Sniper's Mark
Posted on Sat Jan 26th, 2019 @ 1:28am by Thane & Rynseh Lahan & Zenarrah Sozo
3,464 words; about a 17 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter V: Unbound
Location: Outside the Orange Lady Pub, Nar Shaddaa
Timeline: The night after "Utinni!"
OLD (from "Maximillian in Gold"):
"Did the harbormaster of Larunda Spaceport agree to meet with you?" Zen asked.
"He did, thankfully enough," Ryn replied. "I'll let you know when he informs me of the location; I'm going to need you as backup in case anything happens. He says he has the surveillance footage of the Red Raptor from the night your daughter escaped slavery. The footage even has her boarding the ship the night it left Nar Shaddaa. There was also a human male and an Ithorian seen that evening as well matching the descriptions of our former knights."
ON:
Most of Kol Sidari’s species objected to the olfactory offerings of the Smuggler’s Moon, even if a good number of them could be found lining the parades of the entertainment districts and the bandstands of innumerable cantinas. Sidari, however, was a different kind of Bith.
Perched as he was now atop one of the uncountable ‘scrapers lining Nar Shaddaa’s endless cityscape, the craniopod was quite content to let the various stenches of the ancient Hutt crime haven assail the sensitive organs concealed within the flaps of his bulbous pale skull. Even with the head-to-toe armourweave bodysuit that encased his lithe form, Kol was not saved from the unique collection of aromas that typified such ecumenopolises. Kol, in his way, liked the smell.
Like Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa stank of money.
Kol ran his long bony fingers along the experimental rifle he had detached from his armour, ensuring its various systems were operating accordingly and were appropriately synched to the two digital monocles affixed in front of both of his eyes, numerous aurebesh characters spiralling across his heads-up display, most notably including a detailed medical report on his own well-being. More importantly, however, the monocles made up for his race’s severe near-sightedness – something that would have been quite the handicap in his particular lines of work, both now and previously.
Using the self-designed selection of programs built into his suit’s wrist computer, a rush of chemicals (also made by his own fair hand) began to spread through his body, and he immediately felt his pulse soothe. The special cocktail had been tailor-made by the former pharmacist for the benefit of his vocation – and to ease the inevitable tremors that would soon have claimed him, a lingering reward for years of self-experimentation. It was just the first of a series of injections Kol would experience on a work night such as this.
"Do you have eyes on them?" came the voice of his client over the secure comlink implant in the assassin's ears that only he could hear, interrupting his little process. "My source indicates the target is about to meet his contact."
“I do,” Kol replied simply, the round vocoder that encircled his mouth immediately translating his spoken Bithian into a flat mechanical Basic. Although the assassin was a polyglot, his years of spacefaring and multitude of professions, compounded by his species’ natural affinity for such learning, having left him quite fluent in the Republic’s trade language, Kol had quickly learned to rely on top-rate translation devices. It saved on any unnecessary confusions in meaning.
As a combat medic-turned-pharmacist-turned-narcotic smuggler-turned-hitman, avoiding such confusions was quite important.
“An older Human male in a longcoat and wide-brimmed hat, as discussed,” he began, carefully examining each through the specialised monocle resting against his bulbous right eye, “and a… hairless Cathar?” How curious, he mused. Had the skin of his enlarged cranium allowed it, he would have creased his brow in though. “Middle-aged, thickset,” he added. “Has the look of a brawler.”
"I should inform you that I am altering our agreement," Zen said, knowing this was likely a bad time, but her anger towards Ryn was reaching darker new lows. "I have prepared an extra twenty-five thousand physical credits above the original charge. You are to eliminate the target in front of the contact. Let them talk for a few moments; they are combat veterans and will develop a rapport. You will then neutralise the target as we agreed, but I want you to wound the contact as well, not kill. Cripple one of his legs and then leave and rendezvous with me at the rooftop of the Cybot branch building near Rimmer's Rest. Is all of that clear?"
Kol did not shift his gaze away from the Human and Cathar, his eyepieces now cataloguing and deciphering as much information as they could about the pair from his limited view. The pair were clearly in deep conversation as they stood outside of the Orange Lady public house, with the Cathar clearly the more dominant party. Whilst they had seemingly established some form of rapport, Kol, as a former GalactaWerks Marine and Outer Rim Conflict veteran himself, had little care for fellow soldiers.
That likely had more to do with his dishonourable discharge than any philosophical standing, of course. The subsequent custodial sentence did not help, either.
“We had a contract,” Kol countered coolly, his even tone consistent with the amount of chemicals coursing through his circulatory system even as he made the relevant adjustments to his rifle, sight firmly set upon the Human.
"Trust me," Zen said in a softer, more soothing tone, "I'm doing this for your benefit. The contact is a dangerous example of his species. Other assassins of your calibre have tried to kill him before; they all failed. Wound him instead, and your escape, as well as your bonus, is assured."
She left out the part that the whole point was that she wanted Ryn to suffer. Short of killing Rusasha, of which she had no desire, the only other way was to do harm to Ryn directly, and through him, send a message to the Reborn Order itself. She didn't want to destroy the Council or the masters; she simply wanted to lay them low long enough to get to Jundal Quellus and put his loathsome Chagrian head on a pike.
"It's your money," Kol said flatly, various lights joining the aurebesh characters on his HUD as his rifle and equipment confirmed combat-readiness. His wrist computer also chirruped, primed to inject the Bith with the final chemical formula when his spindly fingers worked their way across his weapon's trigger.
Loaded into the Bith's rifle, itself carefully-constructed by Kol with a blend of cutting-edge Bith science and stolen GalactaWerks technology, was a micro-ballistic packet, fired by the rifle at supersonic speed. Armour-piercing and carrying an explosive package, the armament was almost perfectly silent. Even animals rarely detected it - something Kol had been thankful for on more than one occasion, particularly as an increasing number of flamboyant and tasteless galactic denizens insisted on the most peculiar pets scurrying about behind their person.
One shot to the head, like most weapons, would see the end of its victim. What was special about this particular round of Kol's, however, was that there was very little mess, and the shooter's location was also not betrayed. A trickle of blood from the entry wound would be the only vestige of Kol's killing shot - aside from the target's death.
It was an expensive approach, but the discretion was well-favoured by the discerning client.
"If there are no final objections, I am about the take the shot," he said. "There is no coming back." On those rare occasions he had a live-link with a client, Kol always liked to make that final warning offer to them. They would not get their money back, of course, but it seemed the decent thing to do.
Kol was a decent man, he was sure. He was a decent shot, undoubtedly.
Through the rifle's scope were two aging veterans who gripped each other's forearms in a warrior's handshake.
"Master Chief Rohn, you lucky old salt," Rynseh greeted the withered, yet still fit dark-skinned septuagenarian human with a warm smile. "Still haven't earned a purple heart yet?"
"Ha! Not my fault the bastards keep missing," the chief chuckled and patted Ryn on the shoulder. "My, my, you sure kept yourself up mighty fine. Heard about Balmorra. Damn shame about those men. Best of the best. Captain Garlind served with me in the 10th Expedition during Operation Riven Field on Boonta. 'Bout near killed me when I heard what happened. But you...brother, you always were a tough one, ain't no denying that. Still swinging that beat up old laser sword o' yours?"
Ryn nodded solemnly. "Not as much as I used to," he said in a somber tone. He felt ashamed he'd forgotten Garlind's name. Hearing the name after so long made it all come back again, the memories threatening to overwhelm him. Garlind was the special forces officer who shielded Ryn from the first explosion at the bombed factory on Balmorra. If not for that, the first blast would have killed Ryn outright given how close it was. Instead of instant death, however, Ryn had suffered that day as a walking roasted husk dressed in flames that escaped alive by only the mercy of the Force. "I really appreciate you risking your neck for me, out here, in the rain, in this dirthole of a place."
"Hey, Nar Shaddaa may be a 'dirthole'," said Rohn with a knowing grin, "but at least it ain't sleeping in foxholes on Togoria. And the spaceport owners pay pretty good. Space traffic control got a lot easier with all the fancy new computers they got nowadays."
"Togoria...that was before I joined the fight," Ryn recalled. The Republic's costly victory there was what inspired him, a young and brash Knight, to request the Jedi Council grant him a place at the front lines in order to help end the Second Outer Rim Conflict as quickly as possible. It was also a time when a new generation of heroes rose to prominence including Masters Sotah and Thurius. The conflict was also the crucible that made Loren come into her own as one of the most promising Knights in the Reborn Order's history. Ryn had admired Loren from afar, and knew she would become a great master someday with power and skill potentially exceeding even his own. For the beautiful human's fate to remain shadowy and still-yet undetermined greatly vexed Ryn. Loren deserved better than she got. She should've been on Coruscant training Rusasha. Before Loren had disappeared, it was believed Ru was achieving a breakthrough in her training, and Loren had suspected the daughter of Ryn was capable of Battle Meditation.
"Good, you really don't want to remember it...well, except the part where my company's NCO fell into the latrine. Here, let's get down to it. Sooner we're done, sooner I can introduce you to the boys at the Veteran's Club. All the surveillance and flight trajectory data on the Red Raptor like you asked for." He handed a small datapad to his Cathar Jedi friend. "There was a big dust up with some runaway slave that night. I forget the species; kinda looks like a Twi'lek with more of those head tails. Big black eyes with blue skin. Cute young thing. Don't know what she did to rile up those bounty hunters except maybe having to do with those blasters she wore on that belt. The mercs came here tearing up the place demanding we let them search every ship. I put them on the line with the boss who was in the middle of his oil bath, and they had no choice but to turn tail and leave. Nobody wants to cross the Hutts, that's for sure. Press that little green button in the corner there. That switches the video to the Cam-Three footage and you'll see the girl using a portable computer to crack the lock on the ship. Fast forward to time interval five-ought-seven, and you'll see the young man you told me about walking in. The Twi'lek was still on board; she never left the whole time."
"Nautolan," Ryn corrected Rohn as he looped the footage and pressed his fingers on the touchscreen to zoom in on Thane's face.
"Nautolan? You mean like that fella running the Rift?"
"Just the same. This girl is the daughter of a fellow Jedi who saved my life on Balmorra. It's critical that I find this man. His name is Thane, and I have questions for him that demand answers."
"There was also--"
"An Ithorian. Yes, I see him too," Ryn cut in with a nod. Now he had in his possession definitive proof that the prodigal Jedi duo were indeed on Nar Shaddaa some time ago. It was quite a while since the footage was recorded, but at least Ryn now had a place to start. "All three left the spaceport together that night. Chief, you have no idea how much this--"
The shot was silent and deadly, as promised.
Without so much as a grunt, the harbourmaster collapsed within a second of Kol's round almost-invisibly piercing his skull. He was dead before his corpse even struck the durasteel platform that made up the rusted bones of Nar Shaddaa's ugly infrastructure.
Had Kol been physically capable of the act, he would have permitted himself a small grin despite himself; whilst it was not in his nature to be so self-satisfied, Kol Sidari always appreciated a job well done, a feeling only further compounded by the chemicals still spreading throughout his advanced Bith anatomy.
Honouring the amendment agreed with his client, Kol spun the scope of his rifle round to the Human's Cathar companion within a half-second, courtesy of his chemically-enhanced reflexes. No quantity of nerve-managing agents could soothe his alarm at what he saw next, however.
Impossib- he began to think, stalled as he marvelled at the speed the Cathar had spun on his heel. In the brief second since Kol had taken the first shot, the second target was already looking directly at the Bith, his not-so-secret vantage spot apparently exposed. And, now in the Cathar's hand shining in brilliant white-blue plasma, was- Jedi!
Kol fired the second shot.
On this evening, for but the tiniest of a fraction of a second, technology defeated the Force. Such was the speed of Kol's cutting-edge rifle that even the Jedi, with decades of battle-hardened combat experience, and one of the supreme masters of the defensive Soresu lightsaber form could react fast enough to stop the shot from piercing his upper left thigh. The roar of pain echoed out for more than a city block as the Jedi fell to his left knee, and bystanders immediately scattered once one of them screamed upon noticing the sight of blood sputtering out from the head of the collapsed harbormaster.
"Human dead; Cathar injured," Kol confirmed over his channel with Zenarrah, his words spilling out more quickly than before as he began hastily adjusting the rifle into its more compact travel configuration. Another quirk of the weapon, now being in its seventh iteration, was its collapsible - and almost undetectable - design. It would fool most rudimentary detection systems outside of the Mid Rim. Fortunately, Kol's work rarely drew him too close to the Republic Core Worlds.
As he slotted it into his suit and began priming his nearby speeder, the Bith wanted to waste no time and give that surprise Jedi little chance to seek retribution. It took a considerable exertion of willpower from the man to not glance back at his second target, for fear of what mystical powers the felinoid Force user may yet bring to bear.
"Good," Zenarrah replied in a business-like tone devoid of pleasure or malice. "Proceed to the rendezvous point. Double-flash your speeder's headlights twice before you land so that I know it's you."
"Very well," Kol said simply, his equipment secure. He elected to not make comment to his client about the second target for now. The urge to demand more credits was flickering across his mathematical mind. It was not his usual practise to permit such variations in his contract on short notice - but she was paying well already.
With a motionless activation, the two thrusters built into Kol's boots activating and propelling him upwards towards a series of platforms far above in the dense clouds of Nar Shaddaa's pollution. Even with the various drugs pumping through his pale flesh, Kol could feel that he was tenser than usual. In fact, he was tenser than he had been in many years - since perhaps the Rim Conflict, even, during the darkest days of the New Dac campaign, when he had last faced a foe with a lightsaber.
Just as he had during the Battle of Ackbaria, Kol plugged another dose of his chemicals into his bloodstream, his vision wavering momentarily as he reached the platform his speeder was safely nestled. As was his way, following two decades of failure and experience, he had kept his vehicle away from - but close enough to - his marks' location.
With its systems primed and ready, it was little effort for Kol to get the speeder up and off from the platform, which served primarily as an external storage base for a nearby warehouse. Crumpled up next to a stack of crates was the unconscious Aqualish that had been working on the platform. Come another two standard hours, he would be awake and well, if a bit groggy from the tranquiliser Kol had used on him.
The speeder swept itself up into the sky and Kol began drifting towards the nearest stream of traffic. After an assignment, he was always keen to try covering his trail within the air-highways of Nar Shaddaa. Given how poor the Hutts' policing and security systems were on their coveted moon, it was an easy tactic to cover one's trail. He was certain those bloated slugs liked it that way, what with their endless greed and one-upmanship. In some ways, the Bith wondered at how such a grotesque species had ascended to such pan-millennial dominance. Had he been more statistically-minded like many of his brethren, he might have committed himself to a small study in his spare time. As things were, he was much more occupied with completing the contract. That, and he needed no reminders of his inadequacies as a member of the Bith species.
An alarm began bleeping on the speeder's console, disturbing Kol's brief reverie. Another speeder was fast approaching on an intercept vector - a speeder that was most certainly converging upon him, and not the stream of traffic he expertly weaved his way into.
The smallest tweak of the various cameras he had built into the vehicle revealed the driver of the oncoming vehicle. Again, Kol considered if he could dose himself up any more without doing himself any permanent damage.
It was the Jedi.
"Zen, this is Rynseh!" Ryn called over his comlink right before growling in pain. He redoubled his efforts through his power known as Crucitorn, using the Force to greatly lessen the pain almost instantly at the site. He had been shot with blasters before, but nothing ever quite so vicious as an explosive armor-piercing slug. Still, it was nothing compared to being near the epicenter of a weapons factory being lit up into a ball of hellfire caused by military-grade plastique explosives. "Zenarrah! Do you read me?" He threw his yellow open-cockpit speeder into top gear and was pulled back in his seat from the burst of momentum.
"Four by three," Zen reported over the static-filled comm. "There's some kind of interference on this channel. Switch to one-four-one-mark-one-two."
"One-four-one-mark-one-two, got it," Ryn changed frequency on the dashboard. "Better?"
"Much," Zen answered in a concerned tone with a clear transmission. "What in blazes happened just now? I thought I heard screams."
"My contact has been murdered by an assassin using some kind of advanced slug-thrower with explosive shells. I'm in pursuit. Almost caught up to him. Do you have me on the tracker?"
"Yes. Should I intercept?"
"Negative. Descent has a new stealth system called 'Shadow Mode'. It's the leftmost blue button on the E.C.M. console to your left, second row. It will make the ship invisible to all except visual contact. Use it to follow, but keep your distance. I don't want this scum to know I have backup."
"I see it. 'Shadow Mode', huh? Seems fitting for a woman of my talents."
"Not with that shiny golden suit of yours."
"You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"
"Nope."
"Be careful, Master Lahan."
The comm was cut just as Ryn closed the distance and rammed the rear of the assassin's speeder to make it known this was personal.
TBC
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