Chapter Text
18 BBY – Nar Shaddaa – 'Lucky Starships' Store
She was gorgeous, sublime, splendid, sumptuous – whatever the language used, there were not enough words to describe such a marvel. Her curves were so beautiful – and on top of that, she was Latero, just like him. Greez sighed. That's it – he was in love.
The pilot emerged from the deep admiring reverie in which he had sunk as soon as his eyes had fallen on the splendid hull of this no less splendid technological marvel that had just won his heart.
She was a luxury yacht – a model S-161 'Stinger' XL, one of the jewels of the space industry straight out of the Latero Spaceworks' factories. The colorful neon lights of Nar Shaddaa reflected on the blue and white paint of the ship, which proudly pointed her wing to the sky, her ramp open as an invitation to come in.
"Are you sure you want to visit this wreck?" asked the salesman – a Devaronian with coral-colored skin whose numerous white teeth sparkled like diamonds in the sun. "It's a fast and elegant model, but it's out of fashion. Republican ships are no longer very popular these days. People prefer the more resistant and reliable Imperial models. I'm sure I can find you better – much better – than that."
"No thanks," Greez replied politely without taking his eyes off the ship. "That's the one I want to see."
"Then please come with me."
Greez followed the Devaronian into the ship. The inside was even better than Greez had expected. There was everything of which the pilot had always dreamed. The cockpit was spacious and bright – the floor was even partly built with glass, offering a large area of view. It provided comfortable seats for the pilot and co-pilot – although Greez preferred to work solo – and a comm station. The common room was rather vast, with a holotable, a potoli-weave sofa – what a luxury! – and a galley well enough equipped to allow Greez to give free rein to his culinary talent. There was even a terrarium – Greez had to admit that he had always dreamed of starting gardening, even though he had never dared to tell anyone. Finally, at the back of the ship was a corridor that ended in the engine room where there was a workbench and a bunk. Several doors led to a refresher and two cabins that were indisputably spacious compared to what he had experienced on other ships.
So, admittedly, she deserved a little rejuvenation – the paint was chipping in many places – and there were some repairs to be made. But this ship was truly a beautiful masterpiece of a machine.
It was decided: Greez wanted this beauty, no matter what the price.
"How much do you want?" Greez asked.
"Well, considering the original price – high given the quality and the model – and the state of wear, I'll give it to you for 60,000 credits," replied the Devaronian.
Greez felt all his hairs stand on end. It was a real scam! But Greez was the king of negotiation.
"I'm offering you 40,000 credits for it," Greez replied. "Repairs will cost at least 10,000 credits. And as you said earlier, this kind of ship is no longer popular. I'm doing you a favor by getting rid of it."
The Devaronian grumbled, visibly annoyed at being caught out at his own game.
"Okay, 50,000 credits and I'll finish all the repairs before delivery."
"You've got a deal!" Greez exclaimed as he reached out his hand to the salesman. "And you'll refuel before I leave, right?"
The Devaronian grouched again, but he nevertheless grabbed Greez's hand to seal the deal.
"I'll let you come with me to my office to arrange all the details," the salesman said, inviting Greez to follow him with a wave of his hand.
Greez turned around to take one last look at the ship – his new baby. Yes, he didn't regret his decision, even though it cost him more than he expected. Now all he had to do was think about one question: where was he going to get 50,000 Imperial credits?"
18 BBY – Ordo Eris – Sorc Tormo's Office
"Ah, Greezy, my friend! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" exclaimed Sorc Tormo, his arms opened as a sign of welcome, his buttocks sunk in a huge red velvet armchair in the middle of his office whose walls were entirely covered with bling-bling gilding and advertising posters for the fights he organized in his private arena on Ordo Eris. Greez didn't like the extravagant Umbaran, but he had no choice. Sorc Tormo was the only one who could provide Greez with the credits he needed.
Greez glanced mistrustfully at the two Trandoshan bodyguards standing right behind him. The two reptiles were looking at him with amused eyes and whistling, as if they were going to pounce on him at any moment, which made him shudder.
"Hey Sorc," replied Greez, trying to adopt a confident and cheerful tone. "How are you?"
"As usual, my dear friend, as usual," answered the Umbaran looking at the pilot with a big smile. "You came to watch a fight? Make some bets?"
"Not this time, Sorc," said Greez, shaking his head slightly. "I'd rather have a favor to ask of you."
"A favor? Tell me everything," answered Sorc Tormo, his smile still on his face.
"Well, let's say..." Greez began scratching the back of his head. He didn't know where to start. "I... I would need some money. 50,000 credits to be exact."
Sorc Tormo clicked his tongue and gave Greez a sorry look. The smile with which he had so far rewarded the Latero had completely vanished from his face.
"Greezy, my friend," Sorc Tormo answered, shaking his head. "You know you already owe me a bunch of credits – all those lost bets. And you're asking me for 50,000 more? If I give it to you, I know I'll never get my money back…"
"I'm onto something big, Sorc," said Greez. "I promise you. I... I'm starting a new business – private transportation. I'm sure in a few months I'll recover the outlay, and you'll have your money."
Sorc Tormo gave an expressionless glance at Greez, as if he was analyzing the gains and risks he was incurring in this business. Then finally, he opened his mouth.
"Okay Greez, you'll get your money. But you'd better pay me back, with interest of course," Sorc Tormo replied in a soft voice – too soft, almost threatening. "I know I don't need to remind you what happens to those who don't pay me back."
Greez swallowed hard as he heard the thinly veiled threat of the Umbaran. Yes, he knew that if he didn't pay him back, he would end up in the arena, thrown to Sorc Tormo's monsters – or worse. But the image of the Mantis – that was the name he had decided to give to his future ship – came to his mind. He couldn't give up his dream so close to the goal.
"Okay Sorc," replied Greez, praying hard that his business would work.
But deep down he knew he had just made a deal with the devil.
16 BBY – Takodana –Maz Kanata's Castle
Greez sipped his Bloody Rancor, watching the place with a curious look, admiring the waltz of the waiters among the tables and chairs. The cantina in which he was sitting was known to be the ideal place to do business without being burdened with all the cumbersome, tedious, and expensive protocolary constraints that usually prevailed elsewhere. Scoundrels – pirates, bounty hunters, mercenaries, smugglers and explorers – of every possible species gathered here to share a drink or a game, and maybe more. It was a cosmopolitan place, an explosive mix of colors, smells, languages and cultures from the four corners of the galaxy. Greez loved this kind of place, where you could meet new people – more or less friendly – discover new music bands or hear – in all discretion of course – rumors that could make you a lot of credit.
As for him, Greez was primarily looking for a potential contract. The last few months had been difficult – he had to admit that the competition was tough – and he hadn't had many clients into which to get his teeth. He was hoping to find here some bigwigs who were willing to pay a lot of money for quality private transportation. To be honest, Greez was more than willing to accept any client, even for a dubious or illegal business, as long as they paid in cash – his loan from Sorc Tormo was very far from being repaid.
Suddenly, a clear voice rose in the midst of the crowd.
"Greez, old rascal, I wondered to whom could belong the old Latero heap of junk parked in my hangar!"
"Maz, you old fool!" Greez exclaimed, turning to the little alien with orange skin and a round, wrinkled face who was coming towards him.
Maz Kanata didn't wait for Greez's invitation to sit at his table – she was home after all.
"What have you been up to?" Maz asked, waving to a Nautolan waitress to bring her a drink.
"Oh, ya know, nothing special," Greez replied, taking a sip from his Bloody Rancor. "I go here and there, as usual."
"Is that a new ship you've got there?" Maz asked, raising her eyebrows. "What happened to the old one?"
"I, um... I had a little trouble with some Weequays pirates," Greez replied evasively.
"Gambling problems again? I knew Hondo's new ship looked familiar!"
"Anyway, I moved on, and the Mantis—
"You called it the Mantis? Honestly Greez, you never had any taste when it comes to names!" exclaimed Maz, stifling a mocking laugh.
Greez refrained himself from making a scathing retort – after all, this castle belonged to Maz, and he didn't want to be escorted to the door with a kick in the ass.
The Nautolan waitress comes back at that moment with Maz's drink. The little alien thanked her and drank a sip of the purple liquid from her glass.
"It reminds me a little bit of that ship we used for that mission," she continued. "Remember... on Ord Mantell..."
"The time I almost lost two arms because of you and your supposedly 'reliable and competent' contact? Of course, I remember!" sneered Greez.
"I remind you that if you hadn't insulted his entire clan by holding out your right hand instead of your left, as I told you to do, we wouldn't have been in this situation!" replied Maz, shrugging her shoulders.
They both laughed heartily, before pausing for a few moments to enjoy their drinks. Then Maz resumed:
"Okay, so, spit it out now. What are you doin' here?"
"I... um... I was wondering if, by any chance, you might know someone looking for a ship and a pilot."
Maz looked at him with an extremely serious look through her thick magnifying glasses that gave her the strange appearance of a Convor.
"How much trouble are you in?" she asked him gravely.
"Up to my neck," Greez admitted as he lowered his eyes. "I owe a lot of money to Sorc Tormo."
"Ah yes, at that level, it's no longer trouble. You're totally in deep shit."
"You can't even imagine," replied Greez sheepishly.
"Listen, Greez. We've been friends for a long time, you and I," Maz said. "And I don't like to leave my friends in trouble – especially when I owe them one. I've got someone for you, but... she's looking for someone who's really very discreet."
"Maz, you know me," Greez replied, raising his four hands. "You know what my mantra is. The less I know, the better."
Maz looked at him again for a moment without saying anything, and then she turned around and nodded to someone. A person sitting at a secluded table in the shadow stood up and came to sit with them.
"Greez, allow me to present you a... 'friend'," Maz said as she made the introductions. "I'll leave you two to discuss your business in peace. I have to get back to my bar."
"Thank you Maz," Greez said as the little alien stood up to leave.
Once they were alone, Greez analyzed his client with his eyes. There wasn't much to say about her. She was a human dressed in a brown cloak with a hood that cast a shadow on her face, preventing Greez from seeing it well – it was as if she was doing everything she could to go unnoticed. Since she didn't say anything, Greez felt compelled to strike up the conversation.
"So, I hear you're looking for a pilot?" asked the Latero, somewhat uncomfortable. "You won't find a better one around here. One hundred percent discretion guaranteed! And for a highly-competitive price!"
"Indeed, I need a ship – and someone to fly it – to help me find something... something rare in this day and age," replied the woman, opening her mouth for the first time. "And money is not a problem."
"Nothing dangerous I hope..." said the pilot, laughing to mask his anxiety.
"It depends on what you mean by 'dangerous'," replied the human. "Let's say I'd rather the Empire not know about my activities."
An anti-Imperial mission? It was risky. Greez had a bad feeling about this. She was hiding something from him, and he didn't like that. But he needed that job – and those credits – too much.
"So, I'm your man!" exclaimed the pilot, reaching out a hand to the woman. "Greez Dritus, at your service! What exactly are you looking for?"
"Cere Junda," replied the human as she shook hands with Greez. "Have you ever heard of the Jedi? I need you to help me find one."
Yes, it was now perfectly clear: Greez had a really bad feeling about this.