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As he left the rundown bar, Slate looked up and down the dark street. Ancient red and green neon lights flashed in the windows behind him, coloring the street around him. Tired, old buildings lined the street, witnesses to the decline of a once prosperous section of town, each one with its ghosts of affluent customers buying trinkets, bright dresses, scrumptious treats and fine jewelry. The once clean streets were now grimy and dirty, with piles of paper and boxes clogging the dark alleys. Slate took a deep grateful breath as a cool breeze from uptown momentarily blew away the ever present smells of garbage, urine and sweat and replaced them with the fresh scent of elm trees and grass. He saw two huge Corellian lizard men staggering drunkenly around the nearest corner and afew seconds later he heard a large crashing sound. He laughed. He heard coughing coming from a dark alley across the street and saw a figure emerge. It was a small man in an old Republic Starforce uniform, who wheezed and coughed then took a long swig from a grimy brown bottle. Slate decided he was harmless enough.
His wrist com beeped.
“Yeah, Sarge?” He said, keeping his eyes moving, watching the scene around him.
"Hey, boss, did you get our pay?” said a tiny voice from his wrist com.
"I sure did,” he answered, “and our client was so grateful he even threw in a 1000 credit bonus.”
"Wonderful, wonderful. So you’ll be returning to the Greyhawk, then? We can’t stay on this backwater of a planet much longer, the Galactic Patrol is still hot on our trail.”
"I know, Sarge, I know. I just need to make a quick stop. Warm up the engines and I’ll be right there.”
Slate clicked off and headed in the opposite direction the Corellians went, his hand resting on the butt of his blaster. After fifteen minutes of winding streets and dark alleys, he came to a door in short, fat building and knocked. A small window slid open in the door and two beady eyes looked out at him. They looked past him, to the left and right and then the window slid shut. The door opened quickly and Slate was pulled roughly forward.
He found himself at the bottom of a steep set of stairs. A tall skinny rat-faced creature, smelling of cheap whiskey, wiggled its snout in his direction. It beckoned him to follow as it climbed the creaky stairs. When they reached the top, Slate saw they were in a long, skinny hallway. Old, worn out energy tubes did little to illuminate the dirty walls and ceiling. Rat-man pointed to the first door on the left. Slate walked over to it and knocked.
"Enter, Mr. Slate.” said a deep muffled voice.
Slate opened the door and walked into a place much different than the decrepit hall he'd just left. It was a large lavishly decorated suite of rooms. Paintings from a dozen worlds hung on wooden paneled walls and the spicy, cinnamon scent of Gyronian incense permeated the air. Large garish furniture filled the main room and Slate saw a huge muscular ape, dressed in robe and slippers, sitting in an enormous recliner to his right.
“Come in, my friend, come in. Have a seat, put your feet up. You’re in luck, I just got a shipment of Tagarnian wine and it is exquisite. You must have a glass.”
"Thank you, Everet,” smiled Slate, as he plopped himself into a lush red chair, “I think I will.”
Everet pushed a button with a huge black index finger and a few seconds later a white robot butler, shaped like an upside down soup bowl, rolled into the room carrying a tray with a tall glass filled with a golden liquid. Extending a long silvery arm, it set the glass on the tiny table next to Slate and left. Slate picked up the glass and sipped. He smiled a broad smile and sat back in the deep chair.
"So,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
"Well, its simple really,” answered his host, “I need you to find someone for me.”
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