Something About A Space Station

[Boethiah]

Libertalia [X]
[member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Ice"]

Boethiah arrived on the sizable station, docking in one of the main hangars aboard a small shuttle with stealth capabilities. Though she didn't arrive alone. With her was someone important in her life, though perhaps not in the conventional sense. Her surrogate father: Khaleel Malvern. The two of them shared an unusual--and mostly brief--history together. His love was for Boethiah's mother, Loxa, but over time he filled the void of an unlikely mentor in the young witch's life.

Teaching her in ways of the force she couldn't have learned elsewhere. His innovations came from both his Jedi training, and his time spent in the criminal underworld on planets such as Nar Shaddaa. It is with these unorthodox methods that the young woman will begin to learn the true meaning of power, and she will test her newfound abilities here on the station. Unsuspecting, peaceful, yet well-defended too.

With many places to be and go, a station of this capacity required significant security in both automated defenses and trained personnel. Not to mention, virtually all serious crimes result in an immediate death penalty...

All the better.

"Where do we go first?" The curious witch looked sidelong to Khal.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Wait for [member="Gorba the Hutt"]'s man

Ogedei the Besalisk had the strength of ten men. Five for each pair of arms. It wasn't a fact that could be concealed. People saw it when they looked at him. There was not much else to see when you're a giant of a Besalisk, standing two heads taller than just about everyone you meet. No one without a death wish started fights with Ogedei. Unfortunately, in his line of work, too many people had death wishes. Mostly idiots with something to prove who didn't understand what they were getting into. It had been something of a hassle at first, but Ogedei came to accept that it was his divine duty to clear out the gene pool of the criminal underworld. One unsolicited challenge at a time.

He dabbed some ash off his cigar and put it back in his mouth, giving a toothy grin to the Trandoshan across from him, Derrenger. His colleague did not look happy. He never looked happy. And the sight of Ogedei's toothy cigar-accented grin seemed to only annoy him further. Derrenger was the sort of fellow who disliked any kind of idleness when they were working. And they were working. Ogedei had no idea what he had to be angry about, they were about to pull off the heist of the century. Or given the rate at which heists probably occurred on a galactic scale, the heist of the next three months.

You have to be realistic about these things.

Ogedei took a long drag from his cigar, then leaning in such a way that the smoke blew out of the booth instead of Derrenger's face. No sense in exacerbating an already bad attitude. No sense waiting in silence, either. They were probably going to be here a while. "Ever hear the story of Slim Connecticut?"

"No," said Derrenger, in the sort of acerbic tone that implied that he didn't want to hear it either.

Too bad for him. "It all starts out on Stewjon. Or actually, one of those moons in orbit of Stewjon. The smaller one, I think..."

 

[Kuzo]

"No, I'm not as impressed as you promised I'd be."

Irajah Ven folded her arms over her chest, looking up at the Zabrak. The increasingly nervous Zabrak. The fact that the woman was nearly a foot shorter than he was did nothing to diminish the clearly irritated expression on her face, and if he could avoid it, he didn't want to annoy this particular client.

"It's everything I promised," he started to say, but she cut him off.

"Don't patronize me," she snapped, putting the small, hand held tool back onto the counter. "I sent you the specs of what I needed. Detailed. What materials I required it be made from. You told me you could handle it. We agreed on a price. And the very fact that the casing has been made with sub par metal already tells me everything I need to know. What other corners did you cut in the parts fabrication I wonder?"

"I couldn't find all of the materials you specified, Doctor," he murmured, resisting the urge to wipe a drop of sweat running down his temple. Why did she unnerve him so much?

She nodded. "Well, that's better. At least you can admit it. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He relaxed slightly. Maybe he wouldn't make what he'd expected to on the deal, but at least she didn't seem annoyed anymore.

Reaching back out, she plucked the tool from the counter top again, inspecting it with new eyes.

"I knew exactly what the one, built to my specifications would do. How it would handle. It was why I ordered it that way, you understand," she said slowly, tone calm, friendly, even conversational. He nodded along with her.

Slender finger pressed the middle button. A small cutting blade, slender as a sheet of flimsy, glowing faintly, hummed into the existence.

"This one. Well. I'm going to need to see how it handles. Before I agree to a new price."

She looked up at him, smiling. At some point during the last few heartbeats, his face had gone slack. Eyes vacant. It hadn't been hard.

"Put your hand on the counter."

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Boethiah"]

Khal didn't like half-measures.

Do the job, don't do the job, but don't do half of it and then let it fester while you are gone. Somehow he had forgotten that, somehow he hadn't finished this job all those years ago. Khal could still remember it, the guns blazing, the encounter with a woman from the past, her assistance, quick-thinking and the lax nature of those involved all leading up to the point that this very space station had been whisked away into the cold void of space. But here they were yet again.

"Just like the last time." Malvern mumbled between the press of the cigarette. His eyes were firmly resting on the security checking the sentients coming in and out of this particular hangar-bay, while trying to avoid hearing Loxa's voice in his head.

She hated his smokes these days.

"Security booth four corridors from here. Take that, see where it goes next." There would be upgrades to security- always were. The question was what they had changed since that day all those years ago. The station hadn't gone out of service, not even for a little while, which did mean the refit couldn't have been extensive.

 

[Boethiah]

"On it!" Boethiah sprinted off down the hangar. Right in the direction of the docking inspector coming to check the ship's manifest.

Of course instead of deciding whether to determine if the two were smugglers or not, the man two week away from retirement looked up in horror. The young witch used the force to boost herself over his body with a simple leap, and she landed behind him. He was irrelevant to her, as her instructions were clear. Four corridors there was a security booth... But by the time she arrived at the fourth corridor she noticed how it went down either side. Left, right. Always a choice, and when it came with choices she decided to go with her gut feeling.

Left.

She glanced right then left, and chose to head in that direction. Down the left corridor a security guard stepped out of the booth and was surprised to see Boethiah moving swiftly towards him.

"Hey!" The man shouted. Though unfortunately it was too late, the woman drew Dreamweaver from a simple sheathe and brought the blade against his body, inflicting a deep and fatal cut. Though when she turned to face the others she was struck by a stun cone. The energy numbed her immediately and tensed the muscles in her arms. He gritted her teeth and groaned, mustering sheer willpower and the force to free herself from its bonds. Though not before taking a well-placed kick to the stomach.

Boethiah fell backwards, grunting. Then reached out with an extended arm and inflicted a telekinetic grip around the kicker's throat. The older woman struggled to free herself, and desperately reached up at her neck with both hands, trying to pry loose the phantom grip which began to crush her windpipe.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"]| [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Meet the Helix Squad.

A balding Aqualish rolled into the cantina. Of course, most Aqualish looked like they were balding, so who was to say? The four-eyed thug entered, a spring in his step, wearing an orange blast vest with no undershirt, exposing a bristly chest and an ogre-rich beer gut. He wore pants today and some sturdy boots. The butt of a stupidly large pistol stuck out from the front of his waistband.

A fairly normal appearance, by most standards, up until the accompanying A2 Jungle Droid shambled into view behind him on its knuckles, like some sort of ape. The droid's formerly white shell had yellowed considerably since coming off the factory line and now sported an impressive swathe of scorch marks, dents, and scratches. Its sole, red photoreceptor stared unblinkingly at the occupants of the cantina. In a synthesized monotone, the droid said something horribly offensive in Trandoshan.

Narbo, quite used to the droid's hostility, turned his head this way and that until he spotted his contacts, then promptly gave them a three-fingered wave.

"Ogedei!" He roared jollily and approached, seeking to pull the four-armed Besalisk into a crushing, comradely hug. "It's been a while, pateesa."

Some people thought Narbo was dishonorable and consequently didn't want to be seen around him, or get hugged by him for that matter; but Narbo never saw the use in honor. You couldn't drink it. You couldn't shag it. And the more you had the less good it did you. Given that he had none at all, he didn't miss it.

[member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Embrace the Aqualish

Derrenger smelled him before Ogedei could see him. It was a crude mixture he did not encounter frequently. First it was the pungent aroma of Twi'lek sweat. Maybe tears. Intermingled with drugs, a lot of drugs. Finally coupled with Aqualish sweat. Definitely sweat. It was [member="Narbo"] himself. Derrenger scowled and glanced away from Ogedei as the Aqualish and its pet droid sauntered over.

"So now she's holding the mynock by the dick, and this thing is screaming and flapping like you wouldn'tt..." Ogedei followed Derrenger's gaze and saw the familiar Aqualish, ape droid in tow as always. "Oh, look at that!"

Ogedei was very pleased with this development. He enjoyed the company of simple people. Not simple-stupid people, you know. Simple as in predictable. The people he worked with in the Syndicate were a mixed bag, too complicated to reasonably predict. Narbo was more easily understood. He was Narbo. That was all there is too him. The table groaned awkwardly as Ogedei rapidly slid out so he could hug Narbo, cigar pulled from his mouth by an extra hand just as the two aliens embraced. Two arms only from Ogedei. The last time Ogedei had hugged someone with all four arms, they ended up paralyzed from the waste down. And then dead like a day later. Because the bounty was for dead and Ogedei didn't like leaving a job half finished.

It wasn't as if Ogedei cared much for honor either. The Jedi fought with honor, that was why they lost all the wars. That was why Ogedei had more dead friends and family than anyone had business having. Life goes on. Now he gets paid much better than the Republic ever gave him.

Upon releasing Narbo, Ogedei clapped him on the back. "Good to see you, pal." He gestured towards Derrenger, who looked ready to spit acid at either of them. If he even had such an ability. "This is Derrenger. He's not too friendly, but he works good. Right Derrenger?"

Derrenger hissed.

"Yep, real tough guy," Ogedei said, puffing his cigar once more. "Your boss tell you what's happening?"

 

[Azimuth Industries]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Be disgusting

The droid and the Trandoshan proceeded to exchange death glares.

"Da lorda?" Narbo ignored them and took a seat, tusks shuffling. He gesticulated wildly. "Nah. He no say much to old, stoopa Narbo. Was dealing smak telia to these refugee pankpas. Now Great Gorba send me here." The Aqualish shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "Somet'ing about big moulee-rah." He chuckled, tapping the side of his tusks knowingly.

"Gonna be like the old Zareca days, nobata? Except..." all four black eyes raked through the cantina, "no chik youngees. Come down to da Smuggler's Moon sometime, eh. Narbo has a shag cheeka perfect for his pateesa Ogedei, yes." He held both hands in the air, fingers cupped. "Big Gamorrean cheeka. Full-figured. Knows how to treat a bukee right. Eheh heh heh."

He pulled out a vial of an orange powdery substance and poured a line across his arm, then leaned in, tusks shuffling. "Hnnnnffff. Unh." The Ualaq leaned back again, eyes bright. "Eheh heh heh."

[member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Be Polite

Ogedei laughed, a deep roiling sound that shook the walls of the booth. He was not about to explain to Narbo that he had been married once and doubted he could stand to love another woman. Especially not a Gamorrean one. Say anything about Ogedei, say he's a purist. He didn't think he could be attracted to any lady who wasn't also a Besalisk anyway. Gamorreans looked like the livestock he used to herd on Alderaan and everybody else was too frail. Too spindly.

"Don't you worry about me," Ogedei said, removing the cigar from his mouth and holding it between two meaty fingers. "We got more important things to be doing."

Before he could say much more, Narbo did a line of spice off his hairy Aqualish arm. Derrenger's face contorted in abject disgust. Ogedei had done his fair share of experimenting in his younger years, but he was getting on as it was. Spice was still good, though. The temptation was always there. Ogedei was just too familiar with the subsequent crashes and how they got worse and worse the more the years ticked by. No thanks. He could still fight and shoot. Any more binges were going to impact his ability to do either. And what with that recent shake-up in the hierarchy, an explosive one, Ogedei wanted to maintain his usefulness.

Ogedei hunched forward, leaning in so he could address Narbo with a hushed-but-still-thundering whisper. "You ever been to Davy Jone's locker? The one on this station."

While he waited for Narbo, he took another drag of his cigar and dabbed the ashes into the ashtray, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

[member="Narbo"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

"Uh, Davy Jones?" Narbo repeated, dragging the words out slightly, then shrugged. "Nobata. Sounds Quarren. Ey, Derrenger, you want some?"

He produced another vial of pale orange powder from inside his vest. "No? Eniki."

Narbo's tastes tended to repulse the "refined" citizens in the galaxy, but he didn't go out of his way to antagonize anyone. If Derrenger didn't want spice, then he didn't want spice. The jovial demeanor wasn't a front, but Narbo didn't tolerate any beesgas on a crew. Ogedei knew this.

Once upon a time, a line of ryll would've brought about a rush of euphoria. Now it just kept Narbo level. Didn't mean he wouldn't kreespa the T'doshok if he kept up the peedunkey act. Ogedei knew this too.

"Anyway," he leaned forward on both elbows, "tell me more about this locker, eh."

[member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Boethiah"] | [member="Narbo"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Irajah Ven"]

"I promised Lox-" And she was gone already.

Malvern sighed to himself and shook his head, but in the end it didn't matter much. He watched with bemused how she vaulted over one, tripped a second and then spun off away from the hangars, leaving only chaos in her fast wake.

They already focused their attention on him.

After all, he was the adult and he didn't look like he had much good in mind. This was correct, of course. "Sir-" A hold-out revolver was already in his hand, he focused and called upon the Force. It echoed back through him, sending shivers up his spine and spreading his focus through the entire room. It crystallized. Suddenly Khal saw it all: the little veins in the guard's eyes, suggesting sleep deprivation. The way his hand was already edging towards his holster.

All slow-motion.

More behind him, but Khal's revolver was already roaring.

Two bullets. They exited the guard's neck and found a second target, then a third before kinetic energy left them hanging in the air.

Malvern blinked and time rewound itself. "Right then." The mumble came as he stepped over the corpse and followed the path of destruction, until he came across the scene. His... daughter being choked out, while choking out someone herself.

Ugh. What a mess.

Once more the revolver roared, bullet brushing past Boethiah and taking the older woman in the head. She dropped.

"Told you to slow down," Khal retorted to the face of indignation. "Right, the booth."

 

[Boethiah]

Boethiah panted as the scene had diminished from life-or-death into the mundane of waiting. Though it wouldn't take long before someone responded to the chaos.

She turned her head towards her pseudo-father. "I had that under control." With a deep breath she brought her lungs back into order, and looked to the security booth in front of them.

"What am I doing here again?" She asked Khal.

Despite the raw power at her fingertips, Boe struggled to maintain a grip on the two forces conspiring inside of her. Each vying for authority over the young witch's body. One once a zealot of the highest order, a powerful witch in her own right who commanded a religious empire in Wild Space. The other was less prestigious but far from weaker. A witch as well, though dathomiri, turned Sith Lord.

It was quite difficult to argue which was worse, which was darker. Though Loxa had always insisted that it was Boethiah's destiny to be their vessel.

She imagined her father on the other hand would instead desire that she control them, rather than allow them further room to influence Boethiah's mind.

Boe shook her head to rid herself of the creeping spirits.

[member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Narbo"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Kuzo]

Irajah left the shop, humming to herself and sliding the case into her jacket pocket.

They had haggled properly, as far as she was concerned, bantering back and forth about the appropriate price. She'd had to mentally nudge him a few times, keep his attention off of his hand, stave off a whimper here and there. It had been a touch tiresome, in truth, but it was only fair. She wasn't trying to rob the man after all. She was perfectly content to pay good money for good service. She would have paid excellent money for excellent service, but, alas.

She'd let the pain back, in the end. It seemed only fair to hold it that long, until they were finished, since in this case at least, the pain hadn't been the point. She'd watched as it flooded back in, never one to let a moment like this slip her by. It may not have been why she'd come, but the expression on his face that went from the understanding of what she had done to the sensation of it as it slowly crept back up on him?

Hopefully, in the future, he would simply be honest from the beginning with his clients.

Irajah glanced left and then right, the door sliding shut behind her and cutting off the small, sucking sounds of unrestrained sobbing that had sunk from lips to deep in the chest.

Even with subpar material, she was fairly pleased with how it handled. It was worth every credit.


[member="Boethiah"] [member="Khaleel Malvern"] [member="Narbo"] [member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Give a Low Down

"It's a big ol' storage unit. Gigantic, hidden in the lower levels of this station. Think like, the belly," Ogedei explained, all hush-hush.

Derrenger could not understand the need for such exaggerated secrecy. They were in a private booth. People were too busy getting high and groping waitresses to notice anything, not to mention those staring vacantly at the holoscreens watching meaningless sports. Podracing? Grav ball? Pah. Derrenger could show them real sport. The jungles of Kashyyyk, with nothing but a sharp knife and a one-shot slugthrower to defend you from an angry Wookiee militia. Stupid mammals. They knew nothing.

Ogedei continued, "They keep all the valuable stuff down there. Things they use to keep the station running, finance wise. Gold, credits, jewels, guns, ammo, fuel. All of it." Ogedei leaned ominously back into his seat and gave a toothy grin. "We're gonna blow it open. Vacuum'll suck all the loot out and then we got a cruiser that'll come in and suck it all right up. Easy pickings."

[member="Narbo"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Laugh Scummily.

Sim hadn't stopped staring at the Trandoshan this entire time, processors whirring. Derrenger spoke the only language Sim knew. And the emotions, he could see them in the micro-expressions on the T'doshok's scaled features. Emotions like hate and disdain. The droid registered a memory. No. Not a memory. It hadn't happened. A dream? Error. Error. Error code not found. The ghost in the machine gasped, an entity both separate and conjoined to the code; a stirring of something else within the 1s and 0s. Something other.

The robot leaned forward until its cyclopean eye was staring directly into Derrenger's face.

<Brother?>

"Eh?" Narbo glanced at Sim. The droid was just bein' weird again. He looked over to Ogedei as the Besalisk concluded, comprehension dawning. Narbo's laughter came in a trickle of chuckles, then the dam burst into full-throated laughter. He clapped the Besalisk on the shoulder with a furry, three-fingered hand.

"You devious, loca sleemo. Heh heh, my kind of scum. I'm in."

[member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Shark Tank Cantina, Private Booth
Objective: Give a Low Down

[member="Narbo"] laughed. Ogedei laughed. Both of their terse, cold, Dosh-speaking companions sat in belligerent silence. Derrenger's only acknowledgement of the droid was to glare at it. Some of the other Clans had used them back in the day, but in Derrenger's opinion it made things too easy. The Wookiees were terrified of them back in the day, but production had stopped. He was still surprised to see one here. Especially in the hands of an Aqualish instead. Made Derrenger curious as to how Narbo even managed to get his hands on the thing. Kill a Trandoshan? Pick it out of a scrap heap? No. Narbo was too stupid to be able to do either of those things. Must have been blind luck. Must have been gambling.

Derrenger snarled softly under his breath, glaring daggers at Narbo. Ogedei regarded him curiously, then decided to ignore him. Trandoshans. Nothing but hostility all the time. Must have been a real drag living like that. "Good. Now all we gotta do is wait. Derrenger here," he clapped the Trandoshan on the back. Derrenger scowled at Ogedei for a change instead of the Aqualish. "Is gonna go lead the distraction. We've got a squad of goons all loaded with-"

A ringtone sounded from Ogedei's pocket before he could continue. Commlinks were for emergency only. The Besalisk looked bewildered for a moment then smiled. "Just a sec, uh." He reached into his gigantic pocket and retrieved to device. He flipped a switch on the side and inserted it into his ear. "What?"

There was some low, unintelligible squawking on the other side. Derrenger guessed correctly that it was the Caamasi intern.

"There's already a... Who's shooting what?"

Squawking.

"You don't know?"

Squawking. More furious.

"Alright!" Ogedei removed the device hurriedly, switching it off and already starting to slide out of the booth. "Move, get up, get up. We've gotta start moving now," He looked over at Narbo, "Just follow me, I'll explain on the way."

There had been a scheduled distraction. Now there was an unscheduled one.