Threw in a bit of episodic ‘monster of the week’ adventure; I edited a bit of last chapter to smooth out the set-up. It’s maybe a bit on the cheesy side, but at least it’s original cheese? Nanowrimo has been good so far; I’m almost done the next chapter as well.
Part 14: The Trouble with Hutts
Quesh was a disgusting cesspool of poison and smoke, but it was as far as his apprentices had managed to run after being caught stealing. Murlesson was angry, but he supposed it had been bound to happen sooner or later. Especially with a prize like the key to Thanaton’s meditation chamber. What had they been thinking!? And yet their audacity was encouraging. If they survived this, he’d start treating them like actual apprentices.
He and Khem were getting close to Corrin’s beacon, which was drawing him to an abandoned warehouse in a small town near to the Imperial spaceport. It was a good thought, if not enough. Staying in the spaceport would have been foolish, but either they hadn’t gone far enough or the town they’d chosen was too small. It would be good if they’d had the sense not to hole up in the warehouse but keeping running as long as they could, setting up the warehouse to be bait… but he didn’t have much hope of that.
There were Sith waiting outside the warehouse. Great, Cineratus was important enough to have a retinue, and guessed that Murlesson was on his way. This was just going to slow him down. “Is there any other way in?”
<If we do not kill them, they will interrupt our fight with their master,> Khem said.
“How many can you deal with on your own?” he asked.
<Several, but not all of them.>
Murlesson growled. “Fine. Make it quick.” He dropped into a crouch and crept behind some crates towards the nearest Sith, making himself as small in the Force as he could. When he was close enough, he lunged from cover, striking his enemy with a bolt of lightning and then slicing him in half. One down, four to go.
And he could sense from the building that his apprentices were in there still, in determined, hopeless terror, and a powerful presence was with them. Frak. He wished he’d been able to bring Ashara, but they’d tried sparring in the cargo hold, and while she was even slightly off-balance with her leg, that was not happening, not against Sith. Even if this first lot were, in the end, nothing much. He and Khem tore through them swiftly, the Dark Side humming through him, casting them down before him. At least he was feeling in good shape to fight Cineratus.
He ran through the warehouse, lightsaber blazing behind him, running up to the offices, feeling first Kaal, then Corrin snuff out even as he came skidding to a halt in the doorway, breathing hard. “Well, frak.”
Cineratus gave him a friendly smile. “Lord Murlesson, I assure you it was nothing personal. I’d just prefer to stay off Thanaton’s hit list. Or do you really think I had nothing better to do than to chase a pair of low-level apprentices half-way across the blasted galaxy?”
Murlesson glanced over at the bodies; Corrin’s eyelids fluttered momentarily, then stopped again. There wasn’t any salvaging them. “Sounds like an easier trial than the one he gave me. Probably deadlier, though, since I’m here now.”
“Yes, I do believe one of us isn’t leaving this room alive. So, I propose a toast. To the honourably defeated!”
Murlesson restrained an eyeroll, but couldn’t restrain an eyebrow. “There isn’t a chance I could be buried on Korriban, is there?” His voice lowered into a sarcastic hiss. “I hear the tomb of Naga Sadow is vacant.”
Cineratus’s smile was tinged with the blood-lust zinging through his aura. “The odds are slim, but I could put in a good word for you.” He whirled, spinning his own double-bladed saber into a combat ready position.
“Better than nothing,” Murlesson muttered, and pulled the Force before him as a cloak, muddling the currents flowing through the room. Cineratus’s eyes narrowed, squinting at Murlesson, whom he probably couldn’t see or sense clearly anymore, and he charged. Murlesson sidestepped with a blast of lightning, and Cineratus whirled and caught it on his blade, sweeping out a Force push that sent him flying backwards. He landed on his feet in a crouch, and now Khem was attacking, heavy strokes of his broadsword slamming down on Cineratus’s guard.
But Cineratus was too good a swordsman to simply be overwhelmed with sheer strength, and after a moment to fade before Khem, seized control again and pushed Khem back with a flurry of quick jabs, putting Khem on the defensive. In another breath Murlesson was back in, forcing Cineratus to defend against both sides. Aristheron would have fought him honourably in single combat. Murlesson wasn’t Aristheron, bringing the Force to bear on Cineratus’s senses, trying to get into his head – but though he could blur his perception of him, he couldn’t break directly into his mind.
“You’re pretty good for one I’m told was a former slave,” Cineratus said. “You have skill, and power, and somehow you command loyalty from a Dashade. You’re raw, still developing, but it truly is a pity you have to die.”
“I won’t waste my breath complimenting you,” Murlesson said. “All I’m going to say is that you’re an arrogant prick like the rest of them!” Internally, the ‘raw’ comment rankled. He’d been working on his skills as hard as he could, and yet these lazy, old, well-established Sith thought fit to tell him he was still useless.
They’d regret pushing him so hard when he started getting to the point that they took him seriously. He didn’t say ‘full power’. Who knew when he’d reach full power? If he reached full power, they’d really regret it.
End over end, the two scarlet double-bladed lightsabers purred and growled at each other, scraping off each other and Khem’s cortosis blade. They were backing out of the room, out to the balcony. Murlesson’s eyes were narrowed. The Force was trying to warn him – but of what, he didn’t know.
He found out in a hurry when Cineratus lashed out, kicking him squarely in the chest and knocking him over the rail. A frustrated cry erupted from his mouth as he fell to the floor below, just barely landing on his feet and skidding backwards slightly. “Son of a bantha-loving Devaronian!”
“Tch, language,” Cineratus chided, leaping after him with a Force blast that knocked him back from his feet. Kriffing Force, where was all his strength when he needed it!?
“Shut your filthy mouth,” he hissed back, as Cineratus stabbed down at him, barely deflecting the killing blow into the floor beside him. He kicked out, twisting, gritting his teeth, lashing out with a blast of lightning, driving Cineratus back enough to stand, still pouring lightning through his fingertips towards him. Khem had jumped from the balcony now, and Cineratus tried to disengage, to focus on one or the other. None of that! He lunged forward, lightsaber near-forgotten, lightning-spewing hand gnarled in the strain like a gundark’s claw. Cineratus was hemmed in by a stack of storage crates, he couldn’t block all of it and defend against Khem at the same time, and it touched him, crawling over his body, rapidly wreathing him in violet sparks. Cineratus screamed, and then Khem cut his head from his body, cutting the scream short.
Murlesson sagged, panting hard, as the body fell to the floor, splashing blood over the dirty durocrete. A small cube fell from a pocket on impact – the key Corrin and Kaal had stolen. He stooped and picked it up, unsure what to make of it. On the one hand, having access to Thanaton’s private sanctum could be very useful. On the other hand, how long would it be before Thanaton changed the lock? Like a normal person? He wasn’t ready to face him yet, even if he disavowed other forms of strength and simply went to sneak assassin-like into his chambers.
He examined the cube further. On second thought, it was designed to be unique. It would take a great deal of time for Thanaton to replace a lock this complex, and anything less wouldn’t stop Murlesson. That didn’t solve the problem that Thanaton still knew – or knew the possibility – that Murlesson had the key.
Tempting. But frustrating. He’d make a decision later. He nodded to Khem. “Well done. Let’s get out of here.”
Zash seemed to think it would be a brilliant idea to sneak into Thanaton’s sanctum. “It would be the perfect place for an ambush. He can’t know when you’re coming. He simply won’t be as surprised when you do show up.”
“Persuasive,” he grunted. “I don’t trust it.” He’d prefer a complete and total assassination.
“I wouldn’t advise facing him until you’ve gained more power, indeed.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, tilting his chair back and putting his boots up on the conference table and his head back. His head hurt again. It was starting to become a chronic problem, and he wondered if he should start taking painkillers. “Find me more ghosts, and we’ll talk.”
Zash frowned at the boots on the table, but continued. “While Ashara, Andronikos, and I continue searching for rumours, you should consider replacing your apprentices. You will appear weak if you don’t try to restore what Thanaton destroyed.”
He raised his head and glared at her. “They were half-decent minions, until they slipped up, but why do I have to? What’s all this about appearances? I don’t give a Hutt’s arse how strong I look.”
“If you look too weak, you could get distracted fighting off rivals who are not Thanaton,” Zash said, sounding like she was trying to hold on to her patience. Revel yawned and tilted his chair back to put his feet on the table, too.
“I have Ashara, she counts,” Murlesson said, pointing at her. She grinned; apparently that was hilarious to her.
“Thanaton took two apprentices from you. And even if you had turned her, she’s hardly proper Sith,” Zash said. Ashara snorted a tiny laugh and made a little peace sign.
Murlesson glared even blacker. “Kriffing Sith traditions. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this shite.”
“I would have thought you of all people would recognize the value of traditions, appearances, and power,” Zash scolded him.
He huffed. He did recognize the value of those things, abused them all the time to get what he wanted. He just didn’t want another apprentice. He was fine with having Ashara to talk to, and introducing a new element into the mix might change the balance of his team for the worse.
But if there was no getting around it, he was going to keep this one close and actually train the bugger properly. Corrin and Kaal had been second-hand. If he got to pick his new apprentice – or as close as the trials allowed – he was going to make sure they were at least half-baked.
“Anyway, a new group of acolytes has arrived on Korriban,” Zash went on, as if it were decided. “Slaves. The kind of acolytes Thanaton always passes on. Our old friend Harkun is training them. An apprentice from Korriban is a special honour. It says you have status, and you will have your pick of the group.”
“As opposed to the apprentices one gets from Kessel,” he said sarcastically. Yes, he knew apprentices could be run into anywhere in the galaxy, but really, the majority of them passed through Korriban. There was nothing special about them. Zash was just trying to sweet-talk him. “All right. Inform Harkun I want one. Revel, stay on course for Nar Shaddaa. We’re almost there anyway. I have business there, and you can listen for ghost stories while I visit Korriban.”
“Right,” Revel said, bringing his feet down and standing. “We should be there in another standard day.”
He really, really wanted to spend time with his cult. He hadn’t been able to since they were founded, and they were growing rapidly. There was no question why Leppo the Hutt was interested in them. But Korriban was going to be another week away from them… Decisions, decisions. And maybe now was not the time to begin building his sanctum, not until the Hutt situation was resolved. Ashara seemed to be having fun with it, and that alone made it a tempting prospect to make reality; her work looked good.
But also he needed to make his cult a priority before they forgot who he was. Needed to show them his might periodically – not too often, but if he wasn’t often present, he had to ensure their awe remained alive while he was away. And, the Hutt needed to be dealt with quickly. Zash could frown all she liked, but Hutts were absolutely not to be trifled with or put off, not even for Sith matters.
The first thing he needed to do was to complete his research he had begun earlier on Commenor. Was there another Hutt nearby he could ally with temporarily that wouldn’t end up screwing him over in the long run?
The answer to that question was ‘no’, because there was no Hutt alive who would ever not betray anyone and everyone for business purposes. It was like finding a pacifist Sith, or a shaved Wookiee. He’d already begun to strengthen his ties to the Empire, for exactly this purpose, that it would offer him some measure of protection as long as he didn’t rock too many boats. And yet too strong, and the crime lords would get nervous about a large Imperial presence breathing down their necks. He had to show them if they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother them – and that he would if they did. And a large part of that would simply be bribing his way to a place in the local ecosystem.
He arrived at the headquarters in the mid-afternoon, local time, and found his cult waiting for him, hundreds of them, lined up in neat, recently-washed rows. He’d warned them he was coming, but he hadn’t expected this. It was good that Rylee and Destris were so loyal. They cheered as he entered the building, and he inclined his head regally. He made his way down between the lines of cultists to the middle of the room, by one of the holotrees, and turned to face them. He made the Chraemmeft Scukri to them, and they made it back in surprisingly-coordinated unison, and then he raised his hands for quiet. “Thank you, my followers. It is good to see you well and cheerful. Be yet more glad, for I have come to remain with you for a little while.”
“That is good news, master!” Destris cried. “Thank you!” Khi, the red-and-black Rodian fangirl, cheered wildly, and everyone else joined in for a minute, and it was very noisy – too noisy for his liking, threatening to bring on another attack of his perpetual headache. “Has your work gone well in the galaxy, then?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have fought against many who thought me weak. I triumphed against them all, and have grown even stronger. And I will not leave you until those who trouble you have been dealt with.”
“Oh, good,” Destris said, looking relieved. “We were hoping you’d protect us, master.”
He inclined his head again. “I shall. Fear not. Now, continue about your business.” He turned to Rylee and Destris as the crowd began to disperse, many of them heading out in the direction of the factory nearby, some of them going to lounge around the headquarters and stare at him from a distance. “I’d like to discuss it in private, and to see first-hand all you have done in my absence.”
“Yes, master!” Destris said, eagerly. “Say, uh, you have a new companion?”
“Ah yes,” Murlesson said, and beckoned Ashara. “This is Ashara, my apprentice. Treat her with all respect – though she isn’t to make changes without my knowledge.” He didn’t trust her Jedi ways not to meddle yet. Ashara rolled her eyes briefly, then stepped forward to greet them.
“Hi! You must be Rylee, and you must be Destris! Nice to meet you.” She made sure her red-and-black bracelet was prominent on her wrist as she made the Chraemmeft Scukri; she didn’t need a bracelet, or to learn the secret handshake, Force knew Khem and Revel didn’t want either, and he would have made sure the cult knew her by sight anyway, but she insisted she wanted to ‘do things right’, whatever that meant.
“Nice to meet you too, my lady,” Rylee said, bowing and making the gesture back to her; Destris copied her.
Ashara giggled. “You don’t have to do that for me. I’m no lady. Just call me Ashara.” She looked at the holotree. “Nice tree. It’s kind of out of place, though?”
The headquarters was looking a bit shabby in comparison, true, but it had always looked shabby. Maybe it was looking shabbier than before, with so many people living in it, some of them very carelessly? It was kind of like his cabin, so it didn’t bother him. Should it continue to look shabby? Was that what they wanted? He’d have to ask Rylee and Destris. He had the idea that shabby and non-descript was fine. “What matters is that it’s our tree, and not someone else’s tree. But… maybe once we’ve dealt with the Hutt, we can talk about lighter matters. Such as redecorating.” Or he’d give Ashara a budget and leave it all up to her and the cult leaders. He had more important things to think about.
“I like that idea,” Destris said. “Especially the part about ‘once we’ve dealt with the Hutt’.”
“First, I want to see what’s changed,” Murlesson said. “Give me the tour.”
“Can I come?” Ashara asked.
“I’m out,” Revel said. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”
Khem didn’t move, lurking threateningly behind Murlesson.
Fortunately, the tour didn’t take too long, and although he had to sit through dinner with everyone first, then he could start send a flurry of messages to everyone – to Commenor, to extract what updates he could for his production line, to his buyers, to try to find a more direct link to Imperial procurement, to Qol’sann, the right-hand advisor to Torga the Hutt, one of his new neighbours. She – although Hutts didn’t have gender the way most humanoids understood it, but it was understood that she had feminine mannerisms, so was referred to with female pronouns – was noted to be willing to deal with Imperials – and was also a noted Leppo-hater. He had to be careful with that one. He was no supplicant, running scared to find stronger friends. He was an equal, looking to establish a mutually beneficial relationship simply because it was good sense. He had to offer Torga something she couldn’t refuse.
He had planned to go out immediately after breakfast the next day, but some of the less-active members of the cult accosted him, begging him for guidance, making the Chraemmeft Scukri compulsively as if it would get his attention better. Which, maybe it did, but not for the reasons they probably thought. “Please, master, speak to us again as you did before Paladius!”
“The master is busy,” Destris said, coming to shoo them self-importantly.
Murlesson checked the chrono on his datapad, and held up a hand to stop Destris from getting in the way. “I can spare a minute or two. I’d like to speak to everyone later, but I am not Paladius, to be remote and unreachable otherwise. What is it you wish of me?”
The shaky human in front – clearly suffering from some kind of physical handicap, and quite likely a mental one as well, no wonder she wasn’t working in the factory at the moment – reached up to him; he stayed still as a statue. “Please, tell us again about your vision!”
He knelt in front of her. “I will tell everyone about it later, but what I have always wished for you is a place where you can be free from oppression, a place where you do not have to cower, a place where your voice joins with your fellows’ to tell the high and mighty of Nar Shaddaa ‘We have a right to remain’.” His voice rang softly with noble conviction, and dimly, he felt Ashara’s approval shimmering behind him. If she was taking him at face value, had she learned nothing about him over the last few weeks?
“You have given us everything we could wish for,” Destris said, and those kneeling before him nodded enthusiastically.
“What else, what else?” they clamoured.
He was saved from answering by a breathless shout from the front. “Master! Master! Help us!” He jumped up and strode forward. What was the panic? What were these presences he sensed?
Armed guards were storming in to the foyer, kicking his cultists out of the way and lining up as an honour guard. And in through the central door slimed a Hutt. “Leppo. So you’ve come to call.”
<Lord Murlesson, I presume?> the Hutt rumbled. <You’re shorter than I imagined.>
“You’re exactly how I imagined, because I had the sense to find a picture of you before you came,” Murlesson retorted. “What do you want?”
Leppo laughed jovially. <You’ve done well for yourself, young man. But Nar Shaddaa – it’s not for Sith, don’t you think? I know you’re cutthroat just like us, you’re violent and independent, but you don’t really care about this rabble. You’re just in it for the money. So let me make you a deal.>
“No,” Murlesson said flatly.
<But I haven’t even made my offer yet! Now, how would two million credits sound?>
Murlesson swallowed. That was ten times as much as his total earnings so far. He could feel the eyes of his followers nervous on him. How many of them were certain he’d take the money? Most of them, he could feel.
And yet – he was playing the long game. He had goals. What sort of short-sighted fool did this Hutt take him for? “No. Get out.”
<Ah, ah, ah, he’s crafty! Mere money won’t satisfy him. Very well, then, three million credits, my personal gratitude, redeemable in diverse favours, and…> The Hutt’s eyes half-closed in self-satisfaction. <My personal collection of historical artifacts and my contacts in the relevant black markets. You see, I have done my research.> Murlesson heard astonished gasps from behind him, could feel the shock at the unabashed ‘generosity’ Leppo was proposing.
“Leave!” Murlesson barked, his own eyes narrowed in anger and contempt. He wasn’t going to say it wasn’t tempting, but the undying loyalty of an army of mentally-challenged individuals was far more valuable to him than the questionable loyalty of an oversized slug, no matter what sort of doors it opened – or what sort of doors his refusal closed.
Leppo growled in fury, a deep rumbling growl from within his grotesque belly that set the air shaking. <You will regret this, young Sith. I know everything that goes on in my district. Your business will be mine!>
Murlesson’s hand went to his lightsaber; the bodyguards raised their blasters; but Leppo was leaving, as demanded. He remained still, glaring, until the last bodyguard had left.
Then he relaxed a little and turned back to his cult. “Is everyone all right?”
“Some bruises, but nothing broken,” Rylee reported from where she was helping kicked cultists. “Master, what are we going to do? We managed to stave him off before by telling him he needed to talk to you, but now…”
“We’re going to die!” wailed another cultist, flailing and falling over. “He’s going to come back and kill us all!”
“You’re not going to die,” he said, unable to contain his sarcasm entirely. He gave Rylee a coolly confident look, reaching out to strengthen their resolve with the Force. “Everything will be fine. He is a short-sighted creature. He only sees that the factory is profitable. He doesn’t see you. And do you really think so little of me that you think I can’t outwit him, stand against him, even destroy him for daring to show his face? If so, you’d better leave at once.”
“No, no, master! I take it back! You will save us all!” The faces around him were all so stupidly trusting. Even the nervous ones were looking at him with utter faith. They didn’t need their bloody resolve strengthened.
“I will,” he said regally. “Now we must begin preparing – for you’re not wrong. He will come back, and he will come back with force. But we will be ready for him.” He took a look around the foyer. He’d partly chosen the place for its unassuming appearance; it blended into the street outside, looking like every other half-abandoned building full of squatters in the neighbourhood. Once he started fortifying, that might change, though he hoped it wouldn’t. It was almost always good to be underestimated by one’s enemies.
Leppo didn’t have the resources in place to attack immediately, he already knew. He had the time to fix his own lack of preparation. He pulled out his comm. “Revel.”
“Here,” Revel drawled.
“I hope you’re sober enough to run an errand for me.”
“Whatcha need, kid?”
Murlesson frowned at the comm. “Stop that. I need to invest in heavy security, a large quantity of body armour, and turrets.”
“By ‘large quantity’, you mean…”
Murlesson tried to remember how many cultists had looked fit enough to carry weapons. “Let’s go with two hundred. And the same number in blasters. And ten turrets.” The cult had a few weapons already, but Leppo wouldn’t be stopped by what they’d tried to use on him at his demonstration in front of Paladius.
“Can do. I’ll get it to your base as soon as I find my contacts.”
“Ashara, come with me,” he said. “Rylee, Destris, clear the foyer, send out teams to locate and retrieve anything that can be of use in barricades, and keep everyone else inside. Khem, stay with them in case Leppo acts ahead of time.”
“Yes, master!”
Ashara was cheerful as they walked the street together, heading up in the city about three levels. “I know you called it a cult, but it’s a really healthy cult!”
He snorted. “What the frak are you talking about?” He kept his voice low – there was no telling who might be listening, either unfriendly ears who might report back to his enemies… or who might report back to his cult.
“They all take care of each other! You’ve set it up really well – the stronger ones work, and the weaker ones take care of the commune, and together they support each other! And the way you treat them is really great too! You’re not just using them to lord over them, or to have people bow to you.”
They were going to have to have a talk later – or not, she could believe what she liked. Better the Jedi believe that the Sith had an altruistic bone in his body than that she knew he was coldly calculating how to manipulate their loyalty into true power. How to get them to work harder for him, how to get them to bring him what he needed to win the long game.
True power – true freedom. Every little detail brought him one step closer. Sure, the intelligent and well-honed might of a military machine might be more useful to him, and more fun to play with, but Zash was right – shockingly – unfettered fanaticism was a useful force, when he got it to align for him. And though they might be uneducated, uncritical, and… neuro-atypical, many of them, that just made them more valuable in some ways. The very fact that they were unwanted made him want them – if only because it was easy to get a lot of them. The group as a whole could carry quite a bit of dead weight, and enough of them were able to work and be useful in other ways. Sith throw flesh endlessly at that which they cannot control… so he was following in a time-honoured tradition, even if his grandfather had professed condescension for it. Well, it wasn’t like this flesh was fit for throwing on the front lines anyway.
So he made a sarcastic face at Ashara. “Did you think I wanted just people to bow to me?”
“I dunno, a lot of Sith seem to think it’s fun.”
He snorted. “By giving them power, I give myself power. Leppo’s just mad he didn’t think of it first.”
“And the ones who are sick, physically and mentally, you’re giving them a place to rest, a place to heal and belong. You’re giving them what no one else would – food, shelter, companions…”
“A retirement plan and dental benefits,” he quipped. “Ah, we’re here.”
“Umm… this is pretty ostentatious.” It had the vague appearance of a nightclub, with neon pink and blue lights pulsing on the exterior, and a dark blue light shining from half-slatted windows. An arch of gold lights showed in no uncertain terms where the front door was, where more armed guards slouched, looking for an excuse to fight.
“You think a Hutt would have anything less?”
“Another Hutt?” She wrinkled her nose. “Wasn’t one enough?”
“You have to know where all the Syren plants in your neighbourhood are, or risk blundering into one and dying horribly,” he told her, and stepped up to the guards. “Lord Murlesson. I spoke with Qol’sann earlier.”
“Wait here a minute,” said the guard in a bored voice. Soon enough, he was back. “You can go in; she’s expecting you.”
Ashara pulled a bit closer to him, trying not to show that she was nervous. He could fairly hear the Jedi code mantra running through her head. He nodded to the guard and walked through the golden arch.
The interior was even more like a nightclub, and he could feel Ashara peering around with great curiosity at the lights, the crowded tables of aliens, the exotic dancers. “Stop staring like a rube,” he muttered to her. “If you want to see what a nightclub looks like, I’ll take you to a less important one when we’re done here.”
“Sweet,” Ashara said, and though he wasn’t sure if her voice was sarcastic or not, her spirit perked up oddly at that. “It’s not that I want to see what a nightclub looks like…”
Either she was lying, which was very un-Jedi-like, or she had some other reason to be happy about his offer. “Seems like it would be useful for you to know so you can stop being distracted when you’re supposed to be backing me up.”
“Sah-ry,” she said in a sassy voice, and kept her eyes businesslike.
They were met half-way across the open floor by a female Zabrak in black leather and neon green hair, and piercings everywhere – ears, eyebrows, nose, lips, even her horns. “Murlesson, huh? Been expecting you. Heard you had a guest earlier.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Have I an audience with your boss?” He shook hands with her, slipped her the requisite credit chit.
“Sure do,” Qol’sann said, smoothly pocketing the money and waving him forward. “She’s pretty excited to meet you, especially when I said you were cute. Your friend’s cute, too.”
He felt his temper flare, but held on to it. Surely she meant ‘cute’ as in ‘attractive’, not ‘cute’ as in ‘adorable, juvenile, weak’. A Jedi would call him juvenile and weak, but Jedi couldn’t offer him much besides humiliation and a fight to the death. A Hutt could offer a bit more. “Lead the way.”
Torga the Hutt raised a giant martini glass on seeing him approach, neon lights glinting off the bling around her thick neck. <So you are Murlesson of the Screaming Blade society. You’re as cute as Qol’sann said.> He ignored that. <Leppo doesn’t like you.>
“I don’t like Leppo,” he said frankly. Goodness, the name Rylee and Destris had chosen for the cult sounded even sillier in Huttese. There was a reason he pretended that name didn’t exist if he could help it. “I’d like to dispose of him. Have I your blessing, Great Torga?”
Torga laughed with her whole body. <Please do. I’ve grown sick of that posturing greedy waste of space. My hands are tied to help you directly, but I assure you that the Hutt clans will not retaliate should you end his life.>
“That is all I could ask for,” he said, brain whirling. Most sentients would be content to leave it at that. But surely she was just planning to use him herself. He bowed, not low, but graciously. “By your leave then, I will see to it.”
Low in a crouch, he crept through corridors silently. If he killed Leppo before he attacked, there would be no reason for the attack to happen. Torga would probably claim his resources after his death, and he would not gain-say her… But she couldn’t stop Murlesson from taking a few small things first.
The guards were fairly useless. Half of them were human, or Gamorrean, and he could warp their minds with ease, distracting them or simply making them not see him. A part of him wondered if it was beneath his dignity to be sneaking about, doing his own assassinations, but really – who else was going to do it? And it wasn’t like his target was easy, despite the useless guards, or low-profile.
For one thing, there were the Trandoshans. He’d dealt with them before, back when he was a complete novice, taking on his very first Sith Lord, Skotia. Gods, it felt like a lifetime ago. But he didn’t have the amulet anymore, and he didn’t know if this lot even worshipped that amulet, anyway.
It was fine. What they had in Force-resistance and heightened senses and physical strength, they lacked in cleverness and agility. He used the Force to knock distant things off tables, and by the time they noticed that a shadow had moved behind them, he was off and away, blurring security cameras with barely a thought.
And into Leppo’s private rooms. He’d moved through his security like a ghost, although it was… even easier than he was expecting, and faint warning bells were going off in the Force.
And Leppo wasn’t in his rooms. The Hutt’s stink was omnipresent, but it was not as strong as he would have expected. Perhaps he was out in his meeting chamber, but… he was still suspicious.
But he had business in the private rooms anyway, so this was fine. He’d just do his mission in the opposite order than he’d planned, on a slightly tighter time constraint.
He heard a soft gasp from a corner and spun, startled, lightsaber hissing to life. How had he missed the cowering Nautolan!? Fear cloaked the being in the Force, his physical insignificance mirrored in his Force presence. Well, he couldn’t leave any witnesses who might sound an alarm. He lunged.
“Please! Don’t!” The Nautolan cowered back before he struck, throwing up his arms. “I can help you!”
He paused, lightsaber raised. “How can you help me?”
“I can give you all of Leppo’s secrets! Please! I’m his most talented slicer, I can get it all for you!”
Murlesson slowly lowered his lightsaber. “All right, do you have anything on Torga?” Her hands were tied, she said, and he had a good idea it was not entirely because of her clan or because she wanted him to prove himself.
“Yes, yes, he does! Oh, but you want the good stuff, don’t you? Yes, yes, the good stuff. Let me get it for you.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Murlesson said dryly, sheathing his saber.
The Nautolan went to a blank section of wall, pushing a secret button; the Force was calm, so Murlesson didn’t tense as a number pad flipped out of the wall. After punching in a code, a small alcove opened and the Nautolan pulled out a little box. He put it on a table and released the catches. “I’ll show you, it’s good. Actually, I haven’t seen what’s on it myself. I’ve always wanted to know. But I know it’s good. Leppo keeps it very secure.”
“Do tell,” Murlesson said, folding his arms. Inside the box was a black memory chip, and the Nautolan bustled over to the oversized viewscreen on one side of the room. There was a video on the chip, and a number of record forms. “Play the video,” Murlesson ordered.
It was security camera footage of a Hutt crossing a suspension bridge, and the bridge collapsing, pitching the Hutt and their entourage into the depths of a Nar Shaddaa chasm. While hilarious, the video wasn’t as useful as the record forms which showed it had been Torga’s fault the bridge had collapsed. He guessed that Torga would have had everything deleted from the official record, and these were the only copies left – if this was what he thought it was. “Who is that falling?”
“Ummm, I don’t know. This was from a century ago. Perhaps it’s somewhere in here?”
“I’ll take it,” Murlesson said. This was exactly what he needed. “Is there anything on me?”
“You, uh, sir?”
“Murlesson Kallig.”
The Nautolan began to type furiously on his console, and information began to show up on the viewscreen. “He’s been really obsessed with you the last little while, sir. Got some kind of transmission from the Imperial Dark Council a couple weeks ago and got really intrigued… Here it is!”
Predictably, it was Thanaton. “Stooping to using third parties to take out my support, is it? I expected better of him…” No, actually, he didn’t, despite Thanaton’s loudly-stated preference for Sith traditions. He really couldn’t trust anything in his surroundings. He wondered if Leppo would have shown the same level of enthusiasm for acquiring his base if it had come to his awareness naturally. Ah, well. Now to get rid of the witness.
The Nautolan anticipated him before he even drew his lightsaber. “Please, get me out of here!”
He frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Yac Liiddi, Leppo’s kept me locked up for the last five years. You’re the only intruder I’ve ever seen, so you must be good enough to get me out. I’ll work for you! I’m very good!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Desperate, are we? Are you actually very good, or are you just saying that to waste my time and effort?”
“I can slice anything. Anything. Personal IDs, ship transponders, government records.”
“And did you slice this?” Murlesson said, pointing at the memory chip, now back in its box.
“No… that’s genuinely from a hundred years ago. I swear! The file formats back me up on that, the code signatures… But I can if you want-”
“All right, shut up,” Murlesson said, thinking. He could use someone with Liiddi’s illicit skills. Rylee’s hacking capabilities were excellent, but create a new identity, she could not. If this man were genuine… but if he weren’t… “All right. But first I’m going to kill Leppo. I suppose you should stay here. I’ll come get you when it’s done.” He shut the box, scooped it up, and turned to head for the door.
The Nautolan’s dark eyes widened, if such a thing were possible. “Leppo already left. He’s moving in on your-”
“Why didn’t you say that earlier!?” Murlesson bellowed at him, sending him cowering back. He already had his comm out. “Destris. Leppo is on the move. I will return as swiftly as I may, but you will have to hold him off until I get there.” Not completely unexpected, but he had thought to have more warning.
“Y-yes, master. We will do our best! We’re ready for him!”
“All right, now get ready for a fight, because I’m not leaving as quietly as I came,” Murlesson said to Liidi, who looked even more terrified.
Like a hawkbat out of hell, he ripped through the guards in his path. They were not Leppo’s best, and now he knew why. The rest had already gone to assault his compound-!
“When we get back to my base, get inside, keep your head down, and don’t be stupid,” he said, tearing open the dash of the closest speeder outside Leppo’s palace and finding the right wires to start it up. Smoking guards littered the walkway behind him.
“R-right.” Liidi was perhaps even more petrified than before, after having seen such ruthless destruction. He hadn’t seen anything, not compared to what was going to happen once he got back… He slammed the accelerator to the floorboards and the speeder took off like a burned Manka cat. Liidi yelped and clutched his safety harness. Murlesson’s expression didn’t change. He might not have been the best or most experienced driver, but the Force was with him, and that was all he needed.