Let's Go To War

[Svenskeren]

LEVEL 110 - YESTERDAY.



Two figures plotted along together through the dimly lit corridors and open walkways, around protruding pipes and clusters of Ugnaughts.

"Get ta the numbers, Osha. I ain't got no time to listen to ya wag ya gob."

"Yessir. Our profits are up sixteen percent over last year."

"And just how much 'o that is Bliss alone?"

"All of it. In fact, we are under performing in most of our other sectors."

"That's bloody unacceptable. We can't 'xactly let Bliss run this whole thing. We gotta get production up, through any means necessary."

"Like a team building exercise to boost morale?"

"You havin' a laugh, Osha? Nah. I mean by cutting loose the shifty buggers and banging on with the right folks. Gotta build the business. It can't always be laughs or cutting off fingers. See if'n we can't entice Captain Ravenwing to ply us her services. Good smugglers are a rare breed these days. Fewer still are willin' to do anything for that profit. Tenloss got a stink to it that I can't shake."

The two continued their path. One was a bald headed human with a face that could only be described as "Soft" or "Simple". He tip tapped on a datapad as they walked, scrolling through walls of data that mapped the quarter report for Galindas Exports. At his ankles, the companies regional manager Svenskeren took short, slow steps that forced his human companion to walk incredibly slow in order to keep pace. Several yards back a pair of gruff looking men slowly followed them. The kind that wore nice suits and kept a hand slipped inside their coat. Level 110 might be a maintenance sector but Cloud City was still a dangerous place.

"We's gotta find new partners. Expand if we needs to, koovy? You got any bright ideas in that shiny dome of yours?"

Stopping suddenly to ponder the question, Sven almost ran into the big dummy. There was a lot of grumbling coming from the big pink brick shithouse as he mulled over the question like he thought himself a prophet. Sven, on the other hand, hated sitting idly and paced about, circling his assistant completely and coming around the other end. Gesturing with exasperation and open arms at the guy, he turned back to Butch and Slim for a laugh, and instead all he saw was an empty space that should have held them.

"Wat..."

A jingle of chains from the catwalk above caught his attention, his ears twitching at the sound before turning his golden eyes upwards and peering into the shadows. The amber lights barely lit a damn thing, but he could just make out the shape of a man. No three. One of them had a long tube. Grabbing two fist fulls of Osha's tunic, he used every bit of strength his little body could must and pulled him a half turn toward him. The last thing he remembered was the look on the man's face before everything went white and painful.

[Svenskeren]

"Osha!"

Awareness suddenly came flooding back in with blinding certainty. In instinct he went to sit up, only to be pushed back down. His vision swam, trying to pick out shapes beneath the bright overhead light. He. Just. Could. Not. Focus. His. God. Damn. Eyes. He tried to sit up again, and once more was pushed back down. That was when he became aware of the pain. It was not readily available and selling for cheap, but rather it was hiding behind a wall whispering out offers from the shadows. Sven had spent more than a few nights high and knew this feeling well. He was drugged. Medicated against the pain. But why? He couldn't focus his mind. This all made no sense.

"Wher- Where is Osha?"

"He's gone, boss. Almost nothing left 'o the poor bastard. Gonna be close casket, you get me?"

The fog in his mind was beginning to thin and memories slithered out from the weeds. An attack. On him. Using Osha as a shield. His bodyguards missing in action. This voice... he recognized it.

"Blimey, what happened, Vikkar? Why can't I see worth shit?" He tried closing one eyes to focus the other, and when he tried the first he saw nothing but darkness. When he flipped the other, well, it felt like nothing was happening.

"Your lucky to be alive, and that's the truth. Don't even try it. Your eye is gone. Doctor had to remove it, on account of it being full of shrapnel. The rest of you is looking proper banged up. No. Stop tryin' to sit. You gonna hurt yourself more."

"Where are we?"

He tried to look around, to see if they were safe, if they were secure.

"We at St. Patricia's."

"Are you fucking mad? You brought me to a hospital? We've gotta move. Now!"

"Don't even fink about it. Can't trust the safehouse. Don't have the man power to guard it. It's just me, Doony, and that new kid; Tanner. Rest of the boys have gone dark. Hiding. At least here we have some security and nobody would go lookin' here for you. Not this high up. They be thinkin' your at the Hundo House, or worse; Chopper Block. It's nice up here. Got nice soaps in the fresher. The hot water ain't brown."

Things were spiraling out of control. He was beginning to feel even more small and powerless than usual. Everything was slipping right through his paws. His reputation was one the line now. No doubt a lot of people thought he was dead, and if he didn't bring down swift retribution it would make him look soft. Didn't matter if he was bed ridden. He needed to make waves, and fast. Sven was not going to lie here and wait for the next assassin to fail less.

"Come now then, who did it? Gotta know something."

"I don't know nuffin. See, they 'sploded you and then took off straight away. When we found you was underneath what was left of Osha. Nobody else around. Nobody even came looking to see what the bang was. Looks like they hit you with a rocket. That's some serious firepower, true nuff. Not many can get their hands on that kind of hardware. Could be Black Sun, could be the Ninety-niners. Could be station security finally putting you down. Not a clue, boss, but whoever it was really wanted you dead."

"Get Doony sniffin' around. Gotta be leads. Somewhere. I want a name. I'm gonna make them pay dearly for in what they did."

"Hell yeah, boss. Ain't nobody messin' with Tenloss and gettin' away with it."

"Fetch the doctor, if you please. I have places to be. People to kill."

[Svenskeren]

The days became a blur that Svenskeren could not tell apart anymore. The pain meds were playing fiddlydoo with his perception and the lack of windows made it all the harder to keep the days straight. It did give him a lot of time to think. Too much time to think. His mind kept playing back the last seconds before the blast. It kept replaying Vikkar's words. Not many can get their hands on that kind of hardware. Deep down, after what felt like days of reflection, he knew exactly who could get a rocket launcher on to Cloud City. It wasn't Black Sun, too flashy and dangerous for their ritzy operation here, and it definitely wasn't the Ninety-Niners, who had about as many connections as his missing eye. Tenloss could do it. Tenloss had smuggled in worse. It could only have been Tenloss.

The bastards!

"Vikkar. Call up the Exchange."

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed, but Sven did not even bother to open his one eye. He could feel the man staring at him from his bedside chair.

"What for?"

"I gots a sneakin' suspicion that it was our own boys that tried to krump me. We're the preemo smugglers in these parts, we coulda slipped in a rocket. I'm bettin' Butch 'n Slim knew it was coming or were part of it. Someone wanted me dead, and that means we can't trust any of the rotten bastards. The Exchange ain't worried about all that. They only care about info. They're about as neutral as gangs get on this saucer. Have the boys dig up as much scratch as they can. We gonna need credits if'n I try to make a deal wiff the 'change. Tell 'em I want to meet them at the Rondori Bathhouse."

"You been in bed awhile, true enough, but why the bathhouse?"

"Enough gobbin'. Make the call."

--- Later ---

Sven had not been alive a long time by the metrics of most other races, but in his short life he had heard many a story of rival gangs using bathhouses as neutral meeting places. No weapons, no murders. Bathhouses were places of discretion by their very nature. Gang meetings were hardly the worse activities happening in a bathhouse. The Rondori bathhouse was a few levels up and out of the way. It was not a known Tenloss hangout, or Black Sun, or any other major gang that would jump at the chance to gut the Regional Manager of the Tenloss Syndicate. It was not exactly a title he was brandishing now. The once badge of pride was now something to keep hidden away lest it get him gunned down in the streets.

This time of cycle there was not a lot of occupants yet. That would come after the work shifts started letting out and the broken and beaten corpo-slaves of Bespin came to find respite from the cruel world. So for the meantime he had no difficulty hobbling through the mostly empty place clad in nothing but a towel and still fresh wounds bandaged as best they could. Half his face was wrapped up and if not for the shot of painkillers he took before stripping down, he doubted he would even be able to walk due to the pain. He should have waited to rest, but there was simply no rest to be had while his attempted murderers still ran around out there, presumably stealing everything he had spent his entire life building.

Gods protect the man who touches his stinkstick.

An empty sauna would prove an adequate meeting place, as he took a seat in the airy heat. It felt good on the parts of his skin that were exposed, but it felt like hell filtering in through his fur. The squib shook his little head while he stared at the door. Part of him was expecting some ganger to pop through and finish him off.

Maybe he deserved that.