The number was busy. However, after a couple of seconds, the navigator answered the call.
"Listening," Rick heard a short, curt reply.
"There will be an assault group in one of the trucks," he said, not slowing down.
"Hunters?"
"Yes. And warn those outside," the captain ran out of the spaceport, looking for any transport. Now, trivial matters like stealing equipment didn't concern him much; he needed a vehicle.
"Need a ride?" Jenaro braked nearby. "I heard."
The guy nodded, getting on the back and drawing his blaster. 22 charges, should be enough.
"In all my service, I haven't had such restless guests on the planet," the security officer increased his pace. Several people in protective armor, armed, on heavy bikes, caught up with them, overtook them, and went slightly ahead towards "The Case." "It feels like you've danced on the tails of all the Hutts of the Outer Rim, Captain Monroe..."
"It was hard for me to resist," the guy said maliciously. "Are these yours watching us?"
"Ours," the security officer nodded. "You don't expect to handle the group alone, do you? Well, three of you, including the woman."
"We would try," the guy shrugged, looking for other targets.
"I'm starting to like the idea of leaving you all here," Jenaro muttered. "How did you get him to talk?"
One of the fighters ahead made a gesture. A container truck was driving onto the field.
"Pheromones," the guy missed the first phrase between his ears, considering it a kind of provocation.
"And he doesn't look like a Zeltron..."
The jokes ended there. The guard unit stopped the truck, pushing back the customs officers eager to inspect it. They grumbled with restrained indignation, worried that all the glory would go to the Security Service.
The guy dived into the Force, examining the van and trying to estimate at least the approximate number of people, including the driver sitting at the controls. If he were in the security officers' place, he would have shot the driver, depriving the vehicle of mobility, and then dealt with the rest. After all, dual ship cannons are a terrible force.
No one shot the driver. A repulsorlift platform with a loader and a stack of containers slowed down in front of the security officers. The driver, upon request, handed over the chip with the route sheet, was removed from the control panel, and his place was taken by one of the fighters.
By this time, Jenaro had driven closer, and Rick could feel that not all the contents of the containers were frozen. Eight containers radiated restrained impatience.
"Hmm..." the most useful information was useless, "do you have life form sensors? Carefully scan the van. You'd find out the position and number of enemies."
Jenaro turned his head to him - just enough to see his blue eye. Very calm.
"We have life form sensors. They unanimously assure us that there are frozen chickens and bantha loin in the containers. In large quantities and variously arranged."
The guy sighed. Knowing the method of deceiving the detector - one could reconfigure it. But as it is... Pointing fingers in the dark now would be inappropriate.
"Have them bring the truck under the left ship's cannon, with the body facing forward. I'll conduct a dialogue with the enemy," the guy concluded, "we still need to find out who they are working for."
"Are you going to shoot your own supplies?" Jenaro was surprised. "An interesting idea, but I must decline it. There might be citizens of Bakrana inside. Even if you don't like them very much, Captain Monroe, I can't let you burn them without a trial."
"I'm not going to shoot at all, I'm going to use the cannon as an argument for cooperation," the guy calmly replied, removing his hand from the blaster's grip for the first time.
"Well, try," the security officer agreed imperturbably. "Only keep in mind that you yourself insisted on conducting this operation."
"Of course, I'll keep that in mind. And if it's successful, will I take their ammunition? Will you object?" the guy asked with an innocent look.
"You will take it," Jenaro nodded, inwardly pleased about something. "But if something goes wrong... Then, Captain Monroe, I will take... What I deem necessary."
"It won't go wrong," Rick shook his head, "a deal is possible for something specific, and on specific terms."
He got off the bike and headed towards the customs officer.
"Either you specify everything you said, or I don't give a damn about their ammunition on such terms," he approached the customs officer and asked with a smile: "I need your scanner. May I?"
Jenaro watched him with a barely perceptible smirk. The customs officer looked at Rick, then at the security officer. The latter nodded. Only then did the customs officer hand the device to the captain.
Taking the device, Rick slowly headed towards the car, fiddling with the gadget along the way. If the device was universal, it would catch everything, including what the customs officers often overlooked. And this could be used... He began to adjust the device to the technical specifications, contacting Nick at the same time.
"I'm under the left turret, the truck with potential problems is there too, I'll try to negotiate with the comrades to avoid a fight, will you argue my points?"
"Rick," the navigator's voice sounded somewhat tense, "haven't you thought about letting the specialists work? You have a professional group right next to you, the truck is full of problems, and you decided you're the best?"
He seemed offended that his colleagues were being hindered, getting in their way.
"Yes, I didn't think about that," the guy sighed, "there aren't that many problems in the truck, just a storm group."
He began to examine the containers. Differences in cooling systems, energy output. He needed to find the differences in those eight containers and determine where the stormtroopers were, and then provide this data as detected by the scanner.
"It's just that if I had fully trusted the specialists, there would have been a fight on the ship in half an hour, so it's better to keep everything in our own hands."
"You're a bit late with your concern," the navigator grumbled and hung up. The barrel of the turret moved, taking aim at the platform.
After a rather long search, Rick managed to find out that the heat dissipation of the eight containers was significantly reduced compared to those in which the presence of living beings was not suspected. The contents of the containers were not frozen.
He approached Jenaro and pointed to the marked containers: "Eight unfrozen containers, judging by the dimensions, if there aren't a bunch of womp rats in there, then eight armed men," he returned the device to the customs officer. "Your people can pull out the nearest container with a surprise without disturbing the others. And also, it would be good to jam the communications here for a while."
Jenaro glanced at his chronobracelet. "My group would have worked several times faster and easier. By the method of 'opened the lid, shot with a stun, waited, opened the lid, checked the contents.' A stun is completely harmless to frozen chicken, I assure you, Captain Monroe... And now, excuse me, we can't afford to waste any more time and risk your ship. Even if you are ready for such a risk."
At his signal, the platform moved away from "The Case," stopping at the edge of the field. The loader carefully removed the marked containers from the stack, arranged them in a row, and the platform moved aside.
"Check for explosives," Jenaro made a sign, and one of the fighters began checking the containers, literally lifting the lids a millimeter to allow the scanner to capture the air from the container.
He didn't argue. For several reasons, although he really wanted to. The security guards' actions left him without information. It was unclear what kind of subjects had started hunting as soon as they arrived on the planet, it was unclear how exactly they had identified "The Case," you wouldn't even find out the clients' names. Everything went to this Jenaro, which Rick absolutely disliked.
The check ended very quickly. The fighter with the scanner jumped off the platform, showing four fingers.
"Captain Monroe, please move away from the platform," Jenaro became composed, the smirks vanished as if they had never been there. "Four containers are mined. We will have to defuse or detonate them."
Rick shrugged. Moving aside and taking out a deck with documents, he began to look for the company number. War is war, but eight containers is too serious an amount of provisions to ignore its loss. With half an eye, he watched the security guards' actions.
They acted simply. Even simpler than Jenaro had described. Injecting some substance through a micro-slit under the lid, taking an air sample through the same slit - and a limp body was extracted from the container. Very well armed. The bodies were carefully laid out in a row, disarmed, and searched. As before, the search yielded only some cash.
Dialing the number of the Twi'lek management, the guy started dialing and hung up, saving the number in the dialed list. Then he returned to studying the security guards' work. A question arose, what would these four have done if the people had been wearing breathing masks.
However, it was difficult for Rick's active nature to just watch, and he still dialed the management number.
They answered him quickly.
"Molena Company, we're listening."
"Who is your head of customer relations," it was clear from the voice that the caller was dissatisfied, "your company has huge problems with cargo delivery."
Rick was immediately transferred to the relevant service with apologies. A melodious female voice asked the respected client to state his claims.
"Instead of some of the containers with provisions, I was delivered containers with armed to the teeth thugs inside, and some are also mined," having stated the essence of the claim, he provided information about the order and other accompanying information.
A slight panic arose on the other end.
"Mr. Monroe, but we shipped you everything exactly according to weight and cost! The only problem that arose - a shortage of one item - was compensated by another, of the same cost and good quality. We don't have explosives or thugs in our assortment, the problem could only have arisen after shipment and dispatch of the goods. Can you weigh the received goods and compare the weight with the accompanying documents?"
"I'm looking at this cargo now with polite comrades in uniform, and I'm sure there were no such items in my order," Rick smiled, "and I don't like the picture. I paid for the cargo and delivery, and I got one big headache. Who managed the shipment? A Twi'lek?"
"Ri Shatav?" the voice clarified. "Yes, he took your order."
"Ahha, this same employee of yours tried to kidnap a member of my crew, and is now in the infirmary," the guy paused. "Tell me, does your firm work with all clients in this manner, or do I have a special status?"
The panic escalated to moderate severity.
"Mr. Monroe, this is a completely incredible case. There have never been any complaints about manager Shatav... Can you come to our office to resolve this extremely upsetting conflict for us?"
"Me?! After a group capable of shooting down a small frigate was found in your vehicle?!" the guy was serious, though he was smiling. "Don't you think you should come to the spaceport to me, to quickly resolve this situation that is extremely irritating to me?"
"If it's convenient for you, our representative will fly to you within half an hour, Mr. Monroe," the female voice promised with a considerable degree of relief.
"I would advise him to hurry. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep local reporters from answering questions when this becomes known, without your representative's help," the guy added before disconnecting. Then he returned to observing the security service's work.
They had already carefully packed the loot in handcuffs and were now loading the prisoners into a waiting car. Four containers were unloaded from the platform with all precautions, and now a bomb disposal specialist was working on them. Judging by the fact that he was already working on the second container, the port had every chance of avoiding a rain of frozen chicken legs.
The guy had no idea what else to do, so he started looking around the surroundings, delving a little into the Force, searching for observers.
Jenaro was watching him. And the tense attention to what was happening was felt from the ship.
The prisoners were taken away, the containers were defused. The sound of a flying speeder was heard from the direction of the river.
This time, the guy didn't flinch, watching the flying machine and studying its danger level through the Force.
There was no threat from the machine. The special group thought otherwise: an order was transmitted on an open channel to immediately land for inspection, under threat of being shot down.
The small speeder landed on the field, the driver jumped out onto the surface, got scared at the sight of armed men, and meekly showed his documents. When he answered the question about the purpose of his visit, he was pointed to Rick, who was standing a little distance away, and the driver almost ran to the captain.
"Mother of Stars, Mr. Monroe, we thought you were joking," the company representative exhaled. "Or you had too much to drink in the cantina..."
"Uh-huh, such jokes usually create craters in the ground," the captain sighed. "So, I'm listening to how your company is ready to resolve the incident."
"We are ready to return a third of the order cost to you," the representative replied cautiously. "And, of course, if part of the cargo has not arrived, we will fully compensate for the shortage."
"Half the cost, and the undelivered order will be delivered to me within the next hour," the guy said businesslike, "and a bottle of Abrax or first-class Halmar, as compensation for moral damages."
"Forty percent," the representative sighed. "My management won't allow me any more."
"Ask your management what the losses will be if this information leaks to the press," the counter-offer was made imperiously, "half. Solely because of my good mood."
The representative shook his head: "No, Mr. Monroe. Even if you tell everyone about this incident, we won't lose regular customers. They have been working with us for a long time and understand that one incident involving you doesn't mean the company is involved in such dealings. Our offer is a gesture of goodwill; if you insist, I'll just drive back after checking the availability of goods. Of course, you will receive the missing items in any case. But there will be no talk of discounts anymore. Learn to stop in time, Mr. Monroe. Blackmail is a very bad tool."
Rick looked at the representative, narrowing his eyes. If he had the time and desire, he would have bankrupted this company in a single day. But there was no time, and the desire wasn't particularly strong. However, there was a desire to break this man who wasn't going along with him.
He took a deep breath.
Such thoughts needed to be driven away; they would lead to nothing good. He nodded.
"You have the account for the transfer, I'm waiting for the cargo and everything else," after that he headed towards Jenaro. "Will the other cars be checked in the same way?"
"How many did you order?" the security officer asked in surprise. "The medications were checked, no drugs were found, and they were allowed on board. The first batch of food has also been loaded. This car is the third."
"At least some good news," the captain said with a sigh. "We're leaving as soon as I get the missing products."
"Then we'll leave as soon as we're ready," the verdict was delivered immediately, "excuse me, I need to gather the team."
"I can't keep you," did it seem, or was there a hint of regret in the security officer's voice?
The representative was already processing the return of forty percent of the order cost to Rick's account.
The guy quickly walked to his car. He needed to pick up Vaymi and Bus, talk to Les, and leave. The peaceful planet clearly didn't want the "Case" team to stay there even for a while.