"I'd Just as Soon Kiss a Wookiee"

[Sal Katarn]

Kwenn Space Station​

He checked the Sliid gun's mag one more time, then stuffed it into his shoulder holster. The disruptor sat in the holster on his right thigh. He tested the collapsible taser baton. It crackled to life, then crackled off. The seller had been right convinced that it would take down a full grown Wookiee silverback.

Hm.

Would probably be enough for the target. Gorba made it clear he wanted her alive. Why Gorba wanted her that way was none of Sal's business. Katarn wasn't none too sure what to do about the Noghri bodyguards though, so he just hoped the fast acting paralytic in the Sliid's darts would do the job.

Katarn looked down at the display on his wrist chrono, which was linked to a probe droid hovering outside one of the high end convention centers.

She should be getting out of the meeting soon

Sal started walking, turning the corner into the convention center's main foyer.

Looked pretty damn out of place in this upscale center, but weren't nothing he could do about that. Could either bag her here or Honoghr, and Sal didn't have any funny notions about how warm a reception all those Noghri would give him. Least here the odds were a little more even.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

Chosen for its convenient location somewhere north of between-Ceto-and-Honoghr, Kwenn Station stood as the furthest the newly annointed CEO of Ceto Engineering & Technology Operations was willing to go at the present time. Given the recent death of the Shamalain Matriarch and the flurry to tie up loose ends within the family tree, becoming the corporate head of a major shipwright in the backwater regions of the galaxy had not been part of the plans.

Still, if the late Matriarch had imparted upon her nothing else over many centuries of mentorship, it was to be adaptable. To see an opportunity rather than a threat.

The Committee meeting had proven insightful for her and clarifying for them. A win-win, all things considered. The man that had once sat in her position, Darcy Sixsmith, now found himself comfortably seated in the chair of Director of Operations. Ereza could maintain her presence on Honoghr until the chaotic ripples the Matriarch's death had put into motion finally smoothed over, and Sixsmith could continue running things as usual.

"These fellows of yours," Sixsmith had motioned to the cadre of reptilian assassins standing poised and silent at the meeting hall entrance for the duration of the appointment, "do they travel with you at all times?"

"At all times, Mr. Sixsmith," Ereza replied without looking up, her eyes were busy scanning project reports from the last five years, "you'll find them to be most inconspicuous."

"Do they...speak?" he queried quietly, pallid blue eyes watching those shadowed creatures as they stood like statues carved from stone.

"Not to you."

Sixsmith seemed to nod to himself, as if this fact was prefectly acceptable.

"Keep me aprised of new developments, Mr. Sixsmith. Until I have my affairs in order," Ereza stood from her seat, tapping holoflimsies into a file, "you have the helm."

Sixsmith and the others at the table stood as well. He offered his hand to her, fumbling when her gaze pierced his palm like a laser-guided spear. Right, no physical contact. The man recalled the offending appendage and hid it behind his back, offering a short bow from the waist instead. This culture shift would take some getting use to. "Of course, my Lady, you will be the first to receive all new and pertinent information."

Ereza departed with a curt smile and a measured turn on her heel, the hood of her robes coming to rest over her head as she made her exit. The Noghri fell into formation: two at her front, two at her back, and one General bringing up the rear.

[member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

Four? Four might be too many.

Too late now.

Katarn strode from his position in the corner of the foyer directly toward the entourage, pistol raised.

Pht. Pht. Pht. Pht.

Four darts left the barrel of the sliid gun in quick succession, one each for the Noghri bodyguards. If he reckoned right, the Noghri'd be the biggest threat. Best to down 'em fast. The paralytic agent in the darts would lay them out. After the Noghri were down, [member="Ereza"] would come with him, like as not. Most corporate types didn't take much to violence if they had to do it themselves.

He drew closer and suddenly the amulet hanging from his neck grew cold as ice against the skin of his chest.

Kriff.

One of 'em could use the Force. Katarn had three guesses who.

 

[Ereza]

Two Noghri guards staggered, hissed, and promptly slumped to the ground. To the credit of the remaining, they never broke stride. Moving immediately to place themselves between the assailant and their charge, the trio shifted their course towards a southern hall. The woman never gave a backwards glance.

All that remained was the Noghri General, bringing up the rear, who moved straight to intercept [member="Sal Katarn"] with zero hesitance. What would become immediately evident was that there was more than one Force User in the entourage, and this war-battered powerhouse assassin was one of them. A clawed hand shot out towards Sal, issuing not a push, but a pull, to attempt to bring them man into range of meelee.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal raised the sliid gun, then felt a tug on his body, as if someone'd tossed a rope around his waist and tied the other end to a bantha madder than hell. Katarn flew through the air and straight into a Noghri haymaker. Claws raked across his face, opening up bloody ravines in the skin. Pain lanced through him and he let out a short, sharp grunt before the Noghri's follow through decked him.

His back slammed into the ground and the breath whooshed from his lungs. Wheezing for air, Katarn could barely move as the Noghri General seized the front of his armorweave vest with both claws and hauled Sal bodily into the air. Beady black eyes glittered as they stared into Katarn's blood-slick face.

"Hrk." Sal gargled.

Fffft.

The Noghri looked down sharply. A yellow syringe-dart protruded from his thigh. Those deepset black eyes rolled into the back of his head and his grip on Katarn loosened. The bounty hunter tore free, kicking off the Noghri's chest and landing unceremoniously on his ass. From that position he swiveled his torso and tried to put the last two darts in his magazine into the chests of the last two remaining Noghris.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

One more Noghri down, followed swiftly by an innocent bystander who had decided to join the growing crowd of people now starting to fuss and panic. The ordeal hadn't gone unnoticed and Kwenn Station had a healthy population of people upon it, including security forces.

The woman and her single remaining Noghri guard stepped into a lift at the end of the hall, turning to spy the man through the crowds as he got up. Her gaze cut through the chaos like a bolt of lightning, striking him with molten saffron and frozen tundra, to fill his mind with a sudden case of overwhelming nausea.

The Jedi called the technique Malacia. On Garhall it had a different name, the effect remained virtually the same.

She watched, unblinkingly, as the doors to the lift hissed shut. Out of sight, out of mind - the mental flood ended suddenly, but the side-effects would linger no doubt.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal pushed himself to his feet, dribbling blood all over the convention center's nice floor. He started jogging toward the lift at the other end of the hall, when his target turned around. She fixed him with a pair of mismatched eyes and the stare hit him like a Wookiee punch. Katarn drew up short, breath catching, gut twisting in knots as a sudden wave of nausea made his knees weak and bile lurch up his throat. He doubled over, hacking. Lunch gushed out onto the floor and the droplets of blood fell from his face to mix with the puddle. He could feel the mess of blood and vomit, clinging to the edges of his scruff. Sal brushed an arm across his mouth and looked up.

The lift doors were already closed.

Dry heaving one more time, Sal, straightened, then dashed for the nearest turbo lift.

The open doors slid closed and he jammed the level that her ship was on, since he suspected she was fixin' to lit a shuck out of Kwenn. HIs finger left a bloody smear on the button. Sal's stomach did a few more flips and he panted, trying not to lose it again. Sal ejected the magazine of his pistol and slid another into place. The turbo lift drew to a halt, chimed, then the doors opened.

He held the pistol at the ready and stepped out, real careful like.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

The woman was a dozen yards ahead, easily spotted in her white and gold robes billowing at her heels as she strode with purpose through the crowds. Her path remained unobstructed, but Sal would find his own line of sight constantly obscured by meandering wayfarers.

The last Noghri was nowhere to be seen.

At least he was, until he wasn't. The Assassin Warrior appeared from the crowds silent and quick as a viper, poison-tipped claws aiming for a gut-slash.

 

[Sal Katarn]

A blur of green from the crowd, then claws raked across Sal's abdomen, only prevented from ripping into Katarn's flesh by the armorweave. They tore right into that armorweave vest, ripping the fabric open like an Akk wolf laying into a grasser on Haruun Kal. The force of the blow jerked Sal sideways, spoiling his aim.

The mercenary let out a low growl from between clenched teeth, then threw out his left hand. A sudden, high-pitched whine emanated from his palm. The Noghri let out a short urk, then went flying into the wall headfirst. Sal put two darts into his back to be sure he stayed down, then flexed the finger inside the gravity glove. Useful.

He squinted up at [member="Ereza"]'s retreating form, drawing down on her and firing a single dart toward her right butt cheek.

 

[Ereza]

Sssffft. Tnk.

The dart bounced off her white cloak with a faint shimmering about the material and rolled across the floor where it wound up going into the heel of a passerby. Mild swearing ensued before the alien keeled over into a group of people, causing a growing commotion.

By the time [member="Sal Katarn"] cleared the crowd he would find himself facing a new group of Noghri warriors and the woman in question. Heterochromic gaze set upon him unblinkingly, belaying any further attempt of his own to land his target by unseen forces. Sal very suddenly found his air supply thoroughly cut off.

"That's enough out of you," uttered syllables as sharp as a Noghri's blade was honed. People were starting to stare,

"Yield or your life is forfeit."

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal squinted through the blood sheeting down his face. Did the dart just? . . . Yeah.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, smearing crimson everywhere. Beneath the blood, it almost looked like the wounds were slowly closing.

Grunting, Sal holstered the dart gun and palmed his disruptor pistol. Might have to kill a few of the bodyguards, but they had their job and he had his. No sense beatin' around the bush about it.

He eyed her and the rest of the Noghri. There was a big, mean fella on the far right that looked like he could choke out a Wampa. Sal'd do him first.

Thinkin' bout the tattoos on his back, Sal started to snort at her words, then felt a tight constriction around his throat. About eighteen years too late for that kind of offer.

He raised and fired, sending a disruptor bolt capable of punching a thumb-sized hole in just about anything for the meaty part of her left thigh.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

It was the nature of her warriors to serve to the death, all in the name of their Mal'ary'ush. Death, as it were, came just as naturally to their claws as it did to their unwavering oath of loyalty. The nearest Noghri moved with such speed to take that bolt, a hiss emitting from him as it cleared through his armor, both lungs, and out the other side of his body.

The second hiss was not his, but that of the woman as the bolt proceeded to sail straight home through her thigh. Not a particularly good choice on Sal's part - the pain causing her fist to curl, her mind reaching out at the neck within her grasp and crushing it entirely. Not many people would hear the sound of his neck snapping, but she would.

Even despite the explosion of searing pain in her leg and the sudden urge to kill everything. Where was the station security, she seethed, some part of her mind coming to the conclusion that Kwenn Station was either run by criminals or the remnants of the Galactic Republic - not that the two were mutually exclusive. This was the least of her current problems.

She'd never get these stains out of this outfit.

"Take him and get my ship out of port," Ereza snapped to her retinue, yanking her cloak over the wound to hide it from view of the public as she limped off to the boarding ramp that lead into the belly of The Baqani.

 

[Sal Katarn]

He woke up to the hum of ray shields. The metal floor felt cold against the bare skin of his back. His eyes slowly adjusted to the blue glow cast by the shields, the only source of light in the cell, far as he could tell. Sal sat up and gingerly rubbed the back of his neck, which felt all kinds of awful.

"Mff. Typical."

The crick was worse than the time he'd been tossed from a wild bantha and landed on his head. He still remembered the audible pop and the sensation of his vertebrae going in the wrong directions. Katarn's lips curled. Green eyes cast downward. Hm.

Least he still had pants.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

"Yes," came the calm drawl of a woman, "dignity has its place."

Beyond the blue sheen of ray shields the white-robed woman moved into view. A hum surrounded the cell block, suggesting that they were space-faring ... hyperspace, if one knew the cadence of engine murmurs well enough. She stood just within the cool illumination, hands lightly tucked at her back, shoulders squared, gaze direct and noticeably unwaivering. Those eyes shifted from the garments that adorned the man's lower half up to his face, seeming to sumize the man who thought he would make a credit off her capture.

"Who sent you?"

[member="Sal Katarn"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal grunted.

Interrogation. Yeah. He s'posed he could tell her straight out, but that'd more than likely see him spaced once she got what she needed. Then again, weren't exactly a secret that Gorba'd put a bag order on her. Why? Well Sal never asked why. Askin' why got folk like him killed. But he guessed it were something to do with the Hutt's taste in women. The slugs tended to be that way, from his experience.

They also tended to kill folk that squealed on 'em.

A real Malastare standoff . . . except everyone else had a gun but him.

"Got me in a fix," Katarn said, voice a low rasp that sounded as though someone'd taken sandpaper to his vocal chords.

[member="Ereza"]

 

[Ereza]

"You certainly do."

Though from the looks of it he'd managed to fix himself just fine. Eyes traced the curve of the man's neck through the shields, honing in where the carotid artery would lay before returning to his eyes. Statuesque where she stood, the woman considered the man where he sat on the floor and gave a single, nearly imperceptible nod.

The shields dropped, two Noghri warriors immediately moved in to seize him by his arms.

Hands and legs bound, likely not a whole lot he could do against his captors. Noghri were notoriously strong on their own. Trained and dedicated Noghri Assassins knew exactly how to handle live targets. They carried him across the hall to a pressurization chamber. The airlock on the other side had but one small window in it, cropping out a lone, blazing sun. He was promptly tossed into the chamber with the door hissing shut behind him.

Calm and collected, the woman stepped over into view, now on the other side of an airlock hatch.

"Who sent you?"

 

[Sal Katarn]

Sal did not even attempt to struggle as the big lizards dragged him to the airlock and tossed him inside. His knees scuffed against the hard metal deck and he took his time getting back to his feet, no doubt.

Strands of greasy hair hung limply before his battered features and he stared through the small viewport at [member="Ereza"], eyes flat.

"A Hutt," he rasped, not desperate to feel the cold vacuum of space just yet.

He'd seen fellows who'd been spaced before. Watched their eyeballs burst from their skulls in the vacuum, imagined their blood boiling just beneath their skin. Death'd come quick enough, so that was something. Better than getting peeled apart over the course of weeks in some Sith's dungeon. And he'd been there before.

No job was worth dying over.

"Name of Gorba."

 

[Ereza]

A moment of silence followed his answer, stare of molten gold and glacier remained locked on his face.

"Why."