A/N: We're back! Thank you to all my viewers!
We're going to be continuing onward with the story as we know it for the time being, but you will notice a few distinct changes to canon here and there... and maybe a not-entirely-subtle shout out to the Hitman trilogy. Feel free to review with your opinions on it.
Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah.
Manaan was not what Tarrah had been expecting.
From what little she'd learned from the guidebooks, Manaan had appeared to be perhaps the most peaceful of all the worlds they'd visited so far: a pristine ocean world with only a single beautiful floating city to interrupt the endless seas, the home of the Galaxy's most precious healing resource, and the one place where fighting between the Republic and the Sith was out of the question; a flawless sapphire gleaming in space, untouched by the war and strife beyond its glittering facets.
If anything, she'd been expecting a planet much like Dantooine, a safe haven in a troubled galaxy, with all the dangers buried beneath the surface or hidden away in odd corners… and given Tarrah's luck, she'd be expected to visit those odd corners and deal with whatever lurked there, but that was beside the point.
The moment the Ebon Hawk had touched down at Ahto City, though, Tarrah felt the peculiar atmosphere of the place wash over her, and realized at once that Manaan's serenity was a façade. The tension here was nothing short of nightmarish, like a length of sinew being drawn tighter and tighter until it might just snap. Or perhaps, given that this was an ocean world, it was more like the eye of a hurricane, the war raging all around but unable to touch it for as long as the truce held. Frankly, it was almost as bad as Taris, except everyone in the galaxy would be panicking if Malak was ever stupid enough to wipe Manaan off the maps.
And once she actually started learning more about the truce itself, the tension only became more palpable, for it seemed that all three factions were caught in an endless tug of war between greed and hatred: the Republic wanted kolto and hated the Sith, the Sith wanted kolto and hated the Republic, the Selkath government wanted offworlder money but hated offworlders… and both the Republic and the Sith were almost certainly pursuing shadier agendas, for the level of political skullduggery going on down here was almost frightening. And as Tarrah reached out with her feelings, she could sense something even murkier than that in play, something innately connected to the Dark Side – perhaps even connected to the piece of the Star Map in some way.
But that could wait for now.
For the moment, there was one particular secret she was here to investigate before she delved any deeper into the trouble on Manaan.
The datapad she'd gotten on Tatooine hadn't mentioned any specific time for her meeting with Hulas, so she had to hope that the GenoHaradan's invitation was still open to her regardless of how long she'd taken in getting here… assuming of course the whole thing wasn't just bait for an assassination attempt.
Remembering the pad's instruction to come alone to the meeting, Tarrah had the team split into twos to scout the city for any unofficial info on the Star Map, then rendezvous back at the Ebon Hawk in an hour. Conveniently enough, this arrangement left her teamed up with T3 – who she promptly sent back to the ship anyway, both for the sake of her privacy and to keep the ship safe (just in case). With that done, Tarrah brushed the last of Tatooine's dust from her robes and made for the Republic embassy.
After several twists and turns, she emerged from the gleaming metal streets and out into a vast plaza open to Manaan's dazzling blue sky; even by Manaan's relatively utilitarian standards, the place was a surprisingly impressive sight, with rows of stately metal fountains lining the road towards the gaping maw of the Republic enclave at one end, and a colossal balcony overlooking the mirror-still waters of the ocean below.
And leaning against the railing of the balcony, seemingly without a care in the world, was a lone Rodian. Tarrah knew at once that this had to be Hulas and made straight for him as casually as she could.
As she approached, she very quickly realized that her contact was quite unlike most of the other Rodians she'd met in her journeys: above his pale green face, the crown of his skull was dark orange, while his face itself seemed even narrower than the norm, his cheekbones standing out like daggers. Indeed, everything about him seemed even skinnier than most Rodians, to the point that Tarrah could almost count the knuckles in his spindly fingers as he drummed them idly on the balcony railing. His age was difficult to determine, but he seemed to be in late-middle age by Rodian standards, judging by the subtle wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. He wore a fine green leather jacket over his travelling gear, all of it clearly expensive… and yet, though they fit him well, they clearly weren't tailored, and Tarrah got the distinct impression that he'd picked this ensemble to look respectable enough for Manaan without looking conspicuously wealthy.
The perfect gear for a highly-placed spy, she thought.
The Rodian looked up as she approached, his angular face twisting into a look of feigned surprise, as if he hadn't recognized her from the moment she'd arrived in the plaza.
"Can I help you, human?" he asked. It was a pleasant voice, perfectly modulated and mellifluous, every Rodese syllable rendered clearly and without accent; a diplomat's voice… but with a very subtle sharp edge to it.
"Are you Hulas?" she asked.
The Rodian's proboscis curled into a distinctive smirk, and he gave the subtlest of nods.
Then, quick as a flash, he ran a long-fingered hand across the nearby railing, planting a tiny metallic sphere no bigger than a pinhead. Instantly, the ripple of conversation from the teeming crowds nearby was instantly muffled; this could only be a portable audio scrambler – designed to reduce inbound noise while making outbound noise incomprehensible to anyone trying to listen in.
"Senni did not think you would be here, but I knew better," said Hulas at last. "It is good to finally meet you in person, Tarrah Vend."
"You know me?"
"I know everything about you – almost everything worth knowing, at any rate. Born on Deralia, raised by mother and uncle, well-performing student, dropped out at age fifteen to provide for bankrupt family, joined local crime syndicate at seventeen, became interstellar smuggler the following year. Arrested by Republic security police at age thirty, offered plea bargain to join Republic military in exchange for full pardon; found to be adept in mechanical repair, computer infiltration, and explosives; assigned to Republic warship Endar Spire, currently counted as one of the few survivors of its destruction, as well the destruction of Taris." He allowed himself a dry chuckle. "It's all there in your personnel file… except for the part about you becoming a Jedi and setting out on a classified mission to save the Republic and destroy the source of Darth Malak's power. That I had to find out on my own."
Tarrah's eyes narrowed. "I'm guessing the Twi'lek I met on Tatooine isn't the only spy on your payroll."
"In my line of work, I make it my business to know everything worth knowing before I act. And that includes summoning you to this meeting."
"Well, here I am. What did you want to discuss?"
Hulas offered her another of his trademark smirks. "I represent the GenoHardan," he said proudly.
"Never heard of you."
"Few have. We have managed to keep our existence hidden for millennia beyond counting; in the reign of Xim the Despot, we were a dark folktale among the people he ruled, his secret police and instruments of terror, but now… now we are shadow, darkness, and night. We are less than a whisper, barely an echo in the ears of the powerful, gone from sight quicker than thought. We are the Republic's best-kept secret – one so well-kept that only the wisest of Jedi masters have recognized our works, and barely a handful of its highest-placed officials know we exist at all. Even the current Supreme Chancellor doesn't know the full extent of our reach and power!"
Tarrah considered this very carefully: either Hulas was just spouting the organization's propaganda, or this GenoHaradan was much more than she'd been expecting. Given that none of her research into the Jedi's histories or the Ebon Hawk's data records had turned up any mention of the name, she'd initially suspected that the organization was either relatively small or so new that nobody had ever heard of it before. It was still possible that this might be the case, but the fact that they'd somehow managed to access Tarrah's personnel file and somehow find out about the mission to destroy the Star Forge suggested otherwise.
More frustratingly, there was no way of telling if Hulas was lying or not: every time she tried to get a fix on his thoughts, they seemed to slip through her grasp like tendrils of smoke, and his emotions were impossible to read, for it seemed that every single one he exhibited was a mask to hide what he truly felt – each mask hiding the next one beneath it. So, unfortunately, it looked like Tarrah had no choice but to play along if she wanted to learn morse.
"Very impressive," she said dryly, "but what exactly does this secret society of yours do?"
"You couldn't guess from the circumstances we contacted you under?"
"Humour me."
"We count only the greatest mercenaries in the galaxy among our ranks: spies, bounty hunters, assassins… but we are more than any of them. After all, if you want any an ordinary target captured or killed simply for credits, you need only contact the Bounty Hunters' Guild; the GenoHaradan's scope and purpose are greater by far. If I can illustrate my point, the great Calo Nord himself was being considered for membership not long ago, but even he had not earned that honour yet before you killed him."
Tarrah only just kept her astonishment from showing. Not only had they somehow found out about Calo being killed in the middle of the Dune Sea, but they'd also managed to dispatch an agent to deliver a message to her before she'd left Tatooine. That alone suggested not only an impressive arsenal of espionage tech, but also a highly organized network of operatives at the GenoHaradan's command, certainly nothing that had gone unnoticed by accident.
"And that," continued Hulas, "is why you are now our latest and most promising prospect for membership."
"What makes you think I'd be interested in becoming an assassin?" asked Tarrah. "In case you hadn't noticed, my current mission takes priority over mercenary work."
"Because helping us means helping the Republic. You see, Jedi Vend, we have a vested interest in protecting galactic society, not just for economic and business reasons, mind you, but because it is our purpose. I mean, do you think the Republic has persisted for fifteen thousand years by mere accident? If not for our influence – distasteful as our methods may be to some – the Republic would have collapsed long ago!That is why we offer our services only to those who will serve the galaxy's best interests, and only when taking a life will maintain the stability of the Republic, for as I said, we do not target minor criminals or the foci of petty vendettas; we only assassinate those who threaten the Republic directly… and that may one day include the Sith – perhaps even Darth Malak himself."
Hulas leaned forward, his multifaceted eyes glittering in the noonday sun. "The GenoHaradan Overseers are still undecided as to how to approach the current crisis," he whispered, his voice alive with zeal and fervour (or so it seemed; his true emotions were still impossible to gauge). "If you were to prove your capacity as our agent and help us to eliminate certain targets that threaten our order and its mission, the Overseers might be inclined to recognize the wisdom of its newest initiate… though of course, that's hardly the only incentive for joining our ranks: as a member, you'll gain access to the GenoHaradan's resources, all of which will benefit your mission in the coming months… and of course, our agents are paid very well indeed." That smug little smirk again. "After all, what grand venture doesn't need credits?"
Tarrah hesitated.
Maybe she was getting better at tiptoeing around the Rodian's mental defences, but he seemed ever-so-slightly easier to read, enough to recognize just a hint of his true emotions: he wasn't lying about wanting her help, about the need to eliminate the certain targets, about the rewards, or the GenoHaradan's mission. Even this so-called grand venture was truthful enough. She couldn't see much more than that, but it at least told her that Hulas could at least partly be trusted.
But that didn't mean that she could just blithely accept his offer. Becoming an assassin had not been on the agenda for the day, to put it mildly, and premeditated murder was not exactly something she could do casually anymore, not as a Jedi at any rate. This GenoHaradan might not be of the Dark Side, at least not directly, but that didn't mean it was safe for her to involve herself in its affairs, not after Juhani had already illustrated just how easy it would be to slip into the Darkness with one moment of weakness. She'd need to maintain absolute self-control if she wanted to do this, and as Bastila had repeatedly reminded her, she wasn't ready for that kind of challenge.
And yet…
Didn't she need this? Didn't the Republic need this? Even with the allies and fellow Jedi that Tarrah had collected along the way, she was hopelessly outmatched against the forces of the Sith, always treading lightly, always struggling to avoid the attentions of Malak's fleet. A run-in with a fighter patrol was enough to leave them praying that the pilots didn't have time to summon reinforcements, while a simple Sith freighter convoy had forced her to delay the journey here by days. They needed all the allies they could get, and as elusive as they were, the GenoHaradan might be the best option available to her. After all, even if she wasn't sure if this guild really did have the influence that Hulas claimed, it definitely had the resources to serve as very effective spies if they were able to uncover classified information from both the Jedi and the Republic.
Besides, it wasn't as if the Republic could spare a fleet to help her, was it?
"Let's just say that, for now, I'm interested," said Tarrah. "What then?"
Hulas glanced cautiously over his shoulder. "There's only so much I can tell you here," he murmured. "Even with my anti-eavesdropping measures, there's still the threat of being observed if we're seen together for too long. But, if you are serious about applying for membership, you'll need a means of receiving instructions without arousing too many suspicions. So, just plug this into your ship's comm unit…"
He held out a small oblong-shaped device, complete with a plug suitable for the port on the Ebon Hawk's communication hub. Tarrah accepted it as it were an unexploded grenade, pocketing it gingerly and hoping that this wasn't going to result in her utility belt going up in flames.
"It's a GenoHaradan spylink – a very special kind of receiver attuned only to our coded broadcasts. It'll help you remain in contact with me and make sure I don't lose track of you while we're still in business. Once it's plugged in, I'll begin transmitting your instructions. Meanwhile, it's best that we meet in person only when we absolutely have to; I presume it goes without saying that you shouldn't tell anyone about us, but if you do – and I very much doubt anyone would believe you anyway – this opportunity will be closed to you forever. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
He was already scooping up the audio scrambler and turning to leave when Tarrah blurted, "Instructions? Just what do you need me to do just to join? I mean, didn't killing the best bounty hunter in the galaxy earn me initiation?"
"You'll understand when you get my first transmission," said Hulas with a wink. "Good luck."
And with that, he was gone, drifting into the unending stream of off-worlders making their way across the square and being swept away without leaving so much as a ripple. Even a Rodian couldn't be distinguished amidst all those people, and in a matter of seconds, he had all but disappeared. Tarrah could still sense him through the Force, a pale silhouette gliding through a tide of other, paler silhouettes, but catching up to him with all those people in the way would have been just about impossible.
Gone from sight quicker than thought, Tarrah mused. He was right about that much.
Tarrah got back to the Ebon Hawk with at least half an hour to spare before the others returned. So, with precious little to do until then, she had T3 make a thorough security scan of the GenoHaradan receiver, just to be sure she wasn't going to be exposing the ship's computers to anything harmful. Frankly, she was taking more than enough risks already without getting unwittingly sliced or sabotaged or both.
Once T3 was done, she hooked the receiver up to the hologram communications console in the main hold, set the console to record, and waited for the transmission to arrive. In future, she'd have the feed transferred to her datapad to keep these broadcasts private, but for now, she might as well make the most her time with the big screen.
Exactly one minute later, there was a muffled beep from the console, reporting that a pre-recorded message was being sent to them. Then, the holoprojector roared to life, casting a pale blue facsimile of Hulas' face above the central console, his proboscis once again curled into a smirk.
Wherever he was broadcasting from, it wasn't from the grounds of the Republic Embassy, for there was no sweeping ocean vista or grand architecture behind him. Instead, all Tarrah could see around Hulas was a blank metal wall and a few miscellaneous pieces of furniture; he could have been transmitting from anywhere… which was probably exactly the impression he'd meant to give.
"Greetings, Jedi Vend," he purred. "This is Hulas. Thank you once again for accepting this offer of membership: I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship between the two of us.
"I hope you didn't mind the brevity of our initial meeting, but as secrecy is the name of the game, we can't afford to be seen talking for too long in person – especially in a location as diplomatically sensitive as Ahto City. From now on, any discussions between us will occur exclusively via these coded broadcasts. Until you become a full member of our order, I will be your only contact. We have operatives all over the galaxy, but your paths will not cross unless deemed necessary.
"As for my superiors, the Overseers of the GenoHaradan remain unseen even to our members: contrary to rumours among our operatives, the Overseers do not gather in hooded robes on dark nights – or at all. There are four of them; the Araneid, the Phasmid, the Reduvius, and the Vespid, each one of them an accomplished assassin, each one presiding over a different aspect of the guild: finance, intelligence, assassination, and internal security. Anonymous in life, even to each other, they communicate only through scrambled hologram edicts and emissaries. For now, I am their voice.
"Your elimination of Calo Nord has earned the attention of the Overseers, but it hasn't earned you membership. To win a place in our ranks, you must not only demonstrate the full extent of your abilities as an assassin, but that you can be trusted to do what must be done for the sake of the Republic. On behalf of the Overseers, I have arranged a series of missions to test your quality as a hunter. I am aware of the bounties you collected on Taris, of course, but this will be different: you're not being sent after retired gladiators and petty debtors this time, but targets that threaten the stability of the Republic itself. And, it goes without saying that these targets are wanted dead.
"You will of course be compensated with priceless GenoHaradan equipment – much harder to trace than credits and more practical for a being of your talents. However, the true reward will be your gradual progression towards full membership.
"Your first mission briefing will arrive once you reach the provided coordinates. I trust you'll be ready for a challenge.
"Good hunting… Operative."
A/N: Up next - the first target!
