please… pshhh… come with us for a conversation… pshhh… regarding the deal."
Turning away, the Bith headed toward the entrance of the main building. The servants, Muun, and security followed. Strange—why is the Muun eyeing me like that? I only opened my aura a little; it shouldn't raise such suspicion. Though… maybe it's because I'm Force-sensitive? Yeah, without collapsing my aura I can't hide my connection to the Force, but doing that would look even more suspicious.
"What do you say?" Warren asked over the internal channel.
"Both are Force-users. Serious ones. Joking with them could end badly. My advice: don't leave my side."
"Afraid of an attack?" Warren looked at me.
"I'm afraid they'll use a mind trick on you."
"What's that?"
"A 'trick with the mind.' Experienced Force-users can deceive a person's mind and impose their will." At that moment all four Mandalorians glanced in my direction. "Yes, I sometimes use it too. No, I didn't touch you with it—you'd have noticed."
"How?" Kaut asked.
"Mind tricks are momentary suggestion, so you can't just wash someone's brain. When the effect wears off, you can easily start wondering, 'What came over me?' Besides, some species have natural resistance to such tricks."
"And can you prevent it?"
"I can see it and, if needed, neutralize it."
"We haven't even taken the job yet, and I'm already glad he's with us," Des muttered, demonstratively studying the scenery. Neither I nor the Mandalorians were afraid we'd be overheard. Helmets are insulated, and communication runs only via internal encrypted comlink.
As we passed the entrance, my gaze snagged on the plaque. Turned out it was our employer's office, and the company's name was: "RuN Design Bureau."
Inside, the building didn't differ much from other houses. Ordinary corridors, just decorated, and in some places entire walls were moss paintings depicting starships. Lots of greenery, a pleasant atmosphere… with spice added by serious security and turrets hidden beneath the cladding.
Reaching the very top, we entered the "saucer." There was the Bith's office and a conference room, where we sat down.
"Pshhh… so, I want to begin from afar," the Bith began, sitting at the head of the table. Silence was the answer. The Bith mimed a nervous shiver and continued: "You surely already know who I am. Pshhh. I am a starship design engineer. Pshhh. It is my hobby and my work. Pshhh. It is no secret that the new is well-forgotten old. Pshhh. Therefore, I collect old starships and study them. Pshhh. Hego Damask, my sponsor from the Bansk clan… pshhh… who finances all my activities. Pshhh. Your find brought us many discoveries… pshhh… therefore I want to ask again, can you… pshhh… acquire something similar somewhere?"
"Where we pulled that ship from, there isn't a second one," Warren shook his head. "I already told you over comms—no, we can't pull up something like that again."
"You are certain?" the Muun asked. "We are willing to pay very large sums."
"How large?" Kaut asked. We all turned to him in sync. "What? I just asked."
"If you find a shuttle in the same state of preservation—we will pay double," the Muun moved a hand through the air. At that moment I heard a phantom cash-register ding and looked at Kaut suspiciously.
"Hm…"
"And if it's just a part from the shuttle?" Des asked.
"We will buy everything. Engines, wings, landing struts, reactors… everything. Especially when it comes to ships of the Infinite Empire. Information is also purchased, but its value is negotiated separately."
At that moment, all the Mandalorians looked at me.
"Shade?" Warren asked over the internal channel.
"We promise nothing, but we'll try to find something," I answered for all of us.
"That is enough. Also—we will pay separately for ancient holocrons. Those are information storage devices," the Muun displayed a hologram. "The Jedi Order buys them up, but we will pay three times more. The first price for the holocron, the second for selling it to us, and the third for silence."
"We're mercenaries. Not archaeologists," Warren shook his head. "Unlikely we'll find something like that, but we'll keep it in mind."
"Of course."
"Hego, pshhh, I want to add that the gentlemen should make a special effort to preserve… pshhh… ancient information carriers. Data stores, maps, pshhh… and any other recording devices, pshhh, even if damaged."
"Yes. And preferably, in the future, such deals should be conducted strictly between us, without auctions and other…" the Muun ran his fingers through the air, hinting at the delicacy of the matter. "Witnesses."
"Fine. Is that all?"
"Not at all." Damask signaled a droid, and it promptly refreshed his drink. Damask himself kept eyeing me suspiciously, clearly planning something. Unfortunately, the emotions were unreadable—too mixed. "Would you like something to drink?"
"…"
"No? Very well. In that case, my colleague Rugess has said what he wants; now I will speak. I have work for you."
"Pshhh… Damask, are you sure?" the Bith perked up immediately.
"Yes."
"What kind of work?" Warren leaned forward.
"In your field. You may be mercenaries, not archaeologists, but you like ancient finds, don't you?"
"We're interested in their value," Kaut rubbed his fingers together, giving an obvious hint.
"Yes-yes, of course. So. You know that mining excavations were conducted on Tatooine?"
"Yes. There was an incident with a space station not long ago—seems it was shot down?"
"Not exactly. As the investigation showed, the metals mined on Tatooine had variable magnetic properties that depended on the activity of the system's binary star, and at the moment Nirvana approached the station, Tato III became a giant magnet and pulled the ship in. But that's not important. What is important is that shortly before that, miners found ancient ruins in the sands. An archaeological expedition sent there by one… of our companies determined they belonged to the Infinite Empire. And most importantly—they may have found a Rakatan star map. We are extremely interested in this discovery."
"So what's the problem with taking it? The expedition is yours—"
"There are no problems. Your task is to fly in, take the artifact, and deliver it here. Most importantly—do not attract attention; everything must be quiet, quick, and precise. Your mercenaries are best at operating in small groups; besides, you have already proven yourselves. Payment upon delivery—ten thousand per person."
"We set the price," Warren shook his head. "Fifteen each."
"Acceptable," the Muun didn't even haggle. Judging by how my colleagues tensed, they didn't like that.
"Contract?"
"Of course."
The Muun immediately pushed a datapad with the contract toward Warren.
"'Delivery of ancient vases'?" Warren read the line aloud.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. It's just… isn't it a bit much to hire an entire Mandalorian squad over vases?"
"Hm… yes, you are right. We should adjust the value of these 'vases,'" the Muun nodded and, pulling out a second tablet, wrote something into it.
Warren sent us a copy of the contract. Opening it on my helmet display, I studied it. Yeah… Muuns know bureaucracy, that's a fact. How much?! Seven hundred thousand credits for vases? Not bad "little vases," huh…
Reading the contract, I immediately spotted loopholes that could be used in case of unforeseen issues with the employer—certain the employer had left the same kind of exits for himself. Hadiya, can you hear me? Your lessons didn't go to waste. I remember perfectly well how my little demon could draft contracts, literally clamping a company in an iron vise.
While I read the contract, I caught the intent gaze of both dark-side sensitives.
"Is something wrong with my helmet?" I turned to the Muun.
"No, not at all. It's just interesting… that weapon—this is a Jedi's weapon, correct?" Damask pointed at my swords.
"Not at all. This weapon has nothing to do with the Jedi," I took one sword off my belt and demonstratively turned it in my hand.
"Is that so… interesting. And am I correct in understanding you are a Force-user?"
"Yes. Does that bother you?"
"Not in the slightest. On the contrary—it is good. Very, very good."
Measuring the Muun with a look, I returned to the contract.
"Yes! One very important moment. Use these channels to contact me," the Muun placed a chip on the table. The contract included a clause forbidding us from talking about the cargo. In principle, nothing special; as Des said over the internal channel, most employers include that point.
"Damask, I have a nagging suspicion," Warren set the datapad aside.
"What kind?" the Muun asked politely, grimacing inwardly and puffing with anger.
"Why us? Aside from the fact we already delivered you a fairly significant find."
"Yes. The matter is that I need mercenaries not connected to us. No one must know about you, and you must act right now. Possibly… you will meet resistance—I allow for a leak of the discovery to those who shouldn't know. In the current situation, you are the best option. And in case of complications, I'm willing to overpay."
"Hm… complications with who?"
"That is not important. In case of a clash, if possible, eliminate all witnesses. Nothing must point to you."
"Everything will be handled."
"I hope so."
After finishing the formalities, we said goodbye to our employers and headed back. Funnily enough, on the way to orbit we could see an entire combat frigate.
"Peaceful planet, yeah?" I glanced at Warren.
"You bet. But that is a Banking Clan ship—a frigate of the Munificent model."
"I have a feeling I know its owner."
"So do I."
"And those guys over there, are they with the Muun too?" I pointed at large ships on the radar.
"No. That's a PMC. Alderaan is a peaceful planet; it has no standing military formations, so each house has a group of mercenaries. Those groups make up Alderaan's defensive forces that keep out pirates and Hutts."
"And can the Republic hire PMCs?"
"After the Ruusan Reformation—no. By law, the Republic cannot maintain an army. But that doesn't apply to individual planets, which is exactly what they take advantage of."
"What about the Judicial Forces?"
"The Judicial Forces aren't an army; they're a court with its own armed forces."
"What kind of leaky laws are these?!"
"The kind we have," Des smirked.
So we left Alderaan, and now our path lay to Tatooine—the planet of sands. Out of curiosity, I went on the HoloNet to look up what it was and who held power there. To my surprise, Tatooine is considered a Republic planet, though after the recent incident, those with money preferred to get out. Those without money stayed… I don't envy the locals. Not one bit. The planet is far from paradise.
Tatooine orbits a binary star in the Outer Rim, near Ryloth and Geonosis. Officially, it's considered one of the oldest planets in the galaxy and consists of a solid core. Notably, it has a strategic location due to several intersecting hyperspace routes, and although it's far from the galactic center, wars used to be fought over it regularly. That's why the desert sands contain a lot—a lot—of ships. You could say the planet became a graveyard of starships, intentionally dumped into the sand as junk. Recycling? Never heard of it. Actually… interesting—how many factories deal with recycling?
Getting distracted, I searched… Hm… Why so few? No, seriously, few. Kuat and Corellia rebuild their own ships, a couple more firms, and… that's it. Huh. There are entire graveyards of starships in space—why the hell does nobody dismantle them? Ah, too expensive? Well, yeah—why bother when it's cheaper to mine raw ore than to separate alloys into their components.
Back to Tatooine. Blah-blah-blah, hot and dry climate, I know. Next. Oh! Funny—Tatooine apparently reflects sunlight, which can cause it to be mistaken for a star. The planet's surface is almost endless monotonous sand seas, washed by the intense energy of twin yellow suns, occasionally broken by rocky canyons! Now that's a beautiful line. You could just copy it straight into a tourist brochure, heh.
So, the daytime heat is obvious… no, not "like" a frying pan. It is a frying pan. And the nights are cold. How do the locals survive there?! Incredible…
An unusual concentration of magnetic ores in the planet's mantle, interacting with Tatooine's intense planetary magnetic field, constantly shifting winds and atmospheric concentrations created a zone of relative cool on a small section of the planet. This temperate zone, where temperatures rarely exceeded forty-three standard degrees, was where humans lived.
The ore facts made me wonder if it was used by the Celestials to create giant gravitational tugs for planets. Interesting theory…
The official capital of Tatooine is Bestine, located about two hundred kilometers west of the spaceport Mos Eisley, which sits on the edge of the Dune Sea. The planet also had other settlements: Mos Espa, Mos Entha, Mos Gamos. Calling these places cities would be a stretch; everything listed is basically mines the settlers built homes around—except the spaceport.
Hm… what about wildlife? Okay… banthas, rontos, dewback… Damn, there's not actually little life here, despite the conditions. The ones that really caught my attention were krayt dragons and their larger cousins. They reminded me of the flint lizards, only bigger, and made of flesh and blood. And unlike their relatives from Tython, these have so-called dragon pearls, aka gizzard stones. Expensive stuff… that's hell to obtain—the little dragon tears durasteel to shreds, and its hide is like armor.
"What are you doing?" Des distracted me from my reading.
"Reading about Tatooine."
"It's a hole. A hole, full stop."
"Not so fast—the planet has its плюсы."
"Like what?"
"It has a strategic location. The Corellian Trade Spine is right nearby. Besides, smaller hyperroutes converge on Tatooine—especially for those who like flying… ahem… around official armed forces. Ryloth, Geonosis, Christophsis are right there. Three planets, my friend. Three developed planets."
"I get Geonosis and Christophsis, but what does Ryloth have to do with this?"
"Hold on," I closed the tab and switched to another, "reading aloud: dancer girls from Ryloth have always been in high demand, and having a servant shows status."
"And?"
"Who crawled out of the freezer, you or me?!"
"I know Ryloth exports slaves, but I don't get what you're driving at."
"Exactly! And slaves are money. Slaves—Twi'leks—big money. Slave girls—Twi'lek girls—even bigger money. Get it?"
"Got it."
Back to Tatooine. The most important thing is that nobody gives a damn about this planet. Isn't that wonderful?
"M… all right, heard you. Question closed. Actually, why I came," Des leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, "we were talking about your idea to fly into the Tython system."
"And?"
"You're absolutely sure you can lead us through? Tens of thousands of ships vanished there without a trace."
"I'm sure, Des. But if you think otherwise—who am I to insist? It's not my ship, and I'm not responsible for your lives."
"But afterward you'll fly there anyway?"
"Once I acquire a vessel," I nodded.
"All right. Have it your way. Right after this job—we're flying to the Tython system."
"Greed is a sin, Des," I smirked.
"My only guilt is that I like eating. And as practice has shown, ancient finds… especially certain ones… especially around you… are worth a lot. And since you're from there, maybe we'll be able to get something valuable."
"Maybe we will… or maybe we won't. Who knows?"
"Pff."
"All right. Come on, Des."
"Where?!"
"You're going to torture me with astrogation."
Dragging Des to the cockpit, I continued terrorizing the Mandalorian with questions. Later, at the evening meetup, they suggested leaving it for now, relaxing, and joining the group for a game of sabacc. Up to now I hadn't really relaxed with the guys, glued to a datapad running a self-study module. But now… why not?
"Fine," I sat at the table, eyeing these suspiciously happy faces. "So what's the point of the game?"
"Ahem. I'll start from afar. There's the dealer, and there are the players. The dealer is the one holding the deck. But—anyone can shuffle the deck, which is divided into parts, until all cards are shuffled and reassembled back into a deck. For fairness."
"Go on."
"Then the dealer deals one card face down to each player, including himself. Usually a droid does this, but in our case—it's me. Dealing alternates. Thus, each player, including the dealer, gets two cards."
Zeronis demonstratively performed the procedure and dealt everyone cards.
"Each game is played in rounds. A round consists of four stages: Betting, Shift, Reveal, and Gain. The Betting stage is when, starting with the player to the dealer's left," nod to Des, "each player may choose to bet or fold. In friendly games, the maximum bet is set in advance so no one gets offended. However—the bet can be any amount, at the player's discretion. Casinos usually have a stricter betting system, but we're not a casino, and we don't go there. At most—in a bar with the guys at home, or in some cantina."
"Go on."
"Then, clockwise from that player," another nod at Des, "each following player must match the bet to stay in the game. They can also raise. The raise cannot exceed the preset maximum. If the bet was raised, then all players must at least match the new bet to stay in, and so on, circle after circle, until the bets equalize. When no one raises anymore, stage one ends. Then Shift begins: the dealer rolls a six-sided die," they showed me the die, even let me touch it. "If the result is 1, 2, or 3, there is no shift. If it's 4, 5, or 6, a shift occurs."
"But it only has six faces."
"Yes, which means a fifty-percent chance of shifting. After the shift, each player chooses which card to keep and which to discard. Discarded cards go to the bottom of the deck, under a fresh card. Then the dealer deals one new card to each player from the top."
"Hm…"
"Next is the Reveal stage. This stage happens only on the fourth and subsequent rounds. No one can reveal until at least four rounds have been played. After that, any player in any round after the Shift stage may reveal. When a player reveals, the game ends immediately, without the last stage, Gain. Everyone puts their cards face up on the table. At that moment the winner and payout are determined."
"And what's Gain?"
"If no one reveals, or if fewer than four rounds have been played, each player, starting with," nod to Des, "the first player, clockwise, may gain an additional face-down card. A player can add it to their hand if it suits them, but can also discard any card of their choice, including the one they just gained. You may have more, but never fewer, than two cards during the game. Then the game continues with a new round starting at Betting as usual."
"Seems simple…"
"Oh, sure."
"And who wins?"
"When cards are revealed, everyone shows them face up. The player with the highest score wins and takes the pot. Card points are shown in the upper left corner."
"Got it. What if there are two winners?"
"Then both draw one card, same thing. Whoever gets more wins."
"So it's luck."
"Basically—yes."
"And in practice…?"
"You have to think and decide what you'll ditch and what you'll keep."
"You know…" I glanced at the cards in my hand. "Just so you understand—you just invited the devil to a card game."
"Who?"
"The one who doesn't lose at cards."
"We'll see about that."
And the game began. Des put five credits on the line, then Kaut added another ten. Which meant I needed to put fifteen or more—I matched. Warren didn't raise either, nor did Zeronis.
We made a round and drew a card. All right, what do we have? Thirteen, fourteen, and minus five. Yeah… it's pretty clear which one has to go. Another round, the bet increased by five credits. I discarded a card and drew minus ten… Hm…
"Guys, what if you have… say, minus twenty in your hand—is that considered a big number?"
"It can be. Minus cuts plus, and vice versa. What remains is the larger number."
"Ah… now I get the point. So you might need to ditch certain cards and collect others, positive or negative. Right?"
"And that's where bluffing starts. You can force an opponent to fold by drawing a lot of cards when half are positive and the other half negative. Also, if you have positive cards, a single minus-two won't change the weather, but it will make others nervous. That's just an example. After that, play your tactics."
"Hm…"
While I was thinking, another round passed, but there was no shift. We drew one more card. Somehow, spontaneously, the Force seemed to sit at the table with us, hinting what would fall into my hand. Trusting that sense, I followed it—and by the fifth round I had a four-card combination, three positive and one minus three. Des had three cards, Warren four, Kaut two, and Zeronis three. Drilling each other with our eyes, I smiled and placed my cards on the table.
"Reveal?"
"Oh you—" Kaut blurted when he saw my hand. "Couldn't you wait a little?"
"Gentlemen, forgive me—you invited me to the table yourselves."
"You just got lucky!"
I only shrugged and pulled the credits toward myself.
"So. Another round?"
"Yes!"
So instead of going to bed, we were happily hacking away at sabacc. Out of seven games, I lost only one, and the guys started to seriously suspect I was cheating somewhere. By the ninth win they weren't just suspecting—they were absolutely convinced.
"Shade, have a conscience, I have to refuel the ship!" Warren protested.
"I warned you."
"How?! Ho-o-ow?!" Des clutched his head, hunched over the table. "I had all the cards! Six cards, all positive, and two aces. How did you get five aces, all in the same suit?!"
"Somehow," I shrugged.
"That's impossible! That's witchcraft, isn't it?"
"It's intuition. I just trust my instincts."
"…"
"You know," Zeronis said, shuffling the cards, "what if instead of Tython we stop on Alderaan… and shove Shade into a casino? Just a couple days, and we'll be millionaires!"
"Or the casino will run out of money," Des muttered.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…"
"I thought about that too," Warren added, glancing at me laughing. "And I'm afraid they wouldn't appreciate it."
"Guys, with you I definitely won't get bored," wiping away a tear, I split the winnings into five parts and used the Force to slide them evenly to the others.
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. I'm playing with you just because it feels good, and I'm not going to strip you. But if I need money, I'll walk into some cantina. By the way, what other games will you teach me?"
"Nooo! Don't even think about it!"
"Boys, what have we done," Warren said with mock horror. "Now you can't let him off the ship!"
"Yeah-yeah, he'll win all the money from prospective employers. The question is, what will they pay us with then?"
The joke was met with friendly laughter.
"So. One more game?"
"Let's do it!"
"For some reason it feels like you don't so much want to win yourselves as you want to keep me from winning," I grumbled, taking a card.
"Nooo. What are you talking about?"
"You're imagining things."
"Huh. Well, well…"
***
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