Chapter 2

After 40 minutes of hyperspace travel the Scarlet Shyrak and behind on auto pilot Veshnar's own ship the Winged Katarn dropped into orbit around Caston. Caston was, until 25 years ago, a large but unimportant settler world, its barren ecosystem and tough climate making life far north and south of its equator difficult. Since it was largely arid, Caston had previously had roughly 20000 inhabitants - Twileks and Devaronians who made a good living trading with the Republic and the Hutts. But it was this trait which had made Caston such a point of interest for the Republic – Caston and its small system. The reason it's Devaronian and Twilek inhabitants did so well from trade in this isolated province is that it lay strategically between Republic and Hutt space, an area which had transformed from a provincial backwater into a full blown military station necessary to check the tide of Hutt imperialism. Fifty years ago the Hutt's were a ragged group of crime lords content to make their illegal piles and topple one anther sporadically. No longer. The shock of the Mandalorian wars, Jedi Civil war and the aftermath of the Jedi purge had left the Republic on the brink of collapse. Countless systems had been devastated by first the Mandalorians goading attacks, then the betrayal of Revan and Malak's fleet had knocked galactic confidence in the Republic almost irreparably. By the end of the Second battle of Telos the Republic was battered, beaten, internally fragmenting and worst of all, stone broke.

So in this shell shocked post war galaxy, who would have the strength to seize advantage of the weakened Republic? The Mandalorians were shattered, never to return to their full strength, Revan's and later Malak's forces were completely wiped out and the remaining Sith Lords had been hunted down and destroyed by the Jedi exile. No, it was not a government or army, Sith, Jedi or even Mandalorian who benefitted from the chaos. It was the Hutts. The Hutts alone had been left largely untouched by the war – Mandalorians hired mercenaries from the Hutts when their Crusader numbers wore thin in the face of Revan's onslaught, the Republic paid for large amounts of Intel from the Hutts about the Mandalorians, and even Revan and Malak gave them a wide berth, deeming them insignificant compared with the threat of the Republic. And so, with a booming economy where the Republic's was bankrupt, with an army of mercenaries where the Republic forces were all but destroyed, with suddenly more political clout than the whole senate, the Hutts made their move.

Of course there was no unified Hutt government controlling their expansion, the key figures on Nal Hutta simply did what they had always done albeit on a larger scale. They offered loans to entire governments rather than individuals or businesses. They offered protection from Pirates, Slavers and surviving Mandalorians to the systems who felt utterly abandoned by the weakened Republic. They charged excesses and fines, sunk entire planet's economies, assassinated those who would oppose them and of course increased interest rates on everything to ridiculous proportions. Very little of this was considered legal by the Republic – the borrowing and lending had quickly spread to a vast number of Republic worlds as well – but there was nothing the Republic could do but issue cease and desist orders – which the Hutts naturally ignored. In this new era of rebuilding and recovery the Hutts were desperate to capitalise on every conceivable opportunity - and there was nothing the Republic could do to stop them. Things came to a head thirty years ago when the Hutts went further than they ever had before – a leading Hutt crime lord known as Vogga, feeling pressure from two of his rivals (who incidentally were his sisters) signed an astonishing pact with the government of Fondor, a system renowned for its ship building and located in the colonies, dangerously close to the core worlds themselves. Since Fondor had begun manufacturing in the Mandalorian wars, the Republic felt that trade agreement or not, they should have best access to Fondorian facilities. Vogga the Hutt disagreed and began commissioning ships to form his own fleet. The Republic saw this as an act of aggression and formed up an assault fleet, reformed and ready to destroy the wicked Hutt's plans for galactic domination. Unfortunately, the Republic were not fighting the blunt Mandalorians or vicious Sith. They faced the Hutts, a cowardly and spineless race (literally as well as figuratively) who would break your legs for a credit or two but avoid an actual war if it meant they had to grovel themselves. Vogga, representing the Hutts as a whole (without their knowledge or consent of course) drew up another pact, one addressing the whole of the Republic. If the Republic allowed the Hutts to work their magic on the mid rim markets without interfering, then the Hutts would give a massive loan to the Republic with fixed, reasonable interest and leave Fondor, all other Republic military installations and the core worlds alone. Despite the treaty essentially leaving all but the Core worlds out to dry in the face of Hutt business machinations, the Senate agreed and the treaty of Fondor was signed. Peace, more or less, endured for several decades but Hutt space effectively trebled in size. On paper the Republic was still in control of the Mid Rim but it was the Hutts who paid for everything and were paid by everybody.

Caston was taken over by the Republic military two and a half decades ago with billions of credits invested to ensure that the Hutts could only view it as a military station, and therefore, by the treaty, had no control of it, despite how close to Nal Hutta it was. With a garrison of 40,000 troops and 2000 ships in orbit or under construction, Caston was currently viewed as an undisguised threat by the Republic and a deliberate attempt to regain control of much of the Mid Rim economy. Reactions were mixed to say the least amongst the Hutts…

"How dare they!" roared Vogga the Hutt in apoplectic fury. Well, he tried to appear apoplectic, but any form of movement or expression becomes challenging when you weigh a tonne and a half.

"The Republic wants me dead! Me! I thought I'd grown passed petty death threats." The massive slug was ranting to his Major Domo Mossa, an elderly orange Twilek used to dealing with Hutts and their infamous tempers.

"Sir, the Republic is merely stretching their muscles to remind us that they are still important. We hardly need to fly off the handle every time they reposition their fleet in our direction. It's what they want."

"If I were a less patient being Mossa, I'd gather every mercenary under my control and blast Caston to dust. Then we'll see how quick the Republic is to threaten me!"

"With all due respect Sir I can't help but think that destroying an entire planet is borderline impossible. And you shouldn't stress yourself so much. That's a major cause of Hutt death – it's a killer." (Actually, the number one cause of Hutt deaths over the age of 300 was assassination. Shockingly, very few Hutts died from stress when a Hutt classes watching a scantily clad dancing girl as "strenuous") "Besides sir, things have never been better for you. Once again, I'd just like to say, the palace looks wonderful."

"Stop grovelling Mossa. I'm not increasing your pay" (Clearly the finer points of slavery still weren't clear to Vogga) "Tell me some good news to brighten my morning." The Hutt adjusted on his podium which doubled as a very, very wide bed. The sleeping blue Twilek girl attached to him by a chain around her neck shifted in her sleep, cuddling closer to Vogga's tail. He purred to himself.

"Yes Sir," Mossa began, checking the datapad he always carried around with him, "we've requisitioned at great expense a Miraluku dancer for tonight's party. Very tasteful and very exciting if I do say so myself. The Miraluka are blind but this gives them an incredible gift for spatial awareness and incredible, ahem, grace." Mossa looked up and was pleased to see Vogga smiling. He continued; "we also have a large shipment of the Trandoshan slaves coming in for combat training. Vicious specimens they are – they'll make fine bodyguards… once they've had the right training. Oh, and Admiral Nova is expecting you to make contact – as is your Sister." Vogga groaned at the thought.

"I cannot stand Nova, you know that! I asked for good new!" Mossa tactfully stepped away from the half-hearted slap aimed at him. Some Major Domos were happy to take such abuse but wily old Mossa avoided it whenever possible.

"A thousand apologies great one. I was merely passing on a message. He did seem relatively urgent on the Holovid though sir. Perhaps it should be a priority?" Nova was, Mossa knew all too well, instrumental to Vogga's plans. The Hutt maybe lazy, cowardly and void of any charm whatsoever but he knew how to plot. The vast Hutt sighed deeply.

"Fine, I'll speak to him now if necessary. Mossa, bring up a Holovid." Mossa performed a graceful yet curt bow and walked over to a large table in the midst of the quiet, darkened space. Some Hutt's surrounded themselves with yes men and courtiers, sycophants and bounty hunters but not Vogga. He required only a young Twilek or two to keep him company and of course his two monstrous Kath hounds Rupture and Fury at his side. Fury, on Vogga's right growled at Mossa softly, despite apparently being asleep. Mossa flipped a switch on the device and Vogga's holographic image was broadcast across the galaxy. After a few moments, Vogga was treated to a hologram of his own. A stern face, a chin cut like rock, dark eyes swelling with fury. This was Admiral Nova.

"You have kept me waiting Vogga. I'm not one of your bounty hunter scum to be summoned and dismissed at your leisure." The Cerean commander stared at Vogga with the eyes of a predator. "Tell me, why you still haven't lived up to your end of our little bargain." Vogga twitched at the impertinence of Nova's tone – military types always got on his nerves.

"I have already paid you and your men everything I promised. If you're not happy with your payment then I'm afraid we will need to renegotiate a contra…"

"To hell with your contracts worm!" Nova interrupted furiously. "I don't care how many credits you shell out – I should be Grand Admiral by now. Much to my surprise however, Quasar is healthier than ever – the exact opposite of effectively assassinated, wouldn't you agree?" Vogga's eyes narrowed. His agreement with Nova was a dangerous one – but for both parties. Grand Admiral Quasar was a difficult man to kill – but then again, you don't become fleet commander of half the Republic military by living fast and loose.

"Quasar will be taken care of Admiral Nova, but if either of us should be upholding agreements it's you. I asked you to siphon troops off Caston – which hasn't happened. I asked you to return Milliov to Hutt control – you haven't. I asked for several of my mercenaries to be released from Republic custody –they are still not free." Nova listened to this impassively as his own side of the bargain was read off. Then he spoke again, voice tinged with menace.

"When I am Grand Admiral I will do as you ask. Until then I do not yield to a single one of your petty demands Hutt. I am an Admiral in the Republic fleet and you are nothing more than a common thug with delusions of grandeur. Nova out." The Hologram went dead.

"How dare he?" roared Vogga the Hutt in apoplectic fury.

Nova turned away from his own Holovid projector and stood from his chair. He looked down and straightened his Red and Gold Admiralty uniform and left the private conference room. He paced back through his ship, making for the bridge. As he walked through the bridge doors a soldier to his left saluted and said "Admiral on deck". The bridge was filled with people who were until now apparently relaxed. As soon as Nova entered every man and woman stepped to attention.

"At ease" Nova said, marching over to his chair at the central computer. Nova sat at the helm of his own personal ship, the Valiant, a Hammerhead B cruiser. The second Hammer head model was a re issue of the standard Capital ship used by the Republic in the Mandalorian and later Jedi Civil wars. The Hammerhead B was of similar shape to its predecessor and wielded similar firepower but was almost half as large again and boasted a new and highly advanced shielding device capable of twice the protection of older models. The Valiant herself however was equipped with additional turbo cannons to the sides and rear of the vessel as well as a prototype plasma cannon mounted on its back for an advantage in ship to ship combat. She was a dangerous vessel and Nova was proud to pilot her. Nova himself was an equally impressive individual as his ship was an impressive dreadnought. He was a typical Cerean male, his head stretching upwards towards the heavens, allowing him to tower over most members of his crew, a specialised Zabrak vibroblade at his left side and a heavy Mandalorian blaster at his right. To the galaxy at large he was a multi-decorated, honoured and revered soldier and commander, serving as a First Lieutenant in the Mandalorian wars, Captain in the Jedi Civil War and rightfully made an Admiral after years of loyal service to the Republic. However, despite such a distinguished war record, connections in the senate and galaxy wide respect, he had been passed over for promotion to Grand Admiralty on numerous occasions. But it was not this which made Setlot Nova ally himself with the Hutts. In fact, known only to him and one other, Admiral Nova was completely insane. For now he sat on the bridge of the Valiant, fingers gripping the arms of his chair hard and dreamed of a day when bloody vengeance would be his.

"Thank you, thank you so much" a dejected and withering Sleheyron male shook Veshnar's hand again and again, "I'm free – I can't believe it, I'm free".

"It is a Jedi's duty to protect those in need. It was an honour to help you sir." Veshnar tactfully replied, a standard, humble Jedi response to great praise which avoided the possibility of messy goodbyes or further grovelling: Jedi should not and do not require praise. The slaves had disembarked and were awaiting transport – as part of their compensation the Republic offered a one-time trip to anywhere in Republic space and it was clear many of the slaves were relishing the thought. A far less ecstatic gathering was taking place on the far side of the dock, overseen by Aron Vima - the former crew of the Scarlet Shyrak were being handed over to the Caston Security Force. Some still suffering from Veshnar's mind trickery, the others dejected at the thought of another span of sporadic prison sentences, they were hardly a threatening bunch anymore. Of course they knew how the next few years of their life would pan out - getting hopped around prison colonies until eventually their information was lost and they were dumped in some provincial backwater and back to slaving and smuggling as soon as they found someone to pay them. A few would probably get their old jobs back. While this was the great tragedy of the Republic prison system, Vima could see the funny side – inevitably they would get their just desserts and then go right back to their life of crime. Once the last of the slavers were taken into CSF custody Vima shook hands with the Lieutenant in charge and went to find his master.

"Vima! Boy, over here" Veshnar called out to him. Vima walked over to his Master.

"Yes Master?"

"I want you to find us accommodation in the civilian quarter. The garrison has offered to find us a room but I thought a slightly lower key arrangement would be appropriate."

"Get a room. Got it. What about you Master?"

"I will ascertain a preliminary analysis of the murder. Once we have rooms to stay in we can begin sleuthing in full. Off you go." Vima nodded to his Master and set off in the direction of the residential district. This was the Capital city of Caston, Dengkow, a place where the strong Republic military force uneasily coexisted with the laid back Twilek and Devaronian civilian population. The streets were dusty, the once pale buildings sprayed dark with grime. On Caston's equator, the only area of the planet hospitable enough to support life, it was always either torrentially raining or baking hot: today was the latter. The streets of Caston were buzzing with people, like any other city on any other planet but the crowds were often made up of soldiers, on or off duty and the recent murder of the elected politician had only increased tensions between civilian and invasive military residents. Aron continued down a small grimy path to the side of a large, unmarked building, probably a gambling den. Anyone who might ask how criminal enterprises like a gambling den could exist in a city where the military were so pervasive is sorely overestimating the average soldier's ability to resist temptation. Vima moved down the narrow street and finally arrived at a battered copper coloured door, a sign on the front indicating in Huttese that rooms were for rent. The place looked about as low key as possible. Vima knocked softly.

"Yes?" a muffled, gruff voice erupted from within, speaking in Huttese.

"I'm here about a room. How much for a couple of weeks, two people?" Vima replied. He could speak Huttese perfectly – Jedi are after all diplomats first and warriors second.

"70 credits for two weeks. 15 credit deposit. You don't like it you can get lost."

"That's fine. No disturbances though, okay? We don't want any cleaners coming in." At this the voice snorted.

"Cleaners? We haven't got any cleaners. You want cleaners, try a hotel at the docks."

"It's fine. Let me in." Vima drew himself up to his full height, moving his belt with his lightsabre on it round the back of his robes. "Jedi" always attracted attention. A lanky Kadas'sa'Nikto with a dirty red hood and a green scaly face opened the door from within. He eyed Aron up and down.

"You, ugh… Zabrak?" the Nikto asked hesitantly.

"Iridonian." Aron quickly replied, knowing that few people knew the difference between the natives of Zabrak and the colonists of Iridonia.

"Alright, money up front. As in now." Aron sighed at the Nikto's distrust and first pulled out a 50 credit chip followed by two tens. He hesitated before forking over another 15 deposit.

"I know how this works you know," Aron said, gesturing to the 15 credit deposit, "you're just going to spend that right away and come up with a reason not to give it back to me in two weeks won't you" The Nikto smiled a very unpleasant smile.

"You've rented from me before have you?" The Nikto tossed a keycard to Aron. "Fourth door on your right, two beds and a wardrobe. No loud noise." The rusty door slammed shut in Aron's face. Vima smiled to himself at the endless friendliness of the galaxy and began to walk to his and his master's newly acquired lodgings. He tossed a credit chip to a beggar at the side of the street.

Meanwhile, Veshnar had already begun enquiries. He had quickly located the crime scene – a high rise block of flats, standing out in Dengkow as the only building for a hundred miles in any direction that deserved to be called clean with the possible exception of the military base. The flats were also the most expensive accommodation in the city and showed it through security, luxury furniture and views to die for. The flats had of course been closed off so when Veshnar approached the bottom of the tower he found a young and nervous looking CSF officer barring his access. The officer gulped when he saw him approach – the crimson eyes often did elicit this response.

"I'm sorry citizen, these flats have been shut down for the time being in the wake of Senator Bilik's murder." Bilik, obviously it was Bilik. Veshnar called to mind everything he knew about Senator Bilik. He was a veteran politician, a big name on Caston long before the military had arrived and started taking over. Due to the civilian populations reliance on trade even Caston's government was part of the mercantilism business. The elected "Court of trade" was something akin to a senate relied on to enforce embargo laws as a priority but also handle everything else that came with a governing body. Bilik was the "Quartermaster" of the court of trade – essentially the Caston version of a Prime Minister. No wonder his death had caused such outcry! Veshnar subtly showed his lightsabre to the young guard and without another word marched past him, getting into the nearest lift.

Veshnar eventually reached the top floor and walked into a blizzard of CSF officers and detectives, milling around an extremely spacious area tastefully attired with loungers and pot plants while looking out over the entire city from a curved skylight. Veshnar was immediately set upon by three officers armed with blaster pistols.

"Who are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Who let you up?" They asked almost in unison. Veshnar remained cool and collected – somebody had to be.

"My name is Mordred Veshnar – Jedi Knight of the Jedi Order under authority of the Jedi Council. I'm here to investigate" Veshnar said pompously. The three officers took an unintentional step back. A high ranking CSF officer with a sensible head on his shoulders walked over to Veshnar at this point.

"Master Jedi, my name is Captain Oodar; I'm in charge of investigating this murder. Could we see some… identification? Can't be too careful in such a sensitive case as this." Veshnar sighed and revealed first his lightsabre and then his personal datapad with the Jedi Council's holo seal on it. Oodar examined them both carefully before nodding and wafting his three heavily armed underlings aside.

"Let him pass. He's a Jedi alright." The three officers reluctantly parted and Veshnar walked through.

"So, Master err…"

"Veshnar"

"Master Veshnar, right. What do you want to know about the case?"

"Everything if possible and time permitting soldier. All I know right now is that Bilik has died and his subjects are in uproar."

"That's something of an understatement I'm afraid. What's odd is that the first officers on the scene – two good men I know personally – didn't reveal details to anyone and the maid has been in our custody ever since she found the body. We have no idea how everybody in the whole damn system found out. "Veshnar stroked his chin thoughtfully as Oodar finished.

"I suppose the main objective of the crime was to create panic then – and the perpetrator has succeeded it seems." Again, Veshnar sighed. "Alright, let me see the body."

"Right this way sir," Oodar said and beckoned Veshnar into a luxurious bedroom suite. With a wave of his hand, Oodar dismissed everyone else in the room and the various crime scene experts and CSF officers filed out begrudgingly. Veshnar gazed at the scene of the crime. Bilik was an elderly purple Twilek with two impressive lekkus on his head. He lay in a silk gray dressing gown on his titanic bed, arms folded on his chest, a peaceful expression on his face. If Veshnar did not know that he had been murdered and could not sense the lack of life in the room, he'd have been sure Bilik was only sleeping. To the left a massive window had been smashed, glass covering the thick pile carpet.

"What was the cause of death?" Veshnar asked, approaching the body on the bed. Oodar joined him and pointed to Bilik's chest.

"If it wasn't for the broken window we wouldn't have suspected foul play at all. We thought it was a heart attack or similar. But then we did a scan of the body and found something very unusual – look." Oodar gestured towards a very small pinprick on the top left side of Bilik's chest. "It's just a small hole – but the scan showed that it travels right the way down into the poor guy's heart. It was a very thin, very sharp needle covered in poison as far as we can tell." Veshnar frowned and put a hand to his forehead.

"So our assassin somehow gets to the top floor of a block of flats, breaks open the reinforced window, overpowers Bilik, forces him onto the bed and plunges this poisoned needle into his heart, killing him almost instantly, right? Was Bilik guarded?"

"Oh yes sir!" Oodar said, looking at Veshnar suspiciously, "he was a high ranking politician – there were two armed Devaronians outside his door the entire night." Veshnar frowned.

"Why didn't they hear the glass breaking?"

"Soundproof room sir, Bilik likes his privacy. But I think the window could still be the key clue. The building has projectile tracking on it – so any swoop bike or jetpack would have been detected by its own heat signature. Who ever got up here must have done so using their own method, probably wings. I have my lieutenant checking the dock authorities for any alien arrivals with natural wings". Veshnar nodded, "prudent" he said approvingly. Oodar seemed encouraged by this.

"What will your next move be Master Jedi?" Oodar asked nervously. He enjoyed being complimented by a Jedi but he knew they could be trouble. And this was his investigation, not a Jedi's…

"My Padawan and I will do a thorough sweep of the room, then begin compiling a list of suspects. I expect you and your men will be doing the same?"

"Oh yes sir!" Oodar replied hurriedly, not wanting to look incompetent, "I'll gather all the available information together." Veshnar nodded and dismissed the captain. He retrieved his personal communicator from his pocket and contacted Vima, who answered after a pause.

"Yes Master?"

"Have you attained accommodation for us young Padawan?"

"Yes Master, just some cheap flop house for us to sleep in. Where are you?"

"I'm at…" Veshnar checked his holopad, "Kyborg Tower, middle of the city. I need you to help me properly analyze the crime scene. Oh, and stay focused young one. The force is telling me strange powers are at work. This murder is more complex than it appears."