Mystery of Ogana Major II

Dawn cleft the horizon as the shuttle Alert passed through the orange clouds over The Procession Street Market. Jasteen had never been to Kessel previously and had no desire to be there now. She glanced in disgust at the ruds, tektites, fols and other assorted vermin, some of it sentient, skirting the dusty avenue below the landing platform. KD-497 let out a poorly suppressed snicker before turning her attention back to her E-11. She’d cleared the weapon twice this jump and Jasteen had quickly lost count of the number of times the trooper had reviewed her power cell strength and cartridge pressure.

As the shuttle touched down, KD-497 replaced her helmet and snapped the gas cartridge back into her rifle. Jasteen gathered her datasheets and placed them neatly in the case at her side. As she stood, she caught sight of her rank plate and tried to level it once more. Something about the forus gas on board had reacted with the polymers of her uniform and she found the need to constantly readjust the fit. Belatedly, she sensed KD-497 watching her. Normally the woman’s cool umber face was easy to read, but behind the polished white plastoid composite of her helmet, Jasteen was left to guess. In this instance, she assumed the perennial frown of the Empire’s face masked a mocking smirk.

Jasteen’s own scowl deepened. The fact that she was handed this assignment in the wake of the catastrophe at Yavin bespoke of just how far out of favor she’d fallen in the eyes of management within the ISB. Jasteen straightened and clasped her hands in front of her chrome belt buckle. “Get the droid, please”, she said in a cool tone. KD-497’s helmet twisted negligibly for a moment and Jasteen raised an eyebrow immediately. The trooper withdrew.

The moment the storage room door began to contract behind the trooper, Jasteen hastened back to calibrating her uniform. Sixteen hours ago she’d lost sight of Coruscant. She resolved to adjourn this investigation with dispatch and return to her subblock GS-17 apartment. When I get back this can line Kuda’s kennel, she thought of her ruined uniform. She was mentally calculating the number of credits she could set aside for the three sets she figured would go to waste if the facilities on Kessel were as bad as the shuttle’s when KD-497 returned with the droid. More proof of her loss of status in Jasteen’s mind. 2D8 was a rusted out RA-type droid with a Cybot Galactica replacement chest and had to have been constructed well in advance of the Clone Wars. It had been assigned with feminine programming, unlike most other RAs. The ludicrously oversized photo-receptors gave droids of this cast a supposedly menacing insectoid countenance, but with 2D8’s ferric oxide “freckles” the effect was less than intimidating.

I’ve been given one trooper, a useless translator and a shuttle, she thought, and one of the three is about to return to a better world unless I can reach a conclusion in the next few hours. KD-497 took the lead exiting via the ISP-8B’s boarding ramp and the sullen agent stepped in smartly behind her. After a few moments, they had descended one and half flights of stairs along the side of the platform. For a moment, Jasteen could hear the low droning of 2D8 before it was cut off by a loud gas topping hiss. Without a word, both women widened their gait crossing the grated walk on the way to the next descent. The usually circumspect agent had let her lassitude and frustration overcome her earlier in the jump and she’d made no secret of her disfavor towards “Toodee”. No doubt KD-497 had registered this and was therefore surprised when Jasteen made her request for the mechanical being. Now she hoped that the two of them might lose the thing among the bustle on the way to the Fellian Arms Hotel where they were to be received by the Kesselian magistrate.

Stepping off the platform and seeing the market from ground level adjusted Jasteen’s assessment ever so slightly. Not as clean as upper Corusacnt to be sure, nor as crowded with eclectic shops, eateries and playhouses as the mid levels, but much more modish than she’d first thought. The wealth of Kessel was well known, of course, but Jasteen had to admit her view of the Kesselians as backcountry rubes might need reassessment. She could smell the morning’s last butte-rounds being set out to cool in a steephouse just across the avenue. She imagined that the Kesselian version, while inferior to those found in the Core, would surely be available with exotic local flavorings. As Jasteen watched a sign unfurl indicating the start of business, she pictured an extravagant nectarous glaze falling in great drops over a pan of rounds.

Jasteen turned to look at KD-497 and gestured. “Greyan Courseway is there”, she spoke mostly to cover the grumbling coming from behind her belt. She could hear a metallic stilted click away to here right rear and stepped quickly. The trooper overtook her almost at once with her long, easy stride and shot quick looks into doors and down alleys as she passed by them. As they approached a broad street at a three-path juncture, Jasteel allowed a fleeting look back at the steephouse and envied finely attired child who held two-thirds of a mangled sweet butte-round in one triumphant fist, squeezing some of the light yellow glaze so that it fell uselessly from in between plump fingers like tears on Kesselian stone.

Lurching into sight before Jasteen could refocus her attention was the stiff figure of Toodee. The freckled bug raised one hand to flash amid the intense beams of the mounting sun. Jasteen shot her face forward and felt a tendon release in an anomalous fashion which preceded a keen ache in her neck. “Agent Aneddu?” KD-497’s sonorous words came too late as Jasteen’s knee struck a low fruit cart pulled by a noknik. An awkward retreat placed her boot down on something that squished audibly and her sense of balance was thoroughly foiled. She landed with her left hip flush upon the street, her datacase behind her and boxing a kidney, and her gloved right hand beside her and sticking to something that she had evidently obliterated by way of her posterior.

KD-497’s left arm pulled her roughly to her feet and Jasteen appreciated the trooper’s alacrity. Unfortunately the lower end of her trapezius began to spasm unrelentingly in response. She bent to retrieve her case and found herself staring into the four nostrils of a meter tall rodentoid which was squeaking in an alarmed tone while it’s ears flattened menacingly. The cart owner evidently. Toodee began translating behind her in Bocce, which the buffoonish robot would consistently do by default until corrected. Having learned of Jasteen’s limitation with regard to this particular dialect a few hours before, KD-497 said helpfully “You crushed some melons. Want to pay for them or should I flash the iron?”

Jasteen remained angled uncomfortably for a moment, unsure of what move to make so as to avoid further injury. She hung her head and exhaled slowly, closed her eyes and placed her right hand on her knee. She opened her eyes as she recalled the crushed fruit. Slowly, and with some effort, she pulled her hand from her knee and saw the orange, sticky, seeded residue. She looked back up and the rodentoid was now growling and gesturing wildly at the cart as two more melons had fallen to the street and rolled about. Tooddee’s slow buzzing intonations switched to basic “I’m zorry miztress. mmI’d forgot-ten yyyour requez-ss-t to translate’t tto bazz-sic”.

“Pay.”, Jasteen choose to remain in place as she found her neck felt significantly improved when she let her head hang forward. Speaking to the ground she continued, “Offer double for recommending a techie with a vocabulator and who knows how to install it.” She considered her resources and wondered if management would reimburse the vocabulator. It had been made quite clear last time that additional uniforms were out of the question for the rest of the fiscal year. “Triple to get us in contact with someone in the market for a vintage droid”.