Chapter 01 :: Cyrkron
Varo was seething. The female Twi'Lek with green and yellow skin was the only alien among the crew of former stormtroopers calling themselves the Marauders. She was letting them have a piece of her mind as they were panting, catching their breath, using Imperial navy surplus towels to wipe the wax from their armor.
This was just before a blast hit the freighter hard enough that those gathered in the cargo hold lost their footing, each trooper flying against his nearest bulkhead. Bits of hull insulation puffed into the air, finally catching the g-forces, falling to the deck with a rattle.
Varo would later reflect that this was the moment their situation went from something merely bad to the unfolding, multi-level catastrophe they were faced with. They picked themselves off the deck and crouched on benches in the otherwise vast and empty cargo hold, watching over their small cargo of highly unique and valuable items.
The Hutts' men were coming in an older Consular Class cruiser. They were also led by two repurposed TIE fighters which were now harrying the Marauders' aging Corellian YT-2000 freighter, preventing it from fully powering up its hyperdrive.
"Kinn! How are the bloody shields holding up?" screamed Intan, the former stormtrooper Centopt who was the leader of the Marauders.
From the cockpit, Kinn held on to both rudder sticks as he fought the shuddering vessel as it was futilely attempted to stabilize its failing systems.
"Well, they're holding as scrap, 'cuz they're no better than scrap. I don't have the power to outrun the fighters, and I ain't got the power to bulk up the shields. Now's the time for good ideas, 'cuz I can only dodge so much of this. Can't go to light speed while they're hitting us."
::: || :::
As she was moments from having her flesh turn to charred bits of plasma, before freezing solid in the galactic void, Varo sifted through the events which brought her there.
She'd worked her way across the galaxy in cargo vessels, and was no stranger to smugglers. She could sense a trap, knew how to handle a blaster, and had a sense of sniffing out a deal when it presented itself. That was the lot of the Twi'Leks in time of the Empire, and she learned it quickly.
As a mechanic on a routine ice hauler, she was captured by pirates who intended to sell the crew as slaves. She was not fond of the cruel Neimodian ice merchant who owned that vessel, but he was only so much frozen space junk now, thanks to those pirates. She and the other sellable crew members had been loaded into the cargo hold of their captors' ship. She'd only pretended to submit to their authority until they landed. They had hoped to sell the lot of them to stormtroopers who were in need of servants and female company. The last thing to go through the pirates' heads — other than the plasma torch which she had produced from her boot with impeccable timing — was wondering how a young, female Twi'Lek got the drop on them. If Varo had learned anything from life raised on scavenging, it was to kill or be killed as the only sure way to be nobody's slave.
She joined up with the former stormtroopers who were then looking for work as mercenaries, taking Varak as her lover and her partner.
Varak, at least, was charming, fit, and a crack soldier. He was clever enough, and his ruthlessness suited her. They had formed a formidable duo, with her as the gunner while he piloted a speeder. But she also knew that Varak was limited by overconfidence.
The Marauders had sent a message with vague promises of looted Jedi artifacts from Darth Vader himself. The Hutts replied that, naturally, they were delighted to entertain dealing for such goods. An invitation was extended to the stormtroopers to present their goods to the Hutt Triumvirate on the planet Cyrkron.
Varo pleaded with them to allow her to take the lead on negotiations, as she had experience in the underworld of smugglers. Intan, as he was wont, dismissed any alien or non-trooper with a growl and a chortle. Even Varak smirked at the idea. Well, she sighed to herself at the time, we'll see how this goes, then.
The trading city of Motok was built on a level platform resting between the tops of the highest mountains on Cyrkron. The extremely narrow peaks of the range made the port virtually impregnable from surface attacks. The fierce, constant updrafts, pushing up from the mountains would buoy ships, easing their landing, and bolstering their take-off velocity. This was a natural spaceport in the mountains, just at the edge of the breathable atmosphere.
The platform city was laid out with roads between buildings and landing pads, interrupted by the occasional feature of the mountains jutting through the plasteel decks.
The Hutt Triumvirate oversaw everything under their trading corporation, including prime industries of shipping, smuggling, and every other trade which civilization tends to bring; every luxury and vice was there for a price.
Nearly a million citizens lived here on this suspended surface in the clouds in fabricated dwellings and closely packed towers. Built from the abundant quartz, the domes and towers glittered in soft, diffused, natural light.
A quarter of the population lived under the platform level in dwellings made on the mountain slopes in lean-tos, shacks, or in caves carved into the mountain walls. Their occupants would emerge to the surface city from time-to-time to take menial jobs, to beg, or to steal for their sustenance.
The surface of the planet was poisonous to most galactic life, and the dwellers on the slopes suffered from closer exposure to this. As was often the case in the galaxy in those days, the poorest and most powerless also suffered multiplying disadvantages in both their distance from gainful opportunity, and their proximity to danger and toxicity.
Within the largest mountain peak, towering above the platform city, was an ancient temple carved into the the cliffside. The solid granite was chiseled and scraped lovingly into even friezes and unknown religious symbols over the course of hundreds of generations back during the time of hand tools. Whoever these beings were, or for what holy purpose the temple served, was all lost in time. The Hutts had turned this into their company headquarters. Impregnable from the planet's surface, nothing less than a bombardment of Star Destroyers would open those doors to the uninvited.
The Marauders had sent a party of five to parlay with the Hutts. This included Intan, Cranna, Mersan, and Varak and Varo. They were met at their dock by a sadly pleasant, but dented, Imperial protocol droid, who took them up the long slope to the entrance of the corporate hall.
They were flanked on each side by four Gamorrean guards with halberds as their escort. The green-hued barbarian mercenaries with wide snouts and fearsome tusks were known for loyalty to their paymasters, delivering animalistic violence on demand. They were prized by the Hutts for these services. If Varo had wondered whether they were really in the presence of the Triumvirate, the Gamorreans were the first proof that this was really happening.
Whatever ascetic, holy beings had once passed through these caverns when it was a temple would have been flummoxed the venal decadence which flowered under the control of the Hutts.
The corporation was more like a pleasure palace than it was a place of straight-forward business. Long hallways with elaborate light paintings, expensively tuned fluorolight gleaming over polished stone floors, never-ending parties among their entourage, all served to alternatingly entice and distract visitors and schemers.
The Marauders had removed their stormtrooper helmets per the request of their hosts, also leaving their long guns back in their ship. They had only been allowed to keep their small side arms out of galactic custom. In front of them, they pushed a repulsor sled with a durasteel case large enough to lie down on. They wore motley, dented trooper armor with red pinstripes, decorated with bands of Ewok scalps.
Intan himself sported blackened eyes, a braided beard, and a nexu fur collar over his armor. Varak's handsome charm necessitated that he take the lead on bargaining with the Hutts. Intan's demeanor betrayed his inner personality, which was that he was much more adept at humorless murder than diplomacy.
Varo, as the only non-trooper in this group, wore a repurposed Imperial female pilot's baggy flight suit.
Each of the troopers was privately unnerved by how unimpressed every member of the Hutt entourage seemed to be. The partiers hardly looked up from their drinks or their dancing to notice them, aside from some condescending glances and disapproving noses.
In the context of the forests of Endor, the Marauders had looked terrifying. Amidst the finely coiffed and precisely decorated dandies, traders, and courtesans, they looked feral and desperate. In a gallery of hired killers, they were merely the most ridiculous and worst dressed, hardly distinguished from the Gamorreans in their animal skins and mail.
Varo had hissed advice before they'd ascended the hallway to the Hutt's receiving rooms.
"They will offer you strong drinks while negotiating. You must take one and only sip it. Pour it in a potted plant if one is handy. The Hutts always play these little games."
In this confusion, the Marauders ignored Varo and helped themselves to strong concoctions served on generously proffered trays from servant droids. This served to lighten their heads and loosen their tongues. Much to their disadvantage.
The three gelatinous Hutts reclined on their couches in the final room at the end of the meandering hallway. They were raised on a platform so that they were slightly higher than everyone else. Diffidently amused by the proceedings, no more than the slightest of expressions were betrayed as they pulled vapor from their hookahs. The enormous, slug-like creatures said absolutely nothing which could be heard below, but only occasionally chortled among themselves as they mostly observed.
Tall, transparent tanks of liquid were erected as decorative pillars in the room. Ethereal light came unevenly through slowly bubbling waxes which glowed like deep sea creatures, floating up and falling down in a slow cycle, forming and reforming into random blobs. Casting shadows on all the floors, this gave the dealers and partiers a sensation of living inside a pond, watching the lily pads drifting lazily on the surface above. Motok may have been suspended in dry mountain land, but it was the property of the amphibious Hutts, and their aesthetic let all who came before them know exactly that.
Two of the largest pillars with the glowing, melting wax lit the dais from either side of the Hutts. Dancers on floating repulsor platforms swayed to the music as they drifted listlessly above the throng below.
When the Marauders' time came to be received and lay their goods at the feet of the Triumvirate, they found the niceties and hospitality had ended. No longer indulging or only slightly condescending, the Hutt's direct entourage of humans and aliens switched to an aggressive stance. Their speaker was an older Weequay with a scaly, reptilian face, with severe war braidings tying up his feather-like hair. He didn't bother to introduce himself. He only began addressing the troopers as though they were a burden on his time. He paced as he spoke, snarling in accented Basic at the troopers as they unbolted the chest to reveal the stolen Jedi artifacts.
"You wandering, cowering hirelings come here to do business with the great Triumvirate of Cyrkron! You should be grateful, you little farmlings, we'd even see you! The Hutts do not care for thieves! And thieves you are! What have you stolen from the Empire that you bring us? What have you brought before us? What have you betrayed your oaths to tuck into your rat bags to try and sell?"
Varak smiled as best as he could through gritted teeth. While he could handle basic diplomacy, he was hardly more clever than the typical stormtrooper.
"We are honored that — that the Hutts will see us, Your Excellencies. We assure you that these goods were come upon righteously as spoils of war, and have been kept safe by our — uh, — v-very trained hands…"
He waved his hand over the open chest, displaying a gleaming array of 30 lightsabers. They were each different from one another; customized with interlaced layers of fine metals shining in varying hues. Kyber crystals pulsed in soft colors from their embedded chambers. They had pommels of polished duraluminum, ronto bone, chammian ivory, and other unknown, exotic materials. Ridged handles on the weapons were knurled with care, fitted for hands and palms which had long since turned to dust and joined the Force. Varak had arranged the antiques carefully to affect a great awe on those who saw them. The Weequay just snorted.
Varo had warned them, again and again, to bring only a small selection; three or four, at best. But they'd insisted on bringing more than a third of their lightsabers with them, hoping to sell them for millions of credits all at once. They didn't understand what the holocrons really were, so they had a hard time imagining they would sell for nearly as much as the exotic weapons. Those remained back on the ship as a secondary thought, as the stormtroopers were hoping to first procure a windfall with a selection of antique weaponry.
If the Hutts were at all interested, they showed no change, only chuckling and pulling on hookahs, chittering among themselves. The Weequay snarled insults at the Marauders, which seemed to amuse the Hutts, in between his belittling the claimed provenance of their goods.
"And pretty plasmoid fakes? I've seen toys sold on the strands which look as convincing as these. Tell me, are they broken old pieces you found in a swamp, or did your Imperial masters make these as torches to find their piss pots in the dark?"
Varak was now slurring in his responses. His drunken anger was making the biker scout sloppy.
"They are TRUE! They were kept in lockers by Darth Vader. In hidden lockers in a keep on the planet Voss!"
The Weequay looked back at the Hutts and smiled before turning back to the troopers.
"Hidden? A keep we never heard of? How convenient for you, then, hirelings!"
The reptilian speaker stepped off the dais with a single leap. He passed his hands over the items, picking each one up to examine it, and passing judgement with added insult each time.
"Clever. I'm sure it would be fine to sell to tourists."
"Would be nice to sell as souvenirs. Hah. May be worth something for the ivory. If it's real ivory, I mean."
"Hah! I am too hard! I am not so heartless, after all. I am sure they are lovely toys, at least."
This all had what Varo suspected was the intended effect. The Marauders were now flustered, their faces turning red with intoxicated frustration. She felt the first tinge of panic; the Hutts knew this game. They expected stormtroopers to be brainless muscle with no art of negotiation. And they had called that perfectly. Drunken, desperate, and full of their own delusional arrogance, the Marauders were completely in over their heads.
The Hutts had seen the disappearance of the old Republic, the fall of the Jedi, and the Empire extend its grasp on the galaxy. Their generously undulating tongues were salivating in anticipation at what the remnants of the stormtrooper corps would be scrounging up to sell. Especially for artifacts of the Jedi and of Vader.
There would be purchasers for this loot, and the Hutts were the best agents to unload it. They took the largest share of any traders of goods, but they secured neutral trading hubs like Motok, and they paid for muscle to back their word. They'd cheat you blind if they could, but they'd always pay the price they promised, and let you walk out alive. Most of the time, anyway.
Varo quietly looked around, carefully taking in the full range of their surroundings. The towering pillars of light and shifting wax distorted shadows in the room. The floating dancers continued to sway as the Weequay shouted insults. Varo felt her body conspicuously under the billowy pilot's uniform as she saw from the corner of her eye that nearly naked Twi'Lek females of hues from green to red to blue were among the dancers. She knew all too well the fetishes in the galaxy for her race. There'd be time enough to be nauseated by this later. She wouldn't do well allowing this to unnerve her.
Intan couldn't help but scowl through the whole presentation. Varak kept a gritting smile when he wasn't trying to get a word in with the Weequay who kept muttering insults as he gave comment over each item as he passed his hands on them. Finally, his reptilian face crinkled to his own approximation of a smile, and he nodded. He leaped back on the dais and turned to face them with his arms extended. There was a pause.
"Fair enough, troopers. We will pay. One million credits."
The Marauders looked at one another nervously. Varak was obviously surprised. They knew the most the lightsabers would probably sell for would be in fact one million credits, and this to the final buyers. He still stumbled out a reply, attempting to sound as gracious as a stormtrooper could do.
"Yes. Well. We would agree to that price! One million creds, and at 30 sabers, that should be a total of 30-million, then?"
The Weequay snorted. "No. One million. For all of them! Best price you gonna get, boy."
Varak looked shocked now. As much as it was against his interest, he could not help but show emotion. His chiseled, handsome and dark-skinned face went from shock to twisted disbelief, slowing to anger.
"What? No. NO!"
His frustration only prompted the Weequay to throw back his head and laugh, followed by the chittering of the crowd, and the bellowing echo of the Hutts' amusement. Varak was sputtering now.
"They are worth… so MUCH more than that! We insist on 800 thousand a piece!"
Good, good, thought Varo. He's sticking to the plan. Insist hard on a high price. The Hutts will bargain. They will work down. They had discussed that if they could get half-a-million a saber, that would be what they would settle for, and the absolute bottom was 450. But you must have your own outrageous price to begin with.
Rather than dealing, now, the Weequay looked away and waved his hand.
"No matter, farmlings. Go back and tend a bantha ranch, then."
Undoubtedly, the Triumvirate was much better at this than the troopers. Drunkenly, Varak panicked, and slurring his protest, destroyed their position.
"N-no, then half-a-million, then! Couldn't go lower than 450!"
He stumbled to get the words out, only realizing he had completely crumbled his own bargaining price. The Weequay paused and put a clawed finger to his chin.
"Well. Then if you would take that much, surely then we know what they must be worth. We will be generous. 100,000 for each lightsaber. You have 30, yes? That is 3 million."
A million creds would be enough to buy a new freighter. It was still more than any but the Imperial Officer salaries would earn in a lifetime. Still, the trouble they had gone to, including the risk and the death undertaken, was all for the hope of a windfall of millions more. With more credits, they would have enough for all the Marauders to be self-sustaining for a lifetime, to purchase a more robust space cruiser, and then take safer jobs for decades while they enjoyed retirement from the danger of the galaxy.
But this was not to be. Varo exhaled as she resigned herself to this fact. The troopers had put themselves into a corner, and now with the most delicate negotiations, they could hope to maybe get a million or more from the Hutts, but never the 13 to 15 they had planned on.
She looked over the Marauders. Cranna and Mersan just had their mouths agape, unsure what they were facing. Intan's face was fixed on a permanent scowl, thirsty for violence. Varak was clearly panicking.
Varo leaned in and whispered strenuously to her lover.
"Work from there. Tell them 11! We can get out with maybe 10! We have more to sell! Do it!"
Before she finished, Varak's face was twisted up in anger, turning again to the Weequay, ignoring her advice, disastrously.
"You are… YOU ARE A CHEAT! A dishonest broker! A…"
The Weequay was chuckling, holding up his scaled hands, speaking playfully and calmly, which only made Varak more irrational.
"What? Me? I'm really a nice guy! You should take your cred and play me in Sabacc, say?"
Whatever Varak may have intended to do next if he had actually stopped to think was no longer in play. Stupidity and aggression took the momentum, setting off a chain of unfortunate events. His body lurched, heading to the dais to make his point face-to-face. Whether it was to truly physically acost the Weequay, or to just preen with the intimidation he was used to employing against quarrelsome civilians, this would never be known. The nearest Gamorrean stepped in, and Varak's progress was immediately arrested by the staff of the halberd, held horizontally, being raised up and meeting his forehead.
The biker scout was immediately stunned, falling back involuntarily. He barely hesitated getting his wits about him, and immediately inhaled and lurched again, now insensate with rage, grabbing the halberd with one hand, and putting the other to the neck of the guard. The Gamorrean naturally had a neck far thicker than Varak's hand could fit around, and he accomplished nothing but grasping at the guard's collar, and leaving his own defenses down. Instantly, a Gamorrean fist crashed down on his face, knocking him flat to the ground.
The hallway echoed with laughter at the expense of the hapless trooper. Even the Gamorreans oinked with amusement. Varo's eyes were wide, and her skin was getting hot. She saw a gush of red blood over Varak's brown skin as he rose, apparently missing teeth, and seething with pain, he reached at his belt.
"NO!" Varo screamed.
Varak produced a blaster and shot the Gamorrean in the chest. It collapsed backward with a dying squeal.
Now there was a moment of quiet as all the stormtroopers looked around the room at the partiers who were either frozen or starting to shift into offensive positions, reaching for side weapons. The Hutts were scowling, their wide mouths otherwise unmoving. Only the Weequay laughed.
"Oh, you ARE stupid, aren't you?"
Varak turned and fired at the Weequay who caught the blast in his chest and immediately fell to the dais. Now the remaining Gamorreans turned and came pressing in, brandishing their blades.
Varo's heart had been pumping hard, her breath coming rapidly. In the midst of this panic, time seemed to slow. Just before a halberd blade could disembowel her, she ducked and wrapped a hand around one of the sabers on display. She rolled forward, pulling on the ignition with her thumb. Instantly, a blinding blue plasma blade burst to life, hissing and humming in the air.
She was no blade fighter. She winced and held her arms out, spinning once, her green tentacles flying in the air, screaming a war cry. The humming and burning blade was a blur, and the Gamorreans were temporarily stunned into stepping back. Varo wasted no time. She kicked the chest closed, putting a foot against its bulk, and jumped on top of it. She stepped off, planting the other foot hard on the stone-thick head of one of the Gamorreans before it could react. Using his skull as a step, she now launched herself up on to the dais. The Hutts visibly shuddered, their blubber rippling in fright. But she wasn't interested in them. Instead, she planted her foot again and leaped off the dais towards one of the pillars of glowing wax.
The transparent plasteel didn't slow down the trajectory of the lightsaber as it sunk into the side of the lamp tank. With a hissing pop, the wall yielded to her momentum, slightly bubbling and scorching around the blade. She held on desperately with two hands, leaving a glowing wound in the pillar as she descended to the ground. As she intended, the integrity of the structure no longer could hold the pressure of the liquid against it, and a gush of warm water and melted, glowing wax spilled out over the floor to the ground level below the dais.
The Gamorreans squealed and fell hard, struggling to get their footing in the viscous bath. The liquid spent several seconds fully glugging entirely out of the pillar.
Varo was drenched and covered with water and wax. She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing the dancers above had now stopped moving, floating on their platforms, with their hands over their mouths in shock.
The next few moments were a blur. She could recall Intan kicking the switch to activate the repulsors for the sled, and grasping on it with slimy limbs, shoving it violently in front of him while imploring the others to run. The Marauders, clanging in their slimed stormtrooper armor, slipped until they found their footing and headed for the exit with Varo following them. She was occasionally turning around and snarling and spinning the glowing blade to intimidate any who would dare follow, pausing only to try and wipe the waxy fluid away from her eyes with her other hand.
The entourage all throughout the corporate hall who hadn't been near enough to get wet were still shocked by the sudden violence of the exploding pillar. No one attempted to interfere with the Marauders at first. Varo could hear the deep tones of the Hutts, shouting angry oaths at their hired killers, ordering them to give chase.
Kinn was pulling on a hookah stim which was serving up a particularly head-lightening intoxicant when he heard a commotion heading towards the freighter's docking bay. He saw, coming around the corner, the five Marauders, seemingly covered with a slippery liquid, their faces taught with terror. They were pursued by a crowd of similarly slimed and angrily oinking Gamorreans, running as fast as their stubby legs could take them.
Varo was pumping her limbs, tentacles bouncing with the effort, constantly slipping, gasping for breath as she kept swinging the humming blade behind her. She could see Kinn up ahead, his mouth agape, blinking, as he saw them coming. She could seem him mouth "No… shocking… way!"
He finally woke up and ran up the ramp of the rusty freighter, slapped on the thruster ignition as he alerted the others, and leapt into the pilot's chair. Intan grunted as he leaned in and pushed the sled up the ramp, followed in quick succession by the rest of the team. The ship immediately began to groan with the sound of metal under strain as the repulsors came alive, gradually winding up and pushing against the gravity of the planet.
The ship stuttered and wobbled, badly in need of the upgrades and replacements a successful deal would have bought them. Nevertheless, the wedge-shaped vessel eventually turned sideways, catching the updraft, finally righting itself as Kinn pulled back on the throttle, flinging their woebegone ride into space, away from the Hutts.
::: || :::
The freighter shook with another hit. Fluorolight stuttered and faded, leaving only dim emergency lighting, as the thrust and shaking finally wound down. Gravity was gone. Kinn's voice came from the cockpit, shouting down to the team rather than over the intercom.
"That's it, Mates. Hit us with an ion blast. Would seem they've finished us. We're dead in the water."
Intan looked out of a porthole in the hull, watching the pursuers behind them appear to spin when in fact it was their doomed ship itself was spiraling. They were now just drifting as listless space junk.
"They could finish us. But they're not doing it. I think they're still closing. They mean to take the artifacts from us."
Sober now, blood drying on his face, Varak spoke over a fattened lip.
"It would have worked. It didn't have to end like this. We could have done it. If I hadn't drank so much and lost my temper."
Varo leaned next to Intan, watching the two TIEs now bearing down on them. She sighed and spoke her desperate thoughts aloud.
"They may yet still deal with us. We'd have to take a hit in costs. Pay for the damage. They'd probably try and get a million off the top to compensate them for the Gamorrean. Even though I'm sure the others will forget that one of them is even missing, and hardly notice when the Hutts roast Gamorrean meat for their dinner."
"What about that Weequay I shot?" Asked Varak, wistfully.
"What, are you that stupid?" Varo hissed, now losing her temper. "Weequay skin is blaster proof. He's laughing it off right now. That doesn't mean that they won't try and claim that we owe them for that, as well."
"Besides," she sighed. "They'll probably just offer us some mercy, offer us some payment for the artifacts, just enough to get us to cooperate, and then just kill us once we've been boarded. They probably tried to sway everything to turn out this way all along."
Intan snorted. "Well. It's what I would have done."
Varo smirked. "Yeah. Me too."
The Marauders all laughed with grim irony, their eyes focusing nowhere in particular on the dark shadows of the their dead ship. They went over their options between their instincts to beg for mercy, and their honorable option of self-destruction and denying the artifacts to anyone.
"That's odd…" Kinn's voice, growing hoarse with shouting, had warbled down to them from the cockpit.
"What is it now?" snapped Intan.
"Auxiliary sensors report a ship entering the system. It's a Mandalore Interceptor."
Intan snorted. "Probably just going to deal with the Hutts. What of it?"
"It's that bounty hunter from Voss. Jeet Syllba. His ship. And he's heading right for us."
