The sound of the sea and oxygen. Another attempt to deceive the body, which needs something else entirely...
"She's doing what she can... How would she know?.."
Tardis had managed to rest; he didn't need sleep. Unlike the doctor. The pilot didn't miss the moment when the breathing of the person sitting calmly turned into the breathing of someone asleep.
"Let her rest..."
The doctor's sleep was calm and deep. She didn't wake up when the comlink beeped quietly, then the intercom that had received the redirection. And the quiet voices of men didn't wake her either – the ex-ISB agent knew how to talk without causing alarm...
The pilot managed to contact the owner of "The Last Haven" and convey Nemo's request to him, and then dozed off himself before the girl began to wake up.
She had no strength to move, and the metal grips held her tightly in the chair... A constant hum in her head was interrupted only by deafening voices, but the meaning of the conversation eluded her consciousness.
"You're stubbornly resisting in vain, Carrada," she couldn't open her eyes, but she recognized the interrogator's whisper without it. Almost paternal.
"He knew what would happen to you, he knew... With his abilities... He took advantage of your trust, Carrada. Well, go ahead! And Pola felt the cold needles of the torture droid touch her neck... She gritted her teeth with all her might and woke up from the pain... Her neck was stiff from the awkward position, her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat... "It's a dream... Where am I? Nar Shaddaa... Tardis! I fell asleep!"
The girl sprang up quickly, adjusting her disheveled hair.
"It's unforgivable. I fell asleep, Mr. Tardis."
In the dim light of the room, it was impossible to discern the expression in the patient's eyes, lost in deep shadow. But his voice sounded almost frighteningly soft.
"You look very... Defenseless when you sleep, miss..."
Ani shivered almost imperceptibly, whether from Tardis's words or his tone. Especially in this dream, she told herself, especially in this one.
"You just haven't seen yourself there, by the wall," she said quietly. "We are all sometimes defenseless and helpless against people, or against circumstances... Although, sometimes, the impression can be very deceptive," she concluded with a smirk, wanting to finally get rid of the unwanted memories.
"Did I sleep long? Did the oxygen run out, and did I miss something?" the girl asked in a completely different tone. "I'll have to learn not to sleep at all."
"So as not to have these dreams anymore."
"We are, yes," the patient seemed not to hear her questions. Tardis wasn't trying to reach for the Force, but he didn't need the abilities it gave him to feel what the girl was experiencing in her dream. Not the visions themselves. Only her emotions. Fear. Pain. Despair.
The Force...
"May I ask one favor, miss?" The request burst out faster than he could stop himself.
"Of course, Mr. Tardis," Ani came closer to the pilot and looked at him intently. "I'm listening."
"I'm embarrassed to present you with a fact..." His dry fingers twitched, as if inviting her to sit next to him. "The pilot you operated on will be here soon, and you'll have more work. I'd like to ask you... To rest where I can see you."
Few people managed to confuse Lieutenant Pola Carrada. Tardis succeeded. The girl fell silent, mechanically adjusting a strand already woven into her braid.
"That's a strange request, Mr. Tardis," she finally replied. "If it's caused by my apparent," she emphasized the word "apparent," "defenselessness, then it's in vain. I live here, so I know how to survive. But if you think it will make you feel calmer, then, of course, Mr. Tardis, I can do that."
No, of course, she sat with the sick day and night, caring for them, but to be asked to rest nearby… Mr. Tardis knew how to surprise.
"And it's good that the pilot will be here, otherwise I'd have to fly to him and leave you," she smiled, "and I think he'll recover quickly with such regeneration."
"Gifted? Or is the guy training on him?"
These were not questions a doctor could answer.
"I didn't mean anything offensive to you," the pilot replied softly. "It seemed to me you were sleeping restlessly. I'm not a wizard, but... Maybe I can make it so that bad dreams don't bother you."
The look she cast at Tardis was warm, grateful, and a little embarrassed. But the shadow falling on the girl's face hardly allowed it to be seen.
"Help... slept restlessly..." I'm being cared for... A patient. Here, on Nar Shaddaa... A very unusual patient...
"I am very grateful to you, Mr. Tardis, very," the words sounded warm and sincere, "but for now, you are still my patient, who cannot worry or overexert himself. Later, when everything is fine with you, I agree to try your practices on myself."
One can be freed from nightmares, but how can one be freed from the nightmares of the past that give birth to them?
"Did I scream in my sleep?"
"And I won't have to rest anyway, Mr. Tardis," Ani sat down slightly on the edge of the cot, "I don't see any particular success between us... I thought the recovery would go a little faster. I'll still drip you with solutions, but I wouldn't want to prolong this process... What happened to you, Mr. Tardis, what do you think? And how did you find out about the pilot?"
She looked around for the comlink and found it next to Tardis.
"You were talking..."
"I was talking," the pilot closed his eyes in agreement for a moment. "I have obligations that don't know the words 'I'm sick.' But I didn't get up and go anywhere. I was contacted and warned that you now have two patients... And I will have to recover for a long time. I... Let's just say, I allowed myself to spend more energy than is safe for myself. Something like nervous exhaustion - only applied to the whole organism."
"You have a very strong organism, Mr. Tardis, considering you're still alive," Ani said quietly, rising from the edge of his cot. "You probably had a reason to bring yourself to this state, I can allow that. But I'm against your intercom conversations right now. They can worsen your condition. And you have great obligations to yourself, Mr. Tardis," she added, opening her case. "And one more thing," she looked at the pilot and smiled. "Do me a favor too, Mr. Tardis. Call me..."
"Just Pola," it almost slipped from her lips.
"Call me Ani, without any 'miss,' since there's long treatment and further work ahead. And by the way," she took out an injector and a tiny ampoule, "turn onto your stomach."
"Then I can't talk to you either," the pilot said with a sigh, obediently turning over and allowing her to discover numerous scars on the patient's skin.
"Do my conversations worry you?" Ani asked, surprised, and cut herself off. "Mr. Tardis, where did you get that..." she asked after a prolonged silence. As a doctor, she shouldn't take others' pain and suffering so personally, but her heart ached painfully.
"Comlink conversations don't worry me," Tardis glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, this... You know, Kashyyyk trees have remarkably prickly needles..."
"Yes, Mr. Tardis, you're right," she nodded in agreement, "I'm not a field medic, how would I know the difference between wounds from Kashyyyk tree needles and other wounds..."
The antiseptic glided over the skin, beeping to signal the end of disinfection. Ani quickly injected the drug into the pilot's thigh.
"That's it, Mr. Tardis, rest," the ampoule clinked in the disposal unit. "That's all until morning."
There were only a couple of hours left until morning.
"Do you need anything?" Ani asked softly.
"The ocean, sand, and palm trees," the pilot mumbled, closing his eyes. "And frogs. Although they don't live in the ocean..."
"Excellent, Mr. Tardis," Ani smiled, "then I'll go to my room."
The door slid sideways twice. It opened and closed.
In the dim light of the room, Ani carefully slipped into the part of the room that was worst lit and perched on a low stool, next to a built-in shoe cabinet. From her improvised observation post, she could see the pilot and not be immediately noticed. His breathing was even. It seemed he was asleep. However, with Tardis, one couldn't be sure.
Whether the pilot heard the doctor's cautious steps, or had indeed fallen asleep, in any case, he showed no sign of noticing the girl's presence in his room.
Time passed, the patient's breathing remained barely audible and even.
"One way or another, I'm fulfilling your request, Mr. Tardis," Ani thought, trying to stretch her legs a little. "I'm resting in your room. Only I won't sleep..."
She couldn't see Tardis's face, only his gray head. But she could imagine it with perfect accuracy, down to the expression in his eyes. It was a pity it was dark here and there was no paper at hand, and the thought of a tablet seemed extremely unfortunate. But for an imaginary portrait, nothing but imagination was needed. Ani closed her eyes, imagining a pencil in her hands. It glided somewhere in space, leaving behind countless lines, in which the image of the gray-haired pilot began to emerge. "And the eyes... Let them not be as icy as always... They will be green, like... frogs," her consciousness sleepily suggested. Ani suppressed a chuckle that was ready to escape. Oh no. It will be a green mist of only the leaves of spring just beginning to unfurl. It was a pity that this drawing could only be kept in memory. And time would surely add some tones and shades to it.
"Yes," she remembered. "I still haven't come up with a costume for Tardis."
She often did this with people, even as a child. You look at some official, and he looks so good in a shopkeeper's clothes, which she mentally tried on him, and everything becomes clear. What should she try on him? Well, the pilot's jacket is out immediately. It's already obvious. But there's something else... An Imperial uniform? Oh yes... It suits his cold eyes so well. Although Imperial uniform suits almost everyone fit and strong-willed. And many images suited him, but there had to be something that revealed his essence? A uniform. Yes. Cold, prickly eyes... An interrogator? An Inquisitor? No. It doesn't look like it. Or does it? Something close. Something elusive...
She listened. Tardis was breathing evenly, so everything was fine.
There was still time before morning to think.
After stopping by the shop on the way and quickly buying a ready-to-heat dinner, the counter was in his room. The first thing Nemo did was take a shower. But he didn't want to just stand under streams of cold water - and other water wouldn't invigorate him, so he took Jethro's deck to the bathroom. The voice was vaguely familiar. Which meant he had crossed paths with the person.
Nar Shaddaa? Possibly, but no associations came to mind.
From the voice, one can determine the approximate build and age of a person. From their diction - their temperament, and from their pronunciation - their origin. When you travel a lot, you start to pay attention to this. So, at first, Nemo decided to create an approximate portrait from the voice, age, build, and, as one might guess - temperament.
The deck obligingly reproduced the recording. The voice left the same feeling of vague familiarity, but could equally belong to a young man or an older woman. A slight hoarseness could be caused by fatigue, could be a person's characteristic, or could be the result of great haste. Nothing specific could be extracted from the recording, except one thing.
The speaker was, without a doubt, human.
A familiar person, either very old acquaintance or someone met recently, was casually acquainted with Rimon. The mad Snake Eater came to mind for some reason. But that one was mad. And this one...
Starting to soap himself methodically, he replayed the voice in his head. Or perhaps he didn't recognize him because the person's voice had changed?
He began to revive the past, recalling the planets he had managed to visit. Who should be a person who can help Jethro sell his loot? First, connected to the world beyond the law, not necessarily part of it, but definitely connected.
But the phrase from the Duros, that they would come for him, didn't give him peace. Who could have calculated everything so precisely? Without the Force? Possibly. But unlikely, as it is extremely difficult to implement. But let's assume it's possible. To do this, you need to know that Jethro left the deck, you need to know that he will arrive before he is attacked, and on top of that, you need to know that Nemo will rush to his aid. Conclusion? Unlikely. Let's assume it's luck. A fluke.
If you consider those who could rise on this planet in a short time... He must have something going for him, you can't get anywhere without it. For example, good friends either in the Empire, or with the rebels, or with one of the corporations.
Who fits here? A lot of people.
Okay. If we proceed from the assumption that Jethro was misinformed automatically?
It turned out that the speaker could be a woman. Who had he been communicating with lately among women? No one, except Annette.
The crazy thought that a respectable official from KIK was having fun came to mind and immediately made a smile appear on his face.
Or maybe he didn't need to remember anyone? Those two would wake up in about six hours. And in that time, he could seriously shake up Mukh. So much so that he would not only reveal the employer, but also the code to the safe. Where the money is. And the raiders can be dealt with later.
Jethro wouldn't wake up for at least a couple of hours. Surgery, all that. You'd have to cut him out of the ship with an atomic cutter. And he could always contact him.
The next procedure was applying cream to his face and rubbing it into his hair. Then he took two pills and put the small package in one of his belt pockets. Another twelve pills every three hours, and his hair would be envied by any girl, and his beard could be shown off at any barbershop festival. Bioengineering in action.
But still, what if it's a stalker?
If you reason logically, it could very well be him. But what is he doing here?
Taking a towel, Nemo wiped himself thoroughly, then deleted the unknown message from his memory so that no specialist could ever retrieve it.
Taking the deck, he immediately entered a search query for Mukh into the search engine. First, he needed to find out what kind of creature it was. The belated thought came that he should have asked Willy or Fiji where to find him. Well, that's fine, he'll find him anyway. Probably.
Mukh knew a lot about the HoloNet. The malicious insect turned out to be extremely common, distinguished by its high adaptability, fertility, and omnivorousness. On Nar Shaddaa alone, there were dozens of species. The search engine offered a choice of house flies, meat flies, hoverflies, fruit flies, and about fifty other types - of all sizes and colors. The link to the pictures was full of images of insects. Some of them rubbed their paws with an expression of "I have a plan, and you're doomed" in their faceted eyes. Among them, an image of a Tydorian flashed.
Nemo smiled and clicked on the image of the alien.
This representative of the born-to-fly was called Semon. He bore the proud surname Karvo. Family legend had it that one of Semon's ancestors was an outstanding flyer, and Karvo - Fly - was actually his nickname. Now his descendant bore this nickname.
All this could be read on the alien's page - he ran a brokerage firm and took care of online advertising. There was also a number by which Karvo could be contacted, and the address of his office.
Nemo had expected much the same. Along with studying the page, he devoured the ready-made lunch, which was a godsend compared to shipboard rations. He decided to study the alien's page in more detail. Hobbies, if any, interests, photos with friends.
The page turned out to be dedicated exclusively to work. Fly tried very hard to present himself as a business-minded creature engaged in serious business. His holophoto against the backdrop of the sign above the office entrance was the only one. But the numbers were given: the number of successfully completed deals, the number of unsuccessful ones – there were only a few of them, and they were all recalled by the customer. The performers and the amounts of remuneration were modestly hidden from prying eyes, but the price list for services was publicly displayed.
It was interesting, had the mysterious acquaintance of Jethro reached this little prankster yet, or not? A thought flashed through his mind that this could all be part of a larger plan, and he was inadvertently contributing to it.
"We'll figure it out. Later."
Kontur checked his blaster, then looked at himself in the mirror. Was he going to visit Fly like this? Why not? Especially since he hadn't bothered to buy any other clothes. Besides, he wasn't planning to torture or kill him. Small talk. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile. It seemed he knew how he would proceed.
After recharging the "Kilana" battery, he set off for Karvo's apartment. To start with, just to survey the area.