A Muun of Wealth and Taste
Posted on Sat Jan 4th, 2020 @ 8:50pm by Thane & Amare
4,985 words; about a 25 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Undervos Holdings Starship 092, Sleheyron Upper Atmosphere, Hutt Space
Timeline: Four days after "Thy Master's Bidding"
OLD
"The projector contains all of the relevant information currently made available to us, including the backgrounds and political landscape I just described," he continued explaining to his apprentice, his tone indicating the conversation was reaching its conclusion. "You will travel independently. Use the name of Zaracoda when you do, under any occupation you deem appropriate. Hesk Scivo will meet you at a tapcafé called the Outer Whim, just outside of the main spacedock within Sleheyron's primary continent. He will provide you with more answers and insight, and perhaps more about the shadow clients pulling the strings in this affair."
Serus then decided to remove the metal mask, his pale but youthful face revealed once more, covered though it was by the shadow of his raised hood. His eyes shimmered within the darkness still, an unnatural ethereal glow encircling them. "I am trusting in your judgement in this matter, Lady Amare, which is not an invitation to failure. Your success could determine the influence and alliances of the Sith in that sector and beyond - our first steps into the morbid galactic games of power our foes so relish. Reveal your identity only should it serve a purpose, and dispose of those that could be our undoing. You are more powerful than you know, and I have faith that you will triumph."
NEW
Hesk Scivo was usually a quiet man, fond of few words and finding a unique resplendence in the absence of his fellow sentients. It was not born out of any particular disdain for the existence of other free-thinking beings - he was neither a misanthrope nor a nihilist, after all - but he did find their insistence on sharing their desires, contemplations and expressions of excess either trifling or unnecessarily distracting.
To Scivo, a Muun of relative wealth and standing, conversation was an art that had died millennia before, and something the majority of his people had long evolved beyond the need of. It served a purpose, undeniably, for expressing one's requirements, agreement or retort, but it was largely redundant in a world where electronic devices could serve as sufficient intermediaries, negating the need to remove one from one's own working environment. A concisely-worded memorandum, or the appropriate application of a clerical worker, could avoid superfluous interactions and improve workflow efficiency.
Since even his earliest days as an undersecretary within the New InterGalactic Banking Clan, Scivo had found baseless discourse frustrating, distracting him from his work and internal remunerations. Now, reaching fifty standard years, which was not quite so catastrophic for a Muunoid as a Humanoid, that was ever more true, for both his work as Undervos Holdings' financial director and with regards to his own, perhaps less savoury, but certainly quite private, interests.
It was more suited for the crimson-and-teal clad Muun (a fairly garish ensemble for one of his kind, in fact) to work in relative silence and obscurity, allowing him the space and environment he required to focus. When his work directed him into the company of others, as it inevitably had to - which he accepted - he usually took substantial measures to minimise the interference of his fellow beings. The preferences, naturally, led to a distinct disdain for the uncouth and boorish, and he was committed to never aping such reprehensible behaviour.
As such, it was understandably requiring a great exertion of will and pride to not utter expletives at the armoured Zabrak talking incessantly from his position in Undervos-092's co-pilot's chairs. Additionally - perhaps worse - he was munching loudly in the same process, pale crumbs being discarded in a spraying motion across the console shared by both him and Scivo.
The smooth-faced accountant loosed a gravelly, frustrated sigh as he swept some of the crumbs from his own section of the interface, although the angry gesture seemed to go, predictably, unnoticed. The CEO of Undervos Holdings had insisted on Scivo bringing the Zabrak bodyguard with him to this meeting on Sleheyron, world nestled deep within Hutt space and the site of one of Undervos' chemical plants.
Although Scivo had been instrumental in the purchase and development of the factory, positioned conveniently beyond of the prying eyes of the Third Galactic Republic, he had never actually ventured to the realm before, although that was more of a voluntary choice. As his small beads of eyes peered out from his ashen face to the settlement now revealing itself beyond the planetary clouds enveloping Undervos-092, he felt assured that his previous decisions had been correct.
A dull orange light was cast over what passed for the primary spaceport of the Hutt world's capital, barely passing through the thick pollution of the skies to light up the ugly and disorganised forms of rusting, angular structures. It was almost as if the city had been organised in such a way to be as non-ergonomic and un-artistic as possible. Although not as industrial or terrestrially bankrupt as Nar Shaddaa, Sleheyron, the second-most-important world within the Hutt (criminal) empire, still showed the scars its sluggish overlords had inflicted upon it over the millennia.
With the landing codes transmitted and the ship already beginning to settle into their allotted bay, far from anything actually managed by Undervos Holdings or its affiliates - a purposeful decision by the Muun - Scivo was now offered another view, of the staff attending to them.
In true Hutt fashion, a pair of axe-wielding Gamorreans lumbered forwards from a nearby doorway, and a young Twi'lek female, adorned with the manacles and markings that set her apart as a member of the slave caste, was at their head, a datapad held within her adolescent hands. Observing the underage slave and recognising the fluorescent tattoos that were carved across her pale-green flesh as labelling her ownership under the Trinivii kajidic, Scivo began preparing himself to disembark and meet these unsavoury hosts.
"Not you," he said tersely to the Zabrak, raising a long hand to stop the goon from accompanying him. Scivo did not quite touch the plates of his horned companion - a repulsive idea - but his tone made it quite clear there would be no discussion. "Keep the locals away from the ship. I will return in good time. I require 'fresh' air."
Not waiting for any further response, he disembarked the vessel. It was not remarkable for Scivo to do this during business trips. Most would dismiss his pre-encounter explorations as part of his routine, rather than a cover for extracurricular activities. In truth, and unsurprisingly, he loathed such excursions, especially on worlds such as these, being so unkempt and uncivilised, but any onlooker would readily forgive the Muun for apparently indulging a need to take time away from his work.
It was anything but.
Scivo retrieved a zeyd-cloth cerulean robe from his quarters and threw it over his velvet tunic, bony hands discretely ensuring he had brought everything with him that he required - including a holdout blaster, nestled artfully within the left sleeve of his outer clothing. Groaning once more at the sound of food crunching from within the cockpit, the Muun began his journey down to terra firma.
Whilst he did not smile at the welcoming committee, if it could be named as such, he managed a polite bow to the Twi'lek host. Scivo felt at ease, and even somewhat content, in the knowledge of the impending dramatic events that were due to unfold on this disaster of a world, courtesy of his new, unique alliance.
That alliance, however, came with a shadow at his heels. A slender figure gingerly crawled its way out of the open landing gear housing and dropped prone under Scivo's ship. It snaked its way towards the bow, its wide, almost otherworldly onyx eyes never lost sight of the wealthy Muun financier. When it emerged, any who could have noticed had seen little more than a blur, akin to the thought of seeing someone from the corner of one's eyes, but yet seeing nothing there when turning to look.
Within deep concealment, the stalker worked with a small handheld device and began to execute simple scripted commands. It emerged from cover and casually blended in with the other pedestrians keeping roughly thirty feet from behind the Muun. Within a few moments, Scivo's personal comlink was compromised, and his trailing shadow—the consequence of his new esoteric alliance—was gone.
Scivo had settled himself into the corner of The Outer Whim tapcafé, his narrow form angled as comfortably as he could manage on a nimble wooden chair that looked older than the establishment itself. He was already nursing a steaming portion of caf, served in a thick china mug he could deny some appreciation for. The pleasant fragrance and aroma, although not things the Muun was usually given over to enjoying, almost made up for the locale itself.
An old-fashioned and cheaply-arranged affair, the premises was built into the outer structure of the spaceport, one of dozens of businesses that controlled units hoping to gain the custom of staff and passing travellers. Mismatched chairs, tables and equipment gave the tapcafé a quaint atmosphere, and was attracting a suitably thin slither of the community that would undoubtedly approve of such decor. With narrowed, intelligent eyes examining every furnishing, patron and mark within The Outer Whim, Scivo had quickly concluded that the shambolic design of the shop was intentional, and he only just about managed to hold back a scowl at a young Human couple in the opposite corner, splayed across a couple of sitting-cushions and talking loudly about the woes facing the Third Republic.
Naturally, they had a suitable cure for all of the galactic state's woes, and were offering up whimsical notions to one another that they greedily agreed with, completing the two-part echo chamber the couple formed with each passing declaration. Normally, such bold and idealistic talk was not warmly-greeted in Hutt space; the gargantuan overlords of this ancient region of the galaxy were tyrannical in their control of political philosophy. However, given the young pair were targeting Republic politics - with the Republic being fair game to the Hutts and their minions - no one batted an eyelid or nictitating membrane, or even paid the post-adolescent fools much heed. They were probably just tourists, hoping to see the 'wild side' of non-Republic space.
Scivo slowly and gently pushed a long finger along the sleeve of one arm, delicately removing an unwelcome crease that was interrupting his fine tunic as he patiently awaited his meeting. He glanced at the analogue cogs-and-gears clock that hung at a skewed angle on the nearest wall. Whilst he believed it was likely off by a few standard minutes, he had internally determined it was time for his contact to finally present themselves. Whilst he felt safe in the knowledge that he gave the impression of a humble personal accountant on Sleheyron, and that none would take note of a Muun's presence in this sort of establishment, Scivo still made an effort to minimise how obviously he was glancing at the entrance to The Outer Whim. The sun's light was beginning to fade outside, with long shadows of passersby almost reaching the threshold to the tapcafe, but each set of feet that clambered past was now drawing his anticipatory attention.
And then, unexpectedly, the communication link discretely nestled within one of his tiny ears chirruped, silent to all but him. Mildly surprised, the Muun broker kept his outward expression neutral, and he adjusted one of the subdermal interfaces to activate the comlink. He had known clients and partners that enjoyed the flair for the dramatic, and he now chastised himself for not expecting something of that nature now, given the sort of individual(s) he was possibly to be doing business with. He said nothing by way of greeting.
"The night is warm, but the intent is cold," came the inviting feminine voice from the Muun's link receiver. "Come to the room numbered seven if you are so bold."
With another brush of the subdermal implant, Scivo instantly deactivated the channel. He did not, however, rush to conclude his beverage, taking a little longer to savour the drink before arranging it neatly on the table and standing, smoothing out his cloak once he had reached his full height. The young Askajian proprietor, a surprisingly thin specimen of her well-endowed species, offered him a wide smile and another olfactory sensation to consume.
Against his nature, Scivo returned the expression and inclined his head. Instead of acceptance he indicated towards the dark hallway situated to the back of the tapcafé, near to where he had been sitting, and asked to use the refresher, excusing himself awkwardly in the process. By the way the woman's smile faltered slightly, Scivo knew that his true intentions must have been somewhat divined by her simpleton mind, but it made little difference. He was another businessperson, making another shady business deal.
It was times like these that being a Muun came with some advantages, confident he would not be asked any further questions.
Finding the room with the Huttese equivalent of the figure seven scrawled across it, Scivo turned the manual doorknob, the mechanism opening with a subdued click, and he ducked his head slightly as he entered the darkened room. He had no real fears of who or what he would find within, but he wondered if he would tire too quickly of any further theatrics he may be offered. He had otherwise, in a surprising twist, been rather looking forward to this encounter.
Something hard, metal, and round akin to the feel of the business end of a blaster was then pressed a bit roughly against Scivo's back just as the door closed behind him leaving them both in total darkness.
"You're like a mischievous tooka," said the woman that had spoken to him earlier through his comlink, her alluring voice was hushed and silky, yet barbed with just barely a noticeable hint of malice, "curiously peeking into forbidden places that could get you killed."
The soft warm orange glow of an old hanging electric lantern snapped on dotted with minute holes and fine tears on its cheap and dirty semi-transparent shade. There was a small wooden serving table with short stubby legs set low to the center of the floor, and a ring of dull red satin seating cushions around it that were as worn and torn as the lantern dangling above. Placed upon the table was a hookah pipe attached to small orb-shaped glass water jar coloured in jade green which was empty.
"Please be seated, Mister Scivo," the woman permitted, the feel of her weapon withdrawn from the Muun's back. "We have a serious matter to attend to."
The Muun had, naturally, initially stiffened when the mysterious woman had thrust the nozzle of her weapon against his spinal column. Although he had expected a certain continuation of the minor performance he had experienced thus far, such an overt threat was not what he had anticipated. "Well... yes, thank you," Scivo managed, straightening himself as he finally spoke, the barest hint of concern causing his voice to edge an octave higher.
Shuffling over to the cushions and table, Scivo paused for a moment, inspecting the seating options with a dismayed expression. He considered asking his new companion permission to adjust the setup, but decided he need not, and he quickly gathered up a second cushion to place atop the one nearest him, the new height better suited to his elongated Muunoid frame. He honoured the woman's current approach to the meeting by not twisting his bald cranium to steal a look at her, instead keeping his dark eyes locked forwards, mindlessly examining the various dark blemishes across the old green jar.
"I appreciate your discretion in meeting with me," he said politely, adjusting the jar's position just slightly with a long, probing finger, finding its new alignment on the table more pleasing. "Lord Serus promised you were an artisan in your vocation."
Gradually, a young unimposing Nautolan female of slender build and average height crossed into Scivo's view. The cerulean blue skin of her smooth, delicate face and head tendrils common of her kind were complimented by the forest green of her utilitarian traveler's outfit. The only fashion statement seemed to be a short sarong worn at the waist with a belt printing under the fabric; an unusual choice to be worn over trousers instead of skin. Although attractive for one of her species, she was altogether unremarkable under the Muun's scrutinizing judgment, but there was the eyes, not quite as typically black as with other Nautolans; there was a faint inner light deep within them, something red and unnatural.
"When my master offers a promise, it is, in truth, a test for me," she said with relaxed tone and a curious look on her face ranking somewhere between cold suspicion and a faint smile. Scivo was, to her, the first of his species she had ever met in-person, but she had heard of the Muun people and their arrogant money-grubbing ways. She tilted her slightly to one side with noticeable fascination. Scivo stole a quick glance to notice the Nautolan's right hand was behind her back while the other was gloved in a matching green to the outfit. "Whatever your transactions with him is none of my concern. I do only as the client desires for the sake of the challenge and the experiences I gain from it. Knowledge and power are their own rewards, far more valuable to me than credits."
She seated herself directly across from the Muun in a cross-legged lotus position and placed the weapon she had concealed behind her back on the table; the weapon of a Jedi. She closed her eyes and began to enter what appeared to be a state of meditation, her palms held supine in front and to her sides.
"I should start by thanking you for the free ride to Sleheyron," she said contentedly, the left corner of her lips curling into a wicked lil' smirk. "Your company's hangar has dreadful security. Easily defeated protocols. Had you been my target...well..." She took in a slow, deep breath as she began to feel her surroundings to assure the security of their important meeting, and then incrementally focused on the financier himself, "...let us be grateful you found us before your rivals did."
Scivo let the observation rest there unchallenged, his controlled gaze flicking between the peculiar woman and the elegant weapon placed on the table before them. The oil-fuelled light of the gently-twisting lantern reflected with a warm glow from the lightsaber hilt's smooth metal surface. Despite himself, the Muun had an urge to pick it up and examine it by hand. Even within his own vast collection of antiquities, he had failed to ever get hold of a lightsaber - such things were so tightly controlled by the Reborn Jedi Order's numerous 'Shadows'.
Examining the woman in front of him, he was not so foolish to think her a Jedi Knight. Not a serving one, anyway. No, this arrangement with her and her lord spoke of something quite different. A promise not made lightly, he wagered, and a promise that probably went far beyond economics.
"Money is power at its most liquid, my lady," Scivo said, his tone and manner polite as he gestured reservedly with his hands. "Unlike many of my kin, I appreciate the qualities of pure power and its acquisition, and the artful nature by which societies can be reshaped through its measured application. It has simply been my experience, however, that power is the pale reflection of wealth and knowledge. I have made it my business to understand both intimately... although I am but a humble Muun." He now brought his fingers together, the thin digits interlacing by knobbly knuckles, shifting as he thought and spoke. "We all must find our own paths to power."
"Or die trying," the Nautolan gently added for him. It was then that the short-hilt lightsaber began to shift and turn with a gentle, unseen nudge of physical force. Her left hand turned pronate, fingers curling towards a clenching motion stopping just short of her thumb, as if picking up something imaginary in the air. It was then that the polished alloy metal of the hilt began to slowly rise up from the table. Its barer turned her hand supine again as she brought her right hand up and made gentle pushing gesture with it, her power gingerly directing the hilt to move towards the Muun, its emitter angled to point directly at him. "As you can see," she said, her voice crisp with pride, "I've chosen my path."
She slowly opened her deep, fathomless eyes to observe Scivo's reaction to her simple display of eldritch talent. "I am called Amare, and my path leads me to the Force. There is no greater power. You may inspect my weapon. Consider it my...credentials." The hilt rotated, its emitter turned to face up towards the ceiling, safely presented for Scivo to grasp.
Scivo concealed his excitement as he accepted the peculiar woman's offer, thin fingers sliding around the cylinder. He did not pretend to understand the Force or the full implications of its esoteric relationship with certain physical objects. The Muun had digested much literature regarding the phenomenon in its various forms, and had even consulted with the occasional 'expert' on the matter. He knew it would never offer the insight he truly craved, but he still felt he owed it to his insatiable curiosity to pursue every lead.
As he gently tugged the floating lightsaber, Scivo was surprised by how there was instantly no resistance to his application of force, but he dismissed his own extraneous emotions to focus most of his attention on the piece itself. With a discerning eye unwavering from the artistic weapon, his spare hand slipped into his garments to withdraw a monocular. With a few whirrs and clicks, it affixed itself to his sunken right eye socket and automatically began spinning to allow its user a selection of exceptional views and details.
In many ways, the weapon resembled an archetype common the Draggulch and Great Peace Periods of the Old Republic. It had a scalloped sections of handgrip running down the shaft, and a red ridged activation button affixed to the lower section, indicative of its creators preference regarding grip. A narrowed eye looked from the dwarfish lightsaber to its current owner, wondering as to the instrument's true provenance.
"However," Scivo then said, brushing his suspicions aside but once again examining the lightsaber, "we should probably limit our exchange of pleasantries. I fear neither of us is particularly given to the emptiness of such words, in truth, and that we are both beings keen to see our respective goals achieved. You are here to help resolve the matter of Jove Gatill and Yaxley Galactic Solutions." Those two names were both said with as much venom as the Muun could not prevent himself from spitting.
The time for Scivo's perusal of the unique shoto hilt was over as it jerked away without notice and was drawn back with the Force into Amare's grasp.
"I understand you wish to permanently set his 'number' from 'one' to 'zero'," she stated, implying in a binary sort of way the morbid nature of their meeting. "Let's talk basics: where, when, and how?"
Scivo barely maintained his composure at the sudden retraction of the lightsaber, his eyes having widened automatically, and his hands temporarily still in the position they had been when when clasping the weapon. He attempted to brush away the appearance by literally taking his hands to brush at his robe.
"There is a factory just five kilometres outside of the city's northern limits, in the Wastes," the Muun explained matter-of-factly, straightening his back. "It is a recent acquisition of Undervos Holdings, as is our business, and has recently grown in significance courtesy of a proposed merger with the GalactaWerks subsidiary company, Yaxley Galactic Solutions. The Undervos Holdings board, of which I am also a member, has marginally voted in favour of this merger. Jove Gatill has somehow convinced my fellows that his motion is a profitable one. Financially, in the short term, this is not incorrect, but is short-sighted and unambitious. The negotiations for the exact nature of this merger are to take place at the Undervos factory at twenty-one hundred local time tonight. I will be in attendance, as will Gatill and Miriam Yaxley herself, no doubt accompanied by her usual cadre of Arkanian enforcers."
Scivo's dark beady eyes examined Amare's expression as he spoke, his forehead creasing in thought. He continued explaining the details simply, in accordance with his companion's wishes and their shared desire for precision. "I have calculated that, in light of the nature and past decisions of my fellow board members, the untimely assassination of Jove Gatill will result in a reversal of the decision to merge the companies. Whilst not essential, it would also be a boon to both the designs of myself and Lord Serus to have Yaxley assassinated, too. As well as corporate dominance, Yaxley has gubernatorial dreams I wish to hijack and malform. This I can do in tandem with your own interests, especially as your success in this venture will earn us control of Undervos Holdings, control of the synthspice production, and a veritable source of valuable information we can use to our mutual benefit."
Still not desiring any exact response from the Nautolan, the wily Muun retrieved a roll of paper from his clothing, and he unveiled it carefully on the table. It was a map of the northern Wastes, including basic topography and terrain. "I have not been to the factory. Its designs are entirely unknown to me; I only know of the main entrance." He tapped the paper map. Nearby, a small pool of water was situated at the back of the structure. "Zorbo the Hutt is the Cartel benefactor to this underworld dealing. He has provided neutral security forces to oversee the proceedings and guard the factory. It is his middling empire - the Zorbo Consortium - providing some of the base materials to produce the synthspice. Whilst Zorbo has a vested interest, he has no preference with whom he works. I would discourage you, however, from targeting any of his forces."
Having allowed Amare the chance to examine the map, the Muun now inclined his small ears to listen out as footfalls slipped by outside of the door behind him, but he was confident there were no issues. "There will be refreshments and entertainment at the venue, supplied by various parties. I do not doubt you understand what the Hutts will consider entertainment, but I expect a wide array of olfactory delights. I shall not be partaking, but Mr Gatill and some of the others will not be so discerning."
He now leaned forward, a wiry hand placed onto the table as he spoke fairly to the dark woman. "Madame Amare, I have no specific preference regarding the means of death for Mr Gatill or any others, but you could consider our alliance moot, should your identity be discerned, or there is any evidence that leads back to myself, or Undervos becomes unwieldy from the deaths of too many of my colleagues. It is also essential that the Hutts are not dissuaded from this arrangement with whichever company is triumphant come the end of this sordid affair. The factory must also remain intact, although there will undoubtedly be an abundance of chemicals and resources already in situ."
Scivo resumed his stiff sitting position. "When you are successful, the synthspice operation and the nearby Republic sectors will be under our influence. There is another level to this whole conspiracy - one that I have gathered significant intelligence on that you will find of great interest. However, we will not meet after tonight's events. I will return to my office and will address you and your friend after the fact, at which point I will share the details of this research." Scivo brought his hands together, but he did not allow himself even a small smile. Instead, he just stated, "Unlike control of Undervos and the synthspice, this data will be of more value to Lord Serus than I, I believe. You will find the information especially illuminating."
Amare stared at Scivo for a few silent seconds, pondering his peculiar mannerisms and his promise of spicy information. She did not have much reason to distrust him given what he stood to gain from Gatill's and Yaxley's removal from the equation, but she also wondered if she was being used in a setup to increase the Muun's standing with his colleagues. No doubt if she failed the mission, Scivo had a contigency in mind to spin the negative outcome to his benefit, at least, that's what she would do in his shoes. Regardless, failure was simply not an option, but she couldn't help but think back to her lamentations with her mother back on Mustafar, remember her feelings that she was little more than just a weapon for Thane's mask called Serus...or perhaps Thane was the mask all along, just as Zaracoda was for her.
With slight bow of her head to Scivo she rose up to her feet, and stopped just short of opening the door. Without turning to look at the financier, she warned, "If I sense the slightest hint of treachery from you tonight, I will add a third to the list." And with that, she gently opened the door and departed with soundless footfalls like a forgotten old ghost in the night.
TBC
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