After some time, Annet cited urgent matters and left Rimon alone with art and its connoisseurs. When all the paintings, as well as statues and other works of art, had been studied, along with the guards and fire evacuation plans, Rimon decided to act simply and effectively: to leave through the back door, but for this, he had to make sure that there were no locks on the entrance and that there were no surveillance cameras blinking like smoldering embers in the rooms. Because in one of the mirrors, when the smuggler's attention was drawn to the nerd, a familiar figure flashed for a moment.
Tall, dressed in black. With a dense black mask on his face.
A Miraluka.
A Stomper.
Rimon was unlucky on all fronts at once. Not only did the service door have a classic electronic lock, which was logical and expected, but there was also a direct corridor leading to it, perfectly visible from the camera fixed in the corner above the door.
The idea was dead before it could even begin to be implemented. Provided that he could end up in the brig if he failed during execution – not the worst option. Wandering around the hall a little longer, mainly to see if he was being followed, Rimon cheerfully headed towards the restrooms. He had never been a hero in an action or spy movie, of course, but why not climb out the window there, like every second super-detective or spy does?
There was no surveillance. The Stomper was also nowhere to be seen. And the plan to leave the exhibition center through the restroom window was somewhat hindered by a Quarren in traditional attire for their people, and with a very unhappy expression on his tentacles. However, he barely reacted to Rimon's appearance, raised his head, and continued to pace his allotted square meters, muttering something mournfully in his native language.
Rimon approached the sink and began to wash his hands slowly. When this activity was exhausted, he turned to the alien and asked peacefully.
"Any problems?"
Of course, he could have repeated the phrase in Huttese, but anyone on Corellia should have known at least the basics of Basic.
"Problems," the Quarren snorted and continued, not stopping and pathetically wringing his hands from time to time. "Problems! My... The creation of my entire life! They called it fish regurgitation! Uneducated, with no understanding of high art, they dared to speak so about my best work! No, these are not problems, young man, this is a catastrophe!"
Rimon smiled. Oh, these creators. The main drawback of art is that it has no standard measures. One could always twist any action inside out.
"To appreciate something high, one must belong to that high," Rimon put a little confidence into his voice and, immersing himself in the Force, tried to add more conviction to his words, "by being here, you only prove them right. Go and prove that it doesn't matter to you, that they understand art as much as a Hutt understands sports."
"You know, you're right!" the Quarren stopped and shook his fin characteristically in the air. "They don't understand a thing about art!"
The door would surely have slammed shut behind the underestimated genius of sculpture, had it not been automatic.
Rimon approached the window. Now that no one was bothering him, he could inspect the future exit. It was covered by a shield, which meant that energy had to be supplied to it. Which meant it could be de-energized. Temporarily or permanently. The first option was preferable, the second was acceptable. Immersing himself in the Force, the smuggler began to search for wiring nodes that could be disconnected.
A brief search yielded a sad result. To safely short-circuit the wiring, part of the paneling had to be removed.
Carefully manipulating the Force, Rimon decided to create a small short circuit by connecting what could not be kept together. All this time, he kept an eye on the door and prepared to crawl out the window, as he didn't think he would have much time.
Something crackled briefly under the panel and smelled burnt. The field flickered and disappeared.
Rimon immediately rushed to the window. Pulling himself up with his hands, he threw one leg over first, then hung on the other side and carefully jumped out the window. Now, only a small matter remained: to get to the park unnoticed, and from there to reach the nearby residential area of Coronet.
Rimon was ready to raze this whole place to the ground...
He didn't believe in coincidences, didn't believe in chance. Any chance is someone's regularity. And someone's regularity is always linked to someone's plans. And if it's not his plans...
There were too many players in the game, and he didn't want to be even a pawn, let alone any other piece. He wanted to be a player. But who would let him off the board? It's even harder than for a pawn to reach the coveted edge of the board. Because simple pieces couldn't go off the edge...
He hid in the nearest grove, hiding in the bushes. It was unlikely anyone was following him. But there were possibilities. For example, the Stomper. Annet recognized him, he felt it. This Miraluka had appeared in the most unexpected places more than once, ruining his deals, sometimes leaving him without important and necessary contacts. And now he was here, in Coronet. Immediately after Kailas used him and led him to the paintings of the missing artist. Coincidence? Hutt's two.
Which meant he should have been caught long ago. Why wasn't he caught? He was a tool. But the smuggler knew his intended role and decided to punish everyone at all costs. Kailas, those behind him. The Stomper. Even the Emperor himself! Money could be obtained. It remained to find the lines of contact. First, of course, to carefully shake Annet. Korbez Korbez, but she's still a girl. And therefore... It means nothing. Annet – aside. First, find out what the Stomper is doing here. Second, who is behind him. If he's a mercenary, then there's a client. If not a mercenary... Then there's definitely a client. And third... Cut off this tail. No matter who it's from. The main thing is to catch and not get caught yourself.
Hiding, he turned to listening, immersed himself in the Force, and began to probe the park around him for creatures. Droids, people – they all emitted energy, no matter what kind, there's no difference between mechanisms and people for the most part from this point of view. Energy dressed in different shells.
There were many living creatures around, and many inanimate ones emitting energy, it was quite a lively place after all. However, Rimon felt no alien attention directed specifically at him. Living beings were definitely not following him. Perhaps there was surveillance using droids, but the electronic mind had no will of its own, and their intentions, if any, were not reflected in the Force.
But overall, the Force was uneasy. Like the first gusts of wind before a storm, like ripples from a stone thrown into water. Something had already happened, or was about to happen.
The first stage was completed. Would he be able to survive the impending events, or would he lose his ship, freedom, life? He didn't know. He hoped he would have enough wit or luck to escape, but he wasn't going to give up. It wasn't about being offended by Kailas or anything else. No. Just... Rimon wasn't an altruist. He helped Varu, and if they met – he would help again. Whatever it was. At least until he considered his duty fulfilled. But to throw himself into the abyss – no thank you. He began to memorize every little detail in the pattern surrounding him. And after everything was done, he walked briskly to where he intended to go. To the residential area.
When he passed through the park, he turned into a quiet alley where there were no people, and standing in the shadows, he immersed himself in the Force again, comparing its pattern with what he had seen in the park.
The pattern was significantly different. Almost completely, if not for a similar imprint on the edge of perception. It was approaching, and after a couple of minutes, an elderly couple passed by the alley. Nothing else suspicious, no living creatures, no electronics.
So he wasn't being followed. That was pleasing. Probably. A positive result would have been a hundred percent. But the absence of a result was not a hundred percent guarantee of the absence of surveillance. Taking out his comlink, Rimon pressed the call button for Annet.
"Did I disturb you?" his voice was calm and slightly tired.
"Not at all," came the reply. "Are you free?"
"Yeah, you can pick me up..." Looking at the house number and street, he gave the address, "it got too noisy in the hall."
"Okay. I'll be there soon."
"Wait. Pick me up a block east," another thought came to mind, no less absurd, but in his situation, it was better to be paranoid. So he climbed onto the roof of the building, the ladder was there, after all. He needed to check if anyone was following Annet. Such a cute paranoid pun.
"Is everything alright with you?" the girl's voice clearly held anxiety.
"Yeah, better than anyone, you'll pick me up, I'll tell you everything," he replied with cheerful notes.
"You'll definitely tell me," Annet purred. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
The roof was clean and windy. The traffic here was not very active, so it would not be difficult to notice the approaching speeder. After letting a few cars pass, Rimon finally noticed the right one. The speeder glided down the empty street. However, if someone was following, Annet would have noticed it herself in such a situation.
Well, that's great, that's good, I need to buy some pills... Anti something there...
Descending the stairs, Rok walked quickly towards the car. He opened the door without ceremony and sat in the front passenger seat.
The speeder immediately moved off. Moreover, Annet was clearly going to take a different route.
"Now, explain," she said, not taking her eyes off the controls.
"Not here, you know, after visiting the local exhibition, I'm even afraid to go to the museum. To hell with it, let's go to my ship," he added after a short pause, "we'll talk there."
"You're not suited for cultural life," the girl chuckled, accelerating to the maximum permissible speed within the city limits.
Near the hangar, Annet carefully parked the speeder, slipped out without waiting for Rimon. She had indeed managed to change, but the clothes were clearly not suitable for going to the theater. Dark pants and a shirt a couple of shades lighter were more suitable for climbing into someone's window.
As soon as Rimon was on the ramp of his ship, he immediately went to the recessed distribution panel hidden from prying eyes. With a familiar movement, he opened it, without hesitation, stuck his hand into the wiring, and a moment later pulled out a wire ending in a standard connector. Connecting to the ship, he launched the protection protocol for testing.
How stupid... To have a ship whose access is so limited to an outsider, and to lose it because the protection was simply not turned on. He wouldn't make such a mistake again. He remembered a joke about impenetrable gates. Exactly... Hutt...
The internal protection protocol registered only one thing. Access to the ship. Any intrusion, whether through the cargo ramp or the main ramp of the ship, was registered through sensors installed inside the pneumatic mechanisms. And to find out if there were any unauthorized persons on the ship, it was only necessary to connect to this system. But only Rimon knew where this system was connected.
The second item was another connector, it served as a basic threshold for protecting the navicom and other important computing power from hacking. Basic level, checking the number of requests, tracking strange and dangerous ones, attempts to infect the main system, any connection. Everything needed to be checked, and after the ship was stolen, he wasn't going to spare time for this check.
"Better than anyone, you say?" Annet stood nearby, leaning against the bulkhead with an impassive look, and watched this bustling activity closely. "Has your paranoia developed and strengthened, or is there really a reason?"
"Are you aware of who I met in the exhibition hall?" he asked, disconnecting the deck, hiding the connectors back, and closing the panel, then looked questioningly at the girl.
"I am," she sighed. "But how you know, I'd like to know..."
"Let's sit down, there's no truth in standing," Rimon pointed to a table near one of the walls, next to which were pull-out benches. Sitting down, he thoughtfully glanced at the spot where a bottle was located under a thin layer of transplastic, but almost immediately dismissed the idea. He could get drunk another time. "You asked if everything was alright with me... Yes."
Of course, he was being disingenuous. His psyche left much to be desired, but he could get by on antidepressants.
"But it seems like all of you are not doing well... Tell me, who is Samir Mathieu? Something that I won't read in a HoloNet article?" he looked questioningly, almost point-blank, into the girl's eyes, awaiting her reaction.
"Tamir Martye," the girl corrected Rimon mechanically, settling opposite him. "He's an artist. I don't know what he did wrong, but he's being hunted. Judging by the fact that everyone, including the SIB and the Inquisition, has been put on alert, it's something very, very serious. An order came from above to monitor everyone who shows interest in him. Today, one of the Inquisitors was at the exhibition..."
Rimon grimaced, then looked away. Maybe he didn't understand something. Maybe he understood something incorrectly. Annet clearly didn't want to touch on this topic, it was obvious. But an Inquisitor? A Stomper – an Inquisitor?! He couldn't handle that. There was no point in getting into a fight where there was no chance of winning.
No chance at all...
But now at least it was becoming clear that this creature hadn't hunted Rimon personally yet. The hunt was for others, and he himself had attracted attention when he started digging deeper than he should have, about this Hutt artist. And how to get rid of his paintings now? Goodbye profit, which he had already almost considered in his pocket. Were these works not found in that cave for that reason? Too dangerous a treasure...
The loot would have to be held back. At least until everything calmed down.
"Annet, I'm being drawn into an adventure. And a rather dangerous and... global one. I know approximately who is doing it. But I don't know why or for what... I didn't want to involve anyone in this, and I flew here to really... Settle down. Not immediately, but at least to start a settled life. And you know what? During this time, I managed to escape pursuit, talk to one of the leaders on the bounty hunter lists, and hear this Martye's name several times. From very different people. I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask... But by doing so, I'll put you at risk..."
He looked away again, looked at the closed ramp, and added:
"All I can ask you is to keep an eye on Gar and Annis, and I'll probably stay for a day and then leave. It's dangerous to stay here..."
For a few long moments, Annette looked at Rimon with tired, longing eyes. Then her gaze drifted, and after a second, refocused on the counter, devoid of any previous emotion.
"Yes, that's probably for the best for everyone," the girl's voice remained even, but through the mask of calm, bitterness and regret seeped through in the Force. "Take care of yourself, Rimon Rok."
Smiling at him with the corners of her lips, Annette quickly stood up and walked towards the exit.
Rimon saw the girl off to the ramp. He wasn't going to stop her. He wasn't going to prove that there was nothing to regret. They had all chosen their own path in this life. And each had to walk it to the end.
And if Kailas thinks he can use him, he's mistaken.
When the ramp closed behind Annette... He wished he could say, or at least think, that his mind was clear and his goals and objectives were obvious. But that wasn't the case. There was nothing. No understanding of the situation, no peace.
The day hadn't gone as he'd planned. Not at all.
"Why did you think it would be quiet and peaceful here? That you would find peace and joy here? Foolish dolt!"
Climbing to the second deck, he fell into the pilot's chair. He needed to think about his next steps. He needed to distance himself from all this mess with the missing artist. He needed to...
"Actually... Why am I bothering? Someone owes me, so why not go hunting and collect the debt? And get a reward from the Imperials at the same time..."
When the goal is set, it's much easier to act. "We cannot be deterred, we..." - this saying wasn't about him. Counter preferred to see the target in front of him, to see it, to keep it in his sights, and to move towards it. Maybe not directly, maybe slowly, but to move.
Plan for tomorrow: check all ship systems - one. Stock up on necessary equipment - two. Contact the resellers - three. And then fly. For example, to Nar Shaddaa, why be original? But first - sleep!
Locking the ship, Rimon pressed a few buttons under the armrest, and the chair smoothly transformed into a bed.