SithLore

Down, and up, up again for the last set. Baurzhan still preferred freeweights to the dozens of newer, fancier lifting systems. He pressed the bar into his broad shoulders, and dipped again, bending at the knees and reaching back with his waist. A pull from the quads and he came up again. The weights gave a soft metal clack as he locked out at the top. Five more, and he set the bar back on the rack, ducking under it and backing away. He could feel sweat beading in his fur, and he shook his head, sending cool air flowing through the long mustache and beard that drooped from his jowls, through the hollow, muted silver hair that sprouted between the ridges on his head. Sometimes he considered shaving it all off, to better blend with his Klatooinian cousins, as some of his kin had. But that was the easy road, and Baurzhan never took it.

The chiming of his comlink shook the old general from his introspection. He flicked it on, and set about wiping down the weights as he racked them. "Mr. Magjan, how are you today?" asked a woman's voice.

"Doing alright, Mellie," he answered the receptionist. He could've sworn it was the weekend. "Did I miss another appointment? I didn't think my age was catching up to me yet."

"Oh, no sir," she soothed, before hesitating, "Mr. Magniea has called an emergency meeting, is all. 1500 hours Standard."

Baurzhan glanced at the chrono on the wall. Less than five hours, something serious, then. Mr. Magniea wasn't given to unnecessary drama, at least not when it came to his shipping company. "I'll be there, Mellie. Take care."

****************

Mellie waved briefly at him as he walked into the foyer. She was attractive enough, he thought, but he knew most humans saw her a plain girl. Mr. Magniea had no time for useless decor, though, one of the reasons Baurzahn preferred to work on his board during his retirement. He was about to ask why she seemed so concerned, but she ushered him in with a hurried hand. In the conference room, with bits of their supposed glory and wealth draped upon their persons, were the other 11 members of the Magniea Trade executive board. Baurzahn was on, officially, in one of the lesser advisory slots to provide advice on security. It placated some of the haughtier investors, a good combination of dirty business and a lesser species. A legacy of Imperial prejudice, though now colored more of pity for his Klatooinian cousins under the slimy tails of the Hutts. Only a few knew he was part of Mr. Magniea's inner circle, by virtue of being there themselves. He gave a few bows, a shadow of a smile and a nod to Dr. Brebor, the Bothan CFO and another member of the inner circle, then they all took their seats.

Shortly, Mr. Ionatha Magniea stepped out in a sharp, pressed, suit, and took his seat, with some stiffness, at the head of the table. He placed his hands flatly on the table. Not in their usual steeple. Baurzhan narrowed his eyes at those hands, and turned his gaze to Mr. Magniea, who was staring at...nothing. His eyes were oddly glassy. A chill ran down Baurzhan's spine, a frozen reminder from his homeworld, a guiding animal instinct. The silence stretched into awkwardness. Lady Noreen coughed into her hand, rattling her pearled headdress. One of the dukes cleared his throat. "Mr. Magniea, what's all this ab-"

The opening whisk of the side door cut off Duke DuVeen. From Mr. Magniea's office came a woman, dressed in one of the glittering skintight bodysuits and lavish vests popular with the youth in the clubs of the old Smuggler's Square here on Llanic. Her heels did what they could to boost her height, but even those extra centimeters couldn't bring her close to the two that followed. Thugs, plainly, in jumpsuits. One was even a Klatooinian, but any mirth at the coincidence was suppressed by the blaster rifle in meaty hands.

"Dear Duke," purred the woman, "Please allow me to explain. I am Aurore, a dear friend of Mr. Magniea's here. Isn't that right, Dravid, darling?" Mr. Magniea, otherwise unmoving, gave a nod. It barely registered with the rest of the board; all eyes were on Aurore. Or, rather, on Aurore and her figure, in the case of some of the men. "Dravid...oh, excuse me, Mr. Magniea has called you all here to make an announcement," she continued, beaming a smile around the room, "Or rather he would, if his poor throat weren't so struck ill. I am to be his partner in the running of this fine conglomerate!"

"In the receipt of our profits, you mean," growled Lady Noreen. She was sharp enough to justify some of her haughty attitude.

Aurore's glowing eyes turned icy, and her clasped hands dropped to reveal a scowl etched on elegantly painted lips. "My Lady, I wish we could avoid such vulgarities. After all, the company will continue, and you'll still receive your allowances, just a bit diminished. And I think you'll agree it's really a small price to pay, considering." Aurore waved a hand and the other thug, the hulking, grungy human tossed a disk on the table. When it settled, a holo-image popped up, featuring a cell filled with near a score of people and an oddly proud looking Sullustan fingering a blaster on his hip.

Baurzahn stared at the image as it zoomed in and rotated through the small crowd. Small gasps snapped the dead quiet of the room, and Aurore's svelte, satisfied grin seemed to grow with each one. Baurzahn paid it no mind, watching the faces...and yes, there she was, draping her lab coat over the shoulders of an adolescent and comforting the crying girl. Evalaenna's hair, red and wild against its bounding braid, was unmistakable. His 'niece.'

"You...you're horrid! You won't be able to pull this off." Dr. Brebor punctuated his accusation with a pointed finger, shaking tufts of his fur. "This is a civilized world."

A soft bark of laughter escaped Aurore, more amused than discouraged by the Bothan bookkeeper. "Ahh, yes. Doctor Brebor. The keeper of the profits. You're truly a mathematical genius, you know? A paragon of statistics. But I'm afraid, my little fuzz-ball, you've got your snout buried too far in those books." Baurzahn watched her as she made her way around the table to the accountant. She turned Brebor's chair to face the table, and Baurzahn, and draped herself over the Bothan's shoulder with a pointed bend at the waist. With a soft scratch behind the his ear, she continued, "I could teach you so much about how to truly turn a profit. You have such an idealism to you, you just don't see those options for extra profits. We just don't have the time, though I wish we did. I just can't get over this one little problem."

"W-Which is?"

"You give me no leverage with such a boring, ascetic life." Aurore cleared her slugthrower from its holster with a soft scrape of leather. Its clean, chrome lines accented the elegance of her hand as she brought it to rest in Brebor's lap. "And with no leverage..." Baurzahn followed the weapon as it traced up Brebor's vest, weaving between gilded buttons. "...There's nothing to stop you from sneaking out some message..." The cold barrel chilled Baurzahn almost as much as it did Brebor, resting under his chin. "...I simply...can't..." Aurore rolled off of the Bothan's frame, coming to rest her back against Duke Valo. Brebor closed his eyes. "Trust you."

CRACK, the weapon went off, leaving a spray of red against the chandelier and painting the ceiling. Aurore stood, undoing Duke Valo's ascot and patting clean her face. The weapon left smears Valo's fine shirt as she wiped it back to shining. She holstered the weapon, and her smile came back with a cold glow. "I believe we all understand each other now? Good. We'll all see each other again come the start of the week."

No words followed her out of the room.

***************************************************

"Bar."

"James," Baurzahn greeted the man, taking in his state. James had taken to spice and chems during the war, and it still worried Baurzahn.

"Just benleaf, these days," James stopped him, knowing his old officer too well. "Haven't touched the hard stuff in years. Not since I met Lenna."

James' on-again, off-again girlfriend had been good for him. Baurzahn gave a grim smile and asked "You have it?"

"When you said you needed the box, I honestly thought you were joking. It's been almost ten years since you gave me this thing." James grunted as he hauled the long trunk off the back of his speeder, letting it come to the stained permacrete with a thud. "And you've never once opened it. Why now?"

Baurzahn knelt, and pressed his thumb to the DNA-coded lock. It gave a helpful chirp as it unlocked, recognizing one of the only two keys in its database. "Something's happened."

"That's a dumb noise coming out of your hole," James challenged, "There's no classifications no more, and you know I'm going to ask again. Uh, sir."

With a sigh, Baurzahn released James from a withering stare. "At the company. I think it's a Tenloss takeover, but I'm not sure, yet. It seems too bold, too sudden. I think it's a junior making a play to gain some favor. Mr. Magniea ran too clean a ship for them to come in sideways, like they do. And we already know the Black Sun and Hutt players in the sector, they've got their own lines."

"You've dealt with them before. Why do you need the box?"

Baurzahn paused, and stared off into the street beyond the alley, into the glare of speeders whizzing by. "They took Eva."

James took in a breath. "Sithspit," he swore, "that's too far. I'm in."

Baurzahn stood, and narrowed his eyes at the other vet. "No. Your fighting days are done. Go back to Lenna, she likes you. For some reason. Take that with both hands."

James glowered, and huffed "This isn't one of those things I can do. This goes under that 'gotta' category. She's got a good soul, she'll understand me being gone for a little bit."

The pair stared at each other for a long moment before Baurzahn relented, giving his hairy jowls an annoyed shake. James had that look, that purpose in his eyes that comes so rare. "Fine."

"Now, what's in the box?" James asked with a grin.

Baurzahn lowered himself again, and flipped open the lid to the trunk. James let out a low whistle. "That's a bit of a trove. I knew you were fighting that long ago, but man...that's something else."

"Are you still in touch with DT?" Baurzahn pulled out a belt of matte black pouches and began fastening it around his waist. "We're going to need a couple more hands. Put up a listing."

*************************************************

In the dark corners of the Holonet, where those in the know knew to look, a brief bit of text appeared, with a timer counting down to a point about 12 hours from when Baurzahn put on his belt.

"In need of gunhands. Payment in material goods, negotiable."

The stars wavered as if some unseen entity passed through the traffic lines, and entered into the atmosphere, descending, rapidly, toward the outskirts of the city. Dust was kicked up momentarily as the waver shimmered, and faded, until a bulbous, tri-tipped, black and red ship appeared. From the cockpit came two figures, one was decidedly feminine, with a black cloak that rendered her eyes unseen, though the tip of an ashy-grey chin, with lips painted a deep vermillion. Blood red armor glistened under her attire. The second was a droid. Simplistic in design, it resembled a protocol variant, not exactly a 3PO unit, this had a bit more of an elegant grace about it. And it wore clothing of some sort. Leather, by the looks of things.

The woman lifted her wrist to her lips, and an image of a Hutt appeared before her.

"As promised Cireno, I told you working with us will be of benefit, these people shan't encroach upon your territory much longer..." she added. The droid moved to cover the small ship in a camo net, which shimmered and sparked before it took to the native foliage.

"Thank you, Lady Silence, if you succeed, we'll be forever in your debt," the Hutt said, his image vanishing. Silence smiled to herself.

"That is the plan, my dear slug..." she purred. "Fear, get me in touch with the gentleman looking for hands," she added.

Within moments, her information would be coming up, someone called Silence, a bounty hunter, perhaps? Was seeking the man looking for hired guns.

Rhoden set the Starwing down and hopped out. He'd landed not far from Desade, and with only marginally more difficulty considering he had no cloaking device on his own ship. "C'mon Dot." he said, hopping out. Dot clamped onto the back of his armor and he headed towards the woman.

"You know what, it's been too long since I've done something like this outside of service for the Empire." he said, "Feels refreshing in a way. And nothing incredibly difficult, either." he added optimistically.

Desade hadn't actually invited Rhoden along on her little outing but the Commander had found out about it regardless. He'd not bothered to ask if she wanted his presence or not, he simply took off when she did and followed.

With an hour left on the timer, the ad pinged those interested with a location.

Ome's Tap. Booth Seven.

In the seventh booth along the Ome's west wall, Baurzahn sat alone wiping purple foam from his mustache. Cheap lomin-ale, watered just enough where the average soul wouldn't bother to complain. Ome's was a quiet spacer's place, neither dirty nor clean. This was a place for the rates and mates of a crew; captains went uptown, and the dregs joined the smugglers in the raucous Square. One in five in here probably worked for Baurzahn on some contract or another, although they wouldn't know it. He felt for the reassuring presence of his blaster, small and simple, and ran down his mental checklist again. James was elsewhere, putting out his feelers and gathering up supplies. He desperately hoped he could take one of the first few applicants. The clock was ticking.

The eyes that were hidden paused to look at the new ship that landed, and sighed exasperatingly toward it. The droid just stared for several moments.

"Lament: I would end his existence if he was not an officer if you asked, Mistress," he said as Rhoden emerged.

"That is unnecessary, make sure his ship is covered as well, he was not briefed on the subject matter, we'll need to fix that," she said. The droid moved past Rhoden then to prepare a secondary camo-net. Once settled, she'd look at her holowatch, bringing up the next stage. Ome's. Excellent. She'd start to walk away then.

"Our relationship with the Hutts are strained at best, but a few has agreed to work with the Empire, as it's in their best interest, as part of our agreement, they asked for protection in a few of their venues. An outsider not affiliated with the Hutts or even Black Sun has been making some noise here, we're to silence them, there's a local who plans on doing something reckless, no doubt, we are to help them," she said in way of briefing. She kept her cloak up as they finally entered the establishment, head turning to find booth number seven, she walked toward it, and without any precedence, or introduction, she sat down across from the alien, her features mostly hidden, save her blood red lips.

"I'm Silence, the droid is Fear, and this is-" she paused to look toward Rhoden "-Tranquil," she said at last, she had witnessed some of his madness, but he exuded a calmness that escaped so many others. It fit. If he wanted to tag along, she made it clear she was in charge of this op. She was the infiltration expert anyway.

As he drew closer to Desade he felt dizzy briefly and frowned, but his expression smoothed as something inside him clicked into place. He laughed at the droid. "Excellent. Yes, I do think this should be a revitalizing mission." he walked with the woman to their meeting point, sending Dot away to wait for his call. His own cloak and deceptively strong armor typical of both Shadowguard assasins and dress uniforms was fairly inconspicuous as it was worn now, but hauling an ID-12 around was not.

He slipped into the booth as Desade made introductions. He turned his code-name over in his head as though tasting it, smiling once more, "Tranquil indeed." he said clearly but absently, thinking privately there was nothing tranquil about him. Then he frowned. There was supposed to be tranquility about him, though. A control he didn't have now. He looked at the table as though searching for answers but his mind just pushed his concerns away--out of a window in a very high building. He giggled. Wait. Did I just giggle? Nevermind. It didn't matter.

His drink was about half dry when his first applicants arrived. And they'd be his last, by the look of them. A pale, painted woman in gaudy armor, bright and polished, trailing a dark, sharply-dressed man and a graceful droid wearing, of all things, leather. No one else would dare approach the booth now. Baurzahn let a long sigh from his nostrils and scratched the fuzz on his chin while she spoke. He should have just stood up and walked away, but what she said...he simply couldn't help himself. "Your name is Silence...", he said, his exasperation slipping from within, "Yet you are, by far the loudest person in the room."

His plan was going to require some serious retooling, now. Even as his mind spun on how to use these two, he knew he had to know more. "So, what Imperial interest are you representing here on Llanic?" he asked, "Or does responding to mercenary calls that pay far beneath your station just happen to be a form of recreation for you?"

The figure in the dark cloak just stared at him, luckily her eyes hidden from view, for those who gazed into her eyes were often met with a type of madness most didn't want to associate with. But here she was.

"Our business for being here is of no concern of yours, and we'll let that sleight about us being Empire stand, for now... you asked for help, there's a few people on this planet who would like to help you get rid of their competition in certain avenues, the fact remains, we are what you have at the moment, and you'll find us more than adequate," she said. "I am called Silence because those who see me, are either allies, or too late to realize they were my target... right now, you asked for hired guns, while I have a very large gun on my person right now, infiltration is my specialty, so where do you need us?" she asked him.

She wasn't sure what to think about Rhoden's new personality... she knew she liked it, to some extent, but right now, she had an objective. Fear was rubbing off on her.

"Explanation: We are very good at erasing threats, tell us the mission, and we'll help you complete it," the droid chimed in.

Rhoden got a grip on himself, now was not the time for games--that came later. He smiled again, "Yes, we can do the sneaking, and the stabbing. Just give us the information." he didn't pull his vibroblade, much as he wanted to feel its firm deadly grip in his hand. No, no, weapons were best kept secret in places like this.

He closed his eyes briefly, the Other One was pushing back again. Rhoden frowned, perhaps he should not have come on this mission. Better still, he decided, would be to conduct further business with Desade from a distance. The caution he felt fought to take root in him, but slid slowly away under another smile. Stay away from Desade? No. She was to interesting to push away.

Baurzahn rubbed down his drooping whiskers and let out a long, slow breath. Yes, he definitely needed a new plan. And he had to make sure their audience didn't see him as sympathetic. He was hoping to do this without drawing any attention, now or in the future. And, unfortunately, discretion didn't seem to be a word for the day. Wanton, maybe, probably carnage as well. Of course, sometimes the best way to hide a small light isn't to hide it at all, but outshine it. With his other, free hand, Baurzahn reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out the small, cheap holoprojector he'd brought along. He quickly flicked through a few settings, and set it on the table. A small map of the city popped up, and he began manipulating through different views and resolutions.

"There," he said, when the map stopped moving. A red outline was drawn around a few run-down looking city blocks, just to the south of Smuggler's Square. "This area has no real name, but it's best described as a gangland. Every major or minor syndicate has key facilities in there, and there's an underground spice bazaar that connects directly to the southside of the starport. Black Sun, Tenloss, at least three Hutt clans, and even the Viraxo all have people there. Swoop gangs, thugs, drug chemists. You want to help? Go there and kick off a gang war. Ideally within the next six hours, easy enough if you're as capable as you claim."

Once he was sure that at least the droid knew where to go, Baurzahn flicked off the projector and put it away. "I'm sure experts like you will understand, I can't really be seen being to friendly with folks of your...stature. So I'm going to stand up, knock my drink over in a huff, and growl as I walk away. But you'll still get paid. There's a locker wall on the backside of the De le Varzo monorail port, the shady side of platform 3. When both our jobs are all done, keep an eye out on the Planetary Intranet Personals. You'll see a Diagona Looking for Love. I'll post the code to open your locker there. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

With an audible grunt, Baurzahn heaved himself out of the booth seat, knocking over his half-empty lomin-ale in the process. Towards his side of the booth, he made sure. With a low, canine growl he flashed his teeth, and stormed out.