Not even the foul-smelling smoke and the dullness of the cantina can darken Tahren Yimh’s sanguine mood.
He watches the denizens of the seedy dive without the repugnance that is usually present when he visits a
place such as this.
A smile crosses Tahren’s face. Soon, a ‘representative’ will join him at the table and a business deal will be
made. A business deal that will be most beneficial for Tahren and one that will secure his safety. Once the
deal is made, Tahren will, in most respects, be above the law. But more importantly, he will be safe from Jabba the Hutt’s grimy hands.
He has been told that the ‘representative’ from Galihand & Co. is named Karas Ipuji and the person was
expected to make an entrance at 0730. It is now 0745, but that doesn’t worry Tahren. He is in too good a
mood to be pondering the tardiness of a ‘business’ partner.
A woman enters the cantina and quickly she catches the attention of Yimh. She is tall and slender, and
dressed in typical mercenary garb. A bounty hunter perhaps? Her hair hangs down the sides of her
shoulders, wild and loose. She is not beautiful, but her angular features make her strangely attractive, with an
almost exotic mysteriousness about her. Her presence instils a sense of foreboding in Tahren’s heart and he is
forced to look away in fear of angering the young mercenary woman. But curiosity draws Tahren’s regard
back to her.
Their eyes lock.
The power of her stare sends a shiver up Tahren’s back as he gazes into those steely grey eyes. Like a
mynock hunter, she weaves in and out of the tables, advancing toward Tahren, her apparent prey. She is
muscular, Tahren observes, yet graceful and elegant in her strides. Her gait is purposeful, there is a reason
why she approaches him.
Stopping in front of Tahren’s table, her eyes still locked with his, she speaks. Her voice is like the deepest of
Dagobah nights; hypnotic and rich, and masking a coldness that both frightens and intrigues the man. His ears drink in the thickness
of her tone. Her name . . .
Strange. Tahren thought Karas Ipuji was a man, but nonetheless here she is. The ‘representative’, Karas . . .
She sits, a catlike elegance apparent in her movement. She orders two drinks; one for herself, one for Tahren.
A moment later, a waiter droid marches over to the table, sets two steaming glasses in front of Karas. It starts
to speak, but Karas cuts it off. She has no need for small talk with droids, she states.
Eyes still locked.
A small cylinder appears in her hand. A flicker of a smile? Humour? Tahren doesn’t know.
The powder from the cylinder falls into one glass. Another vile appears; another powder waterfall, into the other
glass. The first glass is pushed to Tahren, who lifts it as if on command. Those eyes. Those cool grey
eyes . . .
Tahren smiles with greedy pleasure. Ground nic-i-tain is a powerful hallucinogen. Maybe she is offering him more than just a friendly business meeting. Maybe she is offering him a meeting of another kind later tonight . . . But then again, he doesn't even know if the powder is ground nic-i-tain.
His thoughts are interrupted as Karas lifts her glass to her lips. Her eyes seem to delve into the very core of Tahren's soul. Those eyes . . . so mesmerising. Tahren's hand appears to be under the control of Karas' enthralling stare as it moves the glass closer to his own lips. Closer, closer still . . .
Tahren drinks. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he didn’t even want a drink. But he drinks. The taste is
strange. Syrupy. From the powder?
Now a smile. Her full lips curl. A menacing smile? No, a confident smile. She has accomplished
something, but what? Tahren doesn’t know.
His stomach starts to turn. Queasiness builds and he can’t feel his legs. The powder. But what about her
powdered drink? The realisation is like a bolt of lightning. Two different viles can contain two different powders.
How could I have been so stupid!
His hands become foreign parts of his body. He feels the uneasiness in his head. A headache is
approaching. His mouth is dry, he needs a drink. But not the powdered one.
Words are spoken. She wants to know how he’s feeling. He can’t answer. He is beyond speech.
The cantina swirls. Suddenly it is too much for him, he feels as if he is going to be sick. The Devaronian bartender smiles at
a Togorian customer. The Togorian orders a drink. They don’t know how Tahren is feeling. No one does.
Except Karas.
No, she tells him. Her name is not Karas. It is . . . he cannot get his tongue around the letters. She laughs
cruelly, the mercenary apparent. A bounty hunter perhaps? A bounty being collected? Tahren is that
bounty?
The music fades into the background. The voices become one overpowering buzz. Tahren’s head throbs. Poison
makes its way through his body. The powder. That poisonous powder. Lust can be a dangerous thing.
The glass falls from his hand, spills in his lap. He does not care. Those cold grey eyes, still locked with his.
His eyes become wistful, thinking of his family, his accomplishments, but why does he think such thoughts?
He looks at the woman. Her hair, her smile, her athletic body. He drinks it all in. She is captivating,
intriguing . . . dangerous. She is watching him intently.
She is a bounty hunter, collecting a bounty, she states. Nothing personal, she says, just business . . .
His pulse quickens. As he stares into those hardened eyes of hers, his mind drifts from his physical being.
His soul has wandered away . . . further and further away it roves . . .
No! Don’t let it . . .
Tahren regains what is left of his composure. He pulls his shoulders back . . .
Be strong . . .
But the poison works its magic. Tahren’s mind is numb, lingering on the edge of consciousness . . .
He falls forward on the table, breaking that intense stare. He cannot feel the rest of his body. His head is
buzzing, and he wishes he could be anywhere but here. His head rises, looks up at the bounty hunter. Cold
eyes meet wistful ones. She is waiting for the powder to have its full affect. So patient. Her real name . . .
Tahren’s memory will not permit him to know. He struggles mentally. Her name . . . he knows it.
Zardra . . .
Eyes close to the woman, then open again. The corners of his vision darken. Her features blur. But those
eyes . . .
I should never have crossed a Hutt . . .
Eyes close then open again. Cold eyes meet wistful ones. Then darkness descends on Tahren Yimh’s
world . . .
An Offer You Can't Refuse . . .
by Zardra
