|| Star Wars: Underbelly Retribution

With the death of Jabba the Hutt, his vast empire is swamped by infighting, as ally turns on ally in an attempt to seize control of the gangster's turf and inventories.

Several smaller gangs rise up in the wake of the chaos caused by the crime lord's demise, all seeking a slice of the Outer Rim, and swiftly gain small footholds while the New Republic attempts to scour the Imperial Remnant from
Space.

In the skies above the mining planet of Kalprice, one such small time syndicate awaits a rendezvous with the remnant of Jabba's gang, in an attempt to break out into the big leagues... ||

Chapter 1: The Big Boys

"They should be here by now. Poppak Huska is not known for his tardiness." Kao Zhur murmured gravely, and folded his arms in an impatient gesture as he stood in the cockpit of his vessel, staring out into the starry distance. His bald skull, covered in rows of stubby horns, gleamed a dull red in the light of the darkened cockpit's control terminal, casting the usually deep-tanned Zabrak in an eerie red glow. His ship "The Malachi", a modified Action VI Transport outfitted with a Class 2 Hyperdrive and a retractable ventral laser turret, flew at the head of a three strong convoy of similarly upgraded Sixes, leading the flotilla as they drifted in a holding formation just outside of the planet's orbit.
Kao was the leader of a small time gang, the Kelvani, who operated out of Nar Shadaa's seedy red light district. The tall Zabrak had made massive headways since his arrival on the crime infested world, and specialised in soliciting drugs and prostitution, book keeping, racketeering and hired muscle, holding the monopoly in several of the satellite city's sectors.
It hadn't been a walk in the park for the savvy Zabrak; the road leading from his landing on Nal Hutta's moon with a motley, buccaneer crew of thugs and thieves was paved with blood and dirty deeds. The day he set down, he sent his men over to the swoop track to shake down the book keepers while Kao himself took a durasteel cane to the face of their boss, promising further pain and misery if the small gambling sect at the slowly dying bike track didn't fall in line. That had been their first income; a mediocre cash flow from the swoops (the swoops had consequently died in popularity since the inception of the pod racing circuit) which, after a few clients refused payment gave rise to the Kelvani's next income in hired muscle. Kao appointed a towering Wookiee brawler named Charbu who had been purchased by Zhur from a slave trade operation on Telos to sniff out and offer jobs to the toughest and baddest freelancers on Nar Shadaa. Charbu delivered spectacularly, adding a trio of Aqualish gunmen, a Trandoshan street fighter, two burly Gamoreans and an aged Mandalorian former bounty hunter to their ranks of heavy handed thugs.
From there, with his band of brutish henchmen, it was a straight line to the top. They annexed the un-syndicated brothels, made street dealers disappear and replaced them with men loyal to the Kelvani, even built up a highly successful extortion racket involving a number of the moon's merchants and private docks. In a matter of two short years, the hungry Zhur shouldered his way into the ring of Nar Shadaa's top dogs, and was on the verge of expanding further into the Outer Rim.
That's when he'd received Poppak Huska's message. Sitting in the private room of his underground night club, Kao admitted a greasy Devaronian who claimed to bring word from the well-known Huska. Huska, he said, had noticed the Kelvani's meteoric rise to prominence. Huska, he said, was well poised to seize a stout carving of Jabba's turf. Huska, he said, wanted to talk partnership.
And so, Zhur called his best men together, loaded up his three transport craft with offerings of slaves, whores and vice, and immediately sent word to the Quarren Huska, informing him that words could not express his delight and excitement at the thought of a potential partnership.
"Slip space event, sector 15. Someone's coming." advised the pilot, a former star fighter pilot from Naboo. Tall and lanky with a blonde pony tail draped over a shoulder, Nimo Vanar glanced at his leader. "I'll say it again, boss; I don't like this. Not one bit. Those squidy bastards can't be trusted." His fingers danced across the controls, the bulky, rectangular Action freighter's engines glaring as it banked to the right, it's sisters following suit.
Kao laid a less than friendly hand on the Naboo's shoulder. "I'm aware of your suspicious, Nimo." He said quietly, yet his tone betrayed the frustration in his voice. "But think about this logically. Huska ran with Jabba's boys, and like the rest of them, is vying for his throne. He sees our swift rise and realises that if he doesn't extend the olive branch to us, someone else will. He won't want us backing his competitors."
"If it were me in his shoes, I know what I'd do." He drew a thumb grimly across his throat. "Way we've been growing, might be he sees us as competition and plans to off us."
Gritting his teeth, the Zabrak flicked his gaze back out of the forward viewing windows. Admittedly, he'd considered the possibility of an ambush before. More than once now, his brain had conjured up images of a meeting in a dingy alleyway, the tentacle-faced Huska drawing a blaster as his men leaned from shadowy alcoves clutching repeater carbines. Paranoia, he told himself. You didn't make it to the top of the Galaxy's underbelly food chain without a healthy sense of suspicion in both friend and foe. But this was a risk he had to take. If he wanted to break out, he had to cozy up with Huska.
"Check it out, boss." There was a note of shocked surprise in Nimo's voice, his eyes narrowing while they surveyed the radar. Depicted on the screen was an all too familiar Ubrikkian Minstrel-class. "It's the Star Jewell..." The private yacht of Jabba the Hutt. "How in the hell did Huska get his tentacles on -that-?"
Zhur could scarcely believe his eyes. Jabba's own ship, cruising steadily towards them, flanked as ever by it's complement of Z-95 Headhunters. On the outside, it seemed to be the luxury cruiser of a wealthy senator or business mogul, but Kao (who had been steadily following the Hutt's cartel for years before he threw his own hat into the ring) knew full well that the Jewell was nothing less than a mobile fortress. Armed to the teeth with six turbolasers and a state-of-the-art hyperdrive system, the Minstrel-class yacht could outgun a light cruiser and outrun anything in its weight class. Once again, the thoughts of ambush crossed Kao's mind, and he all of a sudden felt extremely naked in his trio of shabbily armed Action freighters. He considered boosting the forward screens as a preventative measure, but he knew they'd be as effective as a sheet of paper against an arrow. Plus, no doubt, Huska's men were already scanning the Malachi. If they bolstered their shields, it would give -Huska- cause for concern as to the possibility of an attack.
A flashing light lit up the dash, and a horned, holographic figure grew into life before them. "Greetings, Kao Zhur of the Kelvani." It was the very same Devaronian who initially brought word of Huska's interest. "The great Poppak Huska bids you join him post haste on board the Star Jewell, so that we may begin our parlay."
Kao nodded firmly. "Inform him that I will be with him immediately." Ending the transmission, he lifted his gun belt from the empty co-pilot's chair and strapped it around his waist. "Hold formation here. If you haven't heard from us within an hour, leave as quickly as you can. In the event I do not return, Geldran will assume command. But it will not come to that, I assure you."
"The Rodian? Heh, I hope for our sakes, you're right. I shudder to think what'll become of us if ol' bug eyes takes over."
Ignoring the remark, Kao ducked through the cockpit door, moving down the hallway into the Malachi's broad central cargo hold. His booted feet clocked against the checker plate flooring as he drew a weather-worn black cloak over his broad shoulders, fastening the draw string across the throat of his grey tunic. Near the massive hangar doors stood his awaiting shuttle, and leaning against it, a grizzled soldier in battered armour. The veteran glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps, icy blue eyes gazing out of a chiselled, broad-jawed face beneath closely cropped grey hair. This was Jomad Nept, the most skilled warrior at Kao's disposal. He'd made his fortunes hunting down criminals and thieves across the Outer Rim in a career that spanned over 40 years. Yet even now, as he neared 60, the bull-necked Jomad could still line up against the best of them. Kao remembered recruiting him just over six months ago, after Chorbu had seen him, unarmed and wearing no armour save the clothes on his back, take down a quartet of rowdy Dugs in a strip club back on the Smuggler's Moon. Many people knew his name, and of his reputation.
Which was why Zhur wanted him to come with him now. If things went South, he wanted Jomad Nept at his back.
"All set t' go?" he asked in a husky baritone, his voice like sandpaper on timber, shifting his helmet from one underarm to the other. "You feelin' as apprehensive as me?"
Kao nodded curtly. "He's shown up in the Jewell. Headhunter escorts are no doubt circling as we speak, preparing to take us over to Huska." The Zabrak's gloved hands squeezed and rotated around the cane in his grip, and he licked his lips. "If things get ugly over there, we may not make it out. I hope you realise this."
Nept chuckled under his breath as he slipped his dented helm over his head. "Don't worry 'bout me, boss." He withdrew his blaster pistol and spun it in his grip. "This ain't m' first rodeo. If I go down, I'll be taking the whole bloody Jewell with me." Artfully, he slipped the pistol back into his holster and gave a stiff nod. "Shall we?"
As expected, Huska's Z-95s were circling the flotilla like a school of sharks, and swiftly fell into formation around Zhur's shuttles (containing his "gifts" of whores, spice and black market weapons) as they zipped across the empty vacuum of space to the awaiting Yacht. Once docked, a Twi'lek instructed a group of Huska's boys to take the tributes down to the lower levels, while he escorted Zhur and Jomad Nept up through the luxurious Jewell onto the bridge. The circular command centre was dimly lit from the ceiling, but the Zabrak could make out the back of Huska's head as he sat on an ornate throne near the viewing window. Jabba's own bench-seat sat unoccupied near the wall. The Quarren made a gesture to the Devaronian beside him, who leaned forward and nodded once. "The great and powerful Poppak Huska bids you welcome to the Star Jewell." The horned alien greeted with a bow to the Kelvani duo. "Please, come stand beside him."
He moved forward, Jomad in tow, and stepped up beside Huska's throne. "It is an honour to meet you in the flesh, Huska." He inclined his horned head in a bow. "I have been eagerly anticipating this allegiance."
Dressed in flowing robes of turquoise and maroon, Huska gripped the arms of his throne, staring out at the small armada Kao Zhur had produced. "Allegiance? Yes. Yes indeed. First, I wish to impart some wisdom upon you, before we speak of a partnership."
"It would be my privilege to hear anything you have to say." In truth, Zhur wanted none of Huska's prattling. He was here to shake hands and make a deal with the mighty crime lord. But, if he needed to butter up the Quarren first, he would do whatever it took to appease him.
"Have you ever heard of Borbar Jespin? No? Not many have. He was a human, but his story is akin to yours. Like you, he was a man full of ambition and talent. Like you, he made a swift mark upon the crime world, and sought to expand beyond his existing stomping grounds. So, he sought out Jabba the Hutt. Borbar was well equipped and had a sizeable flow of credits at his disposal. He showered Jabba in gifts and favours, until Jabba was... Moved, to invite him to this very yacht to talk about his rise. Borbar, however, had no idea of Jabba's true intentions." Huska paused, then clicked his fingers. A confused frown creased Kao Zhur's forehead.
"Sorry 'bout this, Zhur." Before he could turn, Jomad Nept's armoured fist careened into the back of Kao's spiked head. His teeth slammed into his lips, a spray of blood ejecting as he rocked forward, falling face first into the floor. "Nothin' personal." Once, twice, thrice, Nept's heavy boot slammed into the Zabrak's rib cage, drawing a wince of pain from the gangster with every blow. On the fourth kick, he felt three ribs break.
"Enough." At the sound of Huska's voice, the beating ended, but at "Pick him up,", two burly Gammoreans roughly seized him by the shoulders and dragged him painfully to his knees. One of the brutes grabbed him by the throat and forced his gaze out of the viewing window to the Malachi and her sisters. "Jabba killed Borbar Jespin, as any prudent crime lord should. He would broker no threats to his throne, which Borbar would doubtless become if allowed to expand to his wishes. The moral of this story, Kao Zhur, is this;" Huska was on his feet now, standing between Zhur and his ships, lightly thumping the durasteel cane against an open palm. "Never." He slammed the cane into Zhur's face. "Grow." Again. "Too big." Again. "For your boots!" The final blow sent Zhur reeling to the floor, fighting on the verge of losing consciousness. "Destroy his ships, and toss him in a shuttle." Huska's blurred outline stepped out of view, as Zhur coughed a thick wad of blood onto the floor, the durasteel came clattering to the ground. "Get this wretch out of my sight."
The last thing he saw was red laser fire erupting against his ships, the Z-95s tearing across the void, and Jomad Nept kneeling beside him, seizing him by the collar and dragging him away. "Like I said, mate. Nothing personal." As his strength failed, he made a silent vow that no matter what, he would see Huska and Jomad lying dead pools of their own blood for this betrayal.