Vision of the future

'Tell him we're the freighter Hab Camber,' Karrde said. 'We're here to buy some supplies and power.'

Threepio turned back to him, his posture indicating uncertainty. 'But, sir, this ship is named the Wild Karrde,' he objected. 'Its engine transponder code—'

'Has been carefully altered,' the pilot interrupted sharply. 'Come on, they're waiting.'

'Patience, Dankin,' Karrde said. 'We're in no particular hurry, and I doubt Erwithat Control has anything better to do right now. Just deliver the message as stated, Threepio. No, wait,' he interrupted himself, a sly smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. 'You said this was the dominant Jarellian dialect. Are there any others?'

'Several, sir,' Threepio said. 'Unfortunately, I am versed in only two.'

'Good enough,' Karrde said. 'Deliver our answer in one of them.' He settled himself back in his chair. 'Let's see how far they're prepared to go with this game.' Threepio delivered the message, and for a long moment the comm was silent. 'Attention, unidentified freighter,' a voice growled reluctantly in Basic. 'This is Erwithat Space Control. State your identity and cargo.'

Karrde smiled. 'Apparently, not very far,' he commented, keying his transmit key. 'Erwithat Control, this is the freighter Hab Camber,' he said. 'No cargo; we're just passing through and hoped we could buy some supplies and power.'

'Yeah?' the controller said. 'What sort of supplies?'

'Do you handle merchandising duties as well as space control?' Karrde countered.

'No, I just do the traffic,' the other growled, sounding more annoyed than ever. 'Let's hear your bid for landing rights.'

Shada blinked. 'Landing rights?' she muttered.

The controller had sharp ears. 'Yes, landing rights,' he snapped. 'And that little crack is going to cost you an extra three hundred.'

Shada felt her mouth drop open. Crack? What crack? She filled her lungs for a nasty retort of her own—

'We'll bid a thousand,' Karrde said, warning her with a glance. The controller snorted audibly. 'For a freighter that size? You're either joking or a fool.' H'sishi hissed something under her breath. 'Or perhaps merely a poor independent trader,' Karrde suggested. 'What if I make it eleven hundred?'

'What if you make it fifteen?' the controller countered. 'That's New Republic currency, too.'

'Of course,' Karrde said. 'Fifteen hundred; agreed.'

'Landing Pad 28,' the controller said, his grudging annoyance replaced now by open gloating. Briefly, Shada wondered how much of that fifteen hundred would be going directly into his pocket.

'Beacon'll guide you in. The money's due on arrival.'

'Thank you,' Karrde said. 'Hab Camber out.' He keyed off the comm. 'Chin?'

'Beacon come on, Cap't,' the older man at the comm station reported, squinting at his displays.

'They guiding us in.'

'Key the vector over to the helm,' Karrde instructed. 'Dankin, take us in. Watch out for fighters—Mara said they sometimes send escorts for unfamiliar ships.'

'Right,' the pilot acknowledged.

Karrde looked at Shada. 'You game for a little walk around once we're down?' Shada shrugged. 'We junior crew drones are only here to serve. Where are we going?'

'A tapcafe called the ThrusterBurn,' Karrde told her. 'Assuming my map is correct, it's only a couple of blocks from the landing pad we've been assigned. The man I'm hoping to meet should be there.'

'I didn't think we needed any supplies this soon,' Shada said. 'Who are we meeting, and why?'

'A vicious yet cultured Corellian crime lord named Crev Bombaasa,' Karrde said. 'He runs most of the illegal operations in this part of Kathol sector.'