Chapter Text
En las paredes cuelgan las interrogaciones,
florece en las bigornias el alma de los bronces
y hay un temblor de pasos en los cuartos desiertos.
3 BBY
The stale tang of sweat and unwashed lower-level Imperial citizens filled the cantina, and the loud laugh of tradespeople was buoyed by the breeze of the recycled air. Allegiances aside, the scent of the place was so like Ferrix that Cassian could briefly entertain the thought that, perhaps, he was back there. Back home—or the closest thing he had ever had to it. If he shut his eyes, he could see Maarva’s face swimming in his field of vision, but it was ethereal and indistinct now, almost two years on from her death. His vision of her was nothing like the sharply defined maternal presence he remembered.
He drew in a breath, his gaze drifting along the cantina. A hoarse laugh from a bar patron here, a conversation in a language he didn’t speak there. Coruscant was not his home, but it was where Bix and he had landed for the time being. He still was uncomfortable, but at least he didn’t feel cast adrift anymore.
Cassian was supposed to meet the contact here, whoever the man was. And then he realized with a jolt of surprise that it was a woman instead, making her way towards him with purpose. Making him noticeable. That unearned confidence about her set his nerves on edge as she caught his eye and strolled towards him, and adrenaline urged him to flee, but he sat there, quiet and careful, moving for a sip of his drink to quell that nagging feeling at the back of his head.
“Mr. Pacon?” She was all smiles, blue eyes, red hair. He didn’t trust her.
“You have it?” His question was blunt, all business, setting the terms of their conversation.
She sat down, the fragrance of candlewick perfume drifting over them. The scent of an Alderaanian flower fueled a Republic fragrance, intended to prove her trustworthiness. But Cassian doubted her even more. Her face curved into a gentle smile, polished teeth flashing merrily at him. “You’re looking for the SRS-98-Comp forms that list the inventories of captured vessels.”
Cassian’s voice was a hiss. “And you’re wasting time.”
“Patience is a virtue, Mr. Pacon. I’m sure you’re quite virtuous.”
He let one hand drift towards the holdout blaster he’d tucked away, his palm resting on the Bryar’s reassuring grip, his index finger reaching towards the trigger. His gaze didn’t move from her.
The woman simply pulled out a datapad, her manicured fingers clicking over its screen, discordant and sharp. “My superiors don’t know I’m here. I don’t know what they’d do to me if they’d found me.”
Cassian could imagine exactly what they’d do to her, but he kept his mouth shut. She wanted to talk, and whether that was to ease her conscience or to try to pry information out of him, he couldn’t be quite sure. His attention still didn’t waver.
“… Tari Pacon. That’s not a Coruscanti name, is it?”
“It’s my name. Are we done?” Cassian nodded towards the datapad.
The woman’s face pulled a moue of regret. “You haven’t even asked me mine.”
I’m a spy, not a military interviewer, Cassian thought. But he shrugged and said nothing, accepting her offer of the datapad, pushing himself to stand, nodding thanks at the woman, and pulling his cloak over himself.
In another life, perhaps he would have stayed and talked to her. Perhaps he would have cared about her name. But he was careful, and part of being careful was knowing when not to offer the hand of association. The woman made him retract rather than extend himself, and he had only his instincts to rely on.
Once he was a good few blocks from the cantina, he pulled out his comm device from the folds of his cloak. “I have the inventories.”
Luthen’s voice came through, gruff and clipped. “Good. Meet soon. Were you followed?”
“No,” Cassian replied, knowing it was the truth. There were no shadows in front of him cast by the streetlights cut off behind him, no sound of footfalls either loud or compressed by stealth.
About twenty minutes later, Cassian was in the apartment he’d been sharing with Bix the last few months. “I should have been followed.”
“You should have been,” Luthen agreed. There was no compassion in his voice, no sympathy for what Cassian had had to watch for on his way to the surface level of the planet. “And she didn’t push back? She just offered you the inventories?” His gaze hadn’t left Cassian for even a second.
Cassian shrugged. “I didn’t think it was wise to pry, Luthen. That would have made her suspicious.” He thrust the datapad at the other man. “Take a look.”
Luthen grunted in assent, reaching to take the datapad. For the first time in the conversation, the blond’s eyes were on something other than Cassian as he studied the records.
The kitchen seemed small between the two of them. Cassian had learned to trust Luthen over the years, no longer wanting to stay on the run like he had been, but he had never been wholly comfortable with Luthen’s dictatorial presence in his life. The job called the shots, not Luthen personally, but part of Cassian still longed for a life with Bix, settled somewhere, on some remote planet where the war wouldn’t touch either of them—and that included Luthen Rael himself. He would have ditched a million Luthens for a night of complete safety with Bix, but the life of a spy was the one that had been chosen for both of them, and there was no way to wrest himself free of Luthen’s grasp now.
“There’s a hitch here,” Luthen said. “You know that. You looked through the records before I got here.”
Cassian nodded, leaning against the counter. There was really nowhere to hide. “It didn’t feel right at the pickup, either. She asked about my alias, and pointed out it wasn’t Coruscanti.”
“And she just left it at that? Just the observation.”
“Just the observation,” Cassian confirmed, drawing a breath. “I didn’t like it.”
Luthen nodded. “Neither do I. She was testing you, seeing if you’d take the bait. Zero-win—either you show your Sabacc hand or you confirm you’re playing the game.”
“So we’re not going after the inventories?”
Luthen stared again for a long, hard moment. When he started to speak, his voice sank to a low, dangerous level, gravel rather than grit in his words. Cassian knew the seriousness with which his handler spoke. He’d heard it several times before in the past few years, and had never liked it, each and every time. But, like always, he listened as Luthen said, “Oh no, we’re going after the inventories. And we’re going to make sure they know.”
Cassian took a moment to digest the older man’s words, shaking his head at the obvious implication. “You’re sending me into a trap.”
Luthen’s face curved up into a vague semblance of a smile at Cassian’s realization. “But not without a knife to cut yourself free.”
Cassian felt his stomach sink even as he forced a smile onto his face. “So what’s the plan?”