Bleating and Babbling We Fell On His Neck With a Scream

[Darth Osano]

With a bored expression, Pollux kicked over one of the corpses. He recognized this one despite the fact that he had been essentially burned and torn apart beyond all recognition. This was Denaldo. Somehow his signature side arm, a MSD-32 disruptor pistol, was still in one piece. How incredibly fortunate for Pollux, considering he felt he needed a new weapon more befitting his recently acquired position as undisputed leader of the Guavian Death Gang. Or rather the Quasar Syndicate as they would soon be called. Maybe. Helix Syndicate? Maybe Consortium was better. He was still working on names. Perhaps he would put it to a vote if he was feeling particularly funny.

"They're all dead." Pollux shouted out back into the hallway, confirming everyone's sinking suspicions. He discarded his old pistol and slotted the MSD-32 into his holster in its stead.

A couple of Guavians shuffled inside, looking around. Ashes, corpses, destroyed furniture, and scorch marks. No one needed a detective to find out what happened here. Not that Pollux intended on keeping it a secret for very long. In fact, since everything had gone according to plan and they were running on schedule, Pollux was expecting guests. "Jettison the remains, clean this room." The moon base was already small and expanding it was expensive. Pollux didn't want to waste any time turning the former meeting room into... A storage closet.

---​

Pollux had a feeling Brand would've preferred if he ripped off the arms of one superior and used them to beat the rest of them to death. While it was certainly the disposition of the writer to flop over and give [member="Aver Brand"] whatever she asked for, Pollux felt no such irrational compulsions. This Givin, so called, had more ambition than that. Soon he would carve out his own little piece of the galaxy. Then he would grow rich and live forever. That kind of thing.

But he had to work for it, naturally. Wouldn't be worth it otherwise. Eugene accepted the datapad on Pollux's behalf, since Pollux had people to do that for him now. It was good to be the king. He also wouldn't have been surprised if the datapad exploded. Double-crossing was common enough in the criminal world.

"Running. Thank you." Pollux replied, folding his arms while Eugene scrolled through the contract.

 

[Aver Brand]

The small victory lost some of its sweetness. Aver chewed at her cheek, digesting the information. Still worked far better than complete dissolution, of course. One look at the greedy skeleton told her that he’d have the gang up and running in no time, probably on a scale and standard it hadn’t seen in decades (if ever).

And if he signed that pretty, pretty contract now being handled by a man called Eugene, of all things, [member="Pollux"] would enter the employ of the syndicate. Reasons not to sign were few, really. They offered state-of-the-art dental, insurance for all sorts of gruesome injury often encountered in their line of work, and a retirement plan to boot. As always with these things, there were a couple of size 4 caveats. Honestly, if there was no small print, nobody would buy it.

Off-station expansion into low-coverage territories was of great importance. This was just one of the many first steps into that direction. Efficiency was the name of the game here. Gone were the days of corrupt inner workings and embezzling mob bosses. The givin was looking at the smooth and well-oiled machinery of a grand beast in the waking, whose ambition to sink its spice-rotten teeth into the core had just begun to stir. It would drape its oily blackness over every underworld from Nadir to Kathol, an amoral queen come bearing the dubious gifts of arms and live goods.

Aver ran her tongue across the needles of her teeth, impatient.

“Three minutes, Skelly. You’ve got a Nadir tour guide to catch.”

 

[Darth Osano]

-----​

​

Point Nadir wasn't pretty. It didn't need to be, though. After all, it's what's on the inside that counts. And considering Pollux was presently one of the least visually pleasing species in the galaxy, he largely had to get by on what was underneath. He was sympathetic to Point Nadir in this regard, truly, but not to its inhabitants. They were a rude and disrespectful lot. Particularly the Trandoshans. They were already mouthing off about him and the Guavians in Huttese. As if he couldn't understand him. What kind of stupid-lucky amateur did they think he was to get this far in this business without knowing how to speak Huttese? Perhaps they were just testing him, but anyone working on a dock in Nadir wouldn't be half as clever. Pollux had half a mind to have his Guavians black-bag both of those worms and teach them some etiquette.

But it was rude to show up on someone else's property and immediately start knocking heads together.

With or without an escort appointed by [member="Aver Brand"] (it hardly mattered), Pollux wound his way through the shadowport's walkways to the duly appointed meeting spot. Like all shadowports, the place was a mess of skeezy looking men and women. There were also many smugglers and gun runners peddling their wares in a market. There were certainly a lot of crowded cantinas as well. The route didn't take him through the slums nor the upscale district. The rest of the comet, while active was in a deplorable state. Pollux didn't want to depress himself seeing the slums on this rock or what would pass as "upscale." Everything smelled like garbage. Garbage and death.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Good. You’re here.”

It was a nice greeting by Nadirian standards. Walking through a door and into the muzzle of a blaster was pretty commonplace around here. The bitter edge of a switchblade was a close second, and everything else below that represented the diverse minorities of violence that vied for attention in this community of its ardent employers.

You could stroll down a street and shop for means of delivering death. No matter your stripes, there was bound to be something for everyone’s tastes in these dark alleys. Just another of Nadir’s many hidden beauties. (And you really did have to dig deep to find them beneath all this grime and caked blood.)

“That was the tour, I’m afraid. You can take a longer look around later.” She paused to indicate a nearby hovercar and the smoking driver loitering beside it. “I have a job for you.”

A sentence [member="Pollux"] was going to hear often. Good thing it was accompanied by the merry jingle of a fat credit chip.

 

[Darth Osano]

Funny that, after walking around like he had, he didn't feel particularly good about being here. This place reeked of filth. As had been noted at the Guavian Death Gang's moon base, Pollux preferred more hygienic working environments. Just because they were doing dirty deeds done dirt cheap didn't mean they had to live like maggots. [member="Aver Brand"] gestured to a hover car that was waiting for them. The driver, a man Pollux did not recognize, was smoking something that smelled almost as awful as the rest of this place. Brand and Pollux had come this far, but the Givin regarded the speeder and its foreign driver with great suspicion. Internally, anyway. On the outside it was just the same hollow stare.

Friendly as she was, Pollux was not about to hop into a vehicle with her. Not in an already foreign locale and only a couple of Guavians for backup.

"I'll tour later." He said eventually, gaze turning back to Brand. "What's the job?"

The saying went 'business before pleasure' but Pollux doubted a more extensive tour would give him any pleasure in even the most remote of ways. This was more like business before prolonged, mind-numbing suffering.

 

[Aver Brand]

The two skulls stared at each other a while longer. Aver then turned to the driver and gestured with her chin. The humanoid stamped out his deathstick and shuffled into the car, speeding away. It was all the same to her, walking or driving. These streets were hers.

She offered a plain slip of paper to the givin. Two names were printed out in clean black letters. Ali Hadrix. Suravi Teigra.

“Everything on those two. Their habits, their family, their associates, homes, gear, background, skills. Their protection detail, security measures, ships they fly, food they eat, alcohol they drink. Obviously any dirt as well.” She paused, smiled behind the helmet. “How much time will you need?”

And for all the doubt and disgust radiating off him, [member="Pollux"] would soon find that the high-end residential areas of Point Nadir were, well… high-end. Stroll down an avenue in the Stardome, and you might as well be strolling through the Senate district on Coruscant. The credits that built it were stained the same shade of red, that was for sure.

 

[Darth Osano]

[member="Suravi Teigra"] and [member="Ali Hadrix"] were something of... Celebrities, if they word could be used. They were high profile officials within the Galactic Republic. Hadrix most of all, considering she had been thrust into the limelight several times. Something about venting Mandalorians into space? That was probably a war crime somewhere, though Pollux himself didn't see the big deal. They were just Mandalorians. Scavenge the armor and give it to some other adults with the vocabulary of a rabid mynock and they're effectively replaced. It was probably this kind of mentality that kept Pollux from being one of the people that got to decide what does and does not constitute a war crime.

The problem with being as renown as Teigra and Hadrix meant gathering the requested intelligence would be as simple as trawling the holonet and slipping the right bribes to the right bureaucrats. It wasn't a matter of if such a corrupt official existed, but rather how long it would take to find them. There was always some dissatisfied paper pusher somewhere in the Republic's innumerable ministries, departments, and apparatus with the right clearance to drum up what was needed. Pollux would touch base with the Guavian agents in the core region and see what he could find. Usually this started with blackmailing Senators and other politicians. They tended to have a lot of contacts.

One step at a time. Pollux neatly folded the paper [member="Aver Brand"] handed to him and slid it into his coat pocket. He'd keep that as a souvenir. Something to show the grand children. Hah.

"Few days, maybe. Don't call us, we'll call you." Information gathering was far from an exact science. Not to mention he'd have to vet these sources for accuracy. Time consuming process. Few days was a conservative estimate, too. "You'll be getting an invoice for the bribes."

 

[Aver Brand]

Her laugh was the staccato of an E-Web; the death rattle of a soldier strewn across the battlefield; the scraping of blade against bone. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Do what you have to,” Aver said without a trace of humor in her tone. “Have your people call my people.” She just couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Tipping her head in the givin’s direction, the mercenary quickly disappeared into the street crowds. In any other urban environment, an individual with this much armor and armament would turn nearly every head. But not here. Not on Nadir. You were more likely to draw attention by walking around unarmed. In a place where daylight robbery was as common as ‘honest’ merchants, wearing protection was to Nadirians what grabbing an umbrella was to Kaminoans.

It was called being prepared.

'Enjoy your stay,' that chin tilt had said. Surprisingly cocky for a skull.

[member="Pollux"]

 

[Darth Osano]

-----​

To say that Pollux enjoyed his stay was something of an inaccuracy, largely because Pollux did not elect to stay. He did not trust the people of Point Nadir. They did not trust him. It was much easier to handle this kind of work if it was being done in a location where Pollux did not have to continually glance over his shoulder to make sure there wasn't a vibro-dagger sticking out of his lower back. The Givin left the way he came and took an alternate route back to his waiting shuttle. Never retrace your steps exactly on a station like Nadir. It was too easy to get ambushed that way.

Once he returned to the Guavian headquarters, which was slowly being emptied out in accordance to his instructions, he headed straight to one of the larger offices on the station. It had belonged to one of the people who had met unfortunate, explosive ends in that diminutive meeting room the other day. Pollux had no intention of staying on this moon base, so he was similarly uninterested in annexing the office for his own purposes. In the later stages of his people's abandoning of the moon base, this office would also be cleared of everything. Everything.

Better to make some use of it before then.

Seated at the desk, Pollux began the long and excruciating process of making holocalls, sending messages, (all encrypted of course) and wiring money to the relevant parties in the core worlds. Hours crawled by. Responses slowly trickled in, and most of them were referrals. That was to be expected, really, the Guavian Death Gang had been more preoccupied with Hutt Space than the Core. The Core was far too destabilized by the constant warring of the One Sith, Republic, Galactic Alliance, and soon the Mandalorians to establish permanent and reliable networks.

More hours ticked by. More people to call and documents to shift through. This was always such an agonizing process, getting information from places you had no real informants stationed. But Brand had asked and now he was duty bound to retrieve them. Not because he had any overly fond feelings for [member="Aver Brand"] and her nails-on-a-chalkboard backwater dialect and whimsical psychopath demeanor, but because he was hoping for a good SpaceYelp! review.

Oh, the murky depths he would plunge for a good review, honestly.

A day had passed by now and food was being brought to Pollux in the office. By now the documents he had been compiling were of a respectable size, but nothing groundbreaking. Pollux was aware he could do better than this, and endeavored to do so. It would have been easy to leave this kind of work to someone else. However, Pollux was a perfectionist. He knew better than the rest of the louts on this station that if you want something done right, you do it yourself.

Another day and another round of meals being taken in his office, Pollux had what he needed. Every useable, confirmable, scrap of information and hearsay on those Hadrix and Teigra had been dredged up. From corrupt officials, disgruntled military personnel, and every stripe of underground information broker he could wave his credits at. Speaking of which, there was going to be a very large invoice for all of this. He trusted Brand's credit was good. Hopefully.

-----​

Not too much later, Pollux was back on Point Nadir. Same meeting spot as last time, same Guavian bodyguards as last time, only now he had the finished product. And a printed invoice. Two copies, actually, in case she got angry and tore up the first one. You had to be prepared for that sort of thing.

 

[Aver Brand]

Humming an old tune a certain grinning Sith Lord had taught her, Aver exited the speeder. It hovered there as she exchanged some last instructions with the pilot, and then the vehicle breezed off into the thick Nadirian traffic.

Pulling to her full height, the mercenary dusted off imaginary flecks from her armor. Strolled closer. Rested one hand on her sidearm.

“Evening,” she said, reaching out to pluck the proffered datapad from his thin fingers. Like taking candy from a baby.

The song picked up again as she scanned the invoice. Well constructed, with some fine clauses to boot. The givin was careful, which was good, because Aver liked careful. Brought you far in this line of work.

She transferred the document to her own datalogger and returned the device to the waiting information broker.

“You will receive your payment for services rendered in about…” she glanced down to check the time, “three hours, give or take.” Time-zone differences were a queen, but there were no tax oases quite like Tatooine. Certainly no places that took that much care to render their clients’ dealings as anonymous as Tatooine. Nosy officials had a habit of going for a scroll in the desert and never coming back.

“Pleasure doing business with you, [member="Pollux"]. Was there anything else?”