He was a Legend. Will you be one too?

[Rekali the Hutt]

"Sir, we've had an incursion on the Northeast border. The Horde grows bold. I think we need to pull back our borders for now and gather our forces while we scout them out." The sound of Radok's voice was as mechanical and expressionless as one might expect from a living statue.

<Pull back? We've worked too hard establishing our borders to give now. The Horde is an unorganized mess that operates with the stupidest of soldiers. If they didn't outnumber everyone but the Killiks ten to one they'd have been annihilated years ago.> Rekali the Hutt's hologram complained to his second. He hired Radok to solve problems like this, not cower and pull back their territory.

"Yes, but they are more organized of late. The precision and unification of their ranks is uncanny for their species. I've never seen Lugubra this organized before. The sight of them seems to break the morale of our men on the border. They don't fight as well against the Horde as they do anyone else."

<You're telling our men can't fight the Horde because they're scary? Radok, you know as well as I do their is no value for cowards in a business like ours.>

"Yes, but it is-"

"It isn't natural." Kijo the Rodian spoke as he entered the room. "And I know why." He said and held up a datapad, before pressing a few buttons and showing a holopic of a Tchuukthai.

"The horde has a new boss, Jorvan. I had to shake down every schutta in Yala district to get some dirt on this guy. He's a former One Sith commander that bailed after Coruscant. Served in fleet battles by doing some sort of mind-web poodoo. It'd make his guys faster, more confident, more coordinated, and do the opposite to his foes. Everytime the Horde does a big raid he goes into a trance an the Lugubra become super soldiers. They've increased territory by seven blocks in the last three months because of this guy, and he's eyeing our spaceport next." Kijo said as he sent the information to Rekali the Hutt.

"He's well guarded, and too far in for an assault. I think we need to call a hit. Quick and quiet like. I could make a few calls-"

<No Kijo. You have done well, but I fear we'll need to call in some special aid for this one. Radok, take a few lessons from Kijo. I'm going to arrange Jorvan's end. You two just ensure we don't lose any territory in the mean time.> Rekali the Hutt said before cutting the call.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Jorvan. A former One Sith. I'm not stealthy enough to deal with this myself, and if I ask a vod from Clan Rekali I risk unveiling my organization. No, I must find a bounty hunter from another clan to deal with this. The Hutt thought to himself as he perused some of the Rekali Clan's resources, looking for bounty hunters to contract. There was one with an incredible success ratio, but, no. He only hunted beasts. He needed someone to kill a Sith, not a Sithspawn.

Fett. As in the Fetts? Rekali saw a name and was curious, before pulling the file. Over twenty years experience. Lost limbs and life threatened, but never thought to put down the gun. A loner by nature, but a Mandalorian by family. Successful enough to be a good call, not enough political desire or clout to try and blackmail him later if things went wrong. Perfect. Rekali pulled up his holomail and sent the man a message.

To [member="Cato Fett"]

My name is Rekali the Hutt, adopted member of the Rekali Clan. As I've scrounged through old connections I've heard of a terrible slaver rise up and execute or sell some old associates of mine. I'd like to take revenge, a sort of penance, but I am not the best at stealth, nor do I have the clout to bring a party of raiders onto a world that's largely a cesspool of criminal turf wars. I do however have a good amount of credits, and I would like to hire you. If you're interested I can forward you the information or we can have a meeting and discuss your task and adequate compensation.

Regards,

Rekali the Hutt

 

[Cato Fett]

///Inloading...///

Asahi
Sukugawa Prefecture
Kitakata City
Onahama Ocean Hotel 'Box'
Rm. 902

Capsule hotels were an imported esthetic adopted from space-saving measures that began in crowded, megalopolis population wells in the Core. To Asahians, it exemplified certain core tenets: sparse, spare, modest, efficient living. The room was three meters by two, height and width, stretching for another five until it walled off smoothly and coalesced about a perfectly spherical bubble window overlooking a view onto Kasso Bay. The walls met with subtle flute-grooves, partially 'bent' and giving the chamber a slightly swelled, elliptical profile. Most surfaces save the temperfoam floor were coloured white and titanium, machine cool, black rubber lining outlet seals and a child-blue curtain hanging over a recessed spare bed compartment. A skinny desk, small Hosaka ECD-screen, H-Net router, an unstudied wardrobe, and footlocker counted as furniture.

The occupant had laid out a plastic sleeve over the temperfoam and was sat up cross-legged. Innards of a bullpup CZN-M22 arranged along smearings of anti-friction greases and rainbow sheen oils were picked, cleaned with steel brush and rag, then returned. A hand, cased in red duraplast, servo actuators and synth muscle whirring almost delicately, held up a section of the receiver. Beside, by his sitting hip, a thin dataslate blinked on. Cued a stream of bright, running data sectioning off into compiling tables. He replaced the receiver back onto the smudged plastic, wiped his hands on a cleaner rag before holding the screen up.

///Inloading///
[Via SS-Buoy 89-Ø / Received / Decompressing / Scanning]
[CONTENTS ENCRYPTED]
[Running... KYWH-Cyph.Key Ver.1.2]
[Running... Running... Running...]
[File Contents Retrieved]

• 
  Mail///8-25-849
  

[Opening...]

To Cato Fett

My name is Rekali the Hutt, adopted member of the Rekali Clan. As I've scrounged through old connections I've heard of a terrible slaver rise up and execute or sell some old associates of mine. I'd like to take revenge, a sort of penance, but I am not the best at stealth, nor do I have the clout to bring a party of raiders onto a world that's largely a cesspool of criminal turf wars. I do however have a good amount of credits, and I would like to hire you. If you're interested I can forward you the information or we can have a meeting and discuss your task and adequate compensation.
Regards,
Rekali the Hutt


“Hmmnn...”

///Compiling New Message///
///Please Enter Forwarding Address///
///Please Enter Message Header///
///Please Enter Message Body///

Rekali

Forward me what you have. We'll parse terms together in person. Attaching a receipt of contractual prices. I'll be seeing you.

C.F.

A messy thumb stroked over send and slid the slate aside, returning to his machine maintenance. At once, the parts snapped and bolted into the firearm's framework, reforming the disassembled catalogue splayed over the sheeting into an unassuming mid-carbine with a sickle magazine. Less than five counted seconds. Could be better. Would be better. Cato Fett wedged the stock butt against the crook of an armpit and shoulder, sighted down the snub barrel, and squeezed on the trigger. A dry bolt rattle, cycling through a round that wasn't there.

He smiled, just a little.

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

Rekali

Forward me what you have. We'll parse terms together in person. Attaching a receipt of contractual prices. I'll be seeing you.

C.F.

The man had no time for pleasantries it appeared. The Hutt liked that in a contact. Made things so much quicker. His prices were expensive, but not unreasonable. Shouldn't be any trouble on that departmet. As for the information however, Rekali the Hutt did a bit of rewriting. While the dossier he had was good, it was from the perspective of an Underworld member, and Cato didn't need that perspective. Removing info on the Underworld and re-writing the perspective the dossier would still reveal that he was a former One Sith, a rumored practitioner of Battle Meditation, a few places he was supposed to hide out, just how big the Lugubra Horde was supposed to be and what their typical operations were. So he had all he needed to do his job. When the Hutt was finally content with it he drafted up a message and sent it to the bounty hunter.

Cato,

Your prices are agreeable. Oyu'baat, 20:30, Centaxday. Attaching loose dossier of your target. It's something I've parsed together from a lot of contacts and hearsay, so it won't be militarily comprehensive, but it should serve as a good start at the least.

-Rekali


Rekali the Hutt would be in a corner in the Oyu'baat, with some Mandallian Narcolethe in his mug and some stew in his bowl. The Narcolethe had a reputation for being extremely potent, but he was a Hutt. Not to much made him drunk, especially not to quickly. He garnered a few eyes as a he always did amongst the Mandalorians, ever surprised at such a sluggish species joining their ranks. After he spoke of his service raiding Loronar and another vod vouched for him he didn't have any trouble, but their were always the eyes shifting about. Not that Rekali the Hutt minded. His empire was growing, and all the while he had witnesses putting him on Mandalore. An alibi was never a bad thing to have. Ultimately though, he was here to conduct business. He needed only wait for Cato to show.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Oyu'baat. 20:30, Centaxday

The Oyu'baat was an accretion of older architecture that had survived since before Canderous Ordo, as eclectic and idiosyncratic as any piece of property belonging to Keldabe. An impromptu fence of fallen roof tiles ringed the property, wired together by knotted grit-vines, hemmed and crowded by swoop-bikes, air-speeders, and the rare ground-car. A dozen bodies dressed in mixtures of second-hand fatigues and strapped plating came and went at a given minute, a wash of thick sub-woofer pound trax shifting dust out of the door jamb, drifting palls of chokweed smoke drawing a curtain of haze across the entry to an immense hall chaired from end to end by broad long-tables.

Someone had just lost in the semi-final round of an enduring cu'bikad tournament when he arrived.. Cato Fett drifted past the playing tables, stepping between bar goers and players. He spared a fast scan of the board: four players, quillons wild rules, and player two was out of the running for an illegal move. An estimated thirty-thousand pot, built over the course of the last six months, was the riding prize. A sullen young man with shaggy hair tamed by a leather head-band cursed so foully it turned heads at the far fire hearth. Strapping on his helm, he strutted out of the laughing crowd, colliding against Cato's shoulder.

“Oi!” A heavy-set alor'ad shook out of his chair and called after the youth. “Oi! None of that! You let loss unman you.”

The boy just shrugged hotly, framed by light pouring in from outside through cracks in the doorway, and left.

“...He's not long if he keeps that up. Chaavla sa shebs be'striili.”

[Did a Hutt make his way in here?] Cato asked, in the Mando'a mode.

The alor'ad swung his bulk left and raised a gauntlet toward a dark, far corner. Rekali the Hutt was a corpulent outline nursing himself on a generous glass mug of simmering Narolethe. Firelight painted the bulge and crease of his tailored battle-dress. Bright eyes caught the stare, expectantly. [Made himself at home over there. Been watching the game and the door. Have to keep the ad'ika from wandering over to ask stupid questions.]

[Obliged.]

-

“Rekali?”

Cato Fett was there, in cloth fatigues done up 'field style', braced with a weight harness still holding full kit. His left arm emerged from rolled up sleeving as a bionic prosthetic, a horn of black polymer protruding almost obscenely out of the skin above his right eyebrow, the eye below patched with black. Adjusted the ride of a pistol and strapped carbine, settling into the seat opposite the grand Hutt. He reached into a waist satchel, withdrawing a chemical cigar, lighting it.

“Let's talk about your slaver.”

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

Mandalorians came and went, but Rekali was looking for a man missing an eye and an arm, the later replaced by cybernetics. On Mandalore that wasn't truly all that distinguishing, but it was something. Most seemed to prefer the T-visored beskar'gam, but a few came in the comfort of their own skin. One such mandalorian came and cased the room, which still wasn't exactly atypical, but he asked around before one of the mandalorians pointed over in his direction. The Hutt took a sip out of his narcolethe as they spoke a moment and the man headed over. It looked like Rekali the Hutt had his man.

"Rekali?" The Fett headed over and pulled out a electronic cigarra before taking a puff. "Let's talk about your slaver." The Hutt put out a grin.

<He's a One Sith that left.> Rekali started with the obvious. Stuff Cato probably already knew from reading the dossier. <He commands a horde of Lugubra with some sort of Force power. He uses it to push his territory and raid other gangs, but also to swarm houses in the dead of night, abducting any he finds profitable with sheer numbers. Instead of selling to the usual suspects he sells to his old contacts in the One Sith. From what I've heard the lucky ones go the work camps, while others serve as personal entertainment, or test subjects.> Rekali the Hutt explained. He didn't think the sympathy card would bring him the bounty hunter, but the One Sith were particularly hated by the mandalorians. Not to mention it was all true.

<He runs a good portion of the Yala district.> The hutt said as he pulled out a datapad and pulled up a map. <He's supposed to be holed up in one of these three compounds, but he hasn't been seen in two weeks. Yet his raids only continue to grow.> The Hutt said, with some measure of disgust in his voice. The bar-goers around him gave a few looks as the Hutt spoke in his natural tongue, but it was tolerated. It was quite the trade language after all. Most Mandalorians with business sense learned it at some point or another.

<It won't be easy, but I trust you are up to the task?>

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The map was a thin grid overlay of several interconnected boroughs defined by rough markers denoting gang holdings. A satellite scan at 102 resolution, though it still belied the ultra-urban landscape, the verticality, density of architecture and overlapping avenues and back roads, buildings that seemed to grow against whatever was raised beside them. Red light highlighted a trio of cordoned structures displaced across the zone, tables of running data winking open. Cato eased the holo-emitter to his side of the table, raising his own datapad and snaking a feed line into a junction aperture, downloading the .HNG.

<It's doable,> Cato pulled in a breath, extinguishing the cigarra. His Huttese was fluent but almost 'tasteless', glancing between the consulted dossier and the hovering map-slate. <Lugubraa might be a break. Can't use digit-standard weaponry unless they've got something exotic on hand. ...It's doable. I'll put my boots on the ground and go from there.>

He hadn't the benefit of a dedicated support staff. The Dar'jetii was a mercurial factor in a data-sea of unknowns, shielded by Trevel'ka's substandard patina of poverty and dislocated infrastructures. Success would be a combination of preparation, observation, adaptation, and improvisation. Cato shut down the hologram. <Anything else I should know? Capabilities outside of local muscle and resources? He still have contacts in the OS that could bail him if he panics?>

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

Considering the Hutt body was largely a lump it was hard to define Rekali's reaction as a shrug, but the bounty hunter would probably pick up the nuances of his motion, slight though it was.

<All I know of his old contacts is that he sells to some of them. It wouldn't surprise me if he has more qualified fighters for his personal guard, but I have no information on who or what he might have up his sleeve. Most of the weapony on Trevel'ka are amalgamations of blasters made by throwing a bunch of junk together that happens to fire. He might have alleviated some One Sith surplus when he first came to the planet. The nearest spaceports are the one in the Gavaroth district to the south east, and one in the Queazat district to the north. Gavaroth I know is fighting against his Horde, victim to it's occasional raids, but he might have enough pull at Queazat to get in some better supplies.> The Hutt explained, before pulling a credit chip out of his pack.

<Half your fee now, half when the job is done. Do you prefer it wired to an account or simply having access to a fund?> Anonymity was valued among some bounty hunters, others didn't care. Rekali the Hutt preferred to give his clients options in the little things. Payment methods, to a lesser degree amounts, so long as the larger picture was firmly in his control.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The dossier was edited while Rekali spoke at brief length, annotated with marginal notes, digital shorthand that Cato wrote with his mechno-hand. The other was taking a leaf of glue-backed paper out of an inner shirt slip and jotted a ten-digit account out with a pencil. He slid it over to the Hutt, the paper disappearing into a palm with more folds than Askajians had breasts. Behind them, the cu'bikad tourney was resuming. Someone shuffled past, hoisting flagons of ne'tra gal. Cato remembered there were three exits past the twin bar counters and one loose window pane banging with the wind, seen when he'd came down the small, fat staircase from the forward doors. Already felt halfway out the Oyu'baat, caught running through formalities with Rekali at the table still.

<Fund will do,> He said, standing. <Now we go from here. I'll send word if all goes well, but I imagine you'll know before. Be seeing you, Rekali.>

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

[member="Cato Fett"]

"Good hunting vod." He pushed out in basic and Mandoa, his Huttese accent coming through but the basic still being translateable. He didn't know a ton of basic phrases, but he made sure to learn a few that would be handy. It was strange, transitioning from speaking Huttese and having a translator or translator droid to learning another two languages at once, but it would not do to have a Mandalorian speak only Huttese forever. As the Fett left the building the Hutt took note of the flimsi he slid over, and set up a wire to the account. He'd have the first half of the payment show by the end of the day. After he was done he'd finish his mug and head out himself, before contacting Radok and Kijo on the holocomm later that night.

<I'm sending in a specialist to deal with Jorvan. His name is Cato Fett. I don't know if he's coming down our spaceport or at Queazat's, but don't give him any trouble if he runs through our part of town. And ensure that he does not find out of my involvement with the Underworld.>

"A Fett? I thought they'd been washed up since the Gulag Plague. We'll take care of it though, I'll keep a lookout for 'im." Kijo replied, while Radok kept stoically silent.

<This one is different I think. Report to me his movements, and tell me when the job is done.>

"Of course." Radok replied, and the Hutt ended the call. The two lieutenants would set a lookout for any Mandalorians coming in through Garavoth Spaceport, and they'd set up a long distance tail. Not too close to watch him, but following close enough behind to see his after-effects and start telling the rest of the gang when to start moving in on the Horde's turf. It was a difficult balance Rekali asked for, seizing the space soon yet waiting for the bounty to finish his business and leave before truly setting up shop.

 

[Cato Fett]

Outside was bright, cold. Spring was late or early, depending on who was consulted, hoarfrost still clutching to downspouts, eaves, and the edgings of ferrocrete walkways. Chokweed and hints of black ale still drifted on the long boulevard and teased the small crowds of fresh children, playing war games between the street mouths, a few loafing, smirking teenagers now beginning their armour fittings boasting of the hell they'd raise as soon as they stepped through the vaunted double-doors.

Cato counted the bodies with weaponry – nearly every able adult – kept a weather eye on the dark helmets chatting in the alleyways. It was sixteen hundred paces towards the end port, through three neighbourhoods and under the long hundred meter shadow of the MandalMotors tower. He wasn't expecting trouble, but Keldabe was Keldabe. Between situational awareness and now-instinctual habits of battle assessment, thoughts drifted onto the bounty. Rekali's advance was generous, and already being funnelled into a select account attached to a private hospice and recuperation clinic on Polis Massa. Payment on mission completion would square away at least part of a growing line of overdue payment dates. Debts to pay, he thought. It was all Yuna'Sif and Khado Daiya had left for him.

He paused along a bazaar tract and lit a second e-cigarra. The shade awning belonged to a quiet merchant showing off hand-crafted silver pieces designed for armour ornamentation. A customer paused and engaged the merchant in back-and-forth bartering, spoken in customary Mando'a. Cato half listened, eyeing a squad pack marching past on their way to the Oyu'baat. Lightless T-visors stared back. All wore emblazoned patches on their rerebraces: Clan Vizla. Cato Fett smiled, thinly. Finished the chemical cigar, checked the bazaar lane both ways with a hand to his side-arm, then mustered along. He stepped through a surge of foot traffic and disappeared beyond, shadowing along in virtually plain sight. Only the port crews were startled when a shaggy Corellian-model freighter cycled into take-off a quarter of an hour later.

It was Mandalore to Ylix, to Obredaan, Esfandia, onto Trevel'ka. Cato was keying the navicomp coords almost automatically, dividing attention between piloting rigours, reviewing a fresh systems diagnostic, while in-loading data taken from the bar meeting. A section of the forward viewscreen was divided, laying out grid-sections of spin-ward star maps before it became busy with precis overviews aimed at familiarizing himself with the local planetary powers. His eye snapped about, scanning and logging, trapping information inside a steel-tight memory. The freighter righted itself along a jump-lane once free of the gravity well. Starlight blinked, elongated, and swallowed the vessel whole. Something tight and fire hot roiled inside the operator's chest: something happy to be on the hunt...

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]