The intercom woke Plasma up next morning. A male Rodian servant pushed the cart into the suite, bringing his breakfast. He had slept in his armor and stood up confused. He thanked the servant.
Slowly, as the cogwheels of his mind grinded, an idea occurred to him. First, he would contact his ship and ask C9-N2 to send him everything it had on the Mandalorians. He would study eating breakfast, and then would call Tyylaakk'ta's personal frequency. This time, he would not go in unprepared.
Mandalorians, he learned, was a culture, a religion, and an ethnicity established four thousand years ago on the planet Mandalore. From a military culture, they deemed battle as a source of honor and glory, and the Mandalorians followed a leader that always takes the title of Mandalore, meaning Sole Ruler in Basic. Mandalorians are usually aligned with the Empire – having a dedicated district in the capital city of Dromund Kaas – but as warriors for hire they will work with any group to advance their own agenda.
Following the end of the Mandalorian Wars, nearly seven hundred years ago, Mandalorians have become one of the most effective and expensive mercenaries in the galaxy. This conflict against the Galactic Republic have left Mandalorians distrustful of the Republic and the Jedi. Their unique armor suits are forged from a special, lightsaber-resistant ore native to Mandalore, known as Mandalorian iron, or beskar, in their native tongue; the beskar allied with their elite, brutal training make Mandalorians formidable foes to both Jedi and Sith.
After Mandalore was destroyed, the Mandalorians scattered throughout the galaxy. They form nomadic groups, or clans, that lack central authority and government. There are many subgroups of mercenaries who claim to be Mandalorians.
Lightsaber-resistant armor, Plasma read that part again and raised his eyebrows. He was glad he did not let his arrogance take control of his actions, or he would be a new tapestry decorating the walls of that filthy castle.
Plasma finished his meal. He took a long, hot shower and groomed his fur – perhaps for the first time since he could remember. Baths were a peaceful place to meditate. Plasma took that opportunity to meditate with the Force – it was a long time since he had done it – and let his mind sew his plans together. To him, his strategy sounded solid – but he would require the help of his new Twi'lek friend.
"My apologies, my Lord," a receptionist answered the call. "Miss Gida is unavailable at the moment."
A subtle sense of dread fell upon him; Plasma dismissed it to the back of his head for the moment. He feared for Gida – perhaps their conversation had been monitored, or she had been interrogated. He promised himself he would help her, but his mission was his top priority.
"Lord Tyylaakk'ta, my friend," Plasma spoke into his holocom. He had called the Hutt's personal frequency. "Me and my crew worked all night; I fear we may have found additional information on this assassin, but I must ask you for a favor."
"What have you uncovered, Lord Plasma?" the Hutt asked broodingly.
"It might be too early to tell," he responded. "I must access one of your security terminals. One of your Mandalorians could be double-crossing you, so I ask for your discretion."
Plasma could not see the Hutt's face via the voice call, but he felt a disturbance in the Force. That revelation seemed to have affected Tyylaakk'ta and stirred his paranoid mind. After four seconds of silence, the Hutt responded in a hushed, careful tone.
"Head to room zero-three-four, third lower level. Transmitting the passcode."
"Thank you, my Lord Hutt."
Plasma smiled perversely at himself and ended the call. He finished putting on his Sith armor, flinging the hooded cape over his shoulders, and attaching the respirator mask to his face. He marched out with purposeful strides.
Plasma descended the turbolift tube and followed a wide corridor to the East. There, he found a thick, metal door, which led to a series of descending staircases. Two levels below, he exited onto another corridor, at the end of which he found a service elevator; it was open, merely a platform attached to a magnetic rail in the wall. Three more levels underground, and Plasma found himself in the third lower level.
Along the way, he called the concierge again and asked for Gida. They told him she was still unavailable, occupied with another client. That was one hour after his first call, which made him more preoccupied. Then, he contacted the Grey Condor and told C9 to prepare a duffel bag with one of Major's blaster rifles, one pistol, four ammo cells, and a slicing pad, and to bring it over to the palace. Find Gida, he ordered him.
The service levels lacked the castle's opulence. The halls were bare, illuminated tunnels, with industrial lamps mounted over sockets, wires, and cables coiling along the ceiling and on the ground. After a pair of turns and a long walk, he found the metallic door labeled Zero Three Four. He input the password onto a numeric pad and the door slid open with a hiss.
It was a cramped room, maybe five by five meters. Three long, rectangular screens were mounted up on the walls, displaying a three-by-three grid of security camera footage; below them, three large computer consoles occupied the lower wall from both extremities, equipped with two wide monitors each, a colorful keyboard, holographic terminal, and droid interface
On the opposite side, Plasma saw an armaments depot, a medium-sized cabinet with six blaster rifles, eight blaster pistols, twenty-five ammo magazines, and four thermal detonators. That did not seem the type of weaponry suitable for common private security duty; those were weapons of war.
The door slid shut behind him. Plasma extended his sense through the Force, attempting to detect any disturbances, both inside and outside the room. The area was clear, at least for now. He sat down at one of the terminals; he knew exactly what he was looking for, and quickly went to work.
Blocks of text rolled up the screen. Plasma connected his datapad to the computer, activating a scrambling program. With Force-heightened senses, he browsed through several folders, skimming through them until anything captured his attention.
He saw inventory lists – two thousand kilograms of unrefined spice, three hundred crates of assorted liquor, five tons of produce, poultry, beef, enhancers, and more; there were speeders, ships, and weapons purchased from and sold to the Republic and the Empire. The transaction numbers surpassed the billions of credits.
There were copies of the manifestos from every ship in the starport as well; he noticed the Grey Condor was the only ship with a special symbol next to its name. Most of the other ships carried smuggled, often illegal, goods from distant planets.
One Imperial shuttle caught his eye. The manifesto described a crew of twenty-four soldiers and one commanding officer, a Chiss named Colonel Druwa Boceqh, along with his ID number and a holocom frequency – which Plasma promptly added to his personal communicator.
Twenty minutes later, Plasma located a special tab. It was labeled Organic Imports, a codeword for slaves.
There were so many.
There were, at least, twenty thousand names on that list, and those included only the survivors and those who were sold. How many had perished, Plasma pondered for an instant. He opened a search box and his heart stopped for a moment, staring at the flickering screen. Only a few keys, and he would complete his mission.
He input the name of his mother first. Ma'va Puhrr. The result came in nearly instantaneous. The highlighted name blinked, and its profile popped-up. There she was. Plasma leaned over the screen, looking at his mother's face from up closely. He had forgotten how beautiful she used to be. Lifeless eyes stared back at him.
Full Name: Ma'va Puhrr
Planet of Birth: Cathar, Outer Rim, Quelil sector, Cathar system.
Last Known Location: Lower Nar Shaddaa
Last Known Address: unknown
Family: two infants, female
Dependent names: Myat; Puath Puhrr
Work History: beggar, self-employed, waitress, dancer
Last Place of Employment: Slippery Slope Cantina, The Promenade (Nar Shaddaa)
That was precisely what Plasma was looking for. The file said she had arrived on Nal Hutta with two infant daughters, and that her current address was somewhere in Lower Nar Shadaa. That was solid intel. He copied her file and information into his datapad. Next, he selected the names of his sisters.
They shared one file. The eldest's, Myat, had only one word: unknown. The youngest's, Puath, file was longer. Her information read:
Full Name: Puath Puhrr-Kal
Planet of Birth: Nal Hutta*
Last Known Location: Nal Hutta
Current Location: Alderaan, Fortress of House Kal
Family: mother; missing sister
Status: sold
Observation: Infant's planet of origin is CZ-146, a planetoid in the Anoat Sector, Bespin System. With an unregistered birth, infant lacked proper documentation. She has been re-registered as native to Nal Hutta for legal purposes. Claims she has an older sister, however failed to disclose her location.
There was an attachment. Plasma opened it, revealing a long bill of sale with the signatures of Tyylaakk'ta the Great and a certain King Kjuty Kal of Alderaan. He skipped the legalese and saw the price: thirty million credits. The transaction had occurred only thirty standard days ago. Plasma flared up. It meant that his mother must still be on Nar Shaddaa, perhaps even with Myat.
Plasma copied everything over to his datapad and closed the folders. Before he could finish his work, he did not know why, but another entry drew his attention. He felt he should click on it. Organic Exports. His mind felt as if drifting away; he let the Force guide his senses.
A name highlighted: Gida Anu. Defective slave to be sent to the spice mines underground. Plasma clenched his fist. He knew it; he knew something was wrong with her, and he knew it was because of him. Plasma returned to the previous screen and navigated through several other tabs until he found the storage location of these organic exports. It was close, two levels underneath him.
He darted through the door and rushed back to the elevators.
"Colonel Druwa, come in," Plasma spoke hurriedly into the communicator. A few seconds later, a voice responded.
"This is Colonel Druwa Boceqh. Who is this? How did you obtain this frequency?"
"This is Lord Plasma, apprentice to Darth Komm'ett." He activated the holographic communicator, projecting his body over to the Colonel. In front of him, he saw a blue miniature of an Imperial officer. The man promptly stood attention and saluted.
"Apologies, my Lord! I wasn't expecting to receive a call from a Sith Lord on Nal Hutta. How can I assist you?"
"Colonel, I understand you have a full platoon under your command on Nal Hutta," he said politely. The man agreed; Plasma quickly added: "I require your assistance. Here's what you're going to do…"
Fifth sub-level. Plasma exited the elevator platform. He concentrated with the Force, extending his senses beyond. He detected chatter, the sound of steps, mechanical whirring, droid static. Down the hall, the Force felt heavy, contaminated. Despair and agony flooded his mind; he snapped back to his senses.
Plasma dodged droids and workers. Near the end of the hall, he found a metal door. A common guard kept watch over it. He had a holstered blaster pistol and wore a simple uniform. As Plasma approached, he raised a hand.
"Sir, this area is off-limits."
Grunting impatiently, Plasma waved his hand. The man repeated the command mindlessly: I will hand over my key card and walk away.
The door opened with a soft beep. Sudden light illuminated the darkened room. On the floor, he saw a swarm of terrified faces. Twenty-five people, he counted, from many different species; mostly Twi'leks and Evocii.
The red face of Gida Anu caught his eye. She looked up, eagerly, but did not move. Plasma turned on the flashlight on his suit, casting a small spotlight over battered, malnourished, and bony faces. Gida, too, was hurt.
"Gida!" he gasped; moving through the crowd, he knelt before her. He realized she, and the others, had standard slave shock collars attached to the back of their necks. "Are you okay? Who did this to you?"
Gida's eyes watered up. She seemed to fight back the tears but failed. A smile drew on her lips. You came back for me, she muttered.
"Of course, I did!" he responded, sounding almost hurt. "Can you stand? Can you fight?"
"I can always fight, my Lord." Her eyes burned with a furious passion as she rose to her feet; she gestured at the others, speaking rylothean. The other Twi'leks seemed confused and afraid. She repeated herself, this time sounding more like an order, and the others promptly stood up. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Plasma smiled like a child behind the respirator mask and nodded. Gida could feel the pure excitement oozing from his body.
"Two levels up, room zero three four, there is an empty security room with a weapons cabinet. Arm yourselves and move carefully. Only engage the Mandalorians on my sign."
Plasma spoke hastily between heavy breaths, repeatedly looking over his shoulder.
"You are going to escape," he continued. "Blast everything and everyone that gets in your way. I will go on ahead before the Hutt suspects anything, and you will move to the front gates. There, wait for me. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" Gida said soldierly. "Weapons, two levels up; ground level, head for the exit; avoid Mandos, remove hostiles, await signal."
Enhanced by the Force, Plasma rushed through the corridors, back onto the elevator, and then back to the ground level. He panted heavily, scanning the area around him with keen eyes. As he ran, he called Tyylaakk'ta on his personal frequency. Plasma's exasperated tone and tired voice put the Hutt immediately on edge.
"My Lord!" the Hutt cried. "What has happened?"
"Meet me in your safe room," Plasma said grimly. "I have found the assassin!"
Plasma stumbled over tables and small droids, bumping onto waitresses as he ran through the cantina, the casino, and the entertainment area. Mandalorian guards raised their rifles at him as he approached the throne room.
"Go guard the castle's entrance," Plasma shouted. "The assassin is coming!"
The Mandalorians shouted out orders and scurried away, heavy boots stomping the soft carpet. Plasma barged into the throne room and saw the throne-like platform had slid open, revealing a reinforced-durasteel trapdoor on the floor. The Sith announced himself over the communicator and entered.
He landed in a spacious bunker, filled with crates and canisters. The Hutt held a small blaster in his tiny hand, and his entire fat, slug-like body trembled like gelatin.
"Thank the skies you're here," the Hutt cried. "Where is he? Who is the assassin?"
Plasma took a deep breath and stared deep into the Hutt's soul. His being, his face, his voice, everything boiled the crimson hatred inside the Sith's body. His breath became calm and hot, and his red eyes focused like a predator. He ignited his lightsaber, bathing the darkness in blood-red light, and said slowly:
"I am."
The Hutt fired two shots at Plasma, who easily deflected them; stretching his hand, Plasma pulled the pistol with the Force to himself. Approaching with slow, careful steps, Plasma enjoyed the moment, savoring the sweet taste of Tyylaakk'ta's anguish.
"W-wait," the Hutt pleaded. "We can negotiate; I'll give you anything you want! Money, slaves, land, just ask!"
"Do you remember a white-furred Cathar girl?" Plasma asked, growling. "The daughter of one of your dancers."
The Hutt did not answer. Sweat dripped from his body.
"You do; don't you?" Plasma continued. "Yes, I can feel your perversion, the glint in your eyes. Thirty million credits for one small girl… How much did you pay for her?"
"… t-ten thousand," Tyylaakk'ta stammered, pleadingly raising his hands.
"My mother sold my sister to someone like you for ten thousand credits…" Plasma spoke slowly, attentive to the Hutt's reaction. His buggy eyes opened wide and his long, deformed mouth trembled in fear. "Where is her other daughter, the older one?"
"I-I don't know, my Lord… She had only one cub with her, I swear!"
The Hutt spoke the truth; Plasma sensed through the Force. There was no reason for him to lie at that moment. Perhaps he believed that through the cooperation of truth the Sith would show mercy.
Unexpectedly, before the Tyylaakk'ta could speak again, before he could plead his case, before he could beg, the red lightsaber hummed rapidly, leaving behind a blurry trail. Plasma disemboweled the Hutt, eviscerating him from tail to head in one quick strike.
Raising a wrist to his mouth, Plasma spoke into the communicator.
"Colonel, now."
The ground quaked. Muffled battle sounds came from outside, the sound of blaster fire and explosions. The Sith moved slowly out of the throne room. At the end of the hallway, he leaned around the corner and peeked at the cantina's main room. It was completely deserted, covered in shattered glass, littered trash, deactivated droids, and corpses. He saw, on the opposite side, Gida and her squad hiding behind turned-over tables.
Four Mandalorians left the battle outside and marched back into the castle, rifles mounted on their shoulders. Plasma let out a roar and leaped nine meters forward across the air, propelled by the Force, activating the lightsaber.
He caught the Mandalorians off-guard, managing to land one precise blow over the head. Stunned, the Mandalorian fell down on his face, as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer. A loud, metallic bang echoed, the sound of a lightsaber hitting beskar. The blade flickered and failed but stabilized.
The other Mandalorians turned towards Plasma; the Sith rose to his feet, bringing the lightsaber in an upward arc – which she dodged – then dealing a sideways cutting blow – which she blocked with her beskar vambrace. Plasma advanced as they traded blows, each strike against Mandalorian iron caused the lightsaber blade to flicker and fail momentarily.
Plasma suddenly caught the smell of compressed oxygen and engine oil behind him. He leapt over the mercenary in front of him as a dragon's breath of fire erupted from a pair of arm-mounted flamethrowers.
Following Plasma's cue, Gida Anu let out a rylothean battle cry and charged with her men. The Twi'leks moved in pairs, carefully and with precision. They rained blaster fire over the Mandalorians, who quickly scuttered away, dodging and ducking, shots bouncing off their armor with long, loud chimes.
Plasma rushed towards Gida, standing his ground in front of them, swirling the lightsaber in front of him with unnatural speed, deflecting and reflecting volley upon volley of blaster fire. A few of them hit the Mandalorians back but ricocheted off of their armor; others tore through the cantina, setting carpets and furniture alight.
One grenade, flung over the counter, landed by the foot of one of the mercenaries. He activated his jetpack but was caught mid-air. The explosion sent him spiraling outside, followed by a loud explosion.
Plasma took advantage of the brief break in their formation and charged again, somersaulting over the female Mandalorian. As he landed over the one on the ground, he dug his blade into his back, a vulnerable spot between the helmet and breastplate. The man bellowed in pain and stood still.
The Mercenary behind Plasma shot a rocket from her jetpack onto Gida and her men, then turned around quickly to meet the Sith, pointing her rifle at Plasma. He swung the lightsaber in a short arc, cutting her blaster rifle in two. The mercenary reached for her vibroknife, but found herself dangling in the air, throat getting crushed.
Four casualties in Gida's platoon. She advanced faster now, hailing the last Mandalorian with and endless volley of blaster fire. Overwhelmed, the Mandalorian fell onto his back, incinerated.
Plasma slowly approached the mercenary, her arms floundering about, clawing at the invisible hand over her throat. Plasma closed his fist and bared his teeth at her.
"Will you tell me to sit down now, mercenary?" he asked slowly. "Will you?"
It took her thirty-two seconds to suffocate to death.
"Hold your fire!"
Plasma exited the palace holding the activated lightsaber, a long and thin crimson light beside his cloaked silhouette. When the smoke cleared, he saw sixteen Mandalorian corpses, surrounded by at least two hundred carcasses of regular guards and other mercenaries; in awe, Plasma also saw what seemed to be five hundred Imperial infantrymen along the promenade.
Up in the sky, a humongous, triangular silhouette caught Plasma's eyes; an Imperial Star Destroyer loomed over the planet.
The Colonel approached Lord Plasma, accompanied by a tall and fair Human woman wearing an impossibly white, medal-covered uniform.
"My Lord," the colonel stood in attention. "This is Admiral Juna Hyvo; it is her vessel you see in orbit."
Admiral Juna saluted the Sith Lord and smiled. She had blonde hair, rolled up in a tight bun under a white-leather cap.
"Lord Plasma," Juna said. "It is a huge honor to meet the apprentice of the Conqueror of Coruscant."
"The honor is mine, Admiral," Plasma replied. He looked over the sea of armored Imperial soldiers. "Isn't this overkill?"
"Negative, sir," Juna said sternly. "When a Sith Lord of the Empire requests assistance, the Empire provides it. Besides, I was stationed nearby, supporting the colonel in a priority mission. We were all caught up in a happy coincidence."
Plasma looked at her curiously; the colonel explained, in details, that they were in a covert operation. Admiral Juna had ordered he and his men to observe and infiltrate the operations of Tyylaakk'ta the Hutt, without risking open warfare. The colonel and his platoon had been stationed in Nal Hutta for seventy-two days, carefully working their way up. Imperial Intelligence had discovered that the Hutt had embezzled Imperial funds and had sold them defective technology, mainly surveillance equipment. The Hutt's assets would be seized by the Empire, under Interplanetary Imperial Law number two-eight-three-four-nine dash zero-zero-eight.
"Imperial High Command gave me this mission," Admiral Juna observed. "The Colonel and his men hit a bump when the Hutt hired the Mandalorians, but you accomplished the mission in two days." She saluted him again. "I am speechless; thank you, my Lord."
"Perhaps the Force guided me here for this reason," Plasma said. "I am just glad to have served the Empire."
"We'll make sure to highlight your name in our report, sir," Admiral Juna said with a smile.
"That will not be necessary, Admiral," he added quickly. "This victory is entirely yours; might I just ask you a favor in return?"
"Anything you desire, Lord Plasma."
The Sith leaned in closer, speaking in a hushed, careful tone to her.
"I shall be heading to Alderaan soon. Can you fabricate a reason for me to meet with a certain King Kjuty Kal?"
"Your wish is my command, my Lord," she bowed. "Should you require support, you can count with my fleet."
He smiled at her behind the respirator. Gida Anu approached them at that moment, followed by her battalion of freed slaves. Plasma gestured at the colonel and the admiral, putting them at ease. The Twi'lek smelled of battle, of ash, of ozone, and blood. Her red skin glistened with sweat and excitement.
"You fought well, my Lord," she told Plasma. The Sith smiled and nodded at her.
"Likewise, Commander," he said, then gestured at the Imperial officers. "Colonel; Admiral; this is Gida Anu." Gida nodded respectfully. "She was of extreme importance to my mission; consider her under my protection and provide her, and her people, with supplies and passage to any planet they desire."
"Absolutely, my Lord," the Admiral responded. "Although, the Imperial military could use fighters like you..."
Gida chuckled. "Hard pass."
They parted ways. Plasma gave Gida one last, hopeful look, but she did not look back.
INTERLUDE – TRUE LOVE IS AN ANCHOR
As the monument to the Hutt's greed fell behind him, Plasma crossed the city plaza triumphantly. Hundreds of miserable, wretched creatures swarmed what was left of the battlefield. They desperately scavenged the corpses for credits, rations, and equipment. A few lucky ones managed to escape with a pistol or a rifle.
As Plasma approached the starport, a strange rush of sympathy hit him. He saw a squalid Human woman nestled against the wall, under a makeshift tent of cargo netting and plastic panels. The Sith saw she had two young, malnourished babies sucking on her teats. She shivered and avoided his sight when he approached; she flinched as he crouched before her.
"I won't hurt you," Plasma whispered softly. "Please, look at me."
She raised her eyes at him, amazed at seeing a man like him, looking at her daughters so tenderly; Plasma caressed their bald, shivering heads. There was hardly any milk left for them.
"They are beautiful…" Plasma whispered again, sitting on the ground. "What is your name?"
"I no remember real name, mister. But they has," she nodded at the babies. "My babies, I mean."
"Would you tell me their names? I would love to know."
"Khan'ta, and Than'ka, good sir."
"Beautiful names. Do they mean anything?"
"Moon and Sun, on me native tongue…," she said, then quickly added. "Me never see someone like you…"
"You mean a Cathar; a cat-folk?"
"No, cat like you me seen… Me say, you is kind, gentle… people always treat us bad." She tightened her weak arms around her babies. "They want to steal me babies, they hit us… is you one of them Jedi?"
"No." he said sternly but looked at the woman with sorrowful eyes. "I am a Sith. My name is… Plaz-myu. I apologize if I bothered you, but your babies reminded me of two little girls whom I love deeply."
"They your children? I see deep sad in your eyes…"
"In a way, they are," he chuckled. "They're my sisters… I've been looking for them for a long time. You mentioned I'm not the first cat-person you see," he continued, intrigued and anxious. "Do you know this other person? You know where I can find her?"
"You know she a woman!" she sounded excited and amused. "Me saw it wander around; saw her buy things, nasty things from bad men. One day, she enter here," she gestured at the spaceport. "And never seen again."
Plaz-myu slid his fingers off the little babies' heads and looked down at them lovingly. He had seen piles, upon piles of baby corpses on that planetoid, children discarded like garbage, or sold as slaves. And there was this courageous woman who had refused to leave her babies behind.
Plasma felt a tear wetting the fur of his face. He reached into one of his pockets, retrieving an Imperial credits card.
"Here, for your troubles." He handed it to her. "Consider this a blessing from the Force. I only ask that you help as many people as you can. Bring this to one of those soldiers," he pointed yonder at the Imperials. "Tell them the Cathar Sith gave this to you; they will protect you."
Plasma stood up. The woman held the card with two fingers, seeming quite lost as to what had just happened. She smiled back at him and said a prayer on her native tongue. Plasma did not know what it meant, but it made him feel warm.
The woman worked up the courage to approach Colonel Druwa Boceqh three days later; they informed her that the card had been pre-loaded with three-hundred thousand Imperial credits. And that she was under their protection from that day forward.