He was taking a risk... But only now, belatedly, did the realization come of just how much he was risking. The fingertips of his left hand trembled betrayingly. Hiding his hand behind the back of the chair, Rick pressed them against the upholstery.
"Whether he wanted it or not... his killer has been punished," the contrabandist summarized. "Jethro, as a pirate, can you answer a few questions for me? Regarding slavery."
"Are you planning to get into that business?" the duros asked, devouring his portion.
Veymi, who had snatched something from Rick's tray, stopped chewing and began to listen even more attentively.
"I'll decorate your other eye in a second," the contrabandist promised seriously. "I'm curious how many problems will arise if a slave is given a clean ID card. Will they be a free person, or will there be any restrictions left?"
"If the owner does it, and the slave has some proof that they've been freed, then there are no problems," the duros shrugged. "It's up to the owner what they do with their property. If they want to free them, they do; if they want to sell them for experiments, they do. But if you slip a card to someone else's slave... There will definitely be problems. For both of you."
"And if I make a neat hole in the slave's owner? Right between the eyes?" Rick smiled predatorily. "Does the institution of slavery itself regulate this in any way? Or is it all just about personal relationships?"
"Well, then his slave is your slave, and you do with them as you please," Jethro snorted and poured something cloudy and alcoholic into his glass.
"That's what I wanted to hear," Rick smiled, continuing to eat. "I have a bad habit of acting before I think. And then thinking about how to fix everything I've done."
"Let me guess..." the pilot drawled, looking through his glass at the girl. "You took down her owner?"
"Pfft. How crude of you..." Rick took a sip of the drink, which, to his great regret, was non-alcoholic, included with the meal. "My pockets are full of credits. And half a dozen corpses in a couple of days. That's a record for me. I paid honestly. We both know how fleeting life is. I want to make some preparations. For outcomes that are unpleasant for me."
"Oh, don't forget to mention me in your will," the duros reminded him and took a hearty swig from his glass.
"Absolutely," the contrabandist put a piece of bread in his mouth. "Someone has to pay off all my debts. If any are found."
"That's how it always is," the duros sighed. "Alright. What do you need from me? Just meet, leak information, set them on the gang, sell the trinkets – and that's it?"
"For a change, you can avoid getting into anything," the guy replied with a smile. "But generally, I could use the channels through which you get your provisions."
The pilot twitched his bald eyebrow.
"How much?" he clarified.
"How much what? The channels? One will be enough. I want to buy provisions for half a year. Or a year. I haven't decided yet," Rick shrugged. "And I don't want to be ripped off. And on this planet, or any other, that's how it will be."
"I was interested in the quantity," Jethro waved his hand. "Planning to lay low for a while?"
Rick nodded.
"I haven't seen any activity around the yacht, but that doesn't mean there isn't any. I'll go to the black archaeologists. If you don't strangle my informant."
"I'd need a reason to do that," the pirate chuckled. "Oh! Let me guess. The informant is that skinny snake. Right?"
"Right," another nod. "So be careful with him. I was hoping you'd become friends, after all. Especially since you have a common topic of conversation."
"And what do you think we were doing?" the pilot asked, surprised. "Looking for common ground."
"And we found it," the guy immediately agreed. "Well done, guys. Two experienced pilots had a fight in the corridor. A topic for a joke."
"If you're always serious, you can die of boredom," judging by the intensity of the bruise's color, such a death wasn't likely for the pirate in the coming years.
"Uh-huh, and this way from a broken neck," a smirk played on Rick's face. "I'll tell Doc to give you both an enema."
"I'll ask them to call you to hold the basin," the pirate retorted. "Does your little chick always eat so little?"
Drowsy from the warmth and hearty food, Veymi slept soundly, curled up in the armchair. The men's bickering didn't bother her at all.
"I don't know," Rick shrugged. "She's only been with me for a few hours."
"I'm starting to get jealous," the duros chuckled. "Alright. Keep in touch," he dictated a holomail address. "Say it's from me."
"Jealousy is a bad thing," the contrabandist said in passing. "I'll send you the Black Sun contact number when I get it."
After a short pause, he added, looking at the girl.
"I have no idea how a person can be afraid of weapons."
"If for her, touching a weapon her whole life was equivalent to death?" the duros shook his head. "I can't imagine what she could be more afraid of then. I've seen them. Captains never take former slaves into their crew. Why do you think?"
"Too much hassle," the contrabandist guessed randomly. "It's easier to take a free person who's used to defending their freedom with a blaster."
"No," the duros shook his head. "Because sooner or later, they lose their minds and start acting so savagely that even seasoned pirates turn pale. And such a celebration of life during a raid, as you can imagine, is not needed by anyone."
"I'll try to prevent that," Rick shook his head. "Besides, I don't need a pirate. I... I'll feel it in time if something breaks in her head. But I won't let it happen. I have the time, the desire, and the means... And the stubbornness."
"Pretty girl," the pirate agreed. "Worth the trouble. Well, to luck?"
He poured a small amount of drink into two glasses.
"To luck," Rick said, raising his glass and lightly clinking it against the other in the duros's hand. "It never hurts."
Before entering the second patient's room, Sher tied her unruly strands of hair into a knot, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold.
"Jethro, excuse me, I'm a little late..." She even thought that by slipping away from Nick, she had gone through the wrong door and ended up in the wrong room. But the duros was lying on the bed.
"Ah, Mr. Nemo," Sher smiled at her savior from yesterday, who was sitting in a chair. "Good afternoon... So it was your doing," she looked with surprise at the table, piled with food and drink. And to complete the picture, a very young Twi'lek was sleeping in the armchair. "Well, it seems Jethro won't be able to bandage himself now," she chuckled.
"And we were just talking about you, Eni," the guy said softly with a smile, saluted with his mug, and took a sip. "I think we need to get rid of the nastiness that has accumulated in both of your patients."
"I don't think either of them would be against it," Sher said ironically. "But Mr. Viylar is under an albumin drip. Although normal, appetizing food is what he needs. As for the alcohol, as a doctor, I'm against it, but I can't forbid anyone," she chuckled. "By the way, which of you two is my direct boss with Mr. Viylar?"
Jethro got up, making a slightly uncertain bow.
"He is," the duros pointed a finger at the contrabandist and shifted on the bed. "Ma'am, please sit down."
"Eni, for starters, I don't advise you to call me Nemo," Rick suppressed a chuckle. "Because there's some pyromaniac wandering around Nar Shaddaa, burning people alive. And his name is exactly the same, moreover, he's shaggy. And I'm one step away from being shaggy. As for your question... I'm the captain of the ship. But if you want, Viylar will be your direct superior."
"You suit me just fine, Captain," Sher replied hastily and nodded to Jethro. "Thank you, Jethro..."
"A shaggy pyromaniac with your name?" Sher continued, smiling. "I see you've changed your hairstyle, Captain... So what should I call you now?"
"I decided I like Ricard Monroe," the contrabandist declared, shaking his mug. "So – Ricard, or Rick for short."
"I feel perfectly fine!" the duros assured the doctor just in case. "Rick, Doc has golden hands."
"I'd say it's the resident of the next room who has golden hands," he grinned again. "And the result is evident. Yours. Eni, did you come for the procedures?"
"Yes, Captain, I need to bandage Jethro. And I need to deal with his bruise," the black eye was very picturesque, of beautiful green hues. "Well, gymnastics will clearly have to wait until tomorrow; I won't risk showing exercises today," she smiled. "And this little girl sleeping in the armchair, did she come with you, Captain?"
"Eni, I really ask you," the contrabandist continued to smile, but a hint of concern flickered in his eyes. "Don't speak about my assistant in a way that could be misinterpreted. She has been through too much and might react inadequately. I don't want to harm her psyche."
He paused for a moment, then added, "I'll explain everything a little later, Eni, but for now..." he paused briefly. "If Veymi wakes up when I'm not around, tell her I'm in the next room and ask her not to worry. Okay? And shall we switch to 'you'?"
"I'd do it right now on the top beam without a safety net!" the duros exclaimed, but he didn't hurry to prove his stability with action.
"Don't worry so much, Rick, do you really think I..." Sher was surprised. "Can I offend her, hurt her? I will be extremely careful," she assured Rick. "Don't worry, please, go calmly, otherwise Mr. Viylar will be bored alone," Sher smiled. "And okay, Rick, let's use 'you'. By the way, my name is Sher now. Or 'Doc'. Whatever you prefer," she said warmly and extended her hand to him. Like a friend.
"Alright, Sher," he carefully took the girl's hand and shook it lightly. "Then I'll go admire our comrade."
Rick left his suitcases in the room. They would be taken care of there anyway, especially since he had to feel if something happened in the neighboring room. Knocking, he entered the room and immediately settled into an old armchair.
"Well... Tell me," he went straight to the topic that interested him, without any greetings.
"I thought it was Doc," a slight disappointment was barely perceptible. "What exactly are you interested in?"
"Yes, I don't have Doc's pretty face," the contrabandist smiled, taking a sip from the mug he had brought. "What did you have against the duros? Or did you decide to practice on him?"
"Ah..." the pilot waved his hand. "We stretched a bit, everything's fine. And besides, he started it."
"Tell me," Rick took another sip. "Tell your tall tales to someone else. Jet never hit old men in his life. Especially not first. And anyway, I came to clarify the list of necessary items for the expedition. I've already ordered the ship. It should arrive soon. We need to arrange for its loading."
A deck lay on the table.
"Here's a list of what I was thinking of buying."
"Old men, you say..." with his free hand, the pilot made a characteristic gesture, the deck flew off the table and landed in his outstretched palm. For about a minute, Nick studied the list.
"A stationary base is missing, but I know where to get one. True, it won't be easy... And you forgot the simulator capsule with a set of programs. And a good holoprojector with a selection of films. Because after a couple of months of sitting in a confined space, the crew will go crazy if they don't have a way to distract themselves."
"Why not? We can punch each other's faces," Rick smiled, taking another sip, squinting slightly. He placed the glass on the armrest. "Do you know what recovery and remission are? Won't you break from this showboating?"
Although his voice held its usual mockery, his face showed concern about the situation.
"I've been there, I know," the pilot nodded. "But I can't stand up – I'm on an IV. And I'm almost fine. Are you suggesting we punch the girl in the face too?"
"We'll find her company," he smiled. "Or rather, we've already found it. I found two fighters, one of whom will be a scout. And I found myself... What's the right term for it... A referrer? Secretary? Assistant for small things. In short, we'll be outnumbered."
"Doc is a fugitive lieutenant of the medical service," the pilot said quietly, changing the subject. "She has nowhere to go but with us, and it seems no one else will help her. I warned her; it's up to you."
"He said a fugitive inquisitor's apprentice and an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau," Rick repeated, mimicking his interlocutor's intonation. "She... is a good person. I trust her. And if she doesn't live up to my trust... I'll leave her behind."
He threw the last part carelessly, as if it were obvious.
"Everyone else also has very interesting stories. I'll include entertainment on the list," he nodded and took the glass, draining it in one gulp. A wave of warmth spread through his body. "I don't think you'll be here for more than a week. As soon as I get and examine the ship, we'll all move onto it. It will take me about a week for a thorough examination. But checking the main systems is a matter of a few hours. Then we can move to another planet. With a more pleasant climate."
"There's one system," Nick wiggled his fingers vaguely. "There was a fairly promising development there. Wild jungles, predators... And pirates. In the end, the base had to be abandoned. The personnel were evacuated, but not the equipment. There were a few brand-new platforms left. It turned out to be more expensive to transport them than to just leave them."
"Yes, we'll have to wait for that too," the contrabandist said with a hint of sadness. "We'll deal with the pirates; getting an escort won't be difficult. The question remains: what to do during the hours we wait for the ship."
"Outer Rim," the ex-ISB officer dictated the coordinates.
"That's somewhere between Varonat and Riflor," he had to recall the map, the Corellian Trade Route, as well as the planets he had visited there. "An interesting place. Alright, I'll draw up a route," he didn't need an answer. "So as not to waste fuel. Gain strength."
He stood up, taking his deck, and paused for a moment, thinking about how strangely and unexpectedly everything that had happened in the last month had turned inside out.
"And you too," he heard as he left.
When the door closed behind the contrabandist, Nick lowered his eyelids.
"Old man..."
"Alright, Jethro," Sher hid a smile. "We'll continue tomorrow, okay? I'll drop by again in the evening. If anything, you know..."
A signal from the deck interrupted her mid-sentence and seemed to please her, judging by how her eyes flared blue. With one movement, Sher swept the medications and antiseptic off the table and snapped the case shut.
"Don't wake the girl," she whispered to Jethro. "Get well!" and rushed out of the room, almost bumping into Rick.
"Excuse me, Captain, it's time to remove the IV. Everything is fine. Jethro is recovering, the girl is sleeping," she rattled off all the information to the captain.
"Good," he nodded approvingly. And after a moment's pause, he ordered, "Sher, if these two fight again, give them enemas. Both of them. And make them big. Understood?"
"Captain..." the girl seemed to stumble over something. "Mr. Jethro and Mr. Viylar won't fight anymore, I guarantee you, but let's agree right away that the medical bay on the ship is a place where the crew is treated, not punished. And what, to whom, and when to do based on medical indications – I decide. With all due respect to you, Captain, I cannot follow such orders," Sher said firmly, looking Rick in the eye. "Excuse me, Captain, my time is up! The IV, you see," and Sher rushed into room 21.
Rick smiled after the doctor fleeing from him, there was no other way to put it. He definitely liked the girl. Both her behavior, her care for her people, and the resilience she showed in her work. Especially pleasing was that, still thin, thread of connection that had arisen between Nicholas and Sher... He felt it, could even probably touch it, but why touch someone else's happiness? Perhaps Kailas would truly find peace with her...
He smiled a little wider, before his face took on a thoughtful, detached expression, and returned to Jethro's room.
"Tell me, have you ever provided escort for freighters?" the question was asked casually, although he already anticipated the answer.
"It happens," the pirate nodded, thoughtfully studying his own leg. "Who better than a krait will protect a bantha from another krait?"
And, without changing his intonation, he added,
"Doc was interested in who else treated my wound."
"And what did you tell her?" he wouldn't be too upset by the truth, but he was very curious what the duros had told Sher.
"That you gave me first aid," the pilot shrugged. "And that I have no other doctors."
"Logical," he nodded with satisfaction. If Nick hadn't talked to Sher, they would have an interesting conversation about abilities beyond human. Although the doctor should have understood everything from her own head wound. "I may need an escort. But that's later."
Approaching Veymi, he lightly touched her shoulder, simultaneously gently touching her mind.
"Wake up."