In Darkest Night
Chapter Seven: Wheels and Deals
"Mysterious Stranger is the perfect name for you. Makes people think you've got some deep dark secret."
--Ajuur the Hutt
"Two thousand credits? Do you think I'm stupid?"
Ajuur sent a bowl of spice crashing to the dingy metal floor.
"There's no way you're getting two thousand credits out of me, even if it is Starkiller. I could have you killed for arrogance like that. If I gave you even half of that for a fight everyone would be on me like a pack of rakgouls with their demands for larger cuts."
"There will be no demands."
The Stranger stood motionless, his arms crossed.
"This is not a normal fight. This is not a fight you will ever get the chance to arrange again. Two thousand credits is a small price to ask, considering the profit you stand to make in return. Besides…"
The Stranger turned to leave, throwing a final glance over his shoulder.
"You don't have to pay me if I loose. You'll never have to worry about paying me ever again."
He was making his way to the door when a low grumble from the Hutt stopped him. Again he glanced over his shoulder. That was far quicker than he had expected.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
Ajuur seemed to stare at a space above the Stranger's head.
"No weapons."
The Hutt's eyes narrowed as he recited the rules for this particular bout.
"No weapons. Period. You don't use your own weapons, you don't take his weapons. You don't use grenades, you don't use stim packs, and you don't take any medkits with you. You can punch him, and you can kick him. That's all. You do that- You kill him like that, and then you'll get your two thousand credit prize."
The Stranger only smiled.
The rancor's breath came out in hot, humid blasts, the stench almost causing Mission to gag. Years of being around Zaalbar had given her a good immunity to most of the smells other people seemed to complain about, but she had never gotten used to Rancor breath. She slipped the fragmentation grenade from her pocket, and looked for the best place to apply it. In the movies, the hero always tossed in the rancor's mouth, or tricked the monster into eating it, or waited until it howled or had already started chewing on them.
Nobody in the movies ever ran into a sleeping Rancor, though. A little surprising, since it seemed a naturally tense situation.
So.
Mission thought.
No getting it into the mouth.
She glanced around the creature's head.
Guess any hole will do.
With that, Mission pulled the pin, and shoved the grenade into the rancor's nose.
Two Sith troopers, their chrome armor gleaming in the artificial light, crouched on either side of the open doorway, their backs to the wall. In the hallway outside, the Sith captain was in the middle of an operational overview with some of the troopers..
"The top level is secure. We lost some men to the blaster turrets, and we're encountering some resistance around the garage, but we should be in full control of this facility within thirty minutes."
The Captain seemed almost relieved.
"Good. Remember, we need Brejik alive, so don't get too trigger happy down there. Once you've got him, radio in and we'll pull out to the surface. I don't want to stick around too long. If we're still here when word of this gets out, we'll have one hell of a firefight on our hands when the other swoop gangs mobilize to help out their martyred comrades."
The Captain swiveled his head as a muffled explosion was set off somewhere outside the base.
"What… We don't have any men outside!"
He un-holstered his blaster and signaled the troopers.
"Come on! If they've already started a counter attack we're all in serious trouble."
The officer charged down the hall towards the back entrance, a squad of Sith troopers in tow.
The two troopers still crouched inside the pool room listened as the footfalls faded off into the distance until the only noise came from the distant exchange of blaster fire taking place below. One of them began to unfastened the seals that held the menacing Sith helmet in place.
"So now what?"
Carth finished the last of the seals and let the helmet drop heavily to the ground.
"I don't know. I'd rather not stick around, but I think this raid probably has something to do with Bastila, and if it does, sticking around might be in our best interest. At least then we'll know what they know."
"What?" Trask's voice emanated from the jet black visor.
"What makes you think this has anything to do with Bastila?"
Carth stole a quick glance outside the doorway to ensure there were no unpleasant surprised sneaking up on them.
"Think about it. Why else would the Sith even come down here? What's important enough for them to bother with a bunch of street gangs? It has to be about Bastilla. Maybe she's here. Maybe the Vulkar's took her prisoner and now the Sith are here to get her back. That makes sense, doesn't it?"
Trask shook his head.
"That's a bit of a long shot, Carth. How would a street gang even capture a Jedi in the first place? Especially one like Bastila."
"I don't know, maybe there were extenuating circumstances. Look, whatever's going on here, it ha-"
The vent grating on the opposite side of the pool hit the cement with a soft clatter, halting Carth in the middle of his sentence. She dropped deftly from the vents opening, landing without a sound, most of her figure masked in darkness.
"Carth Onasi." came the voice. "Finally things are starting to look up."
Canderous Ordo had been on Taris for almost a month, and he detested it more every day. The rich on top, the poor being crushed beneath them, and people like him, trying to make a living doing the crushing. Protection, extortion, occasionally smacking some of the swoop gangs back into place when they got too full of themselves… it was busy work, nothing more, and he hated it. The man who had fought in the Mandalorian Wars, the man who had led entire fleets into battle, the man who helped bring the Republic to its knees, was pushing around debtors in a backwater city on the outer rim of the galaxy. After the Mandalorian's surrender, Canderous had plied his trade as a mercenary, offering his considerable talents to the highest bidder, and since Mandalorians were still feared, despite their defeat, he found himself nearly drowned with contracts. They were hardly difficult assignments, but they were better than these tiresome chores. Davik had promised him a fortune to come to Taris, and promised him a challenging job suitable to his level of skill. It had been almost a month, and there was no further mention of this suitable job, and lately, Davik hadn't been paying him what he had promised. Canderous didn't like being cheating. He finished the last of his drink, setting the empty glass on the cantina table. With a single, smooth motion, he slid the other full glass across the table to the Mysterious Stranger.
"Stranger, I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."
