Learning to Die - Prologue

[Jaime Tomahawk]

"If you ask me..."

She glanced back at her XO, clearly not at all happy. "It's a good fracking thing I'm not then, is it? Jank, for all the ability you have at getting our fracking fleet into gear, you really need to learn how to think on the ground. I know what I am doing"

"But what if it's a trap?"

Now the glance turned into a glare. "And...?"

"Well, what if the Imps have found you out? What if this is just bait to trap you?"

Now the look was starting to become something akin to being able to burn flimsy and silenced the older man instantly, even making him retreat a little bit with the sheer ferocity of the gaze - as much as the crews had been together since the Clone Wars and knew the drill, the volcanic temper of Tomahawk was edged around - if there was something deadlier than the way she wielded a sidearm, it was her voice and the way she could cut anyone apart with it. Even Jank, whom had been with her in wars and battles and was about as close as anyone could get the her, was wary of it. Altho, truth be told she seemed to thrive on the fury and violence she had within her - if anything she was by far the more alert and clear headed when the red mist took hold.

Kind of like now, which in some ways was what Jank wanted. This whole deal stank riper than dead Gungan and he had a lot of doubts - which for some reason Tomahawk was having absolutly no bar with. Ever since the call, she had gotten fixed in her head to come out here, parsecs away from their usual hunting grounds, to Cloud City. For a transport fare.

Major General Jaime T Tomahawk, Old Republic General, former Clone War hero, survivor of some of the most bloody battles seen in that era, fought with the legendary Jedi, then after the Empire came into being, fled with the most trusted of her soldiers and crews to the Outer Rim and beyond, to become what she called "Privateers", hiring themselves out to the highest bidder to be local muscle or to fight local wars. In reality, they had become quite a successful pirate group with the occasional Deep Core smuggling trip to earn the flow of credits for their new lifestyle.

Even enough in some cases that as the men and women had gotten older, they had enough to retire comfortably and even had set up a bit of a community in one of the cities of Arcan IV. Even the odd legitimate business, as opposed to the fronts Jank had set up to offload the plunder they had bagged. Or the odd quiet smuggling job, which these days seemed to be mainly wealthy families getting out of war zones and somewhere where the Empire couldnt touch them as well as the regular illicit narcotics. Tomahawk didnt care. Credits were credits and she was by now quite a wealthy woman. So was Jank when it came down to it and he even had a family now on Arcan IV.... he knew in his bones his own retirement was soon as he was getting too old for the piracy business. A new XO would have to be promoted soon and fortunatly, some of the new blood were promising. Tomamahwk however had never shown any signs of wantign to stop the privateering venture, or settling, or even bothering with a place on Arcan like all her crew now had - she seemed to live only for battle.

Which would be understandable if she was 30. However, Tomahawk was well over 60 now, even if she didnt look it. Somehow, age didnt seem to touch her in the slightest, even if it had finally begun to catch up with Jank. Soon ,she would be the last of the old hands left. No one knew what she thought of that - no one dared ask. All she seemed to care about was the next fight. Surely the years would have to catch up with her sometime...? Right?

But not today. Today, she seemed to have become far, far too keen on this fare. Something was up he didn't understand and frankly after so many years sharing the same fleet as the General, that was very surprising and even somewhat disturbing and thence this stank of needing a lot of caution. And seeming that she wouldnt hear anything about a possible trap, it seemed a different track should be taken. "General, I understand the need for privacy for a transport, but ever since you got the holo, you have most unusally dropped everything to get here. Why? You never do that for anyone else"

"He's not just an 'anyone else', Jank. How much did you see on the holo?"

"Not much. You seemed pretty keen to keep it hidden from the crew"

She glanced about the bridge, noting it's ship's midnight emptiness. Also most unusually, she had taken late watch and ordered everyone out. Except Jank. "Yes. And you are going to shut up about it too."

"You havent told me anything to shut up about!" he snapped back, getting a bit irritated himself. "You aint told me a damn thing for two days about this transport yet other than it's red hot. Now fracking fess up Jaime because for once your fracking fristing me off"

For one who revelled in her own anger, she also seemed to appreciate anger in others and it always made her almost human. "Let's just say he has paid enough to keep our fleet supplied and paid for 10 years"

Okay, that caught him out. "Paid? 10 years??? Who the frack has that much credit to spend on a lousy transport? And isnt it half pre pay and half when delivered?"

She shrugged. "You know we dont betray our cargo. His money will buy passage to Coruscant and back, guarentteed and he knows it"

And back? That was most odd. "Look Jaime, I dont care what you think, but that stinks. It's an obvious setup"

She glared. "Fracking THINK Jank. The mere fact it's so obvious means it isn't. If the Imps had heard of me, you think they would have bothered with something this insulting to our skill level? It's real"

Sigh. "Allright Sir, but who the hell is it?"

She stared out the ship's viewport for a moment. "The other reason why I'm sure it's not a trap - I have completely no idea. He managed to get one of our personal rncrypt codes and one of our accounts I am sure no one else knows about, so whomever he is, is very good"

"So why the frack are you going??????"

Tomahawk finally had a ghost of a grin on her face. "If he's that good, to offer him a job, of course"

[Turbogeek]

"if you ask me, this place is going to Endor in a handbasket. 20 credits for Nerf steak? How an they justify it?"

"Wartime. We're lucky we get any supplies at all, let alone Nerf. I heard that the gas mine is having trouble finding anyone willing to run Tibanna to the Core and you know how much both sides need it. If the war rates they want to pay for contractors isnt enough to get shipping, how will transports care about mere nerf?"

"Because the rates the bastards up in the levels above us are far higher than what governemts pay? Liltra, you know how it works in war time - the smugglers make a killing from the wealthy who sit in their towers, while we down here suffer shortages and high prices. The reason there's a lack of transport is the fat banthas taking it all for their own. Do you think even honest contractors are going to care when the smell of credits are waved under their faces...?''

I continued to stare out the large viewport, idly listening to the conversations of the passerbys. Most were about the lives they led, or complaints about little things that really shouldnt matter, which is like any group of beings anywhere in the Galaxy.
Gather enough beings, give them some form of luxury and food on the table, it all became the same after that. Little Han had a cold. Too cold in the morning. The sun the wrong shade of purple. The grav plates too light. Not enough seasoning on the taters - comfortable people living comfortable lives, in reality unaffected by the wars of beings millions of light years away. Altho I had to concede, the last couple - a male and female from the Irot system by their accents - did have a point. The rich got fatter and the poor got screwed. But then again, since when was that unusual? For my entire life, I had never found anything to suggest otherwise.

Me? I didnt care. I knew credits drove the Galaxy and as long as it was legal, I couldnt care less. Cynical I know, but the Galaxy tends to beat any thoughts of the goodness or auturism of other beings out of you very fast. I had rarely come across any being that didnt put themselves first and if it took credits to do that and a fat nerf steak to make one feel safe and warm, more power to them. Even with my jaded and cynical view of it all, most beings were content to leave it at that. For the others.... well.... there was me to deal with. Those that crossed the line fom sel absorbed to the various levels of filth and scum that blighted the Galaxy, they were what I cared about. And why I was here.

My name is Turbogeek. I'm a human from Ord Mandel, bron and bred on the wrong side of the space lines, used to be a thief and drug runner when I was young, before I saw what narcotics did to a friend of mine. On that day I gave it away and cross the line, lost all my so called friends and family and became a officer of the Law. Since then, it's been my job to clean up the scum where ever I went and I'm damn good at it. I got myself a few most wanted on a few systems, got a bit of a reputuation for being honest, got me a few guns if things get out of hand and a belief that the Law is what will make the Galaxy a better place. No, I'm not a bounty hunter - those scum make me sick and I do my best to thwart them. I'm a proper graduate of Coruscant's acadamy and I dont shoot unless I have to. A lawman cant be a anarcist, we got rules to follow and that's what sets us properly apart. Heh, I may be a cynical bastard, but there's still that idealism there. I guess if I lose that, I'll give the game away and go fishing.

Always wanted to travel and been doing that for a few years now. It's not a comfortable life by any means and most of the time I'm undercover, which is highly dangerous with no backup. Cant really have backup on the fringes and Coruscant dont have the manpower to give anyway, not now. Maybe when the fighting's over, the winner licks their wounds and recovers enough.... but that I think is some time away. For now, it's just me.

The couple's conversation did make me think tho - why am I still doing this? There's hardly a government worth being a lawman for, the Empire and the rebellion are fighting themselves to obivion, there's chaos everywhere.. so why?

As always, the answer is easy. Because there's got to be someone who fights back against the chaos, to bring some semblence of order so the fat banthas can whine and complain in safetly, while never realising what lurks in the shadows or ever having to face it. Doesnt matter that fleets fight and armies march, there is The Law and that's all there is to it.

Why am I here, in Bespin? Of all the things, a few days downtime. I had just run down a notorious local smuggler and thrown him in a Star Cruiser's brig (and I'm under no illusion about his fate - the Empire executes smugglers or throws them in the deepest and dankest mine they got) and I was feelign the need for a bit of R&R. Base had thrown a good few credits into my account and frankly I could use a decent drink, maybe go find a good female to spend a few nights with. Maybe both.

And Cloud City was rather pretty. Most of my days I'm in space or some low life dive, it's nice to be where the floors arent sticky, the air is fresh, the scenery is good and the booze flows uncut. This'll be just the place to have a damn good shower too and get some new clothes - watching a cloud car fly by, seeing the sun's reflections off the towers, it was hard to imagine places like Nar Shadda exist.

Hmph. Maybe they needed a lawman here too for a while. That would knid of be nice, spend a few months mooching around and dealing with petty crims, instead of the hard core lowlifes.

But priorities! Where was that bar again? I felt the need for a damn good bit of Corellian alcohol. And maybe one of those overprices nerf steaks.

[Cat X]

Two days ago.

"If meesa be wantin moi moi opinion.."

"Not interested in your opinion, Gungan whore. Get on your knees and do what you been paid to do"

Looking through the scope of his sniper rifle, he watched as the human, probably about 30, undid his pants in the alleyway and let them slip to his ankles. The alien, a tall greenish biped that he would probably guess was the female of the species was on her knees about to do what paid whores did best. He shook his head slightly, allowing the scope to drop slightly to get a better "look" at the show - never ceased to amaze him how more perverted the Galaxy could get. Sure there ws quite a lot of fetishes and kinks and with the trillions of beings, you would suppose you would find just about every perverted combination you could possibly think of, especially when there were credits involved. And yes, even this one could be imagined..... the mere fact the human now had a Gungan tounge where the sun didnt shine while.... ummm....

He closed his eyes, reshifted aim and shuddered. He had seen a lot of things and this wasnt the worst. But even so, he could have well done without seeing it because it would take a lot of alcohol to erase it from his memory.

The scope's recording could be worth a bit on the underground for such things.Or it could be good blackmail material for the human, whom he knew was a resonably wealthy businessman with a family. As he refocused and cleared his mind of the disgust, the image just got better... or worse depending on your point of view. Worse for the faith in humanity, better for the blackmail potential. Hmmm.... yuck, a Gungan drool enema. And scat action. Oh Lord, this was too easy if he wanted completely ruin the man's life. Unfortunantly for the man in question, ruin wasnt on the list of things the shooter had in mind.

*CRUNCH*

The screams of the business man rent the alley's night, a howl of pure agony barely able to muffle the laughter of the Gungan. He dropped the scope, saw the blood and what the alien was now eating.... then raised the scope and put a slug between the eyes of the human. The silenced rail gun barely made a sound, yet the Gungan, startled by the sudden blood spray could tell where the slug came from, not that it did her any good. The next one sliced her throat open, crimson mist hitting the wall as she fell to her knees, suddenly unable to cry out for the help that wouldnt come, choking in her own blood. He raised the rifle, slung it to his back and in a quick, smooth lep, came off the rooftop and ontl the nearest fire escape, scaling down to the alley below. It wasnt too far to the dead human and dying Gungan, thence he was able to get there while the mortally wounded alien was still very much able to comphrend his presence. Exactly as he wanted it to be. Arms flailing weakly and uselessly, she could nothing as he knelt down, drew a knife from his vest, cut off the left eye stalk, then proceeded to munch on the eyeball.

"Best fresh" he quipped. "Did you know Gungan tastes best when bled? It's somethign about the hormones that get leeched out instead of remaining in the meat. The terror as well floods the body with other chemicals, keeps you nice and tender for longer. Pity humans dont taste so good, I'd have enough then to last me a month - dont worry, I'll give what remains of you a good cremation - or I dunno, I know of some hungry homeless who who wont care where their stew came from. Youll take I think about another five minutes to die, if I have the rate of your bleeding right. Or I suppose you can choke to death a bit quicker"

The remaining Gungan's eye was a picture of terro and pain, her hands pleading for mercy. The assassin shook his head. "No. No quick and easy for you. This prep wasnt the first you militated and left to rot, your going to suffer the same fate as them. I wonder, did you enjoy eating them as much as I will enjoy eating you? No? Pity. Maybe in your next life you'll think diffrently"

He knew no one would come. The Gungan knew this area well and as he already knew, she was no stranger to death. She chose her murdering places well - which this time around just happened to condemn her as well. Karma's a bitch, aint it?

2:39. She lasted resonably well before her death came. The shooter stood and with seeming no apparent effort, threw the carcass over his shoulder and disappeared in thte night, leaving the cooling body of the human behind. Let the deziens of the night take the remains - he had dinner to cook up. No point wasting a free meal, even if he had been paid well to kill the Gungan.

--

"Thank you and welcome to Cloud City sir! enjoy your stay".

He nodded, before pickign up his bags and moving into the general crush of beings at the spaceport. There was.... ah yes! A welcoming committee. As well there should be.

"Good morning sir! Welcome to Cloud City. Can I take your bags?"

"Why yes, you may" he replied. "I'm quite looking forward to staying a while"

"Good trip Mr Duncant?"

"Very"

The hovercar was there for him and a bottle of Corerllian's best. He dropped into t e soft leather with a sigh, feeling the relief of the getway flowing over him. "Everything was successful. The contract was signed"

The driver lifted an eyebrow. "It was?"

"Yes. We are on"

"Tell the other Sir?"

"Yes"

He called himself Tyrt Duncant, or at least that was what his documentation said.

The wall back where the Gungan died had a different name smeared on it however. Another victim to Cat X.

[Jaime Tomahawk]

Cloud City was pretty, she was forced to admit. The long slow haul into the atmosphere and approach was very peaceful, the actual landing of her personal shuttle uneventful, which gave her time to admire the sheer size and engineering feat the City in the Clouds truly was - even with the wind that was whipping around her legs as she exited, the city felt perfectly stable, like it was land locked instead of floating clicks high in the Life Zone of the gas giant. Far, far below rolled the poisionous metallic gasses and below that, impossible to reach was the metal core. Quite a bizarre planet in all respects, most gas giants were completely unapproachable with massive gravity wells.

She moved through the entrance locks to the greeting station, handed her fake id to the greeter, was given a brief run down of the laws and rules she would be required to obey, a holomap and a few holos on available accommodation and bars. She nodded, picked up her bag and walked down the corridor, aiming for the turbo lifts that would take her to the public transports.

Interesting, she mused. No one commented on the weaponry she was packing. And there seemed to be a lot of beings obviously carrying too - she rather liked that. A lot of planets insisted on no weapons, which were always the ones she thought were the most danger and trouble. A few minutes latetr, a few credits had her on what looked like a maglev and a trip of about half timepoint to where she was going to stay for the duration. Jank had certainly kicked up a fuss about her going alone..... which she thought was amusing. Truth be told, she was a bit bored and was kind of hoping for trouble to rear it head, certainly better than being trapped in a tin can with unwashed beings who stank of cheap grain alcohol and cigaretta smoke.

"Oooh, would you look at that rear on her!"

"Heheh, yeah!"

"Think she would like a song?"

"Go on, ask her!"

A rather disgusting male picked up some kind of box contraption and began to push his way to where Tomahawk stood. "Hey lady..."

"Frack off" she snarled in return. "I bet you sound like a bunch of fracking wildcats mating anyway. Plus you stink - when was the last time you touched cleaning fluid?"

The male was considerably taller and heavily built. And probably intoxicated as well, which meant it took quite a few second for her reply to be processed. "Frack off? Now what kind of greeting is that from such a pretty lady? I bet you sound real good in bed tho, dont ya? Why not come over here and meet my buddy, we'll make yer sing all right!"

Tomahawk noted fellow passengers backing away from the two men and now her. And then pointingly ignoring the trio. "No thanks. Now why don't you back off before something happens?"

"Oooh yes, there'll be something happening all right pretty lady!"

She didnt need to look. She knew there was at least one more behind her, so this was obviously a gang who preyed on the weak. Typical - even in an ornate and beautiful place, you always got the scum. She caught a reflection in a window, smirked, then took two steps back and grabbed the surprised third male by the balls. Hard. A crunch and a howl was enough to make the first two freeze in their tracks. "Sorry. I dont want to hear you two sing... but this guy here, I wonder how well he holds a tune?" She gave his balls a bit of a twist, bringing and fresh groan of pain. "I said SING. Do I make myself clear?"

"NRRRRRGGGGGGG!!"

"Sorry, dont know that tune" she said sweetly, increasing the pressure. She delibertly turned to face the red faced, gasping male... and with perfect timing, her other hand lashed out and grabbed the groin of the first male whom had used her apparent lack of attention on him to try to attack. "Ohhh look, you can have duet."

CRUNCH

"AGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!"

"Not bad. You hit that high note really well - and I wouldnt move that hand another bit closer to that blaster if I were you" she said to the still frozen second male. "You really wouldnt like the tune I'd make you...." She felt the shift and ducked, the third male trying to desperatly king hit her. In response, she twisted even harder on both of the men whose attention by now she well and truly had. Fresh howls in unison. "... Now as I was saying before Soprano here tried to be smart, you dont want to sing the tune I would make you sing. I would in fact... run". Second prep stood there stunned... first perp managed to get his hands onto her forearm and tried to unlock the death grip she had. Much to his probable surprise, she let go, giving him a bit of a push. he stumbled, legs no doubt weak with the agony throbbing in places that really were quite sensitive and no doubt now torn and bleeding - and tripped over a most carelessly dropped bag. He hit the plexiglass hard - and most unfortunatly for him, it yielded, his head flopping into the airstream of the maglev. And right into the path of a support girder.

CLANG

"Well I guess HE wont be asking any women to sing anymore" Tomahawk deadpanned as the now headless body flopped to the ground. "But I wonder.... I rather like the Coruscant national anthem. How about you two give it a shot?"

Wether the third attacker was feeling the"pinch" as it were, he did have a lovely falsetto voice, it turned out. After a bit of encouragement from her DL-44 pointed at him and his ghost white fellow partner, no doubt rather puzzled in how their little bit of intended "fun" had gone so badly astray.

Would even be worth the no doubt questioning she would get from the local authorities at the next stop. She signaled for them to start again - may as well milk it for all it was worth.

[Turbogeek]

It was all quite interesting, I was forced to admit to myself. Watching the holo of the attack and how the woman had turned it around was right now the top ranking show in the watchhouse - it was always nice to see scum getting what they deserved. It was also good to be working beat with local crims and ordinary problems. Very much like a holiday compared to the stuff I usually tackled.

The local law officer commander was also pretty good about the Coruscant interloper too. After the initial and understandable suspicion had been abated (I had a history of workign well with locals - you never pee in the bed your in and frankly you never know when you would need local help - besides while some locap lawmen were idiots others were doign a damn good job and deserved to be treated with respect), I found a fairly good office with generally good staff and a commander that knew his job. Plus, I knew how to pull string with Coruscant, the lcoals would be finding their equipment upgraded.

Hey, make friends and influence people. As I said, be a bit clever about things and people tended to remeber and when the time came, would be very willing to give a lawman a helping hand when I needed it in return.

"We got them as Backstreet Boys - a local gang that does a bit of local muscle and shakedowns. Not usually sexual predators but I guess maybe we aint been looking - thanks to our Miss here we got em cold and also got Timberlake to sing. We'll be closing the rest of the Boys down tomorrow"

"Hmmmm" i said, watchign the tape again from the beginning. "and who is our Miss?"

The commander, a man anmed Carrot shrugged. "An outworlder. ID is Eileen Cross, a troubleshooter fo Wayland-Yutanti"

"What kind of troubleshooting?"

"From the looks of her and what the Holonet has on her, she's into making sure operations run smoothly. Sort of a company cop"

"Now, why would a company need someone like her? And where the blazes did she learn to brawl like that?" I wondered. "She wasnt always a civvie"

Carrot frowned. "How can you tell?"

"Moves too well. She's also got clear tactical thinking - she knew where they were at all times and also how to respond. I'm certain that guy... Michael Jackson...? that lost his head was no accident - She made it look like one. She knew where that bag was and unfortunatly for Jackson, she aimed the trip well. Is there a rap sheet?"

"Ummm.... lets see, she's doen time for a few fights.... been charged with accidental death a few times, gotten off for reasons of self defence..... seems to have pretty good representation. Says she also served in a local milita before her job in the WY Corporation. 31 years old, pays her taxes, single, no living relatives, no fixed planet of abode"

I had a bit of think through it all and nodded. "So just a pretty good enforcer"

"Looks like it Turbogeek. And I say she's clean here too - I aint charging her for getting that scumbag killed, if your right"

I can appreciate that sentiment - sometimes bad guys deserve to die nasty deaths and the rap sheet on Jackson was charming, to say the least. Still, Tomahawk was good - a little too good, if you know what I mean. She had beat the snot out of three much bigger and stronger males and that takes some doing. "That's no sweat off my balls Carrot. I'd still liek to chat with her tho if you dont mind"

"Knock yerself out"

--

The thing you saw first with Cross was not how SF she was - it was her eyes. You could read how they bored into you, ripped you to the bone, made you uncomfortable and dominated you. She was quite one hell of good looker - but one glace of those eyes was enough to quell any thoughts you might of had. This, clearly was no amateur. The next was the voice - A rasp that could cut hull plate and very out of place with her body.

"And who are you?" she snapped as I entered the room she was in. A cold chill went down my spine at the sound of that rasp. "You local wops going to keep wasting my time?"

It threw me off balance and I been in rooms with some truly evil bastards and not blinked. She was just something else again. She knew I was rattled immediatly. I paused, gathered myself, sat down and opened the holofile. " No Miss Cross, I dont intend to waste more of your time and I'm not a local either. My name is Captain Anasta Turbogeek of the Coruscant Patrol - jsut want to ask you a few questions"

"A Fed. What's your interest in a bit of local trouble?"

"Holiday" I replied. "Taking a break from catching priates, bounty hunters, rebels and other scum. And why are you causing local trouble?"

"Here on business". Lord, that snarl and those eyes....!

"I see. And what is the nature of your business, exactly?" I asked.

"Contract negotiator"

"Ahh I see...."

"Stop screwing around lawman. What's the fracking point of keeping me here? You seen my records, you probably seen the holo off the maglev.... now stop wasting my fracking time with this fracking copper dance you and the other morons been doing"

I expected that. "Miss Cross, frankly I dont believe a word of your rap sheet. Yes I've seen the holo and you were toying with the perps - you could have killed them without them blinking. Your no contract negotiator because your too damn good"

"So you charging me with anything? I'd like to see you try"

I sighed. "No of course we're not. It's clearly self defence"

"Oh how nice you big planet coppers are" She glared at me, the sheer hostility making me squirm. And making it very clear she wasnt goign to say another word, no matter how much I tried. I was professioanl and experienced enough to know I had a losing cause.

--

Carrot watched me have a large drink of water. "She's a piece of work, aint she?"

"Is that why you called me?"

"Yeah. I'm with you mate - I dont know what contracts she negotiates and I doubt it's anything WY wants us to know about, because I aint met anyone that straight out bad in years. It's like coming face to face with pure evil"

"Evil's too kind a word" I said. "So, she's being followed"

"As best we can. I doubt there's anyone good enough to follow her without being noticed. And we're doing a bit more research and checking the rap sheet out to make sure it's legit"

I rather liked Carrot. He's got a good head on his shoulders and he was thinkingthe way I was. "If you dont mind, I do some tailign as well"

"Sure... one sec.... Carrot speaking...... right.... right.... yes, send two officers" He put the commlink down and he was alomst grinning. "But on the other hand Turbogeek, we also got ourselves a suicide of a known Backstreet Boy's accomplice. A local prostitute called Bri'ney Spegers who also does a bit of singing, if you can call it that. Went and leapt off a tower half timeclick ago"

"She wasnt that one I heard a few hours ago on the vox entertainment channel? She was dreadful!" I had a bit of a thought. "Cross wouldnt happen to have been in the area?"

"Ummmm...... " Carrot looked up, now very much grinning. "Hey mate, if she did in Spegers, I'm giving her a bloody medal"

Considerign the sheer awfulness of the singing I had heard, I reckon I would too. But only on a stick. There's no way I'd be getting close to Corss again without some serious backup

[Cat X]

It was all highly boring, he was forced to admit. The thrill of the setup had long gone, he now thrived on violence and mayhem - and sitting in a room with businessmen while he pursued the not so secret part of his life was definantly not mayhem. Ohay well it paid the bills.....

"So the contract was signed and the bill of sales laid out. We have transport of hte goods from Ithlor to Coruscant, with insurace agreeing to the rates we proposed. Tyrt Duncant here has also come to the party with covering notes and permissions to enter Coruscant and pre customs clearence, with 10% payment"

He nodded at the mention of his name. While this was exruciatingly boring, the fact pharacuticals were in high demand and paid a damn good price did kinda offset this painful process - currently 1000 credits a weight for the medicals that were coming coming both here and Ithlor. Both products by themselves useless, but combined correctly gave a very strong antibiotic for humans. A pretty good thing to be in control of, what with wars and things like that going on, very much in demand and that demand forcing prices up.

"We have the shipment presold at 17% markup..."

"17%?" Interrupted X. "The price was already high enough, who decided to offer that much?"

The dweeb in the siut checked his notes. "It was.... hmmm. Odd, doesnt say. Just says a private buyer who wanted to remain anonymous"

Cat X raised an eyebrow, suddenly quite alert. "Then I take it this private buyer isnt Imperial?"

"We don't and we don't ask"

"Fair enough, altho I suggest we add some precautions to cover our backsides - whomever wants it clearly isnt supposed it have it"

"Smugglers?"

"Unlikely at that price. My guess would be the Rebellion"

Dweeb nodded. "And if it is?"

Cat X leaned back, thinking. "We alert the Imps after we get payment and pass 500 on as a bribe to make sure we dotn get blamed for letting controlled substances gettign into rebel hands. Let the Imps deal with it"

Nods all round. They were business men and shippers with no interest in the Galaxy's wars and tribulations, as good capitalist always were. Go for the profit, screw who you could and if the Rebels got some antibiotic, so much the better for pricing with what remained. "Lastly Mr Duncant, Tibanna gas for Hasit 1. We have a transport that is willing to run the local blockade, the price they wanted was high but still acceptible. They also have a track record for blockade running, thence we believe that the price will be worth it"

"Good - dont bore me with the details, get it sorted. Good day to you all Gentlemen". With that dismissal, the gathered meetign bowed and then broke up, moving out the doors to leave Cat X alone. The room itself was a hired one, with views of the Cloud City sprawled out below, he turned on his chair to lean back and enjoy. Could City in his opinion was one of the few being contructions that was not a blight on the landscape as so many others were - it seemed to fit and be part of the natural order which to him was criminally lacking towards the Core. Of course, Coruscant didnt HAVE a natural order anymore so the ugliness of that planet kind of worked and had it's own power and majesty....

He sighed, got up and picked up his datapads, throwing them into a case. Time was wasting.

--

He winced as he tried to enjoy his alcohol, but it simply wasnt possibly. The human catwaulering in the corner of the bar was simply unbelieveably awful in ways that were impossible to describe. Her vocal register was better suited to aliens who were completely tone death - but more disturbingly there were patrons that the dive who thought it was good and even clapping and cheering. Cat X winced again at another particularly high note, pondering the outright stupidity of most beings. He was no musician himself, but he knew what crap sounded like - calling ... who was it? He consulted the menu on his table to see a "Ce'line Dionget" was mentioned, then groaned. No wonder his head hurt, he had the misfortune of being trapped in a transport some time ago with a human female who played that screeching at too high a volume. Far too much sickening love songs about boy meets girl, girl wants to have boy's baby, boy has problems dealing with the biological transaction and girl cries for the moons of her local planet before deciding to have a knee trembler at the back of the shed. Or something like that - it all sounded the same to him.

Frack this.

He put his hand into a coat pocket, then placed a small device on the table, lookin gfor all the world like a death stick lighter. A small adjustment, then he pressed a small button. Now if he was in luck...... the singer began to move about as she sung, stopping at tables for a verse or two, them moving on. Cat X noted this, amended his plan.

Near, far, wherever you are

Oh this was painful. He nearly had tears in his eyes from the shriek as she got closer, but grinning to hide the throbbing head was what he did and even nodded to ecourage her as she got to his table.

I believe that the heart does go on
Once more you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on

A quick flick of his wrist as he lit a death stick with the "ignighter".... and it was done. 20 seconds was all it would take to make sure his aim had been good.

Love can touch us one time

10 seconds and she dropped a note. Cat X raised an eyebrow. 15, she dropped to her knees just at his table, the crowd stirred, sensing something was wrong...

20 seconds.

POPSPLAT

The tiny but powerful microwave emitter had done it's job of boiling her brain. It exploded and sprayed outwards, most of it splashing at high velocity onto patrons, who screamed in horror and maybe in pain as scalding brain bits went flying. He came back up from ducking, noting to his amusement a steaming pile right on his table.

Waste not, want not. Besides, she probably never used said brain to start with and it did taste good hot.

[Jaime Tomahawk]

The medics were outside of the bar, a body on the meat tray. A cordon to keep onlookers back was established, the cleanup crews and investigators doing the job of finding out what the frack had happened. She glanced around to get a better grip on the situation, noting the shocked faces, the gore on clothes hastily wiped over, locals moving here and there asking questions. She sidled up to one group, quietly and expertly overhearing what the conversation was

"... then she just... exploded?"

"Yes! Doof saw it happen, in fact he was only three tables away. She just got in front of this table over there and her head... just exploded!"

"How in the Galaxy does a head just explode? Was there a gun? A small bomb?"

"Not as far as anyone can tell. Machi says it looks like her brain was cooked from the inside"

"Cooked? HOW?"

She frowned in puzzlement, but as she moved around it seemed that the pertinent facts were covered. A singer's head had literally exploded for no apparent reason - it sounded like mass delusion but for the wreck of a being on the meat tray who clearly had a lack of anything above the shoulders. Even covered with plastic, the shape was all too familiar for someone who had seen a lot of what happens to meat when it got killed in interesting manners. She managed to push her way forward to get a better look in the bar, confirming what everyone was saying. It had the smell, not to mention some brains were clearly seen on the ceiling, not yet cleaned up.

I'm being watched

Not by the locals whom she had easily shaken. Not even by the flatfoot that she noted not long after, the same one that had tried to question her - he was damn good as a tail so she had let him. No, this was different. This was.... a pro. Someone who knew how to truly blend in and disappear, someone who was doing nothing to address attention to themselves. Someone who knew exactly how good she was

"Jacques" she said quietly into the comms piece hidden in her collar. "Our mystery person is about to make contact"

"Need anything?"

"Dont worry, I'll bring dinner" - personal code for stay the hell away.

"Acknowledged"

She glanced around, assessing each person close to her. Nothing jumped out at her, which was to be expected. Whomever it was was a real class act and.... she glanced at a middle aged man, hair untidy, beard, about 45. Case, well dressed, casual in his manner, even with the locals asking questions. Didnt seem like much except for the slightest shift in his feet. Deliberate.

Hmmmmmm..... she knew who he was. Tyrt Duncant was a minor, if pretty good transport operator. Specialized in medicals. Occasionally put out bids for smuggling jobs. Never any hint he was anything more but she had never dealt with him in person and neither had anyone in her group - but as smugglers are want to do, word of good payers gets out. Duncant paid top dollar for results - and it would now appear was the person who had asked her here, if she had her assessment right.

"Jacques, I want info on a low level lowlife named Tyrt Duncant" she said sotto voice into the commlink. "I think we have our cargo"

And to be honest, she was now becoming interested in Tyrt himself. A very, very well disguised pro playing at being a medical shipper was not something that was common.

[Selinica Miriya]

She...just...wanted...a drink.

That's all she wanted.

It had been months - though it seemed like years - since she had a decent Corellian Whiskey. The stuff seemed almost as vital as water to her on occasion, and at one time, she kept a well-hidden stash of Whyren's Reserve on her well cared for little transport. The reason she didn't have it anymore was a sore spot, and one she rather cared not to dwell on. After a particularily difficult job, Sel found herself at the Cloud 9 Bar & Grill. She took a vacant table, ordered a whiskey, then after a certain point, found her sanity contending with the awful screeching of the singer, which was somewhat akin to a former client dragging his nails long, manicured nails across her day old paint job in displeasure. It'd taken every ounce of her 5'5" being that day to resist dragging him up the ramp and dissecting him piece by piece, or beating him to within an inch of his life with her beloved staff or... the point being, the petite woman had a temper bigger than her size. And his bodyguards didn't look too nice, either. Not that she couldn't have had her way with them, too.

One would suppose that means she might not be pleased with what happened only minutes into her hope of a relaxing evening of alcoholic consumption. The sudden popping splat really grabbed her attention away from her drink for the scant second it took for grey matter to come flying at her and...

What the...oh, damn it!!!. There's fracking brains in my whiskey! Somebody is going to be HURTIN' for this.

She pushed the drink away, to the opposite edge of the table, where it very nearly toppled over. The petite blonde of thirty-some-odd years brushed a shade shy of frantically at her white top, clearing it of any pieces of the formerly living that might have latched on to her.

"Oh, disgusting!" The burning comment referred to the situation at hand. The brains in her drink. She could care less about the brains, if they weren't in her drink. That was all. A bar-droid came by and asked if she would like another drink. The woman decided to stay put and just watch the remainder of the scene unfold for now.

"Oh, you have no idea. Take that well-preserved chunk of brain away, and bring me a fresh glass of whiskey. NOW...." Sel growled and hissed through her teeth. "...uh..please."

[Turbogeek]

She was good allright. She lost the two tails the locals had assigned to follow her in about 10 time clicks flat. I was only here by luck, watching from behind a pillar, one floor up. She nearly lost me twice and it was only just a good guess that got me back on her trail. Give me one thing, I knew how to trail someone without being spotted - she was one of the more difficult ones I had ever tried. The trick with the hoverbus was so well timed.....

Trailing someone isnt always about keeping a visual. You go by feeling sometimes, you have no choice if you dont want to be seen. Or get close. Definantly in this case the get close bit was something I was keen not to do, especially the more I followed, the better understand of what I was dealing with came clearer. I've been around some tough pros in my time, taken a few down too. You have to be able to sum up your tag as quickly as possible in case things got nasty, be ready to shoot if you have to. Cross was by my observation left handed, had in the past some knee problems, seemed to not trust her eyes by the way she held her head and listened to what was going on, didnt like crowds, was highly situation alert too. But more than that, she had a military past.

Now that was most interesting. As the Imps were somewhat racist and discrimitory that ruled out Imperial forces. Local militia maybe? Possible, tho if I was to guess she had a sense of command about her. That would also rule out most militias. Too young for Republic. Rebe prehaps? Made sense, they were known to have female commanders. Cross didnt match on any database I could access however so that was unlikely.

But I've had bigger long shots play out.

So here I was, watching as she moved through a crowd of rubber neckers at a disturbance in a local bar. Lingering a bit too. I doubted she would give a damn about something minor like this - which meant she was here to meet someone.

While there was no way I was goign to get close, I was very curious who would want to voluntarily meet this woman. Carrot I think had it right, whatever trouble shooting she did for WY was not the standard stuff. I reckon if I could find something out, one of my superiors might be interested.

It kinda occured to me I still needed that Corellian Whiskey. And a Nerf steak. Yeah, nothing like a good drink when your scoping a tag.