'About our attackers, no doubt.'
'No doubt,' Karrde agreed. 'Perhaps focusing on how we managed to fight them off with so little damage.'
Shada lifted her eyebrows. ' 'So little damage' being a relative term, of course.' Karrde grimaced. 'I'm sorry about what happened, Shada—'
'Forget it,' Shada cut him off. Apologies always made her uncomfortable, even when they were sincere. Especially when they were sincere. 'It was my idea, remember. So what's the plan?'
'I'm supposed to meet with a General Jutka at a tapcafe just outside the spaceport,' Karrde told her. 'They mostly speak Basic here, but there's a fair-sized contingent of Ithorian colonists, too, so I thought we'd take Threepio along in case we run into translation problems.'
'Odd place for an official meeting,' Shada commented. 'Sounds like they don't know whether they want to be associated with us or not.'
'I would say that reading is dead on target,' Karrde agreed, eyeing her thoughtfully. 'Your grasp of politics is quite good, especially for a simple bodyguard.'
'I've never claimed to be simple,' Shada countered, swinging her legs over the side of the medic bed. 'Give me five minutes to get changed and we'll go see this general.'
* * *
Ten minutes later the three of them were walking down the bustling street that bordered the spaceport, Karrde and Shada walking side by side with the gold-colored protocol droid shuffling along nervously behind them. 'The natives seem curious,' Shada commented in a quiet voice. Karrde nodded. He'd already noticed the surreptitious glances of the Ithorian passersby and the out-and-out stares of some of the human ones. 'Mara reported they were a wary but not particularly unfriendly people.'
'Nice to know,' Shada said. 'Of course, that report is six years old now. Interesting outfits they're wearing—those shimmery coats with all the random tufts of fur still on them?'
'It's crosh-hide,' Karrde identified it. 'Native animal to one of the worlds in the Kathol Republic. Comfortable and durable, and those bits of fur can be left on either randomly or in any of a variety of patterns. Mara told me crosh- hide coats were just coming into style when she and Calrissian were here; I see it's bloomed into a full-blown fashion since then.'
'Probably because it makes for instant identification of strangers,' Shada said, catching hold of a pinch of her shipboard jumpsuit material. 'Not much chance of us blending into any crowd with these on.'
'Definitely a grain of truth in that,' Karrde agreed. 'This part of the galaxy has been largely left alone by outsiders, but they had some clashes with the Empire and there have been a few attempts by the New Republic to bring it into line with current political thought.'
'A goal the natives aren't interested in?'
'Not really,' Karrde said, looking around at the faded commercial signs flapping restlessly in the breeze. A few of them were in Basic, but most were laid out with Ithorian glyptographs or a flow-and-dot script he didn't recognize at all. 'Threepio, we're looking for a place called the Ithor Loman,' he said, motioning the droid to his side. 'Do you see it anywhere?'
'Yes, Captain Karrde, it's right over there,' Threepio said, lifting an arm to point at a blue sign labeled in Ithorian.
'Reminds me of Bombaasa's place on Pembric,' Shada growled. 'You know, Karrde, you might want to consider occasionally adding a few more people to these probe parties of yours.'
'You wouldn't consider that a slight on your combat skills?'
'I think I've adequately proved my combat skills,' Shada countered. 'The point is that if you field enough people you can sometimes keep a fight from starting in the first place.' Karrde nodded, suppressing a smile. 'I'll remember that. After you.' Considering the early morning hour, the tapcafe seemed unusually well populated, with both Ithorian and human locals in their crosh-hide jackets plus one or two obvious offworlders like themselves. 'Any idea which one General Jutka is?' Shada murmured.
'I presume he'll be watching for us,' Karrde said. 'If not—' He broke off as a short, slender man with short hair and a dapper crosh-hide jacket rose from a nearby table and stepped up to them. 'Ah—visitors,' he said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with interest or bubbling good humor as he looked each of them up and down. 'You must be the parties here to see General Jutka.'
'Yes, we are,' Karrde said. 'And you?'
'Entoo Needaan E-elz, at your service,' he said, giving a short bow. 'Call me Entoo Nee.'
