Coruscant Underworld

You had to love cantinas. It hadn’t taken long at all for them to make a comeback on Coruscant, though most merchants hesitated before opening up business on the lower levels of the planet. On the plus side, most police and politicians were concerned with surface matters—the underworld, however shallow it was at the moment, was free to do as it pleased. Kinsa could see dozens of illegal activities simply by turning her head: there were drug smugglers, slave consorts, a relatively dead-looking Rodian with a still smoking blaster spot on his chest, and of course, Kinsa’s own activity. As some singer droned on in the background, the Twi’lek was playing with her pocket secretary, glancing over the latest map data for the next scheduled race.

“Mn, these are a lot of tight turns. Gunner and Splat are so focused on speed they’ll definitely overlook these. There’s at least two contestants already out.” Kinsa leaned back, crossing one ankle over the other as she propped her feet up on the table between herself and her co-pilot.

“You’re so confident. Maybe there’s something you overlooked.” Bo, a Sullustan with a voice so raspy it sounded partly like static from a bad comlink channel, was staring back at Kinsa with his big, black eyes. He held out a thick hand for her fancy datapad, which she handed over with a grunt.

“Y’know, you worry too much for a Sullustan. What’s the worst that can happen?” Kinsa winked, casually folding her arms behind her head.

Bo didn’t even bother looking up from the “track” schematics. “We could die.”

“Eh, that’s not so bad. Faceplanting into an exploding turbojet is a pretty cool way to go. And the hot smudge will harass maintenance crews for generations to come.”

“Right.” Bo shook his head, floating a hand down to the table to pick up his drink.

Kinsa let the following silence between them stick, glancing over once again at the shady establishment. She was amused by how familiar the scene was—like the cantina had always been there and no war had ever happened. Everything was the same, after all: the air was so thick and full of warm alien musk it was like walking into an oil bath in aerosol form; the cheers and groans from Pazzak tables collided into bad singing whose only benefit was covering the quiet, secret conversations scattered throughout the crowded room; the food and drink was cheaper than dirt and tended to taste even worse, being the mix of eccentric bar tenders trying to get a kick out of their job or cheap droids that didn’t know the difference between beer and pure octane. It was home.

A buzz of chirping pulled Kinsa’s eyes away from the room and towards her coat. She reached into one of its inner pockets and sighed as she pulled out a simple comlink, quickly pressing the receiving button to answer the signal. Immediately, a familiar voice crackled through its tiny speaker.

“Kinsa, we need you at the clinic. There’s an emergency here.”

The Twi’lek rolled her eyes, thumbing another button on the comlink. “There go my plans for the evening. You really can’t—”

“Kinsa. Now. There are lives at stake, here.”

“Thank you, conscience. I’ll be there when I get there.” Kinsa huffed out a breath and stuffed the comlink back into her pocket, smirking at Bo when she caught him staring. “Stop looking so worried, Sweet Cheeks. This happens all the time—probably another maintenance crew taken out by lower level remnants. How about you come with me this time?”

Bo just stared, his face slowly tensing into one of those “are you stupid?” looks.

“No, seriously. Wait around for a bit while I work. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Really?”

“I already said as much like what, five times now?” Kinsa bonked the back of Bo’s flabby head with her open palm, just a little bit annoyed. “If you don’t want the job, just say so.”

“I just, well, wow. Just wow. You really—”

“Yes or no. Extremely simple, honey.” Kinsa tugged at Bo’s ear, suddenly lowering her hand to grasp at his arm as she pulled him onto a turbolift with her.

“I have to see it first, you know? It might not work out well.” Bo stared at his feet, toying with his fingers as his dark eyes contemplated his decision. It wasn’t easy for him, Kinsa knew—he’d had a number of different employers through the years and none of them had been particularly kind. Like any other sort of jerk with a seemingly low sense of reality, most undercity managers expected quality from untrained and underpaid staff. Their motivation for workers was simple: do a good job and you don’t get bothered, or you could fail and get punished with anything from salary deduction to straight-up death. As Kinsa’s co-pilot, she and Bo had been partners trying to survive in dangerous airspeeder races, but actually having him as her personal mechanic was something else.

Kinsa leaned casually against the rusty rail of the lift, seemingly nonplussed by the sheets of metal passing only inches away from her head tails as it sped upward. Without answering Bo, she decided she’d let him take his time. He could inspect her A-Wing while she handled whatever group of patients had rushed in, though it would take much, much longer than she’d like.

Thus, both aliens walked rather quietly down the dark corridors of questionable venues and discount shops. It was dark, just like it always was, with dim colors of blue, yellow, and purple forming odd shapes against walls so soiled it was impossible to tell what they’d been made of. There were various piles of trash—waste containers that couldn’t be bothered to be dragged to the incinerators along with machinery parts worn beyond repair—but most notable was the strange undergrowth that’d taken root and refused to leave. Giant vines and sweet smelling flora meshed with oil and rust, forming an often hot, musty greenhouse of black.



A few lifts and a shoddy transport ride later, Kinsa found herself shading her eyes against the sudden light of the upper city. Things were no less bustling, if not more so as personal airspeeders and commercial freighters zoomed through the haze of golden smog. Sighing, she buttoned her jacket back up—the breeze was flapping the leather around so hard it sounded like it might give someone whiplash. When she and Bo had safely landed again, she started to walk through one of the planet’s many bazaars. This particular one, like so many others, had a docking port attached, and it seemed a few small vessels were restocking for a trip back into space.

“Woah, there.” Kinsa sidled out of the way as a supply droid whisked away, teetering slightly on its one-wheel base. She was happy to shrug it off, but as she turned her head to see where it came from, another droid was following right in its tracks. All she had to do was reach one arm out as it passed, then yoink, magic! Her nimble fingers had swiped a bright orange muja fruit from the top of a small crate the droid was carrying. She took a hefty bite out of it, letting the sweet juices rest on her tongue before she swallowed the soft lump of goodness in her mouth. With a grin, she held the rest out for Bo. “Hungry?”

Bo glanced up, making a face. “That’s a great way to g—ah! Jedi!”

Kinsa’s hand fell as her gaze followed the direction of his finger. It wasn’t easy, at first, as the crowds were thick with all sorts of colors between them all, but after a moment, she could make it out. That famous Jedi garb was hard to miss. It wasn’t like they often got involved with simple crime and business, though. They were out doing magnanimous things in the galaxy somewhere, appearing out of the temple only when they were needed, it seemed. If a Jedi was out at a market on the good ol’ Coruscant, it was nothing to be concerned about.