Little Birds

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"I'm sure." He said flatly, entirely meaning it too. "They all talk of honor, but everyone want's something. Perhaps it's time we expand our markets to more then simple credits. True, money is always at the forefront of everyone's mind, but I think for people like Mandalorians other means of payment may be better."

He spoke as he turned towards Huginn. "Equipment perhaps? Ships?"

Easy enough to acquire.

Steal even. There were plenty of retailers in the galaxy that could be duped with a quick swipe of a credit chit or a false transaction. Getting a new vessel would be easy enough for Munin and Huginn, giving it away as a free supplement for work? That would attract even the most loyal Mandalorian. He smiled slightly as an idea began to form in his head, a small vision of what they would be capable of beginning to form. Eventually he turned towards one of the screen and did a quick search for naval shipyards.

"Arceneau Trade, Vanir Technologies, Kuat Drive Yards, CEC, CETO...." He trailed off a moment.

Yes, those would do.

 

[Munin]

IGNORE ME

 

[Nadir]

Huginn began nodding in agreement as the other broker spoke. They were onto something here, and they both knew it. The familiar glint of a plan sparked in the depths of [member="Munin"]’s eyes, inviting a smile to the face of the other infochant.

Standing up, Huginn joined the shorter broker, keen eyes scanning the data rolling on the display.

“A reliable ship is a rarity these days. Bet we can lure some bees with this kind of honey.”

Multiple fingers danced over various keyboards as Huginn began working digital magic.

“Anyone specific in mind?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"No." That answer in it of itself concerned him.

They knew precious little about the Mandalorians, something that Munin despised.

"I only know the famous ones." He admitted. "And not personally."

That little detail bothered him even more. He was sure that none of the famous Mandalorians would deal with him anyway, but he would have liked to know them anyway. Not because of some hero worship, because that way he could have manipulated them. Even great men made mistakes, in fact the greater one was the greater the mistakes they were capable of making. Munin was an Information Broker, but he had a vested interest in guiding things his way.

That was the way of the galaxy.

Everyone wanted things their own way. Munin was no exception to that rule, neither was Huginn. Many decided that the best path to get their way lay within violence, Munin disagreed. Manipulation. That was where the true path lay. Many had forgotten that path, but Munin would remind them. He smiled at the thought. "For once, lets do something obvious."

 

[Nadir]

A fat brow quirked upwards, creasing Huginn’s orange forehead.

“Obvious,” the broker parroted, voice flat. “Why the Nether would we want to do something obvious?”

Turning fully around on the spot, Huginn leveled [member="Munin"] with a bemused stare. Theirs wasn’t a job that allowed for much deviation from subtlety. In fact, shadows and invisibility were the only way to operate with any kind of perseverance in mind. A sloppy infochant was a dead infochant.

“Care to elaborate?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"The Mandalorians are a blunt people." That was obvious. "They will react more favorably to a direct statement and offer."

That was his thinking anyway. "They are not ones to fall to subterfuge and spying, they...have a distaste for it, that much we already know. Look at it this way. If we simply ask, give payment in return to simple information, then we will coax them into further betrayal. Sometimes we must walk away from our traditions if it means our own advancement. The Mandalorians understand that, they always have. True a few of them are more stubborn, but all we need is that one who isn't."

Munin shrugged.

"If the plan fails we simply kill whoever we spoke to." He hummed for a moment. "A difficult task, but not impossible."

Mandalorians slept too after all.

 

[Nadir]

“You mean…” the crease of Huginn’s brow grew, the shadow under the eyes deepened. “Hiding in plain sight, after a fashion? This could work.” Nodding and muttering under the double chin, the broker turned back to their many screens.

“Most of our Ravens aren’t suited to wetwork,” the infochant pointed out quietly as fingers became a blur across the virtual keyboard. “And if we do intend to begin our… search on Nadir, we should, perhaps, look into acquiring somewhat more heavyhanded agents.” A pause, a glance. “No?”

“There.”

A cross-check between the faster and looser bounty hunters and the rowdier Clan members began brightening up one of the displays. Names, monikers, handles – anything they could get their hands on – associated with all manner of contact information.

“Silver platter.”

Or as close as they could get, anyhow.


[member="Munin"]

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"I didn't mean wetwork." That wasn't their style. "Perhaps we'll have to turn to that eventually, but why bother? Mandalorians wear armor all the time, most deal with security, even when we're not dealing with Mandalorians the galaxy is so far off into a state of war and constant fighting that nearly everyone is on their guard. A man with a sniper rifle is no longer as effective as he once was. No. Subtlety has served us well, and it will continue to serve us well."

It was best to be silent. "Poison."

The barely whispered the word, turning to Huginn.

"Poison's, mismanagement of machines, accidents that we craft. That is what we want. What we need. Anyone can hire and assassin, a blunt force, but we've never been a blunt force. We don't need mercenaries that will act as simple hammers." He frowned for a moment.

There weren't many in the galaxy that did the kind of work that he was speaking about. Most assassins in the galaxy were in fact blunt instruments. They used rifles, knives, sniper rifles, anything that would be effective, but nothing that would be...subtle. That was what they needed however. Munin shifted his weight and then looked up at one of the screens. Their point, their ideal life and situation was to never be revealed, to never show who or what they were.

"Subtlety." Munin said. "We have to be the knife in the dark. If we are to be the knife at all."

Ultimately, not killing at all would be better.

 

[Nadir]

A rare, carefree chuckle rolled forth from Huginn’s lips at those words, and the broker threw her head back in delight.

“Accidents, indeed,” the infochant spoke and shook her head, still peering at their multitude of monitors. Such simple devices, and yet so many lives ended and began on those very screens. Huginn sighed, pulling up a chair to ease herself into once more.

“Let us hope death remains unnecessary,” she echoed [member="Munin"]’s hidden thoughts, laying one her many arms on his shoulder. “For now, we continue as we always have. We shall stick to our strengths, and move the cogs behind the scenes.”

“First, we must find a Mandalorian willing to listen. Shadowports beckon to those with lower moral inhibitions and lack of principles. We’re bound to find at least one.”

And one was all they needed.

“I posit we conclude the matter of the First Order councilor and then devote our complete attention to this… intriguing situation.”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Yes.

That would be good.

Things weren't moving as quickly in the galactic South as they had originally thought. The Alliance was making mincemeat of the One Sith, but eventually that too would die down. The galaxy was moving in odd ways as of late, though he had no doubt in his mind that eventually it would all come round again. If there was one thing that you could depend on in the galaxy it was the fact that Sith and Jedi would always fight. There would be a lull every now and again, but it would always come back.

The trick was being able to predict. "Shadowports it is."

Munin bristled slightly, remembering the last time they had gone to one of those wretched places.

There were better things to do with your life, cleaner things. Shadowports were invariably filthy, overcrowded, and stuffed with all manner of sorts you didn't ever want to speak to. Of course Munin and Huginn would end up exploiting those exact people, but that didn't make them any more pleasant to be around. He frowned for a moment, shifting his weight and looking up at the screen. Upon it was displayed an image of some Mandalorian city, it's streets filled with armored clad figures.

"A strange people." He commented quietly. "Always hiding behind a mask yet claiming honor."

 

[Nadir]

The chair squealed its relief as Huginn got up, stretching on the spot. Brokers may get involved with the action rarely, but the sedentary job was no better on the body. Some days, she could swear she could feel her joints fusing together.

“They are what they are. Perception varies,” she replied to [member="Munin"], offering a kind smile to go with the words. “That is, however, an excellent spring board for our own approach. A Mandalorian, dissatisfied with their code of honor and comportment. If he’s convinced he’s working towards the betterment of his people, we will gain his cooperation much more readily.”

The smile grew as she spoke, nodding at the evolving plan.

“They swallow the bait, hook, line, and sinker. All we need to do is keep the ruse up long enough to glean enough information.” Which, given their line of business, shouldn’t be too difficult.

“What do you think?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He mused once again. "Yes."

It was a wise tactic. The best one in truth.

"We will need something to begin with however." Munin's mind was beginning to race now. They would need to draw the Mandalorian in, bring him into the fold, make him believe. That was a powerful tool, belief, something that no one could truly break, not when the subject was truly enamored with the idea. "Something...something to do with The Clan's perhaps?"

They were central to Mandalorian life after all.

"What do we know of the separate clans?" He asked more himself then Huginn. He was sure that there was something, some piece of information that they had collected. Mentally he scrolled through everything. The Schism with the Mandalorian Empire, the dissatisfaction of the Clan's, the way that war was surely to come. There was some hidden aspect of it, something that sat within the corner he couldn't quite make out. A frown pulled at his lips as he began to dig deeper.

There had to be something.

Something telling.

Suddenly he snapped his fingers, an idea forming in his mind. "The Clan's. We'll pose as one of them."

 

[Nadir]

The grating truth was that they were woefully underinformed about the inner workings of the Mandalorian clans. They were tight knit communities who valued family and loyalty above else. Finding informants was… difficult.

Huginn frowned at the displays before them, as if their lack of concrete intel was the screen’s fault.

“Not much,” the broker sighed and leaned back in the chair, eyeing [member="Munin"] as he paced. “But enough, perhaps.”

Enough to pose as one of the Clans? Hard to tell. There were intricacies to their culture that they weren’t privy to. They’d have to play it safe and close to the chest until they knew more. One wrong move, and the Mandos would discover the deception.

“You mean spoof the source,” Huginn picked up, nodding. Her eyes twinkled, thoughts running a million miles a second. “Pose as one of the minor Clans, which enables us to establish credibility almost instantly… yes… then we draw them in, use classical recruitment patterns… single out the right candidates from the general crowd... “ Trailing off into indecipherable muttering, the infochant swiveled back around to her keyboard.

“This could actually work.”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"Of course." He said with a certain self satisfied smirk. "It was my plan after all."

It was one thing to brag, but in all honesty they would have to do some careful maneuvering to actually make it all happen. Mandalorians may have been dumb, or at least they may have been viewed as such, but at least a few were actually quite intelligent. They would have to make sure that they didn't target one of them. They needed to find...well for lack of a better term, an idiot.

A stooge.

"We'll have to begin documenting the Mandalorians that go there. Time. I think that is what we will need. if we take our time and do this slowly, properly, then we will be able to pull it off. Rushing this will only make it fail, and we can't have that." It would have to be perfection, they couldn't just throw darts at the wall and see what stuck.

That was often the way their game worked however. They moved more carefully then most, staying to the shadows, never revealing themselves. It had to be done. They weren't as strong as governments, weren't as resilient as most criminal organizations, and they certainly weren't as powerful as any Sith. It was just the two of them, Munin and Huginn, the entire galaxy against them.

Well...perhaps not the entire galaxy.

 

[Nadir]

The chair creaked in the quiet buzz of the computer room. Huginn turned to face [member="Munin"], three pairs of arms crossed over her chest while the bottom two drummed against the armrests of the seat.

“When do we not take things slowly and properly?” Her tone suggested that the very idea otherwise was pure blasphemy. “Not like we can afford to do it any other way.”

Another creak. The broker was standing, still holding her partner’s gaze. “Time’s a wastin’, brother.”

Point Nadir could only be found by criminals and scoundrels, or so the tales went. Technically they were the former, but Huginn liked to think they were a more sophisticated sort. After all, they very rarely bloodied their own hands. They simply sold means for others to do so for their own reasons. A lucrative business, really, with a very low impact on one’s moral fiber. You squint hard enough, and you could almost convince people you were doing more good than bad.

It was a nice lie, of course. One that Huginn liked to tell others, but never herself.

Their ship docked at the Slips, fee waived for a favor returned. Nobody batted an eyelash. Nobody wanted to. Nadir wasn’t a place you went to get noticed. Attention never came with good intentions here, only with a knife in a dark back alley.

“I believe a pub would be our best starting point, no?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He frowned. Pub.

That meant people.

Munin didn't like people.

"I suppose." He barely grunted the words, more of a flat statement of acceptance then actual agreement. They were here to do a job of course, to move their operation forward, but Munin didn't have to like it. His disposition was rather odd considering his uncanny talent for speaking to people, but, those were generally different kinds of people. Munin, despite his birth, was actually rather well placed in High Society. He could mingle easily in crowds of the rich. Politicians and businessmen flocked to him, but throw him into a dive bar?

He was lost.

The Broker didn't see anyone as 'less' then him, nor did he even really carry himself like a rich man, but for some odd reason Munin simply couldn't fit in when it came to places like this. They were unclean, random, chaotic. He didn't like chaotic.

Things were better when they were in order, when they were controlled and placed in an exact way. That much he was sure of, and as they made their way through the 'streets' Munin could only find himself entrenching deeper and deeper into that thought.

 

[Nadir]

She considered her partner out of the corner of her eye as they walked down the street. Elbowed, to be exact. The alleys of Nadir were miniature simulations of the everyday food-chain struggle. They were also chilling reminders of a youth long past. The same streets, types of streets, packed with the dredges of sentient life. Street vendors, spice dealers, junkies, whores, thugs. And urchins.

Huginn reached out with one of her hands, briefly squeezing his shoulder.

“I’ll talk, then,” she said as they walked into one of the seedier joints on the station. Which, given the locale, was saying something.

The broker maneuvered towards a booth in the far back of the establishment, aided by her imposing stature and four pairs of arms. Handy.

A tall glass of water arrived for Huginn a few moments after they sat down. Always sober on the job. She checked her datalogger. Two minutes early. Good time for the unpredictable crowds of Nadir.

First step: observe.

[member="Munin"]

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Talk.

Yes.

He wondered briefly if he'd ever be able to do this on his own, if he could suffer through this. A frown pulled at his lips as he quickly came to the correct answer; he could not. That was why their partnership was so important, why they needed one another. He had finesse, a light touch, a certain royal presence, while Huginn was...well tough. That was the best way to put it. Huginn was far more suited to places like this, not to mention she had a far more creative approach then he did.

Munin took in a breath.

He smelled a whisk of food, stale ale, and some body odor that nearly made him wretch. "This place is awful."

The words were said more to himself then to his partner. He could feel his skin crawl as they slowly looked about the room, his arms stiffening at his side as he watched the people around them. He tried to force himself to relax, to at least look the part of a patron. He could do that much.

"Anything?" He asked quietly. "The sooner we leave the better."

 

[Nadir]

The discomfort radiating from [member="Munin"] was so strong it nearly made her own skin crawl. Despite growing up in similar conditions, they had evolved into very different people. Complementary, but never the same. The covered for each other’s weaknesses and supported each other’s strengths; a true partnership.

“Pretend you’re drunk,” she muttered under her breath. He already looked like he was going to throw up any second. Adding a bit of sway and a faraway gaze wasn’t asking much. “Nothing yet. It’s early.”

The kind of people they were searching for usually trickled in later, when their daily shifts ended. Whether they worked as guards, guns for hire, or something darker still, everyone needed a tall glass of a strong drink every once in a while. That’s what Huginn was counting on.

Follow the patterns.

Not two minutes after she’d spoken, the door opened again, and a small group of obvious mercenaries poured in. Like sacks of ferrocrete, the five men dropped down in a booth the previous occupants cleared in a haste. Through the din of the busy watering hole, the leader’s gruff voice cut like the rattle of an automatic blaster rifle.

Huginn flagged down the Twi’lek waitress and leaned forward, pretending to point at something on the holomenu. Instead, the broker was hiding a small chip in her hand, angled just so the girl could see. Her eyes widened, and the expression of tired apathy was gone in a flash.

“How can I serve you, ma’am?”

“Let those gentlemen know we’ve got their tab, please,” she said and gestured subtly towards the table of raucous Mandalorians.

“Red Rook, ma’am?”

“That’s the one. And tell them we’re looking for competent men. Good hours, good pay.”

The Twi’lek nodded, and was off.

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Mandalorians. It was why they were here, but in an odd way Munin hadn't really expected to encounter any. If you heard it from them you'd try to reason that they were all honorable and full of fighting for their clans. In reality however, they were mercenaries. Much of what had made Mandalorians so great, what had given them power and reputation had been a war nearly three millenia ago. The Mandalorian War's they were called, massive, expansive, and threat enough that they'd nearly toppled the old Republic.

It was the only reason that people respect the Mandalorians so much, but the Clan's who'd crafted that war were long gone.

That was the way Munin looked at it anyway, the only way that he could look at it. Everyone was different of course, some still saw the Mandalorians as a major threat, a looming Titan simply waiting in the breeze. He didn't know if that was possible, but with the rumblings that they had hurt it was at least possible.

"I dislike this." He said quietly. "Too simple."

Something was bound to go wrong.