“Where’s the Rodian?”
“Look, I’d tell you what you want to know, but you’re gonna have to be more specific! There are tons of Rodians in Ebon Ridge!”
A blue light flickered to life in the darkness, shining off Ellac’s face as he glared down at the Devaronian he had by the throat. The light portrayed the rotating bust of a bounty contract that had been opened on a chosen target, a Rodian with green scales and a tell-tale scar that ran across his face from his left ear to the right side of his throat.
“Dweebo Sartoona,” Ellac said. “I know you know him.”
“Dweebo? That’s who you want? Why didn’t you just say so!,” The Devaronian chuckled nervously. “Sure, I know ‘em! He used to do some jobs for me back in the day! Did some real nice work too, I mean real nice, a professional even! B-but I don’t know whe-“
Ellac tightened his grip around his victim’s throat. “That’s not good enough.”
The Devaronian gasped as he tried to squirm free from the Sith’s grasp. “Okay, okay, I know where he is!”
“Talk.” Ellac said, loosening his grip just enough to allow air to pass through.
Relieved to breathe but now even more nervous, his whole body began trembling. “Well, I mean, I don’t know where he is right now, but-“
Ellac began to squeeze his throat again, but the Devaronian yelped in protest.
“WAIT!, I don’t know where he is right now but I know where he’s going to be!”
Ellac pulled the frightened man up as he leaned close to his face. “You are officially out of breath to waste. Tell me what I want to know, and *ONLY* what I want to know, or I’ll close your windpipe permanently.”
“Okay…,” the man panted. “Okay… The last deal I had with him, he said he hit the jackpot. He told me about a deal he scored with one of the bigwigs of those fancy casinos. Apparently Dweebo was gonna make a trade with this guy for a lot of credits, but that’s all I know, I swear!”
“Where is this deal?”
“He said it was gonna be on the outskirts, a place they call the Scrap Pits! But you’ll need an invitation to get in. They don’t let just anyone in, ya know!”
“So where can I get an invitation?”
”I don’t know, I never got one! It’s all very hush-hush. It’s not like they do the most legal stuff in there! Those deathmatches are brutal!” The Devaronian cried.
Ellac dropped the man, rising to his feet. “That’s exactly what I needed to know. Thank you.”
The Devaronian let out a feeble laugh as he crawled onto his knees. “Hey, no problem! Anytime! And thanks for not killing me, ya know? It’s bad for business...”
“Of course,” Ellac said, drawing his blaster from his holster before firing a bolt through the man’s head. “Don’t mention it.”
•••
The sun had barely set under the horizon as Ellac approached the fence to peer inside the salvage yard. Broken pieces of ship debris and speeder parts collected in mounds scattered throughout the lot.
“The *Scrap Pit*?,” Ellac muttered to himself as he slipped through a hole in the wire-mesh fence. “That’s a bit on the nose, even for me.” Being careful not to accidentally kick any buckets or cause something to shift in the piles, Ellac pressed deeper into the salvage. *‘Still, something in the air doesn’t seem right for a place like this.’* To him, it almost seemed as if the piles of wreckage were breathing, quietly humming deep underneath the surface. *‘It’s too… alive.’*
“That’s the only way we like it.”
Ellac spun on his heel, his lightsaber instinctively drawn, but not yet ignited. The source of the voice, standing above him on one of the scrap heaps was a human like himself, holding his head up to stare down his nose at Ellac.
“How’d you get in here?” His accent was thick, almost like that of an imperial, but the way he said certain words like “Way” and “Like” sounded very similar.
“I got an invitation from a friend of Sartoona.” Ellac said. “I came to see him.”
The man above Ellac burst out laughing, as if he couldn’t contain it if he tried. “You want to talk to Sartoona? You mean, with the bounty on his head and all? *Suuure*, please, by all means, he’d be more than happy to see you!” he said, still laughing to himself. “I mean, really? C’mon, you don’t actually think you can just walk in here and sit down with one of our esteemed guests like you’re old mates from the academy, do you?”
“We all have our delusions.” Ellac said, still staring up at him.
“No kidding, mate.” He said with a smirk. “Tell you what, I like you. So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m not gonna kill you here, and I’m not an unreasonable man, so how would you feel about being the Scrap Pit’s next contender? You and another fighter step into the ring, fight to the death, and if you win, we’ll let you see Sartoona. Sound like a plan?”
Ellac had to stop himself from smiling at the thought of being in another ring fight. “Alright, I’m in. When do we start?”
“Why not now?” The man said, gesturing to a significantly larger pile of scrap in the middle of the yard. “In that salvage heap is the warehouse, and inside there, the ring, and your opponent is already waiting for you. Just remember not to die, and you’ll get what you came for. Now off you pop!”
Ellac looked over to the warehouse for a moment before making his way over to the large mound. A piece of metal slid out of the way, a doorway opening up to the Scrap Pit inside. The ring was about an eight foot deep recess into the ground, with a four foot fence standing on all sides. An office box sat above the standard seats to provide a better view of the fights. In side the ring, a wookie slave had been thrown into center, clearly more of a prisoner than a willing participant.
“Right this way.” One of the thugs inside gestured to a gate in the fence.
Ellac stepped into the ring, the heat from the bright spotlights bearing down on his shoulders.