Stygium & Slicers

[Kal Doran]

Nar Shaddaa - The Red Light District

Kal faced no resistance on his descent to the Smuggler's Moon. After all, it would be quite rude to hassle a personal guest of Little Biro. The name was, of course, a misnomer, as the Hutt was larger than most adolescent rancors, and smelled like one too. He controlled a sizeable amount of territory on the moon to have several reserved landing pads and dry docks for himself and his guests, which Kal made use of whenever working for the Hutt. The pay was always good, and Biro had an entire network of contacts that he shared with his most trusted associates. When Kal had told him about needing a skilled crew for a job, Biro told him that he knew a place where Kal could meet a few ... discrete individuals who would be suited for the task: a cantina and pleasure house known only as Mal's. A Twilek and former Exchange operative, whatever that meant. Biro assured that the place was under his protection and that Kal could conduct business from there. But after that, he would be on his own.

The Gentle Persuasion landed on the private landing pad with a soft hiss emanating from the landing jets. The YV-929 stood out like a sore thumb with the blood red terentatek head, the symbol of Clan Doran, painted on either side of the armed freighter. Yet no one would dare intrude on Biro's turf, so Kal felt that it was safe enough. As he strode out of the port and into the main plaza, he took a quick scan of his surroundings. The jumble of spires that made up this cosmopolitan satellite rose for an eternity into the night sky, with all manner of speeders and barges and freighters speeding between the gaps. People from every corner of the galaxy were represented here, engaging in all kinds of activities, illicit or otherwise. Kal paid them no mind and they returned the favor. Mandalorians usually turned heads on more "civilized" worlds, yet here they blended into the crowds as easily as anyone else.

Kal finally spotted Mal's to his right. The building had a bright holographic display of Rose, a rather famous Zeltron that worked in the establishment, dancing to music that was echoed from inside. Two massive Wookies stood on either side of the entrance, preventing the undesirables from gaining admission.

"Wanto" Kal said, the mouthpiece in his helm giving the sound a raspy, gravelly quality.

The two wookies simply nodded and stood aside to let Kal through into the establishment.

Inside, the smell of a thousand spices was the first to greet him, followed by the music of the cantina band playing a jazzy and sensual tune. Patrons were attended by all manners of creatures, and a lucky and wealthy few were escorted to more private rooms upstairs. Kal had one such room reserved for his business dealings, yet proceeded up to the bar first, the symbol of his clan on the chest plate of his armor catching the eyes of the Bith working there before Kal's visor screen.

"How can I be of service to you?" The Bith asked, cleaning a glass.

"Novanian grog should do for now." Kal said, passing a few credits to the bartender in the process. He removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm, revealing his youthful yet shaggy appearance, green eyes staring out from a heavy brow, his mess of black hair and stubble framing the rest of his face. He drank from his glass and scanned the room, waiting to see who would show up.

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

When the Emerald Lady drops a hot job on your lap you don't exactly look the other way. That didn't mean he had to be happy about it. No sir. The last time he had to work with bloody Mandalorians the whole operation had gone tits up and left more than a few chums geeked in the streets. A promise had been made that day, while huddled and bleeding in a storm drain that he would never again work for or with those armored drek piles ever again. It took a lot of convincing from the Emerald Lady to get him to accept this job, and he was going into it expecting it all to fall to pieces again, and if it did he was going to be ready for it this time.

Goddamn that Lizard. How was she always getting him into scrapes like this?

The Red Light District was an old friend to a Nar Shaddaa native like Ryloth. The short, stout mutant pushed his way through the grimy streets like he always did; with is hands in the pockets of his coat. The neon lights and flashing adverts reflected off his dark shades and exposed cyberware. Datajack terminals built directly into his skull, a short protruding wire that ran from the side of his head to his temple beside an eye that had a red iris. Even a small antennae stuck out through his meticulously groomed hair. Style was just as important as skill here in the streets of Nar Shaddaa. You had to look the part, especially when you have megacorps looming over your head and criminal syndicates hiding in every shadow.

"Halfer!"

Someone called an insult from the safety of the crowded street. Ryloth paid him no mind, but the drone hovering over his head turned to look for the person. Facial recognition software was run and the most likely culprit, the one with the ugly face and hateful look, was recorded for later. Pivoting back on it's repulsor the drone returned to it's place above it's controller. Just ahead loomed Mal's, a staple of the community and a familiar haunt for the likes of Ryloth and his kind.

"Hoi Chokra. Bargarot. How's the skin tonight. That good? Roquanda in tonight? Yer know I love that bug face."

The Wookiee bouncers roared and grunted back their replies as Ryloth passed them on his way through the door. Once inside he didn't slow his roll as he approached the bar. Getting up on the barstool was a bit of work for his small body but eventually he made it, his head and shoulders barely coming above the bar itself. The Bartender finished serving a patron before coming over. "Hoi Narglic. Nah. I'm here on business. Of course I want the usual. Send Roquanda over too. I've got a few minutes before my meeting. Haha. Very funny. Look at me. I've got lots of stamina. Roquanda would lose credits if I booked 'er for the night."

[Sianna]

A shorted light blinked off and on as the snowy haired Echani glared at the Rodian, now cowering beside his fallen companion. Two would-be thieves having jumped the Sith Master as she chose a shortcut instead of one of the main avenues. Shimmering on the blade's edge of the knife in her hand, the luma cast a sinister shadow on her pale face. "Looking for Mal's, know where it is," she inquired, her calm tone steady.

Pointing, the Rodian male motioned with his black orbs toward her left, beyond steaming trash reclamators and piled trash forgotten by many of the cleaning droids here on Nar Shaddaa. "On the far side of the bazaar," he informed, tension in the air.

Nodding, she crouched, keeping the knife in her left hand. "Need to really think about who you choose to rob. Guess he put you up to this," pale, silvery eyes glanced to the fallen Rodian, his neck wound still gushing on the rust colored permacrete.

"Just a mistake," he stuttered. "Really. Take the knife and anything else you wish."

"Didn't need your permission, but thanks." Staring at the alien for another long minute, she pushed herself up and turned to leave him alone. Feeling his aura begin to ease, thinking he had escaped certain doom, Sianna then focused some of her malice into his chest, gripping his heart and squeezed. Feeling his shock, then pain as his heart stopped, his panic and quick lapse from consciousness gave her a wash of euphoria that hadn't been felt in a long time. Taking a deep breath as she hid the new blade under her robe, she calmed and exited into the brightly lit avenue full of aliens and humans alike. Touring the edge of the large plaza, music playing from a group gathered at the steps of the immense golden statue of a Hutt, Sianna in chocolate brown robes continued past them, making her way now toward the pair of large Wookiee guarding the entrance to the club.

Gaining their attention as she approached, the slender female slowed. "Wanto," she stated, using the advertised code word which would keep her from paying anything at the door. Stepping to the side, they allowed the priestess to enter. Continuing on, the Sith Alchemist evaluated everyone she passed, dismissing most until reaching the long bar commanding the back wall. Claiming a stool, she slid into the padded seat as a Twi'lek female approached.

"What can I get ya, hun?"

"Bespin Port," Sianna replied, then turned her attention to the host of gaming tables and central dance floor, alive with partiers and gamblers alike.

[Mace Riko]

It was good to be back in a place like this.

Not that Mace Riko had any particular fondness for Nar Shaddaa, of course. Back when the Bounty Hunters' Guild had reformed, they'd stayed on the Smuggler's Moon out of a mix of habit and necessity, but Riko had never really seen the appeal. It was the absence of law and the deficit of morals that did it, he supposed; but while that may have appealed to many of his ilk, Mace Riko was not that sort of mercenary. He was a business man, and a family man. This was work, and he failed to see the appeal of dodging bar fights in cantinas where your boots stuck to the floor, and where the women were just as dubious and grimy as the seats.

That had changed in the last year, of course. The Guild was on Mandalore now, and Amaros Koine's absentee approach to clan leadership had Riko rubbing shoulders with the kriffing High Council, and even Mand'alor himself. He had a familiar name to go along with his familiar face, and while it was nice at times to be able to walk into a bar and watch the fights and scuffles grind to a halt, knowing the kind of trouble that people got into when the Guild or the Council heard tell of people breaking the fragile agreements to respect Sundari's laws, it could be tiring to be so constantly noticed. At least here at Mal's, shrouded in the murky atmosphere that smelled of stale beer and stale sweat, he had the chance to be just another nobody.

"You sure I don't know you from somewhere?" the barmaid asked, in a thick and trashy lower-levels accent, squinting at Riko's weathered features as an unlikely to be clean rag wiped away at the innards of a greasy glass. "Could a' sworn we've crossed paths before, you and I."

The blanket of obscurity momentarily dislodged, Riko fought the urge to sigh.

"Nah," he replied, hoisting his glass of whiskey from the bar; a few minutes of practice had allowed him to figure out how to do so without the dampened fibrecard mat coming along for the right. "I've just got one of those faces."

[Kal Doran]

"Well now, I did not expect to see you here again quite so soon."

The sultry voice was unmistakable. Damn that woman! How did she *always* manage to get the drop on him?

"Mal, one of these days, we are going to share a bottle of Royal Red and you are going to tell me why you left the Exchange to work for Biro."

Mal gave him a polite laugh. "Some things are best left buried, my littleanoon." Kal wasn't about to push her. While she may look like a glamorous Madame in her black shimmersilk dress, he knew of her proclivities for bodily dismemberment with her lightwhip. "So, what are you here for? Business, or pleasure?"

"You don't have to pretend that you don't already know of my business dealings," Kal said, reaffixing his helmet, "I was under the impression that you already had dug up all the information you had on the people I would be meeting with."

"You wound me, my little anoon!" Mal exclaimed in mock surprise while handing over the datapad, "Surely I expected that my good friend was bringing me to see The Sisters Three after promising me over a thousand moons ago."

"I swear, Mal, one of these days we will. When neither of us are busy." Kal skimmed the datapad that contained brief descriptions of the people he was meeting with. He didn't know how many strings Biro had to pull to put a group this eclectic and skilled together, but he was glad to be on the slug's good side.

"A few of them have already walked in a bit early. I will send them up to your room when it is time." She placed a small kiss on the side of his helm where his cheek would be and sashayed over to a private booth that was occupied by some Corellian diplomat that was flanked on either side by some of the women that worked in the establishment.

Kal passed a few credits to the barkeep and made his way through the increasingly thickening crowds, politely declining offers of companionship as he made way to the room upstairs, hoping to scope it out and search for bugs before the rest of the crew got there.

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

One was simply not enough, and if he was going to do two he might as well do three. The shots were downed as fast as Narglic could pour them. The cinnamon and Korsk venom liquor left his lips numb and his stomach warm. A few more would leave him in a blissful stupor if he let it get the best of him. Waving off the offer of another refill the stout slicer slid a cred chit across the counter. The bar tender gave it a hard look, flipping it over several times before producing a datapad and running the chit to check it. It passed, naturally, and Ryloth was not insulted for even a moment by the distrust. When you have a reputation like he did, it was not uncommon for people to expect phoney chits, or worse. He still was not allowed back at Braxxar's after he filled their system with malware hidden on a chit.

As a joke, of course.

A familiar wheezy voice caught his attention, and he turned in his seat to face a sultry green figure picking her way through the room. "There's my favorite Rodian Lass. Sorry, I don't have more time fer you tonight, Roquanda. I'm here on business today. We'll spend some time when I get back." With one stubby finger he caressed the side of her scaly face, running it down the side of her snout, while his other hand went on a journey of it's own down her side to her volumptous hind quarters, which received a squeeze and a playing smack.

Plopping from his seat he blew his green love a kiss before disappearing into the crowd; his view becoming obscured by a sea of torsos, groins, and ass. One particularly boisterous individual received a loving tap to the boys as the dwarf pushed past him. At the end of his great journey was the stairs upstairs. The path was familiar to him, and it took a bit of thought to not auto pilot straight to Roquanda's usual room. Instead he pulled a dirty flimsi out of his pocket and double checked the room number before knocking on the indicated door. Just above his head the drone hovered, slowly spinning in a circle checking for anything dangerous or out of the ordinary. A native Nar Shaddaaian, Ryloth knew he was never safe. Not even in a familiar place like Mal's.

[Kal Doran]

The paneling on the walls came off easily enough, though Kal was disappointed. He spotted no less than five different listening and recording devices, all tucked away into the insulation in the walls.

"Is Mal going soft on me?" pondered Kal after he had collected the devices and shut them off. The brilliant part of Mal's spying rigs was that they were so rudimentary. They were all low-tech, with very little wiring and power output. Most security droids would never even register them on even the most scrutinous scan. And whenever those failed, there were always Mal's employees that could relay the information back.

Kal settled down into a chair, removing his helmet and placing it on the table in front of him. He then proceeded to remove the twin disruptor pistols from their holster and placed them on the table. He ever so carefully began to take the pistols apart to clean them. Out of his entire arsenal, these were his favorite. They were difficult to come by, and he often had to stow them away on his ship since they were illegal to possess in most systems, but on the rare occasion he got to use them, well, let's just say there are a few corpses scattered around the galaxy with sucking chest wounds that someone could stick their entire head through.

Just then, Kal heard a knock at the door. He shifted his gaze up to the viewscreen that hung right above the door, and saw what looked to be a short, yet stout man on the other side. The man had several cybernetic implants that were plain to see, as well as what appeared to be some sort of drone hovering over him. It was the slicer, Ryloth, though Kal checked his datapad for visual confirmation. Just to be sure.

"It's open," Kal said, "You're the first to arrive. Hope getting here wasn't too much of a hassle."

[Sianna]

Sipping on her wine, Sianna instinctively toured the mental status of those around her, though not disappointed at the lack of interesting surface thoughts. Knowing better, the priestess soon cut off her concentration and allowed her eyes to guide her interest. It wasn't long before a shapely female in black meandered through the crowd and headed toward her. Had she been into enslavement, this one would've made an exceptional catch, but the Echani had her fill of such things long ago. Knowledge was her passion, not temporary delights like this madame.

Smiling, the woman's right hand rested on the back of her stool. "Evening," the silky tone matched the rest of her. "He's waiting upstairs when you're ready. Suite fourteen." Winking, the woman turned and quickly melted into the crowd once more.

Nodding, silver eyes followed her momentarily, then returned to the waitress coursing from one patron to the next, keeping all their orders straight in her head. Practise makes perfect, she mused. Finishing off the last of her wine, Sianna placed the now empty flute on the counter, pushed herself from the bar and filtered into the foot traffic. Passing gambling tables full of suckers and their entourage, Sianna grinned knowing how easy it would be to manipulate the other players if she had the inclination, but money was also not on her list of treasures sought after.

She had a bigger prize in mind.

[Mace Riko]

Mace's vantage point gave him an opportunity to watch the comings and goings of the bar. He hated this part of the job, the needless complexity of having to assemble in secret, all that cloak and dagger inefficiency that made his Republic Commando bones crawl; so he watched people, not quite as a distraction, but certainly as something to occupy and engage his thoughts. It was reconnaissance, he supposed, fighting the smallest tug of a smile at the irony. That role, that specialism during his training, had been what earned him the name Riko in the first place.

A curtain of solemness descended over him, as his thoughts turned to the squad that had gifted him that name, the brothers he'd fought beside, the brave men who'd existed only for duty and honour; all gone now, more or less, and those with the memory and inclination to remember them were rapidly approaching the same level of extinction. His eyes settled on the glass in his hands, a fleeting notion of raising a toast crossing his mind; but there wasn't enough booze in the Sector, let alone left in his glass, to salute that many dead clones.

"Your contact is waiting in -"

"Yeah," Mace cut her off, barely even shifting his attention to the woman as she approached. Just because his eyes were elsewhere didn't mean he wasn't paying attention: Riko was always watching, like some switch he could never quite flip off. A sniff crinkled his nose, and a hand brought the whiskey to his lips, draining the last of it and setting the glass back on the counter. "Suite Fourteen."

He remained quiet for a moment, watching to see if anyone else was provided with the same secret summons. He'd seen the Mandalorian when he'd entered, of course - but then beskar had a tendency to make a man hard to miss - the short guy with the tech, and the woman with her eye on the gambling tables. A lot of eyes, and a lot of people who seemed inclined and equipped to use them. Interesting. Quite the interesting picture it painted of what it was they were all here to do. Looking and finding, it seemed; and likely somewhere they shouldn't be. That certainly narrowed things down, especially since they were here in Hutt Space, so far from the new borders of the Empire. Something in Alliance territory then, perhaps, or something abandoned by the Empire that the Hutts hadn't yet claimed as their own - or perhaps had.

Riko rose from his seat, and reached under the edge of his armour, pulling out a pair of credit chits; one for his drink, and one extra. "See the kid over there in the blue?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in the right direction. "Send him a refill for his fire water, and let him know the Rodian and the Bothan two tables over have been eyeing him up all night. He might want to sober up a little first, and watch his back before he heads home."

And with that, he plotted a different course through the tangle of furniture than any of his soon-to-be compatriots had followed, and set off for Suite 14.

[Kal Doran]

The rest of the crew assembled in the room, arranging themselves around the large center table that took up a good portion of the room. Kal was apprehensive around these people. He had no reason to believe those assembled would cut him down. Biro wasn't that cutthroat to execute him without prior notice. He was the kind of Hutt that wanted you to know who was coming after you. Yet Kal, just like anyone with common-sense and combat-reflexes, had a knack for knowing in a vague sense who he was dealing with.

The Slicer, Ryloth, was from a people Kal had never met, though he had the impression that he was certainly not representative of his people as a whole. The data jacks, the cybernetics, they covered his body. He walked with a sense of purpose, a sort of confidence that bordered on arrogance. It was very-likely well deserved for someone of his talents. The information available about what exact work he did was sparse, but from his exorbitant price he charged, Kal could extrapolate enough info.

The clone was instantly recognizable. Kal had seen a few on Mandalore. And despite the age and the scars, the face was unmistakable. From the few clone mercs he had met, there was always a sense of pride and honor. They were some of the most voracious warriors and strategizers in the entire galaxy and were a damn loyal friend if you could get past that thick armor. This particular clone, Mace, came highly recommended. He was a bounty hunter and one in high-standing from the way Kal understood it. Kal had another need for him on this job, but he would hold that close to his chest until they had a moment of privacy.

The Echani woman, Sianna, was a well-respected antiquarian and historian. There were all sorts of academic research that she had made leaps and bounds in. The only problem was that there was little information on anything else about her. A suspicious lack of information, in fact. Kal couldn't put any words to it, but he sensed... something off about her. Whoever or whatever she was, she was more capable than she let on. Kal wouldn't have it any other way.

Kal rose from the table, holstering his reassembled pistols and setting down his helmet in front of him. When addressing someone new or someone respected, it was customary for a Mandalorian to remove his helmet and see eye to eye with someone. It showed honesty, as one should know who one is dealing with. It was only fair.

"I'm glad all of you managed to find your way here. For those of you who don't know, I am Kal Doran, of Clan Doran. We are gathered here because we are the best at what we do. I wouldn't have it any other way. What we plan to do is something that countless others have failed to do, and have often died in the attempt."

Kal paused, setting the ancient datapad in the center of the table, linking it to the holoprojector, showing the unencrypted contents of the ancient correspondence.

"There is a folk story among Mandalorians. During the Mandalorian Wars, Mandalore the Ultimate was looking to develop a new weapon, a cloaking device that could hide an entire ship. Not just from visual detection, but could also confuse radar and electromagnetic scans. A device like this would have been instrumental in the defeat of the Republic. The story goes that Mandalore set up a bunker somewhere, staffed with the best scientists of the time, with a large cache of stygium crystals to experiment with. The location of this bunker was known only to Mandalore himself and was lost with him after his defeat on Malachor V. Many scholars have long debated the existence of this bunker, yet they all lacked concrete evidence. That is, until now. I found this datapad on a salvage mission from an ancient Mandalorian outpost. You can read it for yourselves, but the gist of it is that the scientists, the mission, and the stygium were all very much real. The exact coordinates, however, are heavily encrypted within this datapad. It's ancient code, something that no common slicer would have any knowledge of."

Kal looked around the room, trying to gauge everyone's reaction.

"If it sounds crazy, it's because it is. Wherever this place is, it's heavily guarded, and most likely trapped. Since it has yet to be uncovered, that means that it must be somewhere entirely remote or somewhere so dangerous, that anyone looking would be in for some serious trouble. All of you are here because you represent the best of us. If anyone has any chance of reclaiming the stygium inside, it's going to be us."

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

"No hassle at all, Chummer. I live just done the street."

Hiding his discomfort at being alone in a room with on of one of those drek sucking Mandalorians, Ryloth worked his way around the table a took a seat, using the motion of pulling the chair out to pat his coat, looking for the reassuring resistance of his EE-3 Blaster. Satisfied that he had the means of defending himself should the need arise, he climbed into the chair. Through his cybernetic eye and closed wireless connection to the drone he kept an eye on the Mandalorian while his last remaining real eye watched the door. It was not long before the rest of the team filtered in; an ugly man and a eerie woman. Both humans. Great.

Ryloth knew what this was. He had personally put together teams like this; ragtag and scrappy. Individuals with an eccentric skill or unique combat proficiency. It was a wild card strategy. Throw enough weirdos into a team and hopefully between the lot of them they can cover any need and overcome any obstacle. When it works it works well, but when it doesn't is when you find yourself trapped inside a Hutt's treasure vault with no way of escape because the guy you brought to handle the automatic lockdown wasn't quite so truthful about his familiarity with the system in question. It's fine, so long as you know that you can end up in the drek at any moment. That means taking precautions, like planting a worm in the guy's deck so that you still had access to the system after it locked down so you cam still override the door lock.

This is the kind of team built on luck, not trust.

His drone passed over each face in the group one and a time and checked it against a holonet database. Nothing substantial came up. That left Ryloth a little worried. Everyone should have some kind of trace, some kind of story. Either they were spooky ghost people or had taken the time intensive route of scrubbing their identities from the 'net, one entry at a time, like Ryloth had.

Settling into the briefing it was the typical story of dreams and legends. He'd heard this kind of drek a hundred times, and knew in his stone heart that most of the time they lead to nothing but empty hands and hot tempers. He had half a mind to push back his chair and leave, but then he said that magical word. Stygium. Immediately Ryloth's attention returned, only to be rewarded by another magical word. Encryption. That meant secret codes and/or overcoming digital security. That meant a challenge. That meant that even at it's worst at least he would have the personal satisfaction of cracking this encryption wide open, and at best he would have stygium crystals. That meant serious credits. Styguim was very rare and very valuable.

Word on the street was that snake Sheegoth was buying stygium at well above the black market value.

"You had me at Stygium, lad. Let's get them coordinates already." Reaching to his belt he pulled his own datapad off the clip it hung from. It was quite a bit larger than a usual datapad, sporting almost as many modifications as it's owner. This was his deck, a device used for slicing and other functions. Many slicers had their own personal decks, no two the same, although some idiots just used stock models bought off the darknet. Amateurs.

[Mace Riko]

In response to an impulse that had long ago evolved from habit into instinctive reflex, Riko declined the opportunity to sit, instead gravitating towards a strategically convenient standing position a little closer to the door. Partly it was defensive, positioning him to react should anyone try to join them in the room uninvited. Partly it was an exit strategy, in case anyone was foolish enough to turn on their compatriots. Partly it was an obvious ambush, ready to intercept and reeducate anyone who thought that walking out of the room prematurely with knowledge of the private matters discussed was an option available to them.

The clone mused quietly as Doran explained the context for their gathering and mission. Mandalore the Ultimate. Malachor V. Those were old names, from old stories, ones that might have sounded as fictional to many Mandalorians as the old myths of Mandalore's discarded gods. The years since those days numbered in the thousands, the galaxy, the Republic, and Mandalore herself demolished and rebuilt many times over in the time between. From what Riko remembered from the stories Sergeant Koine - once his instructor on Kamino, now the aliit'alor of the clan Riko was sworn to - had conveyed during training, Mandalore the Ultimate, Te Ani'la Mand'alor in their native tongue, had been the last of the ancient Tuang leaders of the Mandalorian people. Like many a Mand'alor before and since, he attempted to launch a crusade of conquest against the Galactic Republic, and in doing so played a hand in creating one of the most revered and reviled figures of Republic history, the villain and hero known as Revan - at whose hands he ultimately fell. He was a controvertial figure, one praised for his intentions but criticised for his execution and eventual failure. Perhaps he had invited such criticism upon himself by claiming the title Ultimate; or perhaps it was poetic, a fitting name for what would prove to be the last of his kind.

Talk of stygium and secret technologies largely rolled off Riko's mind without much interest. He filed away the details for later, of course, on the off chance that such knowledge might prove of some use, but for the most part he had little interest in what it was they needed to find. The prize was unimportant, and there were others within their group that seemed predisposed to understand such things far better than Riko was. If this mission's success ever hinged upon Riko's ability to comprehend the technology to make something functionally invisible, they would be in trouble: as long as technology did what it was supposed to, and as long as Riko knew enough to succeed in the search, Riko had little additional interest. Perhaps he was a luddite, an allegation his daughter made with quite some frequency. Perhaps he was just wired that way, born and bred for a specific purpose, with the understanding that he was merely a piece in a puzzle, designed to slot together with the corresponding skill sets of others. Or perhaps he was just stubborn: that had always been his wife's opinion on the matter, and without her, perhaps he was too stubborn to deviate from her expectations as well.

"The Ultimate was the sort of leader who liked to get around," Riko commented, a gross oversimplification of the Mand'alor and his far-reaching crusades. "Cathar to Malachor is a big swathe of space, and a lot of his old haunts aren't exactly friendly. Are you sure only having -"

He hesitated for a moment, briefly pausing to appraise his new associates. A Mandalorian was a Mandalorian, and while Kal Doran wasn't a name that felt particularly familiar - he couldn't even recall a Clan Doran being represented on the High Council - for the most part a Mandalorian was a known quantity; the honourable ones, at least. The vertically-challenged slicer seemed to wear his capabilities in plain view, and Riko both respected the honesty of that and felt distrustful of all the questions it raised in his mind; the woman meanwhile was a little more of an enigma, which was a frustration Riko didn't feel inclined to dwell on.

"- three and a half of us isn't a little too conservative?"

[Sianna]

Silver orbs took in the group as they sat there, then ignored them as their host began his presentation. An ancient bunker on an ancient moon, she grinned. Things were already looking up. Onderon had a long, colorful history with the Jedi and Sith alike and no doubt many treasures had been forgotten on the moon of Dxun. She knew at least one Sith lord that had been buried there, visited by Exar Kun some generations later. Pale hands clasped before her equally pale chin as she studied the encrypted symbols hovering before them on the table's central holoprojector. Mandalorian not being one of her specialties, she knew there were other ways to discover what was hidden in this text.

Dxun was a large moon and very dangerous for those that couldn't protect themselves and Sianna knew that at least one of these men were going to be a main course for one of the predators there.

Glancing to the rougher member to her left, she grinned at his reference to the smaller, dark haired man being a "half". She could see an easy avenue to manipulating these guys already as they provided the fuel before this venture even left Nar Shaddaa. Mercenaries, more than likely, she mused.

[Kal Doran]

Kal slid the datapad to Ryloth, noting his enthusiasm to crack the thing open. Kal counted on this exact scenario. Dangle enough lures in front and they would come running. You couldn't count on credits to buy you inspiration or loyalty, Kal knew that firsthand. And not many in the galaxy still followed any code but their own personal one, so that couldn't be relied upon either. But appealing to ego, to promises of adventure, glory, that was usually enough for even the most hardened, cynical folk to come aboard. Time on this mortal coil was temporary, more so for people like Kal who often put themselves directly in the line of fire. All that is left of you when you are gone is the legacy you leave behind. Kal was the last of his clan, and he had no one to pass on the name to, so all that he had left was his legacy. And he would make his mark on the galaxy.

"Take all the time you need. No sense in burning the circuits."

Kal turned to the clone, glossing over the slight to the slicer. "I understand your concerns, but we need to leave as small a footprint as possible. A bigger crew means more attention from Alliance, Imperials, and any fraggin sleazeball with a blaster and little sense. Stygium is difficult to move as it is, better not let anyone else know about it until we actually have hands on it."

The Echani was being quiet, deliberately so if Kal was reading her right. "What's your take? You up for the challenge?"

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

"You shouldn't say that about the lady, chummer. She looks to be worth as much as you and me."

Rough, calloused hands took the old datapad with all the reverence normally bestowed to passing a newborn. Setting it down on the table he began to look it over, turning it this way and that, checking the backside, sides, and even the top and bottom; noting the existence of panels and ports that may proof useful.

"This thing be older than the Emperor's Black Bones. Tis a beaut. Ever consider sellin' it when this is all over?"

Satisfied with his examination he gingerly popped open the auxiliary slot cover to reveal... an input slot that very much differed from the standard connector on his deck. That was to be expected with tech this old. Innovations in hardware had pushed modern tech far beyond the use of a plug like this. Thankfully, he had come prepared. A drawn out exploration of his pockets eventually uncovered a satin drawstring bag, and from it's contents he poured several connector adapters on the floor. Some new and shiny, others quite dull and stained with age. One by one they were compared to the auxiliary slot until finally one finally slid into place. The wired cord from the deck was slipped into the adapter and a connection established.

"What luck. Would have been real awkward if'n I had to take the whole thing apart."

Studying both screens together he began a transfer of the coordinates from the heavily outdated, and quite frankly lucky to even be functioning datapad, to his deck. Unfortunately the upload speed was incredibly slow due to the old hardware and two operating systems never designed to connect with each other. It was going to be a wild ride just to get the data in one piece much less keep either system from crashing or throwing up an error.

[Sianna]

The query was met with a casual glance, the Echani priestess grinned and lowered her hands to the polished wooden table. "How many others have you told about this besides us," her silky, quiet voice contrasting with the others in this room. "Are there any other precautions that we have to make to transport this?"

Unfortunately, her study of metals was limited to only those needed for lightsaber construction, so having any insights to stygium was very limited to what she was being told here and now. Hating to be caught unawares like this, she kept her passive demeanor as the dwarf then began making noise with his collection of electrical contacts and silver orbs then carefully watching him as he went to work. So, not all of them would be totally useless, she mused.

[Mace Riko]

Rummaging back through four decades of memories, Riko hesistated before speaking of what his recollection found. Back in his Republic Commando days, it was easy to know whether to speak up or not; but the galaxy had changed a lot since then, and so had Riko, as had his place within it. Fatherhood had taught him that at times a whole truth could be too much truth; and his work as a mercenary and with the Bounty Hunters Guild had taught him that sometimes you needed to be careful about who you entrusted those truths to.

There was more to be considered, too: those who recognised his face would see him as a mere clone trooper, and those who did not would dismiss him as a mere Mandalorian. There was value to both of those perceptions, a strategic anonymity to being underestimated that he would sacrifice if he said anything. In the Grand Army of the Republic, one's abilities and capabilities were a point of pride; but in the real world it was more complicated, and for every skill that could be leveraged for a higher fee from your employers, there was a corresponding increase in the chance that you might be seen as a threat, or might draw the wrong sort of attention. Perhaps Kal Doran could be trusted, at least as far as the Resol'nare and the Supercommando Codex stipulated, but these other two? Unknown quantities, and the consequences of this acquaintance were as yet unforeseen.

But the more milliseconds that passed, the stronger Riko's old ingrained mentalities became. Perhaps if he had been bred and trained to be a Commander, he might have been programmed with the kind of mind that comprehended witholding sensitive information; but Riko was a Captain at best, and he knew that missions where information was withheld from the operators seldom ended well.

"I''m no crystallologist," he qualified, taking an extra step towards the table, "But I did come across a little stygium once or twice during my days with the Republic. From what I understand, under the right circumstances stygium will suck up energy like a black hole. Electromagnetic, active sensors, Force knows what else; it all gets drawn in, leaving a dark void behind. On the upside, that likely means we won't need to take any radiation precautions; but I don't have a damned clue where all that energy goes, and I wouldn't be keen on finding out what happens if we go dropping one."

He sniffed, nose wrinkling a little as his thoughts inadvertantly danced close to a sensitive subject. "It may not be a simple matter of walking in there and stuffing them into our pockets, either. I've heard stories of entire islands and asteroids made of this stuff; and the bigger the object you want to hide, the more stygium you're going to need. If Mand'alor planned on making the odd war droid or starfighter invisible, we might be in luck, but if he planned on cloaking something as big as a Kandosii dreadnaught - or worse, if we're looking at some sort of uncut and unrefined raw crystal - we might have a bit of a logistical issue on our hands."

Riko fought to conceal his inner frustration at not being able to offer his own craft for this task. Not that the Celeres would have been much use in a situation like this, if the crystals in question proved to be sizeable, but the old Nu shuttle was doubly useless languishing in the Hutt-controlled impound yard where she had found herself. It was a long story that had culminated with an incredibly stern conversation with one of his children; and one he was still waiting on his offspring to clone up and resolve for themselves.

"What kind of transport do we have available? Do you have a ship with enough cargo space to haul away what we're looking for?"

[Kal Doran]

Kal sat in his seat, regarding the motley crew that surrounded him before turning to Ryloth.

"Not for sale, unfortunately. Old piece of Mando tech like that? That goes in my personal collection when this is all over."

Kal watched the mess of adapters tumble out of the drawstring bag, Ryloth appraising each one until the correct one slid into the datapad. This was the most tenuous part of the mission, though Kal was successful in pushing that feeling down to keep his head straight. If that datapad burst or was corrupted or simply was unreadable, then all of this would be for nothing. At this point, there wouldn't even be anything to salvage. Kal turned to the two others who raised their own concerns.

"Remember the slug who got into contact with you all? He is the only one besides us who knows anything about this op. As for the transport, my ship, the Gentle Persuasion, has roughly 100 metric tons of cargo capacity, plenty of space too. The ship is equipped with all kinds of armaments and security measures that are more than sufficient to take care of whatever trouble, if any, we might run into."

Dual light turbolasers, a dual ion cannon turret beneath the cockpit, two triple blasters mounted on the ship's stubby wings, four concussion missile launchers split between the bow and the stern, as well as the seismic charge launcher disguised as a garbage chute decorated Kal's most prized possession. He had taken on entire squadrons of ships and come out on top, though it wasn't Kal's preferred mode of operation. Better to deal in words than in blasters, even if the galaxy at large didn't give him much choice in the matter. The armor, the weapons, the ship: they all protected Kal but also pointed a huge target on his back. Kal wouldn't have it any other way.

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

The process was taking forever. Ryloth wished in his stony heart that he could take this back to his workshop and plug it into his full rig. It had way more computing power and could brute force the exchange at a quicker rate; although that also ran the risk of ruining the old datapad. Still, there was more to do, more to distract the group, than there was here. This could take awhile and sooner or later the team was going to run out of things to talk about, which usually left room to discover the things that can drive them apart. Old racial tensions, blood feuds, and grammatical disputes can all coalesce into a frightful mess.

If things went tits up like that at least he had confidence that he could hold his own against the Mandalorian and the grumpy bald guy. The lady on the other hand was quiet and creepy. Who know what her game was. She'd be the last one that he wanted to deal with.

"Information is a currency these days. 's what I do. Steal information. You can betcha chrome bits, chummer, that the Hutts or the Emerald Lady know more than you think. They've got it all packaged nicely sittin' on a shelf, waiting for that very specific customer to come 'long lookin' for it; or force forbid a corporation. Nobody or everybody could come gunnin' for us. S'happened to me before. You gotta always be watchin' your back on a run like this. Damn. The download failed."

The urge to thump his head against the tabletop went unfulfilled as he maintained a professional demeanor. When it came to electronics, and their security, you had two options; brute force the damn thing until it relents or keep changing your tactics, keep it on it's heels, and find a chink in the armor. Obviously the first option was not even that, an option. Brute force would destroy this ancient tech. Well, maybe. It was probably stronger than it looked. Old tech was like that. This was a rough galaxy and things used to be a lot rougher in those old days of colonization and war. This thing could probably survive a bantha stepping on it, but the software was much less flexible. It did not help that the whole thing was in Mandalorian text, making it harder for him to navigate the menus.

Thankfully he had wormed his way in enough to make alterations to the operating system from his deck. The back and forth continued as he applied legacy patches and updates, meticulously pieced together by some nerd with too much time and uploaded to the 'net. The holonet was a wealth of information, but there wasn't a lot of time to trudge through every old tech message board looking for information. This particular model was unheard of, but there were very similar models in production a thousand years ago and some had gotten their hands on them and mapped their experience cracking and breaking the systems into something usable.

Usually to put some retro game on it or use it to power a holonet server for kicks. Kids these days. No imagination. Just chasing those imaginary holonet points and likes.

A new transfer was established. Hopefully all the changes would make it successful this time.

"I know a guy who makes really good protective containers. You know, for moving delicates. Plastifoam and shock absorbers. Very safe. Problem is not knowin' how many crystals, if any, we will be finding when we get there. Wherever there is."

[Sianna]

Listening to the probable intelligence on the ore made Sianna wonder how in the world such a thing could be contained, though it was possible apparently since it happened naturally in the galaxy. But, to turn it into something usable by an engineer for a weapon or vessel didn't make sense to her. More needed to be revealed about what they were getting themselves in to. She turned her attention back to the one leading this expedition and was pleased that they at least had a ship and weren't hiring one. Though she wasn't surprised that they're benefactor had that much covered. However, if he tried to stab them in the back he would be in for a rude awakening.

"Too many variables still unknown, so going to have to make the rest up as we go, apparently." Cold, silvery eyes glanced between them as she straightened. "So, when do we leave?"