Drifter rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wipe away a shadow of lost sleep that haunted them. After that, he raised an eyebrow at Iwa before he cut a glance at Dizzy. Then, with a sigh, he tapped a com-channel switch inside his black, Street Judge helmet. A faint glow inside registered ‘on break’.
“I shouldn’t say anything,” Drifter replied while he nodded at Dizzy. “But she’s family, and that means ‘trust’. So if Dizzy trusts you, then you’ve got a lot of people that also trust you. Dizzy can explain just how many some other time.”
Drifter idly waved a hand. “I’m part of a task force sent by the Order of Solicitors. The organization I work for as a Street Judge. We’re tracking down a couple of big problems but trying to do it quietly.”
He smiled at Olee when she appeared with a dark drink with ice, a layer of white foam thick enough to take a nap on, dotted with what looked to be chocolate puff balls.
“Thanks, Olee.”
“No, thank you, Judge. Just holler if you need anything, suga’.”
He took a sip then picked up where he left off once the cantina owner hurried off to deal with another patron.
“Firefek, that’s good. Anyway, first there’s a faction war about to erupt. Three sides are about to go at it. Rogga and her people, the Pyke Sindicate, and a Moff Porth Cabale and his people. Rogga and the Pykes have been at it for some time but it’s getting real hot right now.”
“Believe it or not, it’s not spice or anything of the kind, but antiques. Art stolen during the Civil War. Statues, holopaintings, you name it. Cultural pieces. They are selling for stupid amounts of credits on the black market to high end buyers.” Drifter shrugged. “Rumors say Rogga plans to use the art market as a way to traffic illegal weapons. The Pykes? Spice of course. As for Moff Porth Cabale? That slimebag traffics in stolen art, but so far nothing comes close to sticking to put him away.”
Drifter pulls out a small datapad and turns it on. An image of Irrit Deeneru appears on the holoscreen.
“Enter Irrit Deeneru. High end thief with a record of theft longer than a Star Destroyer. It’d be nice to arrest her, but really she’s got an art piece that is real important. It belongs to the Cragmoloid people, which it needs to go back to. But, there’s something else about it that makes it even more important which gets into the second problem.”
Drifter took another sip from his drink then glanced at the ladies.
“There’s a data chip hidden on that relic with partial coordinates to a cache of stolen Street Judge weapons, armor, and other things that both Rogga and the Pykes want. Rumor has it that Porth Cabale arranged it. If Rogga or the Pykes get it, they could use it to impersonate Judges and make it stick long enough to cause some ugly problems. The other half the coordinates? Not sure. Rumor is that a deep dive miner stumbled over them, but no one can confirm it.”
Slowly he tapped the table lightly as if bleeding off honest stress that showed in his eyes.
“We tracked the stash of Street Judge gear this world. Specifically this city, either in or just outside it. Where? No idea.”
Worry mingled with stress in his expression.
“If that’s not bad enough, I’ve noticed some… discrepancies… in Judge activity. Rulings and such. Nothing big, but little things that don’t add up.” Drifter toyed with his cup then glanced first at Dizzy, then at Iwa.
“I’m convinced that either Rogga or the Pykes have someone on the inside of the Solicitor task force. Someone on staff altering records, a traitor Street Judge, or even a fake Street Judge.” He met Dizzy’s eyes. “I can’t tell any of our siblings, like Razak. Sure, he’s blood family, but if he got anyone involved, it’d fast-jump the blaster fire. Which means, slow burn, stealth runs at all this while keeping the blaster-play to a minimum.”
At that, Drifter took another drink to let that sink in.
“So, there you have it. That’s why I’m here, bustin’ my shebs to not let this turn gang war while rooting out the rot. The locals here in Nelden city don’t need to ever experience any sort of gang war.”
After another drink he squinted at Dizzy with obvious mock-scorn.
“Which, by the way, vod’ika, why didn't I get an invite to this party you’re setting up? I mean, c’mon! You know I’d be good for the party favors.”
