Kailas's movement as he turned to the smuggler would have been more suited to a bird of prey. Or a reptile. It was so swift and elusive.
"What one person knows, everyone knows," he reminded Rimon of a simple truth. "Can you guarantee that you won't get caught again? That they won't start torturing you? Everyone's a hero in words, but I've seen... You owe me nothing," he repeated. "Just as I owe nothing to anyone. Except for the Galaxy I live in. You helped me bust this den – but you didn't do it for me. For those who just want to live peacefully. To love. To work. To have their glass of lum after work. Maybe for you, this isn't such a great merit... But as long as you don't endanger those I protect, you owe me nothing..." Varu's gaze burned.
"Hey," Rimon raised his open palm slightly, as if defending himself or trying to stop Varu's triad, "a simple 'no' would have been enough for me."
He really wanted to know the Imperial's name, just enough to ask about it. But what he received was stronger. Was Varu playing games? Rimon didn't know, but he could check. He was obliged to check. Because if everything he said was said out of emotion, then it was important information, and if not... Then Varu would remain a cold and calculating agent of the Empire.
What he could sense was not emotion—Kailas now resembled a baradium charge ready to detonate. There was no question of composure; Varu was seething, barely holding back from... Something that couldn't be identified. But one thing remained undeniable: this man was not lying.
"I owe you nothing – I understand," he said conciliatorily, looking into Varu's eyes. There was something in them... For some reason, two words "I've seen..." were imprinted in his mind. What was in his past? Did he trust someone and fail? Was he betrayed by someone close to him whom he trusted? Or was it not a betrayal, but they were weaker than necessary? One thing was clear: he wouldn't get anything from Kailas, and the situation was escalating, so the conversation needed to be steered away.
"They're waiting for you," the pilot reminded him, turning away and cooling down—the seething, near-explosion volcano was subsiding.
Rimon nodded, then looked at the machine that had stopped by the ramp.
"Have a good trip," he said, and added a little quieter, "If you need anything, just ask."
After all, despite Kailas's words, Rok owed him. He owed him a lot and wasn't going to remain in debt, no matter what the agent said. Descending the ramp, he headed for the car that had arrived for him.
A car with Pyver at the wheel was waiting by the ramp. Seeing the smuggler descending, he pressed a button on the panel, and the door opened.
"You weren't in a hurry," the customs officer grumbled. "Couldn't part with it, could you?"
"An interesting person," Rok said thoughtfully, getting into the car. "I like talking to interesting people. Straight to Maliha, or do we stop somewhere else?"
"My shift is over, so I'm not in a hurry," the car rose, gaining speed, and merged into the traffic flow around the spaceport. "So you know best. I'll give you a ride wherever you want."
"I have a sweet little deal brewing," Rimon smiled, overcoming his thoughtfulness—oh, how not simple Kailas Varu was, not simple at all—"so straight to Maliha."
Remembering that a customs officer was sitting next to him, he cautiously asked, "Tell me, have there been any cases of smugglers or pirates being apprehended in the last couple of years?"
"In the last couple of years – there definitely have been, and more than once," the customs officer chuckled, choosing a route to one of the hotels. He had sent a message to Maliha a little earlier while waiting for Rok. "Both here and throughout the Empire. What specifically are you interested in?"
"Attempts to sell paintings, old blasters, antiques, precious stones," Rok listed.
Clam was silent for a moment, remembering.
"There was something, I think," he said finally. "They wanted to smuggle something like that, offered a share. It was without me, I just heard about it on the grapevine."
"Can you get me information?" Rimon asked immediately, "I'll pay."
"I'll try," the customs officer drove calmly and confidently, with only a slight curiosity in his voice. "Was your cargo intercepted?"
"No," the counter sighed, "I don't have any cargo yet, just general sketches of the work. Tell me, are you familiar with the work of Tamir Mathieu?"
Rok suddenly realized that the customs officer might be the one who hid the cache of intercepted cargo for better times, which he had gotten his hands on. Delving into the Force, he immediately reached out to Pyver: to find out what emotions he was experiencing. Just because he knew Gar didn't mean he could be trusted one hundred percent.
"Who?" the customs officer asked. The surprise he felt was completely genuine. "Who is that, anyway?"
Rimon felt a weight lift from his soul: he didn't want to be disappointed in a person who was Gar's friend. Relaxing, he explained in the voice of a kind lecturer: "Mathieu is an artist who disappeared some time ago, he is wanted, and there is a reward for information about him." After a pause, he added, "Interestingly, he disappeared along with some of his paintings, which were highly valued, and there is also a reward for information about them. It so happened that I came across some threads, and by pulling them, I might be able to find something."
"Mathieu..." the customs officer repeated, puzzled. "There was something like that, but I can't remember it offhand. I'll look through the dispatches later, and if I find anything, I'll let you know."
The car slowed down at the hotel.
"We're here. You remember the drill, right? Your room is booked, rest, wait for guests."
"Yeah, I remember, been there, done that," Rok said, closing the door. "Have a good rest."
The car shot off, immediately disappearing into the dense stream of traffic.
A terrible thought struck his mind as he inserted the key into the lock. He had calmed down too early. The customs officer was surprised. But why? Perhaps because Rimon was asking such questions? He didn't feel fear, only surprise, which relaxed him. One must always remember that in the world he lived in, there was no room for kindness and friendliness. For that, there was Corellia, Lov's workshop, and the girl who lived next door, who had the same life, only with a different outcome.
Fortunately, he was traveling light. Turning around, Rimon ran downstairs, down the stairs to the porter. He urgently needed a car with a spacious trunk, as well as a flashlight, and preferably some optics. If they didn't give him a car, he would steal one; it was a small problem.
And yet! How easily he had been tricked... He immediately dismissed the thought that he had imagined it. What would Pyver decide? That Rimon had figured him out and would be waiting, or that he hadn't understood anything? And then he would simply move the cache? And was anyone else involved in this? A difficult question, but most likely yes. Going downstairs, Rok addressed the porter in a calm, even voice, using a little Force for confidence.
"I need a car with a large trunk, urgently," he said, in a tone of someone who had the right to it here and now.
"You are expected shortly," the porter reminded him. "Would you like to pass anything on?"
"Tell them I've stepped out temporarily," Rok replied emotionlessly, preparing to write a few lines from his ring on the way.
The porter shrugged and ordered a rental car. A few minutes later, the car landed in the parking lot near the hotel.
"One more thing. Do you happen to have a flashlight?" Rok asked.
"There's a shop with household items nearby," the porter informed him. "I don't carry a flashlight to work, sorry."
"Thank you," Rok said, taking the car keys and heading towards the shop. He had no money, but he didn't need it. He'd just borrow a flashlight, no big deal. Entering the shop, he sized up the merchant, looked at the sales system, how the fire alarm systems were equipped, and how many customers were in the store.
The shop was quiet and empty, only a lanky mosquito buzzed, hitting its head against the glass. The seller was dozing, risking hitting his head against the display case. However, he was rounder than the mosquito.
The assortment was not varied. It had the most necessary items for minor repairs and household trifles. The fire alarm blinked its sensor somewhere in the back of the store.
Approaching the counter with the items of interest, Rimon began to examine one of the small flashlights, checking if there were any stickers on it that would prevent him from quietly taking it. Then he began to examine the cameras, their movements, looking for blind spots behind advertising stands, new racks: there had to be at least one, he wouldn't miss it.
There were only two cameras. One recorded what was happening from the door, the second was above the seller's head.
Carefully tucking one flashlight into a hidden pocket of his jacket, and taking the other in his hands, he went to the checkout. Placing his purchase on the counter, he calmly put down the deck, intending to pay with it.
"I see your business isn't booming," Rok said in a calm, confident, and most importantly, authoritative voice.
The awakened seller shrugged slightly, took the deck, and linked it to the cash register. The machine protested.
"There's something wrong with your account, mister," the seller grumbled in a hoarse voice, an elderly man. "Check it, the payment isn't going through."
"What?!" Rok asked in surprise, in a soft yet confident voice, "Sir, please check again, perhaps there's some mistake?"
Rimon looked surprised and stunned, but his gaze at the seller seemed full of respect. Delving into the Force, Rok listened to the emotions he was experiencing, whether he was inclined to anything. It was important to dull his attention.
"What's there to check," the cashier looked at the smuggler with some strange regret. "If the machine is making noise, it means the account is zero."
He turned the deck in his hands, then pushed it back to Rok. Along with the flashlight.
"I don't see the point in fussing over a trifle. If you need to shine a light somewhere, take it, and bring it back later."
Now Rimon was truly stunned. He certainly didn't expect this.
"Thank you," he said, taking the deck and placing the flashlight on the table.
Then he quickly headed for the exit. Looking back where the camera couldn't see him, he looked at the merchant and, smiling apologetically, took out the stolen flashlight:
"I'll definitely return it."
Leaving the shop, he jumped into the car and sped towards the lake. Taking out the deck, he typed another message to Maliha into it. Asking him to postpone the meeting a little, and to pay the seller for the unfortunate flashlight. The merchant's behavior made Rok look at the world differently again.
Don't judge everyone by the same standard...
Stopping the car by the waterfall, so that it wouldn't be visible from the entrance, Rimon got out of the car, immersing himself in the Force. Was it dangerous here? Along the way, he examined the grass and the bank near the cave entrance: had any new tracks appeared?
In the short time he had been away, nothing had changed. The same birds darted around the waterfall, the same little fish splashed near the shore, and no other signs of life around...
But his fears that there might be a trap did not diminish. He could be targeted by a droid, and it could aim only at the last moment, and he might not even feel the danger—he wouldn't have time. Although he didn't fully understand how it worked. Concentrating his attention on the cave, Rok asked the Force the same questions. Is there danger or living beings inside?
But the Force obligingly answered the same. Making his way inside, Rimon went to the boxes, and now, having a good flashlight, he could properly examine the cave.
A squeak of disturbed birds came from above—there was a whole colony of them here. No new tracks had appeared on the dusty boxes—everything was in the same state as when Rok had left the cave.
Looking around, the counter delved into the Force. He was curious if he could find the energy contours of surveillance devices, if there were any here. His thought was simple. Any device, whether a camera, microphone, or even a motion sensor—emits a weak electromagnetic field. Approximately the same, but of a different order, field emanates from a person. Thus, if he can detect living beings, he can also detect electronics. First, his deck, then, if successful—the space around him.
The smuggler found his deck. No other electronics were observed in the cave, or they were turned off and inactive. But in the box where he found the paintings, a faint trace was felt at the edge of perception... of something. It was neither electronics nor anything similar. One thing was certain: Rimon had never encountered such a trace before.
This finding interested Rok. Therefore, he focused on the container. He had no intention of touching or delving into the trace. He just wanted to look closely, to assess what he would feel when he looked at it closely.
Among the paintings was an object that emitted a strange trace in the Force. Stepping away from the box, Rimon checked the surroundings again—was everything quiet, and then he opened the box and carefully began to search for the small object.
The object in question turned out to be a small stone embedded in the landscape. A stream, dividing at a rapid over a scattering of stones, split into two streams, separated by a grayish-milky boulder the size of a thumbnail. It was this that emitted the strange radiation into the Force. As if it were... alive?
"Hmm..." Rok sighed almost inaudibly, examining the painting. Both the stone and the painting itself were interesting. The stream, divided in two. Nothing strange, if not for the stone, active in the Force, and the Force itself was also divided into two currents. Light and Darkness. Like the stream, an obvious allegory? But then the artist must have understood the Force. And if a famous person understands the Force, and is also gifted... Where could they end up in the Empire? Seran almost ended up in the Inquisition... And what does he know about the малиновых? Only that they should be feared.
"Hello, little stone," Rok touched the strange object.
The stone did not answer him. Perhaps it became clearer—these flashes of life were fading. Too dark. Too little food? The strange living stone was dying.
"What do you feed on? What energy do you get?" He didn't know. But what does the Force feed on? That was also unclear. Rok had a sudden guess when he looked at the drawing itself. What separates the dark side from the light? Emotions? He remembered his state when his ship was stolen, his despair, anger, hatred. He remembered, and the subsided emotions came out.
Not the slightest response—only the same steady background of fading alien life.
The mystery began to consume Rok; he was interested, curious to unravel what was killing... the stone? Remembering how he learned to use telekinesis, he concentrated on the stone and gently touched it through the Force.
Continuing to examine the stone with the flashlight, Rok thought about what the stone was lacking. It wasn't the Force. Because the stone didn't respond to it. Bringing the flashlight closer to the stone, he began to examine it in more detail.
The milky-gray depth responded to the light with a soft reflected glow—the stone was translucent, with a smooth surface, and no foreign inclusions were visible inside.
"What feeds you, little stone?" Rimon said thoughtfully, turning the painting in his hands, and attaching the flashlight to his forehead. After thinking for a while, he put the painting back in the box and carried it outside. Perhaps some ideas would come to him in the fresh air.
The water curtain thoroughly soaked the open container. Taking the paintings out to the car, Rimon looked around again and began to take out the paintings to dry, hoping they weren't too damaged. First, he took out the painting with the stream and the stone, placed it in the sun, and examined the stone in natural light.
Did it seem like the radiance of the reflected light had changed the depth and brightness? The stone responded more readily to natural light, if such a comparison could be made to this strange form of life. But the moisture that got on it dried, and with it, the deep shine began to fade.
Looking at the painting in surprise, Rimon thought, sat in the shade of the car, and began to type query after query into the deck. Then, for good measure, he even photographed the stone and began to search for matches.
The result was not long in coming—in the smuggler's hands was a Gallinorian gem.
It was very good that Rok was sitting. Of course, it would have been better if he were lying down, but at least he didn't fall. The stone was...
It's a... Hutt!
There were no words, only emotions, and they ran joyfully through his mind, preventing him from concentrating on anything. In confusion, he began to search for what these stones were used for and why they were so valued.
The stones were used as jewelry, as well as in some optical systems. Even despite their cost and biological nature. The silicon life form was different, with different laws and habits. For example, the stone needed to stay in the light. And it also needed a mineral solution. The mineral solution itself, according to what was written, could be collected from ingredients in the nearest flower and seedling shop.
Looking at the cave, Rimon wondered what else might be stored there. Then he spat. The rest might not be worth much. Therefore, it could wait. Hesitating, he carefully removed the stone from the painting, put the painting in the container, and the container in the trunk. Taking the stone in his hands, he looked at it again. The stone was mesmerizing... with its appearance, its life and aura, and its price... It could ensure a comfortable future for the counter. Or it could... What else it could do, one could only guess.
The main thing was that he had a fortune in his trunk, even in his hands, he had a fortune. Luck smiled on him, and he had to hold on to this capricious town-town. Rimon drove back to the hotel, jotting down an approximate meeting time for Maliha and informing him that he no longer planned to be away.