A Necessary Evil

[Zak Dymo]

He needed a jumper bypass.

The end of a hydrospanner tapped against an open palm, as amber colored eyes stared into the exposed innards of the swoop bike. Parts and tools littered the metal grating on which the blue-hued youth sat, the metal reflecting the harsh lighting of the cargo bay that had been re-purposed into a workshop. The racing speeder had performed exquisitely going into the race on Ravelin but swoops were delicate instruments of repulsorlift technology. Fine sands clogged the intakes, internal temperatures had superheated dust into carbon scoring, and something sounded as though it was loose inside of the turbothruster. A rock perhaps. Something loose out on the track that had bounced up into the engine during the race.

The hydrospanner tapped down into the blue meat of the boy’s palm, before the youth turned to peer down at the vehicle repair kit that was open on the floor beside him. Tossing the tool back into the kit, the Pantoran’s hand rummaged around inside of the soft casing for a moment before pulling out a tight-beam emitter. Cradling the gun-like instrument in both hands, the tween swoop jockey was careful to make a few refinements to the settings before he scooted up closer to the bike. Pressing the side of his face against the cold engine, the boy’s yellow eyes peered along the contours of the complex, labyrinthine arrangement of tubes and wires. Soot stood out against the chrome plating, as the boy angled the emitter to lance the inside of the tubing.

He might have to replace the turbothruster.

A mechanical chime echoed through the interior of the ship. The boy’s yellow eyes trailed up along the ceiling as his head came up from the bike at the alert. The ship had left Bastion five days ago. With the Mandalorians between Primeval space and the Tharin Sector, and the Silver Jedi activity around nearby Iego, it was a necessary evil to maneuver the ship along an indirect flight path so not to attract too much attention. The ship was also flying the flag of the Republic, it’s transponder identifying as a ship registered out of Denon - the Moldy Mynock.

Now, as the mechanical chime faded, the gangly tween stood as the cargo bay shuddered. The vibrations rattled the bolts across the grating, as a hiss of hydraulic systems being pressurized preceded the floor in front of him dropping away.

Through the opening hatch, an intense light poured in. Shielding his eyes, the Pantoran crept down the loading ramp to peer out across a vast dune sea of white sands. The horizon jagged, featuring an outcropping of mountains. In the distance, the silhouette of a large structure was visible. Three, maybe five towers. With the glare, it was difficult to discern from afar.

Sriluur.

There was a speeder bike store in Meirm City, over by the copper coasts of the planet’s acidic ocean. It was something of a legend in the swoop racing community. He could probably get the parts he needed there, but that wasn’t why he was here.

According to the records maintained by the Bleeding Sun, the Hutt Cartel had existed for at least as long as the Black Sun. Making it a criminal organization with ties of blood and money that were more firmly established than newer gangs, such as the Red Ravens. Since the Netherworld incident, the Cartel had come under new management. A crime lord known as Sempra the Hutt.

Hutts held a special place in the religion of the Primeval, though the boy doubted that this Sempra would appreciate the honor of the gods that was the Hutts by birthright. But, the Primeval adherent was not here to proselytize either.

The criminal underworld of the galaxy was a gateway. A portal to information, people, places, and activities. For all of those reasons, the Bleeding Sun liked to have some understanding of who the players were. Shadows and shadowplay, another necessary evil.

Lowering his hand away from his eyes, the boy ducked back inside of the Star Courier. Making his way through the singular corridor, he emerged a moment later in the circular living quarters of the transport. Washing up from the work on the speeder, the boy donned his usual white jacket and then opened a gear locker. Slipping a gun belt around his waist, he reached into the personal closet to remove a pair of vibroknucklers. Securing those on the belt, he next examined two blasters. A heavy blaster, or a hold-out?

He wasn’t expecting to have to kill anyone today. He was just here to conduct a little business. Leaving the blasters in their cases, the boy instead reached out to lift a silver and black lightsaber from out of the storage locker. Clipping that to his belt, the tweenage assassin turned to make his way back to the front of the ship.

Sliding the white paneling of the S&R ‘Triple Z’ back into place, the boy guided the swoop down the loading ramp and then stood out on the wastes of the Weequay homeworld. Reaching down, the youth tapped out a signal on the wristlink he wore. Behind him, the loading ramp to the sleek transport began to raise up. As the hatched sealed itself, the youth straddled the speeder. Thumbing the starter, the boy set his foot against the clutch as he cycled the engine. There was a violent shudder as the powerful repulsor came alive.

The boy idled it in neutral for several seconds, simply listening to the engine.

He’d definitely have to replace the turbothruster.

Ratcheting back the throttle, the white swoop sailed away from the Star Courier, a wash of hot sand trailing in the wake of its passage through the desert. The sun was bearing down, the dry climate creating an environment that was something akin to standing inside a convection oven. Nothing at all like Korriban, which looked hot and miserable but was actually cold and miserable.

Then again, he was Pantoran. He liked the cold.

The youth slowed the bike as the structure in the distance drew closer. In the sunlight and sand, it shone like a white palace against the backdrop of mountains. The towers and connecting structures were impressive. If nothing else, it certainly looked far better maintained than anything he’d seen on Korriban. And more elaborate than the Imperial Palace on Bastion.

Weequay formed the welcoming committee, but anything else would have been a surprise. This was their planet, after all. Nikto, a Gamorrean. And a droid or two, the likes of which the boy hadn’t seen before, rounded at the guards that he saw as he approached from the main road leading up toward the palace. Drifting in neutral for a kilometer, the white garbed youth brought the bike to a stop a fair distance away, jumping down and making the introductions on foot.

As the guard stepped forward, the purple haired boy looked up and said, “I seek an audience with your master, Sempra the Hutt.”

The withered face of the Weequay cracked, a wicked smile forming as the man looked back and said something in an alien tongue which the youth imagined to be the Weequay language. The two Weequay shared a laugh, no doubt due to what he’d just said.

He was, after all, just a boy.

And that was exactly what he liked people to think when they first met him. Smiling faintly, the Pantoran explained, “You may tell your master, the Primeval sends it’s ambassador.”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"] [member="Sempra the Hutt"]​

 

[Sempra the Hutt]

The hallways held an impressive athmosphere of old. Ancient hutt statues lining the entrance, withered and to a degree broken ones. Some of the visitors to the Palace held them revered, others merely passing them ignorant of its initial symbolic meaning. At the end the looming stone body of a huge hutt, Kossack, impaling a defeated humanoid. Time had not been kind to the Palace, yet it was appareant that its current owner had roused alot of funds in order to restre these lost treasures.

The weequay guards escorted [member="Boo Chiyo"] through the hallways, passing a vivid and living Palace, creatures of many races seemed to live or visit the Place, conducting bussiness or with other ties to the Cartel and the hutts.

The Group passed the main central room, glimpses of the grand hutt thrones from the time of Kossacks council were seen being polished by slaves and servants. From there they Went through a slightly smaller corridor to finally arrive at the entrance of a throne room. A low murmur was spread out the room, the hutts entourage, ever present, consisted of guards, advisors and slaves, all with their own focus of interest. Some noticed the new comers, other ignored him.
The Hutt himself appeared more muscular and astute then most imagined hutts. For one reason or the other he was not laying down but keeping an upright position, resembling that of someone regal. In one hand he held a datapad in the other a holo-projector, it appeared to broadcast yet Another hutt.
As the weequay announced the arrival of a Representant of the Primeval Sempra looked up. His face turning almost troubled.

As his Eyes narrowed he nodded toward the guards.

"Approach the his highness and speak your mind." a pale looking albino sitting by the Hutts belly declared.

[member="Mongo Booshi Mella"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

The palace was rich with a history all of its own.

It was the broken statues that stood out to the young Pantoran the most. There was a story there. What it represented. Who had made it. How it came to be, and how it came to be damaged or destroyed.

But then, he had been broken once. So perhaps he saw himself in the broken bits of marble. A clay, waiting for a shaper. Waiting to be restored. To be Reclaimed, as in the light of Nogras. Averting his eyes to the floor as they walked, the youth said a silent prayer. He knew not why he had been chosen for this assignment, but that was not his to question. His was merely to serve. And to be a servant was no trivial pursuit.

To serve one of the Chosen was a great honor, and so the boy did not pity the slaves or servants of the Hutt's entourage. Their station might be a lowly one, but their labors were of value. So, as the boy raised his eyes to peer through the interior of the grand chamber, his face was not one of arrogance or conceit, but merely a placid calm.

While it was true that the boy made a living as a thief and assassin, he didn't have a harsh word to say to anyone.

As he beckoned to come forward and speak, the young envoy humbled himself by first genuflecting toward the large figure. "Greetings, Exalted One," the Pantoran intoned politely as he straightened back up to face the Hutt directly. The boy's voice was soft, though loud enough as to be heard in the vaulted surroundings in which he had been given entry.

"Word of your accomplishments have reached the Host Lord of the Primeval," the young acolyte remarked, casually bringing his arms behind him so that his hands were clasped behind his back as he spoke. Inclining his head in a nod toward the great Hutt, the boy explained, "On behalf of the Prophet and the Gods, I am sent to you to convey congratulations."

"...and respect," the child added, supplying emphasis to the last. The respect of the Lord of Hosts was no small feat, even by one of the Chosen.

His Prophet must have seen something in this Hutt. Though such things were not for the mere servant to dwell upon.

[member="Sempra the Hutt"] [member="Mongo Booshi Mella"]​

 

[Sempra the Hutt]

Sempra could not really make out the boy. Although among the lesser species it was hard to seperate old from younglings. Perhaps this one was more then met the eye.

"Tee bacenbie gee sa babau vehpobaee mee Kotka an bu Primevil, um jeejee pantkonke bahva bai jahna cuee. Puahesa tee bacenbie vehpobaee bu boha uba koose an catkee jeejee caiot dokanu dah bu woute tokiy see mee kyotopa." Sempra asked as he put down the holoprojection of [member="Mongo Booshi Mella"] to observe or participate. Once he had handed his datapad to a near by slave Sempra folded both of his hands on his belly, motioning for the pale slave to translate.

"The wise Sempra says - Our court has indeed heard about your Master and the Primevil, but we constantly seek to learn more. Enlighten our court about the wisdom you bring and afterwards we can expand on the true nature of your visit."


[member="Boo Chiyo"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

A faint smile drifted across the Pantoran's face for a moment.

Gone like a whisper.

Bowing his head respectfully, the boy changed his posture so that his arms were held down in front of him, the right palm on top of the left. Looking back up as he spoke, the boy humbly confessed, "If it is wisdom you seek, Illustrious Sempra, I fear you'll find me an inadequate messenger."

Teaching the ways of the Primeval and the truths of their religion was not something that the boy was prepared to do. He'd been briefed by his superiors in the Bleeding Sun on a variety of things they had imagined might be the topic of conversation with the Hutt. Trade regulations. Tariffs. Hyperlane transit routes between Hutt Space and the Primeval.

But religion?

Perhaps he ought to send for a priest of Balagoth to better explain the wisdom of that which was Primeval.

Suffice to say, he'd be deviating from the script he'd been given a little. "We are merely adherents to an ancient religion, one older than the Jedi," the boy answered, over simplifying the history a bit but still supplying an honest answer. "From Bastion to Mirial, we worship the god Sargon through the understanding of Creation -- the Three made of the One. And, yet, for this we have faced no small amount of persecution from the very governments who espouse 'freedom of religion.'"

Nevermind that the Mirialans had been converted to the Primeval in the face of invasion. That was a minor consequence of Reclamation. And, however people came to the truth, so long as the end result was the same... the means didn't really matter. Of course, conquest in or of itself was hardly cause for governments to suddenly go to all-out war. Conquests happened all the time. Forced conversions to different belief sets happened all the time.

The Dark Side of the Force? Now that did tend to make people jump in an X-Wing and want to blow something up.

"There are even those who say that the worship of the Primeval is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural," the boy remarked, clearly intending such as a reference to the persecution and lies whispered about the Outer Rim cultists. "The threat of persecution by the Republic, the Jedi, or the Mandalorians prevents us from traveling freely, or enjoying trade with Hutt Space," the youth amended, at last arriving back to the prepared remarks that he'd been briefed with.

"That is why the Host Lord has turned an eye to you, Great Sempra," the boy commented next, using both hands to gesture toward the Hutt. "We are but simple pilgrims, forced into fighting for the freedom to worship our religion. Such trade embargoes and blockades are beyond our understanding. But surely with your wisdom, such obstacles can be overcome."

[member="Sempra the Hutt"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] [member="Mongo Booshi Mella"]​

 

[Sempra the Hutt]

The hutt fell back into his seat watching [member="Boo Chiyo"] as he explained the purpose of his visit. Stroking his chin Sempra leaned somewhat forward eyeing the Primeval representative.

"mm... " he rumbled smacking his lips pondering the Little person Before him.

"It is somewhat peculiar for any organisation of such dignity as the one you represent to send a Young boy to speak in their behalf.. " Sempra grunted - his voice a mixture of contempt and curiosity. "The Hutt Cartel is not what it used to be but our organisation is growing by the hour, soon our birthright will be restored, and we demand the full attention and seriousnes of any potential ally or bussinesspartner."

He leaned back again.

"But you speak not as a youngling, but rather a cunning diplomat. Perhaps you have potential and mandate to bring something of use to me after all." the hutt kept pondering the situation never leaving Boo with his Eyes.

"You can tell your master that the wise Sempra Besadii Dhakun has welcomed you to his Palace and that if the Primeval is serious in their good will toward the Cartel, any efforts on our behalf will be repaid as we are honorable and trustworthy allies."

"Especially Hutt space is something we must discuss further since its present state borders to... herecy... " Sempra hissed.

"Do you wish to present something in more detail here and now or are you merely opening a channel for future discussions?"

 

[Zak Dymo]

The proclamation by the magnanimous Hutt lord was something that the boy could appreciate.

The Primeval did not favor those who were unsuccessful in the tasks laid before them. One must have deeds, as well as faith. For what was faith without works, but empty words? And works without faith were futile toils. So, in making this decision, Sempra not only cemented a customer and ally, but ensured that the boy would be able to go on in the service of the Lord of Hosts.

Not that Boo's will ought to be done, but that the works of the Host Lord be fulfilled. To Sargon's glory and the coming Legion which would renew the galaxy in the Change of Balagoth and bathe the faithful in the light of Nogras.

Bowing deeply toward his gracious benfactor, the purple haired youth genuflected in deference to the Hutt. "Your words shall reach the Prophet herself," the blue-skinned youth intoned politely as he straightened back up.

And so it begins...

I would not take from you any more of your precious time," the Pantoran noted, lowering his eyes in respect as he spoke. He had no specific contracts or arrangements which he had been asked to secure. Merely to test the waters. "You have been most gracious, Great Sempra. I am certain, you shall profit from this soon."

[member="Sempra the Hutt"]

 

[Sempra the Hutt]

Sempra watched the boy leave his prescence followed by a slave to present the man with a room of his own in the palace. It would be a smaller cellike quarter, stone walls and a single exit with a thin narrowed eye for a window. But it held a bed, a desk and air conditioning.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]

As the boy left he waved forth one of his more trusted advisors on the matter of the Primeval, a skilled diplomat on his own.

"Keep an eye on the Primeval and inform me of his behaviour. You if any should be able to discover if he is truly a Primeval monk or a fraud."' Sempra instructed.

"If he holds to true to his words we might have found a potential future ally... when the need arises."

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]

 

[Lysle of the Hydian Way]

Lysle was motioned forward from his darkened table, and he slyly moved to stand before Sempra. "Keep an eye on the Primeval and inform me of his behavior. You if any should be able to discover if he is truly a Primeval monk or a fraud," Sempra instructed. "If he holds to true to his words we might have found a potential future ally... when the need arises."

He had seen the boy, and didn't have suspicions of his reasons for being here. "If I do so say, I don't believe the boy to be a fraud. The Primeval are weird by nature, and it surprises me little that they sent a child to do their errands. The Primeval hold an alliance with the Sith, from my last understanding, and I hold some sway with words in the courts of the Sith. If the Primeval plan to do harm to the Cartel, I can dissuade them."

[member="Sempra the Hutt"]

 

[Sempra the Hutt]

Sempra hummed and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"A most interresting development indeed. Let the cartel know of [member="Boo Chiyo"] new status within our walls and we shall see what this can offer us in the future."

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]