Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I own HK-47, or ANYTHING Star Wars except for my collection of Hasbro merchandise. This story is a simple KOTOR fanfic, and I have/am/will not made/making/make a single penny from it. I'm not a rich man, either, so if you sue me, I won't have much to give. You'll be wasting your time, your money, and (if you have one) your lawyer's time. PLEASE, save us all the trouble.
Author's Notes: Alrighty! Now that I have more time, I can even reply to the wonderful reviews I got!
6tailedninja - oh, there will be violence, trust me...MUAHAHAHAHA!
schwartze - :D Thank ye, thankyeverimuch. There shall be more indeed.
Thunder1 - Thankeekindly. Yeah, nothing ever seems to go Malak's way, does it? That must really...BITE for him. :D
LordShotGun2 - I agree. I felt he deserved to have his side of the story told. Glad ya like.
Idiot7 - Hi meatbag! Ba-BOOM! Bye meatbag:D
High Priest of Ducky - I love you too. :D Yes, I shall, I promise.
Idiot7 (again) - fans you, throws water
Nahala Riddle - Yeah, that part will come later. This story is going to go right up until the end of TSL. I'm just hoping that the Restoration Project will tell me what I need to know. Thanks for reading:D
Diaz Rivaut - Yeah, I decided to through in a touch or two of familiarity. Glad ya like. :D And of course, what would a story like this be without the infamous yet hotly speculated JAW INCIDENT? Muahahaha... :D And yes, Kote be Tal is in Mando'a, the native language of the Mandalorians. I was going to make it up myself, but then I remembered Wookiepedia, and I looked it up. You wouldn't BELIEVE the stuff they have there. It's AMAZING.
BountyRai - Thank you. I do try...er, I DO. There is no try. :D
Keep 'em coming, folks! Now for a very fun chapter! You might wanna hold your noses, though...and those who think gizka are cute...sorry!
7
Initializing...
All systems functional...
I run a quick diagnostic. I am pleased to find that all of my systems, including even the implants that Mareel installed in me, are all functional and working at top efficiency. If anything, I am in even better condition than I was when I shut down upon Mareel's untimely demise. One in my position could only wonder what had happened in my slumber. My internal clock shows I have been deactivated for some three standard weeks.
I am standing before the slimiest, most bulbous and disgusting organic meatbag that it has ever been my displeasure to meet. A Hutt, sitting atop a throne-like structure, cramming wriggling worms into his gaping, lipless mouth. Greenish-yellow slime oozes from his mouth onto his stomach. He does not even bother to wipe it away. Two female Twi'lek meatbags, undoubtably slaves, instantly all but pounce upon the slug's abdomen with a cloth each, furiously scrubbing the slime away and pouring some cosmetic lotion and oil in its stead.
"Wakey-wakey, droid," the Hutt says in Huttese. "I am Bochaba the Hutt of Sleheyron. I am now your new owner. Step forward and outline your functions."
Meatbag tagged "Bochaba the Hutt" now marked as current Master.
"Greeting: hello to you, Master," I say. "I am HK-47, a state-of-the-art protocol droid programmed for translation, interpretation, combat, espionage, demolition, and assassination."
Bochaba makes a gesture of suspicion. "Now why," he muses, "would the Mandalorians so freely and carelessly sell you to me if you were such an advanced piece of technology?"
I ponder this for a moment, before answering. The Hutt is right, and I cannot help feeling the slightest bit insulted. "Speculation: it is possible that the Mandalorians did not realize me full potential, and would certainly have kept me otherwise. Of course, it is equally possible, if not more so, that the Mandalorians considered me beneath them and their ways. If that is so, I cannot help feel insulted, and would love nothing more than to show them just how wrong they were...perhaps with the help of one of their own heavy repeaters..."
Bochaba laughs. "Normally, I do not hold much love for droids," he says, "but then again, I rarely hold love for anything. Even so, I cannot help liking you, HK-47. You make me laugh, and you are dangerous, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all."
Though I choose not to say it yet, I cannot help liking Bochaba, myself. Somehow, I suspect that Bochaba the Hutt will allow me to perform my true functions to the best of my ability. And, to echo him, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Daiyuna the Hutt has been troubling Bochaba for some four standard months, now. From what Bochaba has told me, the two have always been rivals, but they had one mutual bussiness partner in common, on Kessel. After the businessman mysteriously vanished after a high-stakes card game, some confusion arose over his will, and his next of kin decided to sell ownership of his spice mines on Kessel to the highest bidder. Daiyuna had struck a verbal agreement with this next of kin, and paid a hefty, non-refundable down payment, until Bochaba had made a higher offer, and received written ownership of the spice mines. Perhaps a sneaky way to do business, but certainly legal. Needless to say, Daiyuna was furious, and has since hired mercenaries to intercept and raid each and every one of Bochaba's shipments of glitterstim spice from Kessel. Some thirty-seven percent of Bochaba's shipments have been destroyed or stolen, as of yet. After a month of sending me after lowly rival thugs and foolish meatbags who are behind on their debt payments, Bochaba has sent me to terminate Daiyuna. I have never terminated such a large meatbag. This will be...interesting.
I walk through the streets of Dopeeka, the city of Daiyuna's residence. I stop some fifty standard meters from the gates to Daiyuna's mansion. The gates are guarded by a Human and a Rodian. No, a Human, a Rodian, and a droid, with a built-in cloaking device. Clever trick. No, not really.
The Rodian reaches into a pouch in his belt, pulls out something wrapped in paper, unwraps it, and stuffs a piece into his thin snout. Glitterstim.
I focus my audio sensors so that I can perceive every word they speak, despite the distance.
"Hey, what are you doing?" snaps the Human. "Is that spice? We can't chew on duty!"
The Rodian shoves him. "Why not?" he asks. "If anything, we'll be better prepared if anyone tries anything...not that they will. And I've been waiting all week for this. This is the good stuff. Right off Bochaba's line."
"Bochaba's stuff?" The Human's mouth twitches greedily, and waters. He hesitates. "Lemme' have a piece," he says, finally.
The meatbags are enjoying the fruits of my Master's hard work, in the middle of the day! Oh, the indignity! Yet still, I keep myself calm. By the end of this mission, Bochaba will never have this troubling him again. I approach the gates, and the guards instantly stand up straight to address me, obviously annoyed I have interrupted their little "snack" break.
"Greeting, hello to you," I say, "I am HK-47, here to deliver a number of business proposals to one Daiyuna the Hutt."
The droid deactivates its cloaking device, and approaches me, holding out a built-in interface arm. "Please open data port," it says in binary.
I open a serial bus port in my chassis, allowing it access, while secretly building up my firewall. When the droid scans me, it will find only false decoy programming and data. It plugs in, and for a moment, I feel its presence probing about in my memory banks. I resist the urge to blast it right then and there. Then, it unplugs.
"Protocol droid is truthful, represents no threat," it says. "Access to estate granted."
The gates open. Both guards return to their spice, and the droid ignores me. Fools.
I enter the mansion, and a Sullustan servant brings me before Daiyuna, in a chamber near the top of the building. Daiyuna sits before a large glass window, on top of a giant, levitating hoverchair. The disgusting meatbag is even larger than Bochaba, and unlike Bochaba, appears to have absolutely no care for even basic personal hygiene, even for a Hutt. Waterfalls of slimy, khaki saliva rolls out of his mouth and down his front, puddling on the floor beneath his hoverchair, without even any slaves bothering to clean it. Even the trained Twi'lek dancing girls on either side of him appear to be resisting the urge to vomit.
I quickly scan the room. Four guards at the door, two Humans and two Gammoreans. Three droids on either side of the room. Two more Gammoreans on either side of Daiyuna, as well as six more humanoid meatbags with armor that conceals their appearance so I cannot tell their species. The Gammoreans all wield vibro axes, the droids sport built-in repeating blasters, and the others are armed with various other weapons. Not to mention the hidden blaster turrets in the walls that my sensors picked up the moment I entered, and I am absolutely certain that the Sullustan servant and the Twi'lek hiding behind Daiyuna both also carry at least one hold-out blaster under their garments.
Needless to say, I have none of these things. I could only take what I could definitely conceal, or else, of course, I would never have made it past the gates. As far as combat supplies go, I have two plasma grenades and a thermal detonator in my compartments, my energy shield, and a disruptor and flamethrower in my secondary weaponry slots. Not nearly enough to fight off all the guards, even with my shield. Fortunately, I expected such a situation. I will terminate Daiyuna and then make my escape immediately.
"Greeting: Good day, Great Daiyuna the Hutt," I say in my most respectful tone. My designation is HK-47, and I have come to speak to you regarding important business from my Master."
Daiyuna appears bored, and reaches into a bowl beside him, removing a live gizka and stuffing it into his mouth. Disgusting. I continue nonetheless.
"Statement: my master has sent me to arrange an agreement between you and he regarding the spice trade."
Daiyuna swallows the gizka, barely having even chewed it. "And just who is this Master of yours, droid?" he booms in Huttese.
"Answer: I represent one Bochaba the Hutt, sir."
Every guard in the chamber tenses. More than several hands drift toward their weapons. Daiyuna, however, still appears bored, and belches so loudly that one Twi'lek dancer grabs her head on either side, and the other one, nearest his mouth, gags. Still, I continue.
"Addendum: in regards to your recent...differences...Bochaba has sent with me a gift to present to you personally."
Now, finally, Daiyuna appears interested "And what gift would this be?" he asks.
"Answer," I say, "he gives to you the ability to fly."
Combat Mode Active.
Faster than a Sullustan could say "meatbag," I activate my shield, and raise my arm holding the disruptor. My shield absorbs all the blaster bolts fired at me, and the Gammoreans are too far away to attack with their pathetic axes. Daiyuna's eyes bulge in fear. I fire the disruptor once, and the blast goes beneath him, striking his hoverchair. For an instant, Daiyuna smirks, believing I missed. Then, he realizes I was not aiming for him at all. The hoverchair is blasted back by the force of my disruptor, and smashes through the glass window, sending Daiyuna tumbling out of the building, and spiraling down thirty-three stories towards solid ground. The guards stop firing, and for a moment, every eye and photoreceptor peers out the window. I sadly cannot see Daiyuna from where I stand, but moments later, his deep roar is cut short by a thunderous, squishy, "splat" noise.
Assassination target eliminated.
Deactivating Assassination Protocol...
Assassination Protocol deactivated.
I leap backwards, out of the chamber. By the time the Gammoreans once again begin to charge at me, and the others begin to raise their blasters, I have jumped sideways, away from the doorway, and begin to run down the corridor, towards the turbolifts. I open one of the lifts, reach inside, press the button for ground floor, then hide around the corner.
I hear footsteps. They stop at the lifts.
"He's in lift C!" says a voice. "He's headed for the ground floor! Call security!"
The footsteps resume, and shuffle into another lift. Once I hear the doors close, I come from around the corner.
Combat Mode Deactivated.
I hear shouts and alarms sounding throughout the building. I quickly activate my own built-in cloaking device, and take the long way down - the stairwell. I frequently have to flatten myself against the wall as panicking meatbags shoot past me, but eventually I reach the ground floor, and leave the building, entering the streets of Dopeeka. Several meters away, I see a rather large number of police speeders parked along the street, while officers do their best to keep a crowd at bay while droids set up a crime scene barrier. Making sure to keep my cloaking device on, I move slowly into the crowd, just to take a peak. Through the bobbing heads, and pinched noses (or other olfactory organs), I see a large puddle of slime, with pieces of leathery skin and weak cartilage here and there. Already, insects begin to descend on it as a crime scene team takes holo-images and collects images, trying their best not to pass out. Daiyuna the Hutt...in your own native tongue...me jewz coo, sleemo.
I turn about and begin to leave, quite pleased with myself. But then again...it is all in a day's work.
