Nar Shaddaa
Mid levels
Ram Arston lay dejectedly on the single narrow bunk of the feebly lit medical bay, brewing around angry thoughts in his mind. The room had no windows and was in half-darkness. The only noise was the distant purr of the ventilation system, and the soft clicking noises of the medical droid as it reviewed samples of Ram's blood. The cooped-up and recycled air of Nar Shaddaa was thick and smelly, especially this far down below skyline. The small medical bay was roughly sixty levels below the peaks of the highest buildings, down where the sun scarcely showed itself and where the inhabitants did the same. To walk around alone anywhere on Nar Shaddaa was an invitation for trouble, but to do so at these levels was close to suicide. Sentients either moved along in packs, or else with very apparent and threatening weapons.
Ram cursed under his breath again and tapped his clenched fist softly against the medbay wall, restraining himself from delivering a smashing blow instead. He wasn't usually an angry man, but at the moment his burning fury from the past few days was only starting to simmer down. After more than a decade of manhunts throughout the galaxy he had developed a grim attitude and a cold calmness that was the terror of his victims, and which he considered to be the key to his success. His ability to keep a cold head in any situation had kept him alive in situations that would have destroyed a lesser man. Right now however, Ram was fighting hard to control his frustration. If only his ship hadn't been shot down on Corellia six days ago.
He had been so close, so close to his target. The bounty had been big, and so had the risks, but he was used to that. The bigger the pay the bigger the prey and he knew it, but where had he slacked off? He didn't know, but the fact of the matter was that something had gone terribly wrong, that he had been shot in the shoulder and that his ship had been destroyed where it sat, on the tarmac of Coronet City's seventh outlying spaceport. Blown away on the tarmac, he thought bitterly. The ultimate humiliation for anyone who lived off their ship. He had barely gotten away with his life, and after lying low in the Corellian slums for a couple of days he had managed to hitch a ride back to Hutt Space with a smuggler returning from a repair trip.
After his defeat he had needed focus, and he needed funds. He knew where he could get the first, and that was back here on Nar Shaddaa. Throughout his career he had developed a strung out network of caches across the galaxy, often situated in hot points of « activity ». As it was, the Smuggler's Moon was about as hot as it got for bounty hunters. Between embittered smugglers, the myriad crime lords or whatever Hutt feud was currently on, the offer was what dominated the bounty market here. Some said that Palpatine was on the warpath, ranting on about peace and order, and that the Imperial crackdown would come any day now. But it had been eight months since the Empire had been proclaimed, and nobody showed even the slightest sign of wanting to change anything in that particular corner of space. Let sleeping dogs lie, Ram had said. And leave Hutt crime lords alone.
Ram had limped back to his stash and was nursing himself back to health. His shoulder still throbbed under the bacta patch, but the pain was lighter already. Those stormtroopers sure have a dead aim though, he groaned to himself. Guess I'm lucky the grunts aren't trained to go for headshots. Lucky… the very word disgusted him. In his business, relying on luck was a luxury one couldn't afford. It was like putting a blaster with a glitchy power pack to your head and pulling the trigger. It may or may not go off. With a slight jab of pain, Ram swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and rested his feet on the cold metal floor. The medical droid's head swiveled on rusty servos to fix its gaze on him.
« You shouldn't move you know. It could increase the bleeding. »
« I'll be alright. » Ram grunted. « I've been through this before. » And he tested some weight on either leg. They both seemed fine, if a bit stiff, so slowly he raised himself from the bunk until he was balanced on both feet. With his shifty equilibrium he lurched forward towards the chair on which his clothes had been heaped.
« How long was I out ? » He inquired.
« You have been in an artificial coma for approximately forty-six hours. However I must insist that - » But Ram waved the comment away. He was still a bit woozy, but he knew he had to get the move on. If there was one thing he hated, it was being out of the picture. Out of the run, out of the market. He couldn't stand the idea of others passing him by, raking in the prizes while he lay unconscious or crippled. When you live a life fuelled by daily doses of adrenaline, you can't suddenly lie down and read a book. Groaning from the pulsing in his shoulder, Ram forcefully shoved on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He stuffed his boots on and left the rest of his gear on the chair for the time being. He triggered the door of the medbay and it opened with a soft hiss, revealing the main room of his Nar Shaddaa stash. A dusty couch squatted in a corner, a few empty shelves lined the walls, a desk and a chair occupied the main space and an old Holonet relay sat in a recess in the left wall. Ram shuffled over to the desk, pulled the chair up to the relay and sat down.
He quick-started the system and keyed in his query: Senator - Quarn - Assassination - Attempt. A list of results poured out over his screen, and he selected the foremost one. He was directed to the second page of an Imperial information Holosite. The main headline read « Assassination attempt on Senator Langut Quarn foiled ». He sat back and listened as a testy voice read the main body of text.
« Today Imperial troops have successfully foiled an assassination attempt against a member of the Imperial Senate in Coronet City on Corellia. The targeted member of government, honorable Senator Langut Quarn, is safe and uninjured. The aggressor is reported to have been killed during the brief exchange of hostilities. An investigation to determine the responsibility of this attack is under way, but preliminary results point towards a possible involvement by Hutt crime lords. Once more, our loyal troops have proven that whatever threats may rest upon the Empire, they will be eliminated swiftly and completely, and that Imperial citizens, Senators or not, may live without fear. »
Ram switched the voice off as it began reciting an interview of the Imperial sergeant responsible for the intervention. Ram watched the mute screen as the man, whose chest boasted a new flashing insignia, mouthed away silently with an infuriating air of smugness. Reported dead Ram thought, half amused. Well it did come pretty close. The scenes flashed back through his mind, crystal-clear and fresh.
It had been a senatorial summit on Corellia, one of the core worlds. The summit was taking place in the Senate Palace of Coronet City, the planet's capital and it's most prestigious and populous metropolis. His target had been the Imperial Senator of Belsavis, Langut Quarn. He and twenty-four other senators had been gathered that day to discuss the opening of new trade routes to the Outer Rim, as well as the strengthening of existing routes against increasingly frequent pirate raids.
Quarn was an imposing man, in the sense that he was wider than he was tall. He was only middle-aged, but what hair remained on his scalp was scarce and gray. Ram knew he didn't suffer from any particular health condition, other than that of being morbidly obese, and so he guessed it must be the stress of government. Ram had arrived on-planet two weeks before the summit, to plan out his attack. He had rented out a lot in Coronet City's seventh outlying spaceport, one of the planet's largest. He had been busy installing surveillance equipment around the target area and rendering it undetectable. He had also tapped into the Palace's security systems and had obtained access to CorSec's own surveillance system. He had taken great care in making his intrusions as invisible as possible. He had determined exactly where the senator would land, which routes he would take to travel, and where he would be lodged and fed during his stay. The target would only be on-planet for three days, four if the summit took that long. After that, he would return to his homeworld in the Outer Rim, where he would once more come under his own personal security system. If there was one thing to be said for Senator Quarn, it was that he was a complete paranoiac. He never traveled without a good reason, and only did so in his personal heavily armoured corvette. He walked about with three bodyguards, all of which were of Mandalorian descent. When he was on his own turf on Belsavis, he resided in his impregnable fortress-estate. Ram knew that this would be his best window of opportunity to take down his target, and he knew it wouldn't last long.
Ram had decided in advance when and where he would strike. The moment when the senator would be most exposed would be during the meeting itself. There would be no guards in the room, no recording equipment and no cameras. The room's walls were fortified, but its ceiling boasted a prestigious transparisteel dome. That was the weak link Ram was going to exploit. A week ago, he had fragilized a narrow strip of the dome without breaking it, so as not to set off any intrusion alarms. He had just carved it up enough so that it would collapse to, say, a blaster bolt.
Ram was poised on the roof of the Palace on the day of the event. His review of CorSec's security protocols had told him that for such a meeting, a code three out of five vigilance level was instated. That meant heavy security checks at the entries of the building, and armed guards patrolling the interior of the compound. However there would be no rooftop snipers, which meant he had the roof all for himself. He had slipped up there the night before, and laid in wait. Senator Quarn had landed at the expected time on the expected lot. Ram had traced him on his armour's built-in computer all the way up to the Senate Palace, where he had successfully passed the security checks. The meeting would begin in four hours. Ram unhooked his precision rifle from the back of his armour and double-checked the energy pack. He sat there and calibrated the sights, waiting.
Four hours later, a small chirp in his earpiece alerted him to the fact his target had exited his quarters. Ram stole quietly over to the fragilized portion of the dome and flipped down the eye-screen of his headpiece. He selected the feed from the miniature camera he had installed at the top of the dome a few days earlier, and watched as the senators filed into the room and took their designated seats, which were sparse and far apart in the vast gathering hall. The room had been designed to hold almost three hundred, and seemed almost completely empty with only twenty-five souls to fill it. Ram immediately identified his target as he entered the room. The fat man hobbled over to his seat and let himself down with a "huff" Ram could imagine from where he crouched. The home delegate from Corellia began opening the speech with a few formalities. Ram's target was in place, and he was getting ready. He would only have a few seconds to appear before someone would notice his silhouette against the edge of the dome. He was about to pounce when he heard a harsh voice shout from behind him.
It had all happened in a split second. There should have been no one else on that roof, which made whoever was there an immediate hostile. He instinctively judged the distance of his attacker by the sound of the voice, and let the scoped rifle drop from his hands. He swung around as his right hand grasped his blaster and raised it -and found himself facing a fire team of four Imperial Stormtroopers. His blaster was only half-raised when the troopers opened up, sending a storm of laser fire thundering towards him. One shot went wild, but two others hit home. The first struck him straight in the chestplate and was absorbed by his armor, but the second bore in between the chest and shoulder plates, burning away the light flexible polyfiber armour beneath the heavy plates and scorching his flesh. Ram cried in pain as he was thrown backwards. The fourth shot hit the fragilized portion of dome and shattered it. Alarm klaxons blared as transparisteel rained down into the room below and triggered the building's intrusion alarms.
Ram, still gripping his blaster in his right hand, fired three blind shots and lobbed a flash grenade straight from his belt. There was a blinding flash and a bang and the Imperial troopers cried out in surprise, while Ram rolled over and leapt straight off the top of the Palace into the void. He tapped a button on his wrist computer that would lock his armour joints in place and stiffen the interior padding of the suit, thus preventing the breaking of bones during an extremely traumatic event, such as leaping off a seven-story high roof. He landed with a crash in the street below and had the wind blown out of him. There were cries of confused people all around him, but he could also make out the shouts of CorSec and Imperial troops pouring out of the Palace. Ram unlocked the armour and broke into a sprint, ignoring the stabbing pain in his innards. The armour lock may prevent the breaking of bones, but it couldn't prevent internal damage to organs. He would have to check for haemorrhages as soon as possible.
He sprinted around the nearest corner, just as blaster fire shot past him. He gazed about swiftly, scanning the area for any means of putting as much distance as possible between himself and the Palace. There was an air rail line above him, and a car was approaching. Ram levelled the grappling hook built into his armour's right wrist and hoisted himself onto the passing transport. He screamed in pain as his weight landed directly on his wounded shoulder, but through strength of will he held in there. He attached himself to the underneath of the car, and hung there for two klicks as it sped through the streets along its rail, away from the Palace. He finally dropped off and disappeared into the city's sewage system. From there he was able to make his way unhampered back to the spaceport.
Ram remembered bitterly as he had lifted himself out of the sewage system at the far edge of the tarmac. He immediately sensed the smell in the air and knew something was wrong. A ship was burning. He could see a thick column of black smoke rising from a place not too distant. He made his way there, stalking from ship to ship, until he had been able to glimpse the scene from afar. A platoon of stormtroopers were standing around the smoking ruin that had once been his ship, waiting.
Ram sat before his Holonet relay, his glazed eyes not taking in the images anymore. He was focused on the one in his head. He was focused on that thick column of black smoke rising from his ship.
It took some time for him to shake himself out of his embittered reverie. Wishing for what's gone isn't going to bring it back. He thought to himself. Cold hard efficiency, always. That was the backbone of a good bounty hunter. He had been thwarted, but not broken. One way or another, he was going to fill in the contract. He would see to it, he would strive for it, he would not rest until it was done and he would not be surpassed in his task. He wouldn't stay out of the picture, not for a single day longer.
He leapt back to the medbay chair and grabbed the rest of his gear. He attached his blaster belt, fitted his backup weapon into his boot, his other into his vest, and attached his mini concealed vibroblade to his right forearm. He donned his armour, which hung on a hook at the far end of the bay, and began keying some data into the small computer on his left forearm.
« Now you're planning on going out ? » Complained the med droid. « How am I supposed to patch you up if you voluntarily sabotage... » But Ram deactivated him in mid-sentence. You could change the personality of those droids to some extent, but whatever you did to them they always seemed annoyingly like your mother. He finished entering his data into the computer, and donned his earpiece. The smooth voice of Arya, his armour's built-in droid brain greeted him.
« Welcome back Mr. Arston. Coordinates set. Proceed to elevator 17b and travel upwards for thirty-nine levels. » Ram grinned as the familiar voice droned on. He found Arya's accented drawl familiar and comforting. Plus, it was practically the only friendly voice he could count on hearing when he needed it. He walked out of the medbay, feeling a new man again now that his armour was back on. The pain in his shoulder was still pulsing, but he felt it easier to ignore now. He flexed a few times to test his muscles and was satisfied. He locked the door behind him, and proceeded to the one on the opposite side of the dusty main room. He stepped into what looked like little more than an oversized closet, but was absolutely filled with weapons. Ram reviewed his small arsenal, which ranged from scoped and silenced rifles to heavy shoulder mounted ion cannons. He grabbed one of the simpler blaster rifles and hooked it onto the back of his armour. He wouldn't need it, but you shouldn't go out without out it in these levels. He locked the door behind him again, and proceeded to the main door of his stash. He threw a quick glance at the screen displaying the Holo-feed from the camera outside, and triggered the door.
He stepped out onto a platform, and quickly reviewed both sides of it. Nothing caught his eye, but he nonetheless waited for the door to hiss shut behind him before he began walking. The platform was narrow, and hugged the wall of what seemed to be an endless building. To his left was a chasm that dropped down at least fifty levels before the buildings shifted, but Ram knew the moon's original surface was far lower than that. Those were places you just didn't go, however big and threatening your guns were. The things down there wouldn't mug you, they would eat you. Alive. The building the platform ran against jutted out about five meters above Ram's head, which made it hard for him to see anything above. Sunlight was filtering down and hitting the opposite building, which made the area a bit brighter than usual. Ram continued his trek towards elevator 17b, trotting up a small staircase and crossing the chasm to the next building via another small footbridge. As he looked up, he saw the skyscrapers towering above him, and dozens of ships swooping and swerving in semi-organization against the reddish-tinted sky of the Smuggler's Moon. He kept up his pace and reached the elevator in good time.
He called the elevator, and threw alert glances both ways as he waited. People were trudging along the walkway, but they all seemed very keen on minding their own business. There was a chime, and the old door slid open with some difficulty. Ram let out a bulky one-eyed Ithorian before he entered himself and sent the elevator back up. He went over his thoughts as the elevator sped upwards towards more pleasant levels. His absolute first order of business was to get back in the circuit, and for that he needed a ship. He knew his funds were low after the rout on Corellia. He had put some amount of credits into all the surveillance equipment he had installed. It would have paid off if he had gotten time to take his shot, but the Imps had gotten to him first. A frown obscured his face as he struggled to keep his mind straight. He knew he couldn't afford to dwell on that any longer, that he had to move on, but some part of his mind insisted that there was a snag.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a different world. The upper levels of Nar Shaddaa could be compared to the lower levels of Coruscant: dirty, smelly, and in a constant state of disrepair. Sentients of all races mingled on the platforms, on the walkways and in the hovels on the sides of buildings. Loud arguments arose frequently and one grew accustomed to the sound of blaster fire which usually settled them.
Ram grinned slightly as he stepped out of the elevator. This felt more like home to him than any other place in the galaxy. There was the smell of food from a hundred different worlds mixed with the smell of waste from just as many. There were the streets that never slept, the alleys you could go down and those you couldn't, and those that were only safe in the morning. There were the ale houses and the whore houses, the gambling dens and the wrestling dens. Ram was happy whenever he had his feet on the Smuggler's Moon. He felt alive. But at the moment he was a busy man with a ship to find, and he knew exactly the person who could help him.