Private Backwater Intrigues

[Aithche Wierz]

The bar stank.

Aithche's nose wrinkled but on further reflection, she had to admit that she wasn't doing too great either. The humidity had hit her the moment she'd arrived at the spaceport and she wondered what sadist had insisted on building a settlement so close to the planet's equator. She was attempting to endure the discomfort as stoically as the locals but with little success. She'd taken to wrapping a headscarf around her to try and keep the flies at bay, the bastards seemed to flock to the burning lamps rather than be driven off by them.

"Gods above" she swore, taking a seat on the verandah. It had the minor bonus of occasionally getting a mild breeze, a blessing in this cauldron. The chair creaked and she gave it a wary gaze, she didn't trust much of the local architecture, everything seemed rotten on this planet. A server came out to her and Aithche ordered some of the local rotgut to 'blend in'. Not a chance she could pass as a tourist (who in their right mind would venture here?) when even the most desperate of starliners wouldn't stop off. Still, anyone looking might take her for an amateur which was even better. She'd been two days planetside and spotted at least half a dozen spooks floating about the place.

How times had changed. Aithche Wierz, rising star of the First Order's Security Bureau. Uncooperative planetary warlords assassinated, nests of space pirates in asteroid fields identified, Imperial spies tracked down on request. She'd taken to espionage as well as...perhaps a crippled squirrel to water. It had never been her first choice at the academy but medical and psych evals had judged her a little too far gone to continue with field command. Some had privately suggested she be institutionalised but thankfully she'd still had some sway with patrons to protect her from that.

It didn't matter in the end. The First Order was gone and its swarming legions of bureaucrats, soldiers, pilots, and spies were scattered to the four corners of the galaxy. She kept in touch with some, she'd plans to eliminate others, and she'd spotted more taking up employment with rival realms and corporations. For now though she had the undignified prospect of employment to worry about. Secret bank accounts and the black market only kept you in funds for so long, she'd had to set up for business herself.

She had a battered freighter to her name and a half dozen shell companies, most of which were registered to the same address and had one major shareholder, her. She had contacts, but there was only so much old friends were willing to do, especially when she didn't have the full force of an intelligence apparatus behind her to call on if necessary.

Which is why her hand brushed against a blaster handle when she went to pull out her dataslate. One never went out undressed.

Aver Brand

 

[Aver Brand]

The bar stank.

Of course it stank, this was… a dark brow furrowed as Aver tried and failed to remember the name of the planet underneath her boots. Well, one of those Onderon knockoffs, made in the Outer Rim™. It was wetter and more humid than the original (a feat to be sure); not a downgrade so much as a lateral move in the same level of hot, damp hell.

Thankfully, the mercenary had extensive experience with jungles and their unique ability to make you drown in your own sweat. Where her lieutenants would’ve viewed this trip as punishment, Aver looked at it as vacation. It was so much easier to work long hours when you actually enjoyed the job.

And it wasn’t like her two favorite jungles were available right now. Qui was… actually, she didn’t want to think about what Qui was or wasn’t. The plan was to bury her head in the business for the next four to six months. It beat moping around with her thumb up her ass and questioning her place in the universe.

Shit, Felucia!

That’s what it was called. Aver curled her lip at the overgrown mushrooms rising through the mist beyond the town walls. Could you blame her? Fifty different planet names crossed her feed every hour. She hadn’t exactly picked this one at random, either, but her focus had been on a different name.

Nysillin.

Lucrative shit from before the Gulag that had drifted into obscurity after three quarters of the galaxy had kicked the bucket. She didn’t want to think about that either, and staying in the present moment was her strong suit anyway, and thus this cute little venture to reestablish a proper industry of cultivation. Before she could get started on the fun of corralling farmers into single-crop agriculture, though, there was the small matter of kicking other interests off this rock and staking her flag in the dirt.

This bar wasn’t the hottest spot in town. That was the dirt road baking in the sun. It didn’t have the best drinks either, nor the nicest clientele. The clientele, to be exact, was a blend of washed-up spacers, bounty hunters, grimy locals, and corpo-rats attempting to look like grimy locals while forgetting to take off a wristwatch that cost more than their yearly salaries combined.

Slotting into the bounty hunter niche, Aver slid onto a rickety stool by the bar and sat down to people-watch with a beer that was… well, not cold, but lukewarm was the best you could ask for.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche coughed.

The local liquor made up for in strength what it lacked in grace. Delicately mopping at her mouth with a dirty serviette, she resumed her casual scan of the bar through her sunglasses. Many of the clientele looked even more disreputable and down on their luck than she did. One figure caught her eye for a moment, mostly for her impressive stature. The broad back made her wonder if she ate nails for breakfast.

Her musing was interrupted by the suited figure who slid into the chair opposite her with an ingratiating smile. "Mikel Corridon?" she asked, sitting up in her seat a little. She took the proffered hand gingerly, "Allison Kerr". No point in using the real name yet when she was first time on the planet. "You took your time" she observed, just a slight trace of reproval in her voice.

The businessman shrugged "Traffic" he said helplessly, taking off his hat and fanning his face with it. Aithche nodded, trying to keep her face sympathetic. So far it seemed nothing on the planet seemed to work on Coruscant time. "It was good of you to come" she said, continuing the false pleasantries.

"I noticed this Caitriona seems quite popular" she added, indicating a propaganda poster. Mikel choked a little on his drink and was swift to correct her. "You are of course referring to the Doyenne?" he queried, his smile having faltered. Aithche smiled back, "Forgive me of course, the Doyenne. I'm an offworlder so not quite as familiar with the local titles".

"She represents the interim government until order is restored" Mikel said, parroting the party line. "Ah yes so that 5% extra I paid landing at the spaceport?" "Security tax. We've been forced to react to increased terrorist activity". Aithche nodded, filing it all away in her head. "Tough times for business, I'd say" she added.

Her gaze slid past Mikel as a quartet of heavies escorted a much smaller figure inside. Conversation hushed for a moment before resuming. Aithche stared at Mikel until she got an answer. "Guildsman, trader" the local confirmed, "Quite a few offworld companies are taking advantage of the generous corporation rates the Doyenne charges on activities here. They're not quite diplomatically immune but they get away with a lot so long as the money keeps coming in".

 

[Aver Brand]

Oh, to be a fly on that backroom wall.

Aver raised the sweating glass to her lips as her eyes tracked the movement of the guildsman, trader across the bar. The four bodyguards parted the thickening afternoon crowd like an icebreaker on the seas of Hoth, elbowing anyone who was too sluggish to get out of the way. Two of the bulls stayed outside a slide-door while the rest of the group disappeared inside, presumably to broker something lucrative and illegal.

Or… marginally legal, if the conversation in the corner of the room was to be believed. The mercenary slipped from the creaking seat and meandered between the tables to spark up her habit in the heat and salt of the sun. Smoke crawled between her lips as she leaned back against one of the drunk pillars supporting the sunroof.

Well, ‘supporting’. It was listing dangerously and parts of the sheet plasteel had long decayed in the tug of war between heavy rain and scorching sun. Aver squinted up at the searing star through her glasses and began pondering if investing into Yuuzhan Vong organic structures would decrease maintenance and material costs over time.

She hadn’t caught the names of the curious pair behind her yet, but names weren’t that important. Redhead could claim to be Mara Jade fucking Skywalker and you’d just have to accept it because everyone lied about it anyway.

With a last puff of smoke, Aver flicked the cigarette out onto the scorching dirt and watched with amusement as it got swirled into the turbulence of a passing speeder. She tugged on her shirt to peel it off her soaked back and checked her watch – ten more minutes until her local militia contact showed up.

Aver Brand smiled and kept sipping on her warm shroombeer.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

The one thing that Aithche could say for herself was that at least she wasn't the most disreputable individual in the room. She'd witnessed a drugs deal, someone palming what appeared to be a weapon to another, and two other under the table (in the most literal sense) transactions in the past half hour. It seemed to be a universal (or galactic) truth that the kilometre or so around a spaceport tended to attract the most criminality.

At least she was confident she could deal with Mikel if things went arseways. And at least three or four others in the bar. The hulking mercenary she'd seen earlier and the heavies escorting the corporate representative might be another matter but it was finely tuned paranoia making her even consider that possibility of conflict.

Truth is, she'd never have been this risky in the 'old' days. She'd have had at least one person for backup there, another outside. Spotters and even a retrieval team if the situation merited it. She was going in blind now and worse, alone.

"Gods" she muttered, wiping sweat off her brow and tugged her headscarf around her. It kept off flies somewhat but did well at trapping sweat. She hated feeling unclean but it was part of the job, had to suck it up. "Sorry Mikel, you were saying?" she asked, forcing her voice to go a bit chirpier.

"The mineral deposits" the businessman repeated, his voice low and serious. "The initial surveys are still being analysed but if the preliminary results are even 50% accurate, 25%, that's one of the richest for several systems. The Doyenne is paranoid because she feels any offworlders will cheat her and falsify the results"

"And if the Doyenne wasn't around to veto any mining proposal?" Aithche pressed, her voice quiet. Her smile hadn't dropped but the one of her voice was devoid of all humour now. Mikel squeaked. "It's hypothetical, I'm not advocating murder" or a coup d'etat "I was just curious how mining concessions are usually granted here. After all, it pays to know local customs?"

 

[Aver Brand]

Mineral deposits and mining proposals, oh my. The redhead clearly knew something she didn’t. Nor the militia contact, to that point, but then they were focused on fending off the corporate dogs, not inspecting their corpses for motivation.

She considered the businessman in the dirty bar mirror, with his receding hairline and threadbare elbows. Someone looking to make a quick buck and get out before the situation imploded. Except he probably had no clue the situation was already imploding. Places like these were always hurtling towards some catastrophe or another. If it wasn’t finance it was the environment, or civil unrest, or a disease outbreak. Maybe that was the reason she liked the jungle. Aver Brand thrived in chaos.

Five minutes until Cassar was slated to show up. She wasn’t holding her breath for punctuality, but a little optimism never killed anyone.

Standing in the way of governments and corporations, on the other hand… the mercenary tuned out the raucous laughter of two hunters to her left and swept through the local news on this Doyenne character. Caitriona Gelagh, previously Minister of Interior, previously Attorney General. Then the prime minister disappeared during a charity tour of the outer territories and one of the militias took responsibility and… Aver’s brows slowly climbed her forehead… apparently the guy was still being held hostage?

Beer burned through her nose as she snorted. The former PM was, without a doubt, dead as a doornail. But it was a convenient excuse for ongoing emergency powers, she’d give Miss Galagh that.

“Another,” she muttered to the bartender as she wiped droplets off her armored front. Wouldn’t do to enter negotiations with a dry throat in this weather.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche's nose wrinkled and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. Her mind was trying to go over all the possibilities while balancing it against risk and evaluating whether it was worth it with the potential rewards. She pressed on, knowing she'd be kicking herself if she was back in orbit and just on the run.

"So who will take over if the Doyenne isn't around?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual though a trace of girlish excitement had entered it. She felt giddy with the germ of a plan there. "I mean aside from administrators, is there many other important government figures?" Mikel shook his head "They're dead, exiled, or in prison awaiting sentence". Aithche tried not to smile at that. Predictable.

"So aside from then, you'd say corporate interests could take precedence?" "Well in that scenario yes but it's unlikely, the Doyenne keeps herself locked away in the palace, it was the former Imperial governor's residence". Not for the first time, Aithche marvelled at the expenditure they'd wasted on all sorts of colonial backwaters and garrisons. "Her own personal guard are offworld trained and paid out of her own pocket". There went the option of subverting her praetorian guard.

"But there are those who oppose her?" "Well of course, there's always rebels operating on the planet in some shape or form, it doesn't matter who's in charge. The Doyenne was enraged though last month when they overran some of the survey sites". Aithche nodded, mildly sympathetic, one could imagine finding out you were sitting on top of a credit mine only for someone else to snatch it.

"If there's so much potential here, why is everyone leaving?" "It's unstable as anything, most try to get their currency offworld to avoid fluctuations. She taxes any large movement of funds offworld, she's not a fool. If it wasn't for the cash crops or minerals then we'd be stone age level".

 

[Aver Brand]

Alright, so the redhead was definitely planning something and wasn’t too shy about getting it. Aver could respect that. Not that her behavior stood out from the rest of the bar – she’d caught several coded conversations going on around her, at least two drug deals, and something that looked like a sale of several endangered animals.

In other words, this was a planet ripe for some proper criminal intervention. The locals were getting on well enough and would probably continue on the stumbling, erratic downward trajectory for the foreseeable future. The mercenary was rather fond of efficiency, however, and was eager to see the process sped along.

Enter Cassar Fende Iezon, son of Vaialla Reheme Iezon, chieftain of the Rayal tribe of the Niangatra and the surrounding forests. Or so said her tablet and its infopacket, because the man was still not he—

An explosion cut through the afternoon hum.

The whole neighborhood shook as the shockwave ripped through the rotten foundations and the bleached plasteel. Dust rolled down the street like a stormfront in the desert, tearing at the shacks and the garbage and the myriad insects and animals that scurried in the dirt.

The shrill tone of her ears readjusting reduced the panicking people to gaping fish flopping on the dry shore. Their mouths were moving and their tongues were flapping, but nothing came out save for spittle, snot, and tears.

Aver vaulted onto the bar that was somehow still standing, avoiding the crush of sweaty, terrified bodies shoving everywhere, anywhere, away. She wiped the blood trickling from one burst eardrum and scanned the crowd from the couple she’d been eavesdropping on.

Best way to tell if you were dealing with a professional was when shit hit the fan. Or when Cassar hit the IED, as it were.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

"Well I don't see what that's an issu-"

Time seemed to slow. Aithche was aware she was trying to say the word and then a shockwave sent her flying through the window and right onto a table. PAIN flashed through her and her body hit the floor. She blacked out for a few seconds. Her eyes blinked open and she fought back panic when she couldn't hear anything.

Her ears rang as they struggled with the temporary overload. You're not deaf, you're not deaf, she reassured herself, trying to go through a checklist. Shock had numbed her and even her earlier flash of fear seemed an aberration. She pushed herself up to her feet and immediately stumbled sideways on her first step. She lurched like she was drunk, clutching onto the wall for support.

She hadn't even noticed the body she had stepped over. Other patrons were in various states of disarray. Some were motionless on the ground, others screamed and tugged at friends. A Rodian stared in mute shock at what had been her right arm. A male Duros took three shaky steps out the door and then collapsed with a jagged piece of shrapnel stick out of his back.

Aithche's hearing came back with a vengeance, hard enough to make her cry out in pain and clutch at her head. She slumped against the wall and pushed down feelings of nausea. Alarms were ringing from neighbouring properties, injured were screaming. She rubbed at an itch in her side and her hand came away bloody.

Mikel. The documents.

With newfound determination she limped towards the still twitching corpse of her local contact. The pain in her side grew and she dropped to her knees by his side. A quick pulse check confirmed his death before she started rifling through his pockets.

 

[Aver Brand]

And there it was. Looting an informant’s corpse seconds after an unknown explosion – focus on the objective was the hallmark of a professional. Aver grinned, then winced when the expression pulled at her wounded ear. She watched the redhead recover a thin datapad from the inner pockets of his suit, several credit chits, and—

She stumbled back into the draft pipes as someone barreled past her, gunning for the staff exit behind the bar. When she looked up again, the woman was gone in the panicking crowd.

With a string of curses on her lips, the mercenary vaulted over the counter and began shoving through the crowd in pursuit of the spy. Even if the explosive wasn’t Cassar being blown to pieces, there was no way the man was showing up for the meeting now. Whoever this meddling queen was, she had a lead of some sort, and Aver wanted in.

It took her a good few seconds of maneuvering and violence to break out of the bar and into the heat of the afternoon. There wasn’t exactly less chaos in the street, but it was more spread out. The dust hung, clinging to the thick jungle moisture to form a brown mist of misery.

Thank fuck for helmets.

The mercenary summoned hers from the hyperspace pocket on her belt and filled her lungs with the filtered air as the vacuum seal hissed closed. The multitude of overlays began chiming in as she scanned the environment for the redhead. The report of multiple rifles was beginning to echo in the distance, bouncing off the tight architecture and driving the survivors of the blast out of their homes. The smarter ones were starting for the jungle or barricading; the brave were pulling out their own weapons and looking to get in on the action. And the rest – the idiots – apparently thought a terror conflict was the best time to start looting.

Think, Aver, think. What would a spy do?

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche stumbled through the streets, staggering drunkenly and reeling against a building for support. Her legs were shaky but only years of training and inner resolve kept her upright. The pain in her side was increasing and she blinked back tears, pushing onward, half deaf to the conflict building up as rebels pressed their advantage on the surprised security forces. It wouldn't have surprised her if all the shooting was just the latter, panicked soldiers and militia seeing rebels in every corner and window.

Leaning on a wall, she took a moment to spit, trying to clear the feel of sick from her mouth. She risked a look around her and she nearly had her stomach turn again at the sight of the imposing figure headed her direction. More than a hundred metres away but they seemed focused on her. Paranoia filled her and she resumed her limping retreat, ducking into a side street.

Her hand reached fro her blaster but it was gone. Cursing, she strode on, awkwardly clambering over the low wall at the end of the alley and half falling the last couple of feet to the ground.

 

[Aver Brand]

A blessed breeze pulled down the street, clearing the roiling dust for a few moments.

But a few moments was all Aver needed. Her attention snapped to the outlined shape of a stumbling woman just before she disappeared into a side-alley. A glint of red hair, broken sunglasses, and a billowing head-scarf – when you were used to nothing, even scraps felt like an abundance.

Her mouth curled into a smirk as she quickened her pace, a bloodhound with a fresh trail on the wind. Phrik boots crunched over the strewn shrapnel of explosives and the vaporized architecture, over splinters of wood and plasteel and bone. Her heart thrummed behind her ribs with the thrill of the hunt, her fingers itching to dig in and squeeze until the thing stopped twitching—

Aver forced a long exhale from her mouth and licked the taste of iron off her fangs. She uncurled her fists, rounded the corner, and…

nothing.

Fucking hell, could this schutta disappear or what. She’d be impressed if it weren’t so annoying. Twice now she’d lost her in just a few seconds. Granted, the conditions for shadowing could hardly be worse, but when had long odds ever stopped her before?

The mercenary swept her sharp gaze over the five shacks and dirt road that passed for a street in these parts. Out of line of the initial explosion, the houses here were still holding up, though only just if the cracks in the walls and the ominous creaking were anything to go by.

Hard to tell one noise from another when there was a civil war going down three streets over, though. Aver was already bracing to start the door-to-door when a faint thud caught her ear between a pause in blasterfire.

Her nostrils flared.

“Come on out,” she called out, slowly turning in the direction of the sound. “I just want to talk!”

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche froze. She silently cursed her clumsiness but she hadn't been the most sprightly before the explosion either. She was still moving like a drunkard and certain to be suffering otherwise. She knew she'd properly feel it once the adrenaline had worn off. The other figure was close enough that Aithche could feel her presence, as if looming. She'd caught a couple of faint sounds of movement. A more poetic her would have said she was close enough to smell her but not quite, just the stink of the rotten port.

"Come out or else what?" she called back, hands tightening on a worn metal bar, discarded from an old trolley or cage. She hefted it a little, experimenting with the weight. She put a bit of dejection into her voice, "Okay, I'm coming"

Aithche rose slowly, giving the other figure an almost sheepish look. Her shoulders dropped as if in defeat and then the next second she was lunging at Aver with the bar swinging towards her full force.

 

[Aver Brand]

No way, that actually wor—

WHACK

What was it fucking rebars?! Was she like a magnet for them or something?

Aver growled and wrapped her fingers around the metal that had bounced from her phrik plate. She twisted it in her hand like soft copper wire, then yanked it out and threw it in the dirt.

“Don’t be stupid, lady,” the mercenary took one long step closer and tugged on the drenched cloth covering the wound in the side of the spy. She leaned in until her black faceplate touched against the fine brow arch of the smaller woman.

“Let’s fuck off and have a chat.”

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche's attack seemed to have temporarily stunned the mercenary but that was about it. The bar hit the plate hard enough to jar her arms and bounce off it. A growl came from the other woman and she caught the bar in a massive hand. Aithche's eyes bulged as the other's hand twisted and the bar actually started to bend.

Aithche's grip tightened and she tried to pull it from her grip. The other woman did the same, one handed. She yanked it out of Aithche's grip like an adult taking something dangerous off a child. The redhead stumbled back and then a squeal of pain as the mercenary grabbed at her side wound. She trembled as the looming figure leaned in close enough for the helmet to brush off her.

"Ok" was about all she managed to muster, a half dozen other defiant responses died in her throat with this titaness in front of her.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Splendid.”

And they were off. One hand a vice-grip round her wrist, Aver led the spy through the ruined town at a swift pace. Always away from the echo of blasterfire and the screaming of those who didn’t find cover in time. Ah, urban warfare. No place like home.

Speaking of – the jungle, of course!

A smile appeared behind that immovable faceplate as they marched off the street and right into the thick of it. Leaves and vines swallowed the pair along with the sounds of civilization. Only their boots sinking into moist ground and the noise of all manner of life crawling under the guise of humid darkness.

A convenient fallen tree made for as good a stop as any. Aver straddled the log and pulled the other woman along.

“Talk.” She popped the medkit off her belt, yanked the bloody cloth aside, and got to work.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche found herself almost trotting to keep up with the larger woman's strides. She was tugged along at an unmerciful pace, the only halts when the mercenary stopped to listen and guide her past trouble. Not once did she let go of her wrist and she was fairly certain it wouldn't take her much effort to break all the bones there if she just squeezed.

Into the heat and wetness of the jungle, the noise of the fighting seemed to be swallowed up after the first score of paces. Her captor sat herself on a fallen log and yanked her down too. She was too tired and sore to protest much and the break was welcome. Feeling a little bit more in control, she tried to compose herself.

"Talk? I-OW!". The other woman's bedside manner left a lot to be desired and she balled her hand into a fist and blinked away angry tears. Rough hands were probing at her wound now and she slumped a bit, feeling dizzy. "Who...are you?" she managed to gasp out. Screwing her eyes shut had managed to stop her head spinning for a moment.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Back in the bar, you were meeting with an informant.” Aver looked up for a moment, then spread the wound open to extract the shrapnel. “Start with that.”

The piece of broken plasteel wasn’t too deep or too jagged to pull out, but it was plasteel. Environment like this, a porous material was fucking begging for an infection. While the mercenary certainly wasn’t gentle, she was as effective as ever; one kolto injection and an auto-stitch later, the redhead was looking remarkably better for wear.

Aver put away her kit and stuck out a gauntleted hand. In the interest of correcting rough first impressions, and all that – “Brand. Aver Brand.”

Because this was definitely a spy thread.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

"No I wasn'-OW!" it was hard to lie properly when you had a butcher for a surgeon. The mercenary wasn't being gentle at how she went about the first aid. Her feeble attempts to stop her just got her hands forced away. "He is a-was a business partner, I-feth!" She squealed like a stuck pig when the plasteel was removed though the kolto had a nice numbing effect, even making the stitching just feel like an ache.

She wasn't sure why the woman was dressing her wound but she knew she wasn't going to be outrunning her, even if she'd been in top physical condition. She was paler than usual but at least she wasn't going to faint from blood loss. Aithche warily shook hands with the massive gauntlet.

"Allison Kerr" she said smoothly, falling back into old habits. She took a breath, mulling her options. She normally was only giving first aid to captives if she planned to interrogate them but so far this one hadn't shown any excessive violence. "Thanks" she finally allowed, forcing civility into her tone.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Listen… Allison.” She cocked her helmet with the implication of a raised brow. “I’m asking you nicely, because I’ve been trying very, very hard not to rely on violence these past few years.”

Aver wiped the blood off her gauntlets, took them off, and began the finicky process of unearthing her smokes from her belt. “You’re cooking up some plot on the Doyenne.” She offered a cigarette to the spy. “I want in.”

Destabilized regimes were just so much easier to work with. And if she could get up on someone else’s intelligence to quicken the process, well… efficiency often appeared as laziness to the untrained eye.