Like Manaan itself, the spaceport above the planet was cool and quiet, and water was everywhere. There was water in the subtly lit pools, in rushing cascades from overhead fountains, and in the sparkling stream that snaked its way around the main concourse and visitors’ areas. There was still more water in the aquariums that broke up the common, dull gray durasteel construction. The aquariums contained luminescent corals, artistic rock formations, and bright, darting fish, all further enhancing the impression of being submerged. The lighting continued the ocean theme in sub-aqueous blues and greens, though brighter light illuminated the walkways and shops. Lifelike sculptures of corals were scattered about as decoration with a single, enormous staghorn coral made of colored durasteel rising like a pale golden tree from the center of the main concourse’s sand-colored floor. Its top-most branches merged with the ceiling overhead to become part of the station’s superstructure.

Natives of Manaan, the Selkath, took advantage of the water as much as possible and were often found lounging beside the pools or swimming in them, as sleek and swift in the water as the fish they resembled. Since the closing of the planet to outsiders, those who had business with the Selkath conducted it here, on the station, and often at the pools where the natives congregated. Thus, the pools usually held crowds of dizzying variety, all in what passed for bathing suits (or not) on the visitors’ respective home worlds.

Deveny was a frequent visitor, but if it wasn’t for the lower levels of the station, sublevel eight in particular, she would have been bored out of her mind. Oh, the first time she had seen the place, tagging along in the wake of Vin and Teela, she had goggled as much as any Dantooinian farmer on her first space voyage. More than once, one of her companions had had to double back to pull her away from a bright aquarium, a shop displaying strange wares, or more likely, from one of the pools where nude bathing was in progress.

But that was years ago. Now she avoided the main concourse entirely aside from the necessity of passing through it upon docking. She preferred to conduct her own business in the far less exotic (and less rigorously policed) areas of the Manaan space station.

The Depths was her favorite venue because it was almost as seedy as the cantinas in the slums of her native Coronet City. It was poorly lit, smoke hung in the air, dice rattled, and glasses clinked in counterpoint to the music that pumped through the place. This was mostly a thumping beat occasionally punctuated by vocals reminiscent of an orobird’s screeching. Not that anyone listened. The place also served superior liquor, and unlike her brother Dash who avoided the stuff like the Iridian Plague, Deveny had developed a cautious appreciation for it.

The bartender-slash-owner of The Depths, Graral, was large and sinister looking, no easy feat for a Selkath. Muscles bulged beneath his silver skin suit and his sloping gray face had an impressive burn scar from a lightsaber along the entire length of the left side; it was rumored that he had killed the Sith that gave it to him. The left eye had been replaced with cybernetics that occasionally sent a beam of piercing red over the crowd as Graral kept tabs on his customers. He also kept a vibro-blade behind the counter in addition to a blaster at each hip, and his security rivaled the police on the upper levels.

The variety of species was just as abundant here as in the upper levels as well, but they preferred imbibing liquid to swimming in it and their business deals were far less likely to be, in a word, legal. They were made up of free-traders like Vin, Teela, and herself as well as gamblers, criminals, and many of the thrill-seeking younger racers from the swoop circuit. The latter stood out for the sheer volume of their good-natured insults and raucous laughter, and they earned dark looks from customers that came to The Depths for serious drinking.

Deveny watched them now as she waited for her contact to show. One among the brash crowd drew her attention. He was a human male with dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin that was likely due as much to his heritage as to racing under many suns. Of average height and build, he was clean-shaven, almost ridiculously handsome, and had dark eyes of a color that Deveny thought might be brown, but she couldn’t be sure at a distance.

He stood out for more than his looks, because though he sat among the swoop racers, he didn’t seem to necessarily belong with them. While they shouted back and forth and downed cheap drinks at a rate they were bound to regret later, he was quiet. If Deveny wasn’t mistaken (and she rarely was about alcohol), he was drinking a fine-looking red Corellian whiskey straight up. It was a sophisticated drink. She was drinking the same; but then, she was Corellian.

In one thing at least he was like his friends; he couldn’t seem to keep still. While he didn’t dance in place by the tables or talk animatedly and with exaggerated gestures, the fingers of one hand tapped almost incessantly on the table. His sharp eyes continuously scanned the room, touching here and there, never lingering long, and probably seeing far more than most of the patrons would have found comfortable if they’d known he was watching. Deveny wondered if the word “relax” was even in the guy’s vocabulary.

At just that moment, his eyes came to rest on hers. It was like a punch to the gut, taking her breath and leaving her, for an instant, unable to move. Later, she would remember it as an embarrassing cliché, but just then the room did seem to fade away like in the holovids until it was only the dark-eyed human and herself.

One of his brows went up and he lifted his whiskey in a silent salute. Deveny felt herself actually blushing and cursed her fair complexion, especially when she saw a smile quirk his mouth at one corner. She saw him tense, knew that he was about to get up and approach her, and felt an unfamiliar fluttering of nerves in her belly. Then the moment ended abruptly as her contact slipped into the chair across from her.

Irritated at having been caught completely off guard, Deveny felt like scowling at her new companion and telling her to beat it. But since the contact was one of Vin's better customers, she summoned a welcoming smile instead. She was aware of the swoop racer subsiding back into his chair but paid him no more mind. It was time to get down to business.

Her contact was a Selkath female that called herself by the Basic name of Angel. That was probably for the best, because Deveny was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been able to pronounce whatever the real name was. The female had pale silver-blue skin with pure silver stripes that matched the tendrils sprouting from the back of her head.

She was clad in one of the traditional Manaan skinsuits that served as an all-purpose wet/dry garment. Hers was the color of ripe peaches and went rather well with her complexion. Deveny didn’t know what the standard of beauty was on Manaan, but she assumed Angel passed the mark if the looks she was getting from the Selkath males was any indication. To her credit, Angel didn’t pay any attention, preferring to focus on business.

Angel’s no-nonsense approach was one of the reasons that Vin had trusted Deveny to handle this deal herself. While it was true that he had begun giving her more responsibility in general, up until now he had always preferred to personally handle any cargo as hot as kolto. But over the years, he had built a solid relationship with Angel, a surprisingly scrupulous black market dealer. By now, Vin trusted her as much he trusted anyone not on his crew, and he had said he wanted to see what Deveny could do on her own. Considering the death grip Manaan kept on the kolto trade and the steep punishments for anyone caught smuggling it, Deveny had to admit at least to herself that she was nervous.

Letting none of these thoughts show, she flagged down a waiter and ordered a drink called a Night Sky for Angel. Made with a strong, pale blue liquor distilled on Manaan, it was mixed with jogan juice and slices of the fruit dropped in, lending the drink sweetness and the dark purplish color that inspired the name. Angel nodded her approval.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” Deveny said with a quick grin. There was no need to admit that she’d ordered the first Selkath drink she could think of. She made it a point never to snub Luck when he came to visit. “They’re supposed to be good here, too.”

“Graral knows how I like them,” Angel replied. Her words were a soft, somehow feminine-sounding gargle that was incomprehensible to the untrained ear, making Deveny grateful for the universal translator curved around hers.

When the drink arrived, Angel took a sip and nodded approvingly at Graral. The red beam of his cybernetic eye flashed briefly over their table as he nodded back once.

“I’m surprised Vin did not come himself. He must be very busy indeed to hand off a negotiation of such… delicacy.”

“He sends his regrets, Angel. Fact is, it’s his anniversary.” She shook her head ruefully. “Teela’s been nagging Vin to take her to the resorts on Makeb for years. Their plans kind of came together last-minute, or I know he would have explained to you in person.”

It wasn’t even a lie, though she wouldn’t have hesitated to lie if it paved the way to smooth negotiations, and if she could get away with it. Right now, Vin and Teela were probably lounging at one of the many expensive resorts on Makeb drinking Pica Thunderclouds or something else even more exotic and ridiculous. Or knowing Vin, the same thing she was drinking right now.

“It does complicate things, however,” Angel was saying mildly. “Vin is a known quantity. You may be a part of his crew, but you are not so well known.”

“But like you said, I am a part of his crew,” Deveny said quickly. “If you know Vin, then you know that any crewmate who tried to double-cross him would find herself spaced in less time than it takes one of those swoop racers to down a shot of cheap jet juice. Well, maybe not spaced,” she acknowledged. “She'd just wish she had been.”

She took a drink of her whiskey and spared a glance for the swoop racers. The one who had caught her eye was finally engaged with his friends, and she was surprised at a slight feeling of disappointment. She shook it off as her attention returned to Angel.

“Besides, Vin won’t be in the business forever. It wouldn’t hurt for you to start building a relationship with the one most likely to take the reins when he retires.” Her toothy smile was all charm.

Angel considered her for a moment. Deveny waited her out.

“There is much in what you say. Still, you are young and, I believe, untried. I have only your word that you are here on Vin’s behalf at all. I would be a fool to take things at face value. And I assure you, young human, I am no fool.”

“Never thought it for a second. It’s easy enough to verify my word, and I'd bet my blaster you already did when I notified you I'd docked. Vin has authorized me to give you the usual price plus a five percent gift for the inconvenience he’s caused.”

“And normally that would be more than sufficient,” Angel allowed, her tone amused. “However, I have a special request in lieu of payment for this shipment. Having you instead of Vin has put me in a difficult situation. You see, I know that Vin not only would agree to handle this matter for me but would also succeed. You might agree, but would you succeed? That is the question I am asking myself.”

“Vin trusted me to negotiate with you, Angel. He wouldn’t have sent me if he wasn’t confident that I could make the deal. Whatever the deal. Fact is, I always succeed.”

“A bold claim. Very well then. You will agree to fetch the item I require, and I will give you the usual amount of product.”

“Whoa, lady. I need to know what I'm getting into first, so how about you tell me exactly what it is you want, and I decide the price?”

Angel took a moment to sip her Night Sky, considering her opponent. She nodded once, the cephalic lobes to either side of her mouth swaying with the gesture.

“One of my rivals has acquired proof of activities I prefer to keep separate from my official dealings. You understand, the trade is highly regulated. He has not yet decided what to do with this proof, he says, and is in fact demanding a sixty percent share of my enterprise.”

Deveny’s brows shot up. “Sixty, huh? Greedy little bastard. Sure he isn't part Hutt?" Since Angel didn't seem to appreciate her little joke, Deveny forged ahead. "Right. So, I’m guessing either you agree or your government gets an anonymous tip. Or maybe not so anonymous. He’d look pretty good revealing an operation like yours to the authorities. Might even persuade ‘em to look away from whatever he’s up to.”

“You guess well. I want that proof.”

“What is it? And where is it?”

“A data disc. He keeps it on his person at all times, or so I am told.”

A beat of silence passed while Deveny just stared at Angel. Her blue eyes narrowed. Picking up her glass, she downed the rest of her whiskey and set the glass back down very deliberately.

“On his person. Right. And how do you know he hasn’t copied the thing? I’m not about to risk my neck to get a disc off of some guy’s person when there might be a dozen more floating around.”

“It is encrypted. I have informed him that if he tries to copy the disc, the code has a failsafe that will destroy the data. Emlar has no slicers on staff good enough to break the encryption by all reports. He is looking for one now.”

“Does it really have a failsafe?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re bluffing. If it did, why not let him copy it? Problem solved.”

Angel lifted one three-fingered hand palm upward, the Selkath equivalent of a shrug. She said, “The point is, he has not attempted to copy it. Not yet.”

“So time is of the essence and all that. Tell me something. How did he get his hands on a data disc that proves you’re… well, let’s just call it free-trading. I prefer the term myself.”

Could Selkath blush? Deveny was almost certain she saw a darker hue spread under the silver-blue of Angel’s skin.

“I…” For the first time, Angel was at a loss for words.

“Got a little too friendly with the competition, eh?” Deveny smirked. “Looks to me like you have two scores to settle.”

“Again, you guess well,” she said, discomfited. “It is one reason I will not send one of my own people. To reveal such a lapse in judgment would be unwise. Emlar might also know those I could send, but he does not know you.”

Deveny considered for a moment, turning her empty glass back and forth between her palms, eyes narrowed. Other than Angel, she had no contacts on Manaan without Vin and Teela and no way to know whether this guy Emlar would be on the station anytime soon. Getting to the surface herself was, to put it no stronger, problematic.

A frisson of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts, but she blithely chose to ignore it. As Angel had pointed out, Vin would have taken the job if he was here. She didn't want to disappoint him by doing any less. Besides, they needed the money from the kolto sale, and if the buyer didn't get it, Vin lost a lucrative stream of revenue. Make that more than one stream of revenue, because if she refused to help Angel, it was just as likely that the Selkath would find herself another free-trader to move her product from now on. But most important, Deveny wasn't about to admit that there was any job she couldn't pull off.

“Alright, I’m in. As far as payment goes, I’m thinking an additional 15% would be very generous on your part. You know, to show your appreciation for the tactful, quiet resolution of this very delicate matter.”

Angel looked as though she would protest, but finally nodded.

“If you can bring me the disc – and believe me when I say that I have my doubts about that – we have a deal. And if you fail, you may tell Vin Tralus that our association is at an end.”

“Why bother playing if the stakes aren’t high?” Deveny asked rhetorically. “Give me the details.”

*

Across the room, Theron Shan wasn’t as oblivious to her presence as Deveny might have supposed. In fact, he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze from straying back to her, and even when he wasn’t watching, he was aware.

He had noticed her the moment she walked into The Depths like she owned it, confidence in every step of the feminine swagger that took her to an empty table. He wondered what she’d done to earn that level of confidence considering she couldn’t be any more than nineteen or twenty – his own age. She carried a single blaster with, he noted in surprise, a quick-draw cheat that made the blaster appear snapped in when it was anything but. Her coppery red hair spilled in choppy waves over her shoulders and down to mid-back. She wore typical spacer attire in fitted leggings (over long, shapely legs), calf-hugging boots, and a short synth-leather jacket that was cut to allow freedom of motion. If he wasn’t mistaken (and he rarely was about tech), she had a pretty sophisticated UT at her right ear and a personal field generator on her belt along with a couple of what he bet were kolto injectors.

Her face was a pale oval with defined cheekbones, slanting brows, full lips, and a stubborn set to a delicate jaw. The sharp, limpid blue of her wide eyes was easily seen even at a distance, and he appreciated the way she cast a short but thoroughly assessing study over the room before ordering her drink. He knew it would be a Corellian whiskey even before the serving droid delivered it, because if she wasn’t a Corellian, he had never seen one.

Once served, she assumed a deceptively indolent pose, slouching back in her chair and making steady inroads on her whiskey. She had a second one delivered before she began to pay more than cursory attention to her fellow patrons. He noticed that her eyes strayed to the door often enough that he assumed she was waiting for someone. Probably a guy, he thought.

He heard his name and looked toward one of the other swoop racers, a Devaronian named Marcel, called Zip on the circuit. Naturally, they all joked that it was for how many races he’d won.

“I have no idea what you just said," Theron admitted.

Zip laughed. “I said stop ogling the pretty ladies and have a drink with us.”

He smiled slightly and lifted his whiskey in demonstration. “I am having a drink.”

“Give it up, Zip,” a spritely looking, brown-and-white-striped Cathar named Verra chided. She patted the Devaronian’s shoulder. “You know better than to distract Gale from his brooding.”

They laughed while Theron went back to watching the room. They called him Gale because it was how he raced, like a wind that prefaced the coming of a storm. He was fast, strong, steady, and more than a little reckless on the swoop tracks. That style had served him well, earning him one of the top spots in the minor league rankings over the past year. He’d racked up enough wins lately that he’d begun toying with the idea of trying his skills at the next level. Of course, there was also a completely different kind of opportunity waiting for him that had just arrived via holo-message from Coruscant. But since he wasn’t sure how much he was cut out for that kind of work, he was keeping his options open.

His fingers tapped absently against the table as he studied faces, deciphered deals going down, puzzled out intrigues. He couldn’t help himself. The only thing more fascinating than tech was people. Take Red, for instance. His gaze went back to her, only to find hers locked on him with laser-like focus.

He watched with interest the stunned widening of her eyes that pretty much expressed how he felt in that moment. Trying for cool, he lifted his drink in a silent toast. Was Red blushing? He wouldn’t have pegged her for a blusher even with that pale skin. Smiling slightly, he decided what the hell. She might be waiting for someone, but he wasn’t here yet. Theron started to get up, only to see a Selkath female join Red at the table.

Interesting. He relaxed back again into his chair. With Red’s attention off of him, he turned his own finally to his friends. But even as he joined in the ribbing and drinking, he kept an eye on her. He was fascinated by how much she said without saying anything at all. He bet no one had ever told her that body language often revealed what a placid face might hide. His old master would have had him meditating for hours if he had ever betrayed half as much emotion. He hoped the Selkath at Red’s table wasn’t adept at reading humans, or Red was going to get taken.

By the end of what had obviously, to him at least, been a business meeting with the Selkath, he knew that Red was trying to prove herself, had been given what she seemed to consider a foolhardy and dangerous task, had bargained a satisfactory deal (apparently the Selkath doesn't know humans that well, or the job's more dangerous than she's letting on), and was going to hold up her end of it or die trying.

Not my business.

So why was he getting up and heading toward her table?

“There he goes,” Zip said behind him, laughing. “Pay up.”

Verra’s grumbling was the last thing he heard before he tuned them both out, stopping beside Red’s table and looking down at her. He knew she was aware of his approach, but she continued to stare fixedly into her empty glass, a furrow between her brows, until he cleared his throat. She did look up at him then, and her sardonically lifted brow almost had him turning on his heel and heading back to his own table.

“So…” he said and realized this was why he never did this. He was just bad at it.

“So… what?” she asked blandly. “So do I come here often? So is this seat taken? So what’s a gal like me doing in a place like this?”

Yeah, this was maybe a bad idea. But he could already hear what his friends were going to say when he came right back, shot down from word one. Might as well go all in, he decided.

“So you’re in neck-deep with that Selkath and have no idea how to get yourself out again.”

*

Deveny stared up into eyes that were not brown, but in fact an olive green with only a slight shading of brown. They were also very keen eyes, matching the obvious shrewdness of his mind. Maybe a little too shrewd. His voice was a deep baritone, just a little rough, and dangerously appealing.

“Sit,” she invited, her sarcasm replaced by curiosity. Of course, curiosity and suspicion were pretty close friends.

“Hard to refuse an invitation like that,” he muttered, but complied.

“You want another Corellian whiskey?” Deveny offered, mainly to prove that he wasn’t the only one who could play the observant game. His half-smile made her think he knew exactly what she was up to.

"I wouldn’t say no. Are you sure you should have a third though, Red?”

“Hah, outplayed!” she said with a sudden, bright laugh. Blue eyes flashed appreciatively. “But don't worry, it doesn't go to my head any more than a strong caf would. I’m Corellian myself.”

“Thought you were.” He flagged down a serving droid and ordered two.

“Red?” she asked him, though of course she knew what he meant. Her hair was like a blasted beacon.

“It seemed to fit.”

“It’ll do. And what should I call you?”

“I’m Gale,” he said easily after a nearly imperceptible hesitation.

“Nice to meet you, Gale.” Waiting until the droid had delivered the drinks and moved off again, she asked without further preamble, “What makes you think I’m neck-deep in anything?”

He took a contemplative sip of his whiskey, eyes narrowed at her over the rim of the glass. “You might have puzzled this out for yourself, but considering that I’ve counted how many drinks you’ve had, you might realize I’ve been watching you.”

“Well counting to two isn’t that hard.”

“I counted to three.”

“I stand corrected.” A smile tugged at her lips, but she suppressed it. “Ok, you’ve been watching me. Why? And also, at the risk of repeating myself, what makes you think I’m neck-deep in anything?”

“Same reason you were watching me, I guess. I’m interested. And I don’t think you’re neck-deep; I know you are. You and that Selkath made some kind of deal, but you aren’t sure you can pull it off. Possibly dangerous. Probably illegal. Not my business.”

“No?” Deveny did smile now. “Well Gale, you could have fooled me.

"Fact is, it’s not your business. But you’re not wrong.” It galled her to admit it, and she wondered why she even had. Eyeing him with open calculation in her clear blue eyes, she tipped back her whiskey.

“Hypothetical question: what would you do if you had to locate a single Selkath among the millions on Manaan, find a way to either cozy up to him or take him out – figuratively speaking of course – and liberate an item from his unlawful possession?”

“Unlawful possession?” He widened his eyes. “I would go to the Manaan security forces and report the theft immediate- ow!”

She drew back her foot from where she had lightly kicked his shin under the table. “Come on, Gale. Really.”

“Fine. You’re violent. I don’t think I would have come over here if I’d known.” He sat a moment in thought, those restless fingers tap-tap-tapping on the scuffed tabletop.

“Okay, two ways I can see it to find the guy. You can ask around, but that’s dangerous if you don’t have any contacts you can trust. Word might get back. It’s also time consuming. You could slice the planetary network, assuming you have the skill and can get access to an unguarded terminal. That way though, you’re more likely to land yourself in a cell for processing. Then you’re on a one-way, all-expenses-paid trip to Coruscant. Unless you have a lot of skill, enough to hide your tracks.”

Deveny nodded, having been thinking along the same lines. “There’s another problem. Since he’s Selkath, hypothetically speaking the only way someone like me could get to him would be if he’s on the station. Since someone like me wouldn’t have access to the surface.”

“Patience, Red. I’m getting there.”

She gave him a flat stare that he returned with a genuine grin. He was apparently getting into the spirit of it all now.

“Once you get to him, liberating an item should be pretty straightforward.”

“He carries it with him.”

“Don’t even try to tell me you can’t lift something off of some unsuspecting citizen. Hypothetically. So getting to him is the problem. You’ll either have to get to him there or bring him to you here.”

“Wow, you’re really smart. I wonder why I hadn’t gotten this far on my own.”

“You would have, given time. Of course,” he continued, “you could also find someone who does have surface access to bring you down as a guest."

“I don’t know anyone with…” she trailed off, catching up with him. “You have surface access.”

He toasted her with the rest of his whiskey before finishing it off. “Swoop circuit. The Selkath might not let anyone else down there, but they’re less choosy when it comes to the races.”

She sat back now, undisguised suspicion coloring her expression.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Are we still talking hypothetically?”

“We’re not talking literally.”

“Red, you wound me,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “But seriously, I don’t guess anything’s in it for me other than a good time. It sounds like fun. You know us crazy swoop racers – always looking for the next thrill.”

Contemplating him, she drained the last of her own drink. He wasn’t being completely honest; whether or not he was admitting it, he had a motive for helping her. Maybe he was just interested, like he said. Maybe it was a reason she couldn’t even guess at. Still, she didn’t think he was lying overall. She would be a fool to pass up a genuine offer of help from someone who not only had his own surface pass, but permission to invite a guest. Hoping she wouldn't regret it, she made her decision.

“I’ll try my best not to bore you,” she said, extending a hand. “When can you take me planetside?”

He rose before taking her hand and using it to pull her to her feet.

“No time like the present.”