Disclaimer: For the last time, "Businesswoman" is not my property; I only transcribed it. Credit goes to Imara Mathon-Goodspeed, George Lucas, and their respective agents. (No pun intended.)
...
DESTINY
You take care of her, she'll take care of you; that's how it works. Those words chased Imara through the rooms and passages of Nar Shadaa as she staggered back to the ship, half-blind from tears and bleeding in a dozen places. You take care of her...
He did take care of me, and I let him down. Farin, Hisani, V'Kram, Amnon... I let them all down. Through some miracle of instinct and luck, she managed to find her way back to the ship, key in the code for the hatch, and board. Leaning back against the bulkhead as the hatch closed, she slid down to the deck and let the memories of the past few hours wash over her.
*Flashback*
"Lefu, you bastard son of a kath hound, get out here!" Amnon bellowed. "What's the big idea making me go through your little games like some stranger?" A tall man – Imara guessed he was Lefu – poked his head around the doorway leading to one of the back rooms of the Slippery Slope. The Twi'lek woman they had been talking to gave the man an apologetic grimace, then turned back to the disruptive visitor. Amnon was forced to deal with her again as the man disappeared back into the room. Fortunately, the Twi'lek's dismissal was cut short as Lefu reemerged and strode up to the big man.
"Amnon Goodspeed? Is that really you? Forgive my rudeness, old friend. One can't be too careful these days, and I haven't seen you in... how long has it been? Five years?"
"Eight," Amnon answered darkly. "Long story short, I got caught and been serving time."
"And you're right back to your old tricks, I see." They both laughed. "Well, come inside, have a drink, and fill me in on the details. Business can wait." This earned the tall man a hard look, but the captain complied, Imara in tow. She waited for the signal to initiate her customary scan for weapons, then realized everyone in the room was probably armed, and everyone else already knew it. A sabacc table over by the far wall caught her eye, surrounded by three humans and a Rodian. After several minutes of being ignored by the two principle businessmen, she made her way over to the table to watch. Seeing her approach, one of the humans – a skinny blond in his mid-twenties – patted his lap suggestively. She simply shook her head and focused on learning the rules of this new game. The others laughed at their friend, then went back to their game. Glancing back at Amnon and Lefu once more, she saw nothing of interest and turned her attention to the table.
"So you need parts for your ship and your droid," Lefu summarized after a half hour of small talk and catching up. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, then met Amnon's eyes again. "I'm sorry, but business hasn't been very good of late. And this favor you're trying to cash in is nearly a decade in the past."
"A deal's a deal, Lefu. Why should it matter how long ago it was made? I don't recall anything about a deadline, do you?"
"True, but I just can't help you. As it is, I have to ask for your help with a little problem I have."
"Name it; I'll see what I can do." The glint in Lefu's eyes unsettled the spacer, causing his gut to churn.
"I was hoping you'd say that. You see, I have several debts that I need to pay off soon. Preferably before my benefactors come looking to take their payment in something other than credits."
Amnon shook his head. "I wish I could help you, pal, but this kid and I are barely making ends meet as it is. I can run a shipment for you, but that's about as much as I can do."
"There is one other option, Goodspeed."
His tone changed that churning feeling to a block of ice.
"The Cartel has a bounty on your head. Actually, it's been out since just after you disappeared. Normally I wouldn't bother, but it's too much for even me to pass up, especially with things being the way they are."
Amnon cocked an eyebrow, wordlessly asking just how much would be enough to cause an old business partner to kill him in cold blood.
"Fifty thousand credits. Half that if I bring you in alive. I guess the Hutts don't want bloodstains on their floors. Funny, considering they normally like to see the target in person if at all possible." Lefu shrugged, his face a mixture of sadness and professional disinterest. "I don't know what you did to piss them off, but I'm doing all I can just to keep a roof over my head. Besides, you've been gone for so long, everyone thinks you're dead anyway. Why complicate things with echoes from the past?" Amnon couldn't help shifting his eyes to see if his ward was in a similar position. To his relief, she was still standing at the table with her back to him, watching the card players. Lefu noticed the movement, looked over at the girl, then back at his target.
"Don't worry about your 'daughter', old man. I promise she will be well taken care of. I owe you that much."
"Not on your life, 'old friend'," spat the captain. As he drew a deep breath, several things happened at once:
...Lefu pulled a blaster pistol from his belt and brought it to bear.
...Imara turned at the acid tone in Amnon's voice.
...The Rodian and one of the humans at the sabacc table drew their own weapons – the man nearest Imara grabbed for her before she could run to aid her adopted father.
...Three more men lounging on the far side of the room stood and reached for their own blasters.
"It's not my life you should be concerned with, 'old friend'," Lefu threw the phrase, sarcasm and all, back in Amnon's face. "Anything you want to say before you make me a rich man?" Everyone in the room tensed, expecting to see the old spacer draw a weapon, throw a punch... something. Instead, he slowly let out his breath, drew another, and turned to Imara.
"Captain Goodspeed, take care of the ship. Remember, you take care of her, she'll take care of you. That's how it works." After the first two words, Imara started struggling against the man holding her – the skinny one was stronger than he looked! - using every dirty trick she knew. She finally freed herself by slamming the back of her head into his nose and managed to close more than half the distance to her mentor before Lefu pulled the trigger.
A point blank shot to the throat. No armor in that area, and a very slim chance of surviving.
Imara rushed over to him anyway and did her best to staunch the bleeding. Surprisingly, no one tried to stop her. That worried her more than the bright red blood spurting from the hole in his neck, or the fact that the man who shot him was still standing over them with his pistol in hand. She tore a bandage from her medkit and wrapped it around his neck, but the blood just oozed out from underneath it, adding to the growing puddle beneath him. Finally, when the hand gripping her arm fell slackly to the floor, she pounded on his chest in frustration.
"YOU'RE the captain! Dammit, get up so we can get back to your ship! You said this was a quick stop for parts. There is no WAY I'm going to let you die on such a simple mission!" Each phrase was punctuated by another slam to his chest in a futile effort to restart his heart. She didn't stop until a warm hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away from the body. The owner of that hand immediately regretted his action when Imara rounded on him, blaster at the ready. Without a word, she delivered the same fate to Lefu he had just bestowed on the late Captain Goodspeed. It took a moment for the others in the room to recover long enough to start shooting. She shrugged off the first few injuries and took down two of the mercenaries from the far side of the room. As the third lined up his next shot, she jumped one of the couches to put a barrier between herself and the sabacc players, flipped her blaster over in her hand, and swung it at the man's head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Hearing a hissed "No, you idiot!", she peeked back over the couch just in time to see the Rodian lob a grenade in her direction, heedless of his comrade's welfare. Imara dove back over the couch and into a volley of blaster bolts as the two remaining humans (the blond was still busy tending his broken nose) opened fire. She growled through the pain of three bolts to the chest, one across her left cheek, and another to the right shin.
Her leap took her farther than intended when the grenade exploded, seemingly years later. The furniture took most of the shrapnel, but several pieces lacerated the back of her head and upper back. A few even made it back to the grenade's point of origin, causing them to shield their faces. The enraged spacer didn't miss the opportunity to loose her own volley at the men crouching behind the overturned table. By some incredible stroke of luck, she hit one squarely between the eyes, but completely missed the other three. She pulled out her own grenade and was about to thumb the fuse ignitor open when one of them called out from behind the table.
"Listen, girl, just give up. There are three of us and only one of you, and if I saw right, you're hurt pretty bad. You were never the target, so there's no sense in getting yourself killed. It won't bring him back to life."
Wrong thing to say. Imara flicked the ignitor and tossed the grenade into the midst of the remaining combatants. The resulting yells told her only two had survived the initial blast. Not for long. The thought emerged through the haze in her mind. Staying low to the floor, she moved quickly around the right-hand side of the table and finished the fight with two well-placed shots. She fired a few more shots into the bodies to be sure they were dead, then moved back to where Amnon lay too still on the floor. She strained to lift him up onto her shoulders – leaving him behind just felt wrong after all they had been through together – but the combination of his bulk and her injuries made it impossible. Worse, the adrenaline rush from the battle was starting to recede. Left with no other choice, she gently closed the old man's eyes, then turned and made her way back to the ship.
*End flashback*
"Captain Imara Goodspeed, at your service," she told the man on the other end of the holocommunicator. "I heard you needed to have some work done – quietly." By the end of the first year since the Incident, the new captain of the freighter had warmed to her position, striving to master her profession in memory of her friend and mentor. In that time, she had already run a few dozen jobs. The jobs ranged from legitimate interplanetary shipments, to smuggling weapons and spice, to hacking computers. This last was a skill set she had taught herself between contracts, and had saved her skin more than once. Being locked in a vault she had broken into and not had time to vacate before the security system closed the door was not a fate she relished. Besides, stolen information was often more lucrative than stolen goods, if one knew where to look. Her current potential client was counting on just that.
"Captain, what a pleasure to see you! They told me you were one of the best in the business, but they forgot to mention you're beautiful."
Imara sighed inwardly, masking it with a smile. Why do all these guys think I want to flirt, just because I'm a woman? Still, if it means a bigger payday and referrals, I'll go with it. "I bet you say that to all the girls," she teased the man – a pudgy human with pale skin. Obviously he didn't spend much time outside his manor, which only emphasized to her that he was either wealthy or desperate enough to pay handsomely for her work – or both.
"Only the ones who deserve it." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Well, as much as I'd love to get to know you better, I'm afraid I only have time to discuss business before I'm missed. We politicians do live under the careful scrutiny of the public, and this is NOT something I wish to become known."
"I can understand that sentiment, Senator. I'm not exactly fond of the idea of my work going public either. Speaking of which..."
The projection raised its hands to forestall the question. "Rest assured I can be equally discreet. There's no sense letting your talents go to waste in a jail cell on Coruscant, especially not since I have even more to lose."
I somehow doubt that, she thought, but nodded anyway. "Thank you. So what can I do for you?"
"I need information on my counterpart before the upcoming election. I heard rumors about him accepting bribes from the Empire, so I need you to dig into his records and find indisputable proof. And I need it within two days to have time to set him up for a fall." He briefly described the details of the task. "Can you do that?"
Imara grinned self-assuredly. "Break into a guarded estate, find sensitive information which may or may not exist, get out undetected, and do it all within 48 standard hours. No sweat. Anything else I need to know?"
The senator shook his head. "Like I said, Captain, this whole thing is based on speculation. Of course I'll give you a partial payment just for making the attempt..."
"In advance."
Her contact considered the request for a moment, then conceded with a nod. "In advance. I'm transferring one-fifth of the promised payment to you now. I would normally send more specific information to your ship, but even if I had any I wouldn't risk it being traced. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back. One can only use the facilities for so long before others start to worry. Good luck, Captain."
Imara made a face once the projection blinked out. I really didn't want to know that. I wonder if these rich people all believe everyone cares about everything they do. She shook her head to clear the thought, then went to the bridge to set course.
Several hours short of the deadline, Imara delivered the requested proof to the senator – it turned out his counterpart was taking bribes from the local crime syndicate, not the Empire, which was almost as good as far as her client was concerned – and returned to her ship with a full payment. No sooner had the hatch closed than the communicator beeped again.
I wonder what he forgot, she groaned. To her surprise, the image above the array was not the senator. For one, the call origin was listed as Ord Mantell. Also, this man's smile was genuine, not the plasteel expression used by politicians.
The projection studied her for a moment, his smile gradually falling away into a look of confusion.
"I'm sorry, miss," it said finally. "I must have the wrong frequency."
"Who were you looking for?" she prompted. She had a strong suspicion she already knew the answer.
"Captain Goodspeed. He's a cargo hauler and a good friend of mine. I don't suppose he's around anywhere?" His eyebrows rose in anticipation, but fell again when her expression preceded her verbal answer.
"Amnon isn't here, I'm sorry. Something I can do for you?"
"Depends. Who are you?
"Captain Imara Goodspeed. Amnon was a good friend of mine, too." She paused to let the full meaning of the words sink in, not quite trusting her voice to say them without breaking.
"Was," the man repeated. He digested the news for a moment, leaning forward on something Imara couldn't see. When he straightened again, he was smiling again – his mouth was, anyway. Despite the poor resolution of the image, Imara could have sworn she saw sadness in the man's eyes. It was certainly present in his voice when he spoke next.
"I should have known that roth-sniffer wouldn't last long. It's amazing he lived as long as he did. Who finally did him in?"
By this time, Imara's patience and hospitality had run out. Here was this man grilling her for information on a subject she would just as soon not discuss, and he hadn't even bothered to introduce himself! She set her jaw firmly and proceeded to tell him just that.
"Alright! Alright! I'm sorry! You just caught me off guard is all. The name's Viidu. Goodspeed and I have worked together for... well, probably longer than you've been alive."
Imara laughed in spite of the previously heavy mood. "Now I know you two were friends. I never could get him to stop calling me 'kid'. I'm 22 years old by the standard calendar!"
"Pardon me, O wise and venerable lady," quipped Viidu. In spite of the rough start to the conversation, Imara found herself taking a liking to this stranger. He was so much like Amnon, right down to the hefty build and sharp wit. "Since you're so worldly, perhaps you know what happened to the previous captain of that ship you're standing on." His tone was light, but it wasn't hard to hear the plea underlying the statement. Shaking off the last of her frustration with the earlier dialogue, Imara explained the events on Nar Shadaa.
"Figures Lefu would pull something like that. I never liked that guy. At least he won't bother anyone else, and we have you to thank for that."
"Sure, I guess."
"I mean it." Viidu looked over his shoulder, listened for a few seconds, then said something Imara couldn't hear. "Listen, I wish I could say this was a purely social call, but I need someone to pick up some sensitive cargo for me. Normally I'd ask that old dog to fetch it, but anyone he trusts well enough to train and leave his ship to is good enough for me. I've sent the particulars to your computer. You'll need the droid to decrypt it for you. Shouldn't take more than a week."
"To decrypt it? Not much of a droid, is it?" They both laughed.
"If Amnon took care of the thing, that part should only be a minute or two. It's a week to pick up the cargo and get it here to Ord Mantell. Sorry, but I have other business needing my attention right now. I look foward to meeting you in person."
"See you soon," Imara agreed.
In spite of the mistakes Imara had made when she was tampering with the C2 unit – and still hadn't had time to correct – the droid was able to translate the information within five minutes. Not long after that, Captain Goodspeed was flying back from the dead drop on Tattooine - only accomplished after a long series of identity confirmation tasks - to deliver a shipment of blaster rifles for Rogun the Butcher. Sounds like a nice guy, she thought sarcastically. The sooner this job is done, the better. After making sure the ship was on the correct course, she headed back to her quarters to complete her log.
Personal log (continued), Captain Imara Goodspeed
[4/12/02 ATC]
... But I guess that's what happens when you're young. Looking back, I think it all worked out for the best, except losing the old man and everyone. I wonder what happened to the ones on Dromund Kaas. Anyway, that annoying droid is chattering about entering orbit around Ord Mantell. One of these days I really need to adjust his programming before I rip out his vocabulator entirely. Thankfully this is my last run for the week, then I can head to Alderaan for some skiing and sightseeing. Hopefully I'll get there before the civil war gets out of hand. I'm sure they'll sort it out eventually, but it's not my problem. I'm not the hero type. I'm just a businesswoman.
End log.
...
A/N: I asked how Imara became a, er... businesswoman, and these are the events she recounted to me. From both of us, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the story, great. If it made you look at things a new way, even better. Imara says to you all, "Good fortune."