The walk through the Brass Spanner is a stroll through a conflict of interest. On one side, there are shelves stacked with small items from the useful to the eclectic. Medical packs sit near general purpose power cells and replica Sullustan fluid lamps. Backpacks are lined up next to imitations of Pantoran thatch-cloth.
Kem Jelnu steps inside a small, spartan room that has a desk, four chairs made from starship seats, and a native potted Jidepa plant. A black metal rack holds a nest of data servers, complete with a holoscreen access.
Once behind the desk, Kem settles down into the padded durasteel chair. The aged metal creaks in protest. He indicates the chairs across from him.
“If you’re thirsty, I can get you some fermented cactus juice. Local grown.” Kem clears his throat, which sounds like a dull rumble. “I appreciate that you’re willing to hear me out. I’ll lay it out for you with a short story.”
“When the Galactic Empire rose to replace the Republic, my people didn’t pay it much mind. We Cragmoloids are a private people and keep much to ourselves. The Empire didn’t seem to care much for that. They arrived, made a lot of talk about ‘bettering our society’. We politely declined. But ‘no’ wasn’t an option. We just didn’t realize it.”
“Many of my people we abducted and placed in labor camps. Some working the Imperial mines to carve out ditherit ore for Imperial engines and reactors. Others were manual labor hauling materials over terrain Imperial war machines couldn’t move through. They worked most of us to death, then came back to abduct more.”
“The Imperial Moffs took a liking to our arts and crafts. Mostly the ancient relics my people cherished. Priceless items like scrolls, bowls, and statues like the one you brought with you. I’m one of my people’s relic hunters. We look for our own lost relics to try to restore our culture. Otherwise, it’ll be forgotten. Lost in a few generations.”
“Along the way, I come across relics from other cultures. I take great pains to find where their home is. History is written by the winner, but that doesn’t mean the truth is gone. Truth is what it is. You honor it, or you get poisoned by the lie.”
Kem shrugs.
“I wouldn’t ask this if I had made any headway myself. There is a set of five amulets called the Doors of Wisdom. Cragmoloid elders wore them when performing ceremonies like marriages and such. Imperial Moff Porth Cabale stole them from my people. While I was negotiating with the man to get them back, a thief stole the amulets from him. Her name’s Irrit Deeneru.”
“Cornering Irrit hasn’t been easy. She slipped past me more than once. Now, as I’m told, she’s got some deal with Rogga the Hutt with the Doors of Wisdom here in the marketplace. Irrit knows what I look like. Rogga knows I’m looking for the Doors of Wisdom. So, I can’t go myself. I’d be noticed too fast.”
Kem gestures to Dizzy and Iwa.
“That’s where you come in. I can provide a holo of Irrit Deeneru, but you’ll have to do some legwork in the Urmbrek Market outside to track her location down. Best chance of that is to ask Olee Pindol or a mechanic down by the spaceport named Gov Gnul. Olee hears a lot of the gossip. Gov has helped me out before. He’s often in the know as to who comes and goes from the Nelden spaceport.”
He shakes his head.
“Like I said before, you can have the link armor pieces, even if you don’t help. Those sections aren’t mine and the Jedi said they didn’t want them when I asked. Something about ‘the Force’ and it says I need them more than any Jedi would. I would appreciate your help, though. My culture is fading. Ever little piece I can return to my people gives them a little of their spirit back.”
