Beyond - Legends Life and Limmie: Senator Tales (OC)

This.

 

Head-down over a slow-fire for those two, says Agamar!

 

Part Fifteen

TAGS to jcgoble3 and Trieste

Me’lin found herself standing on a busy city street, the hustle and bustle of Coruscant all around her. She had no idea why she was here, but there had to be a reason. She walked forward into the throng of people, but they all avoided her like the plague. A small baby cried, businessmen a walked wide loop around her, and the air was generally still. The Twi’lek could feel like all were giving her dirty looks, their silence a damning message to her very soul.

And then she saw him. Gark S’rily sat on a nearby bench, datapad in hand. He was wearing his tuxedo jacket and tie, as if he was taking a break from work to just sit out here. Me’lin approached, but the Bothan’s head didn’t move up to look at her.

“Gark, I need to talk to you,” Me’lin said. Her voice sounded a little bit off.

But the Bothan just sat there, saying nothing. It was as if she wasn’t there at all.

“Gark, please, speak to me,” Me’lin said.

The Bothan looked up, but he had the same cold stare that the rest of the passerby had on their faces. “What in the hell do you want?” he asked sternly. She had heard this tone before when Gark got serious, but that wasn’t very often, and never was directed at her.

“What are you talking about? Don’t you know who I am?” Me’lin asked. Something was very wrong here.

“I know who you are. You’re the woman who betrayed me,” Gark said.

“What?” Me’lin asked.

“You let yourself be raped multiple times,” Gark said. “And so I want nothing more to do with you. Away with your filth!” He stood up, all the while giving her that same evil look. Me’lin took another step forward, to try and explain to the Bothan why he was mistaken. But he took a step back, maintaining the distance between the two.

“Go sell your wares somewhere else,” Gark said dismissively. “You’re just a dirty prostitute.” With that, he turned and walked off into the crowd, not even looking back. Me’lin reached out to try and call him back, yelling his name, but now the faceless crowd wasn’t even giving her cold stares anymore. Gark finally disappeared into the throng, not to be seen again. All the Twi’lek could do was sit down on the bench and cry; what was going on?”

Me’lin awoke from the nightmare in a pool of tears from her eyes. She was still in the holding cell, wherever that was. Looking around, she could see Galin sitting over on the far side of the cell, looking downcast. Then she looked at herself. She was starting to thin, the sign of malnutrition for a significant amount of time. Her clothes were ripped, and she had bruises on her body from the assaults and the beatings she received from the thugs every now and then. But the worst wounds were the ones that no one could physically see; they were the ones that constantly plagued her, had contributed to that nightmare.

Maybe dream-state Gark was right. Maybe she wasn’t anything more than just a hollow body. The thugs had taken her dignity from her, had taken her life from her. She wanted to lunge at them, stab them, kill them, make them suffer. But there was nothing she could do, because each time she tried to resist, they just pushed her down again.

She finally lifted her head, and Galin also lifted his. They locked eye contact for a split second, Me’lin able to tell that her son was in complete agony from all this waiting. But there was something else that was bothering him.

“Mommy, why so quiet?” the young Bothan asked.

“Leave it alone,” Me’lin replied. She put her head back down on the cold, hard floor.

Galin toddled over, his body also wasting away in this harsh environment. He touched his mother on the arm. “Why so quiet?” he asked once more.

But the response was not what he expected. Me’lin lifted her head to look at her son. The rage was flowing in her mind. “Go the hell away!” she yelled. “Can’t you see that I’m not interested in talking to you?!”

Galin was confused. He didn’t understand what she was asking, but the tone of her voice was all too familiar. She was angry, but why? Did this have to do with the bad men? He reached out once more, but Me’lin slapped him across the face. The pain of the slap didn’t register with the boy immediately, but when the stinging started to hit his face, he felt stunned. Why had she done that?

“Get away from me, you little wretch!” she roared, rolling away from her son like he had the plague.

“Mommy, why?” Galin asked. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, because crying was still the most effective way to show his anger and sadness at this point in his life.

“Go away, Galin! I don’t want you touching me, or even talking to me! Stay away!” Me’lin yelled at the young Bothan, who finally began to cry. Me’lin curled herself up near the wall, keeping her head down as to not see the boy wail away.

In her mind, she wanted to take her anger out on Galin. She wanted to continue to yell at him, wanted to push the abuse heaped on her onto his shoulders. It might help her feel better. If someone else had to suffer through even some of the pain she was experiencing, they would understand how wretched her state was.

But then a voice in her head tried to diffuse those thoughts. What in the hell are you doing? it asked. Galin is the one thing you have left, and then you shun him away. You’re no better than your dream state this voice said. And the Twi’lek knew that this voice, whatever it was, was correct. Galin was all she had now.

She moved her head away from the wall to find Galin, who was still crying away but now sitting on the floor about halfway between the Twi’lek and the cell bars. It was difficult to watch the child wail, especially when his tears were almost completely dry. Neither had been well-fed ever since they had been brought here, and most moisture they did receive from their rations was not available for crying.

Me’lin finally reached out a little bit towards her son. “Galin . . . come here,” she said.

“No,” the young boy said quietly.

“Come here,” Me’lin repeated.

“No,” Galin said, now a little louder.

“Come here . . . please,” Me’lin said a third time.


“No!” the child shouted, and he slunk off to the far corner of the cell in his tantrum. Me’lin just ducked her head once more on the wall. Now her own son was against her, and rightfully so. Life couldn’t be crueler than it was right now.

 

After the last post, pretty much anything could have turned the story in a better direction.

Except that.

I mean, it's good writing, but double boooooooooooooooooooooo.

 

Me'lin does not deserve victim's guilt! And now her son has been alienated from her.

If I announce in ELL that Kinshry is dead, will that solve everything through plotline crossover?

 

I think she needs a hug right about now.

Part Sixteen

TAGS: Admiral Volshe Tim Battershell jcgoble3 Trieste

Gark found himself in the whitish haze once more, the wisps of haze surrounding his body like clouds moving over the surface of a planet. He couldn’t see that far in front of him, but as it had in the prior dream, his body moved forwards this time. It wasn’t a run, but just a mere walk. Wherever he was going, he didn’t know, but his body seemed to.

This was oddly familiar. He had this dream before, when Nat had appeared in front of him in a white dress. That dream had been quite a spectacle, something that he could not soon forget. But what was the purpose of this dream sequence? He no longer had any interest in Nat, so if she showed up, he could just wake up and break the string. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him.

And then came the thin-trunk tree forest. Each tree was lined up perfectly with its neighbors, the long rows of trees extending on all sides into the haze. But there was no sound in the forest, just the haze and the silence of the surroundings. How could he escape a place like this? Or was his body bringing him here for a reason? Why was he here again?

Then he could see a motion through the haze, and his body froze to the spot. This was going down as it had with Nat in the dream, but much had happened since then. Would this motion belong to a hideous creature that would attempt to devour him? The forest offered no clues, the tree trunks standing in their silent manner, almost mocking him. He wanted to call out into the haze, but that would do no good. They said that things could not be heard in a forest, that one could be lost in there forever.

The motion occurred again, and Gark whipped around to see what it was. Coming out of the haze was a figure in a white dress, but it wasn’t Nat. Gark couldn’t quite tell at first, but then it became abundantly clear. Me’lin showed up in that shimmering white dress, that trademark smile of hers evident on her face. Gark reached out to try and get closer to her, but his arm moved so slowly in the vacuum. The Twi’lek then took off running, and Gark’s body followed in pursuit. He had to get to her, had to tell her how sorry he was for letting this happen to her. It had been his fault, and he would have to make amends for his mistakes.

Finally they were out of the forest, and he continued the chase through the flower patch. Me’lin was slowing down, and Gark finally caught up to her. He grasped her hand in his and then locked a glance with the woman. She then tugged him along in her run, each step landing in a patch of flowers that lost their petals with every stomp. Where they were going, Gark didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t a bad place? Or at least he could hope so.

Finally, a white void opened up in the flower patch, and the two lovers ran into this breach, prompting a change of scene. Gark now found himself in a chapel, the same chapel he and Me’lin had married in. And there she was, right as she had been on that special day in 272, smiling at him. It was a fuzzy feeling for the Bothan, reliving one of the best moments of his life like this. As he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger, Gark could glimpse at the surrounding beings on the stage with them, all elegantly dressed for the occasion. And there was Nat, dressed in red like the bridesmaids had been, that same wry look on her face as usual. But she wasn’t beckoning to him this time, instead just standing back and watching him.

The scene changed once more, but it did not reveal the idyllic cottage scene. Instead, he could see his house, the one he and his wife had purchased to be their own piece of paradise. He was coming in from the sidewalk, obviously having walked home from work. The house looked so inviting to him as he started up the driveway, his body once again in control. He made it up to the front door, which opened without him even needing to touch it. Right inside to greet him was Galin, who had now grown several inches taller and looked older than he was in reality. But the boy was still young.

“Hi Dad,” he said. He reached up to high-five, and Gark returned the gesture. Galin then led his father into the living room, where Me’lin was sitting on the sofa watching the HoloNet. She turned around to see Gark enter before looking back at the floor in front of her. Gark followed her gaze to see two small Twi’lek girls playing on the floor, not more than just two years old. Both had small furry ridges around their ears, and slightly longer noses, but other than that they for the most part resembled their mother. Gark joined his wife on the couch, and she quickly kissed him to welcome him home. As she leaned into his body, as she normally did when they were sitting here, he could see her stomach bulging out once more. Obviously in this dream world his family was going to be adding a sixth member, identity and gender unknown.

But Gark didn’t care about specifics. He was here with his family, and that was what mattered. There came a sound of knocking on the door, and Gark excused himself to go and attend to the matter. He got up and went to the door, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t open it. The knocking kept coming, and Gark, frustrated, tried to kick the door down to get it to open for whoever was out there. But the force of the kick didn’t do anything, and then Gark could feel a thud.

He woke up on the floor of his bedroom, having just fallen out of bed with the force of the kick he had administered to the door in his dream. This seemed to happen an awful lot, he noted as he got up off the floor and dusted himself off a little bit. The floor wasn’t dirty or anything, but he did this out of habit. The knocking, which he thought had just been a figment of his imagination, kept coming. This snapped Gark out of his stupor, and he went to the door in his pajamas. However, given recent events, he was going to be armed with something. So he grabbed a wood block and held it close, just in case he needed to beat someone away.

But he didn’t need to. Nat was standing outside, an amused look on her face when she saw the Bothan in his pajamas.

“Nice duds,” she commented as she went by him into the house.

“What are you doing here?” Gark asked as he closed the door.

“You asked me to formulate a plan of attack on that brewery, so I have one to share,” the Hapan replied. Gark sat down; he needed to listen to this. “We’re going to have to tread carefully . . .”

---

Sector 7AEB3

Gark looked at the decrepit brewery as he hid his body behind a nearby wall. “Looks abandoned,” he commented before sticking his head back to safety.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Nat said. She was now wearing her typical black jumpsuit, ready for action as always. Gark wore his superhero suit, and Sony Tark had his armor on but his helmet off. “We need to be ready for anything.”

“So, how are we going to get in?” Gark asked. “Is there a back door that we can break into?”

“Probably, but they might be sealed off. We may have to go through the front door,” Nat commented.

Gark slapped a hand to his face. He was afraid she would say that. “That’s a terrible plan,” he said.

“Actually, it is not a bad plan,” Tark finally said. He had been quiet up until now. “If we can get into the front portion, we may be able to knock out their listening devices and go in the way they will not expect us to come in, from the front. They can cover the back, but can they cover the front?”

“Only problem is, if we don’t have an alternate escape route, we may get stuck inside with our only option being the front,” Gark said.

“We’ve blown holes in buildings before,” Nat said, reminding the Bothan of how Dun Dun Duman had made a hole in the side of Calo Mornd’s warehouse many years earlier when they had been in a tough fight. “If we have to, I think we can manage.”

“So, are we going to bust in there, guns blazing, screaming bloody murder?” Gark inquired. “Because after all this crap, I could certainly use a way to vent my frustration on Kinshry and his ilk.”

“No, we can’t be seen,” Nat said. Gark rolled his eyes; spoilsport. “Look, we need to get in there covertly, and cover our tracks. Kill anyone who tries to stop us, even if it hurts us to do so. We’re on a mission, so never forget that. You’re not in a Limmie game right now; there are no rules in warfare. Or have you forgotten all about that?”

“I’ve tried to put some of this behind me,” Gark commented bitterly. He had tried to hang up the Superbothan persona once before, to try and live normally again. But how could he live a normal life after having been through all this? Kinshry had taken his life away from him, and now he was being forced back into the combat-ready Superbothan. He knew that he could do this, but he no longer felt any satisfaction in the job. Instead, it wore on him like a heavy jacket over his shoulders.

“It’ll come back to you in time,” Nat said. “If that’s settled, then let’s move. We may be running out of time before we know it.” She moved forwards from the cover, then Tark, finally with Gark in tow after the other two. They walked to the brewery, trying not to attract any unwanted attention. There weren’t supposed to be many beings down this way, since the brewery was abandoned and the nearby housing units looked ramshackle and empty, but one couldn’t be too cautious. However, if someone did manage to see them, it wouldn’t be hard to raise the alarm.

The three of them stopped by a side door to the brewery’s front office space. Nat sent a vicious kick to the knob, and it fell off completely. She then reached a long device into the gaping hole left by the knob, and was able to pick the door open. It swung in, and the three of them entered. The main reception area was now a complete dump, cobwebs and dust everywhere. Where the front desk had been was now just an empty patch where the skeletons of a few small rodents now resided, having obviously rotted away over the years.

“No one here to greet us. Good,” Nat whispered as she went forward. They passed the front desk area and the skeletons on their way to the far door. Nat opened it, blaster in hand and ready to use in case someone popped up and tried to stop her. But no one was there, and the three of them snuck into the next room, closing the door behind them.

The first thing that the three could tell when they entered the factory was the horrendous smell. Yes the brewing process didn’t exactly smell good for some, but that smell was nothing compared to how noxious this felt.

“This isn’t beer,” Gark commented. Somehow it smelled familiar, although he didn’t know where to place it.

“It’s certainly not beer,” Nat said. “It’s much worse.”

“How so?” Gark asked.

“It’s spice,” Nat said, a dark look on her face. “Looks like Kinshry’s got himself a drug lab. A large one.”

And then Gark finally understood what she meant. Kinshry was making narcotics in this brewery space, likely using the old equipment to manufacture the drug before selling it on the streets or exporting it to other planets. He had said something about trying to be a crime lord, but Gark had no idea that this right here was one of his main plans. If this kind of operation was successful, then that would explain why he had money to burn. The Hutts had their wealth in drugs and smuggling, and so Binn Kinshry had spice production to line his coffers. Things were beginning to line up.
“So we take down the factory to hurt Kinshry and weaken his position,” the Bothan finally spelled out.

“Exactly,” Nat hissed. “So, my plan of attack is the same as before. We get down to the factory floor, and we detonate the hell out of this place. Tark, I hope you brought the charges.”

“I certainly did,” the Mando said, revealing several thermal detonators on his belt. “Wouldn’t forget those.”

“Good. Now we need to find out how to proceed,” Nat said.

“Guard!” Gark hissed, and the three of them ducked behind a vat just in time. One of Kinshry’s brutes came by on the catwalk, armed with a giant blaster. He didn’t notice the three newcomers, and kept walking down the catwalk like nothing had happened.

“Close call,” Tark commented.

“So, how are we going to blow this place to bits, anyways?” Gark asked. “If it’s a spice factory, then this place should be well-guarded. It’s not like we’re going to just waltz in and blow the place up.”

“That’s the role of a clever disguise,” Nat said.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Gark replied unhappily.

“Here’s the plan,” Nat said. “I brought the earpieces, so we can talk to each other if we get into trouble or find a good structural weakness to target. Tark, I want you to create a perimeter. Be our eyes in the sky, but stay out of sight. If a thug finds you, make sure to deal with him promptly so that he doesn’t sound the alarm. Gark and I will get down onto the floor and try to blend in.”

“This spice dust is going to make it difficult to see,” Gark said. He looked further into the factory, where clouds of smoke were emanating from boiling hot vats.

“That’s why we need goggles and protective gear,” Nat replied. “There should be a supply closet around here somewhere . . .”

With the plan formulated, Tark continued to hunker down behind the vat, and the other two emerged from their hiding spot. They continued to follow the catwalk down to the end, where there was a small door. Nat opened it to find the supply closet. She tossed a lab coat to Gark, who placed it on over his suit. Nat also slipped one on, although it was meant for someone a little buffer than her. She then tossed Gark a breathing apparatus. “Should give us a few hours to work,” she said. “Because spice is a nasty thing when it’s being produced. I knew a few beings back in the day who were gassed by it, and were real twitchy all the time because of exposure.” She placed hers on her mouth, and then strapped on a pair of goggles. Gark placed his goggles on as well, and they were ready to go.

“Should we split up?” Gark asked. Nat nodded.

“Might be the best plan. We can cover more ground that way,” the Hapan said. She then tapped her ear. “Tark, you there?”

“Yes,” the Mando said from his hiding place. “I will watch out for you, but in case things go very wrong, use caution. I will use my sensors to look through the haze for you if you wish.”

“That could be very helpful,” Nat replied. “I’ll comm in when we get there. We’re going in right now.” She turned her attention back to Gark. “The stairs are right here. I say we should get down there and get out.”

“I heartily agree,” Gark commented. The two of them descended the stairs onto the factory floor. Gark’s spine tingled a little bit as he took each step, but despite this nervous feeling he knew he had to do this. He had to succeed at this task. Failure was not an option.

 

Lights! Camera! ACTION!

I just hope that they don't blow the place up with Me'lin and Galin still inside, if indeed that is where they are....

 

I didn't even think of that. That would be so terrible!

 

Part Seventeen . . . if you know what I mean. 'Cuz the way it looked, was way beyond compare.

TAGS to jcgoble3 and Trieste

Gark walked on the factory floor, trying to act nonchalant as he went. From the catwalk above, he couldn’t tell what was going on here, but now that he was level with the factory, everything looked different. In the wisps of haze that surrounded his body, he could see large vats that towered above him. It was like the forest in his dreams, but much more sinister.

And then there were the workers. Most of them were shoveling fuel into the furnaces like in times of old; apparently this process couldn’t use existing power packs, and thus the stench was horrendous. Most of the men looked to be beaten down, their faces and backs covered in soot and debris. None of them wore any kind of face or body protection from the elements, completely exposed to the acrid smells of the furnaces and of the molten narcotics and their bodies to the heat and debris of the process. Gark felt sickened by this obvious slavery; Kinshry was a shrewd operator, and this was another reason why he needed to be brought down.

Then Gark could see another technician dressed like himself walking towards him. There was a breathing apparatus, goggles, even gloves on this one. Gark stopped and pretended like he was inspecting one of the work stations, where three human males with flabby skin on their bodies shoveled fuel.

“Status report,” the technician said to Gark, who paused for a few seconds.

“Everything is going as normal,” Gark finally spat out.

“The boss isn’t happy with production,” the other technician said. “We must boost if by all means necessary.” He reached out and handed Gark a whip. “You know what to do, or do you need a reminder?”

“No!” Gark blurted out. He quickly realized that he shouldn’t have said this, because the technician gave him an odd look. “I mean, no, I don’t. I know what to do with this.”

“Good. I would hate to be you if production does not pick up accordingly,” the technician said. He stood there, and Gark wondered what he was up to. “However, since you seem a little jittery, I am going to watch you whip them into shape. You must be new.”

“Very new,” Gark said quickly. “First day.”

“I see,” the other technician replied. “Well, I think you know what that is for,” he said, motioning to the whip. Gark certainly knew what it was for, but he didn’t want to hurt the men. They were already looking battered; they didn’t need him to ‘motivate’ them any more by using violence in this manner. But he couldn’t look out of place, so he went up to the workers anyway. One of them turned to face him, and then cowered at the sight of the whip.

“Please, no more!” the man said.

“You know what to do!” the technician yelled.

“No!” the man screamed. “I’m doing the best I can! Please, sir, I have a family at home, one that needs me to survive! Don’t beat me!”

Gark was caught in a bind here. The man was obviously working here because it was a job, not like he wanted to be shoveling fuel into spice-making furnaces. He was a man doing anything he could to support his family . . . just like the Bothan himself was. But he had to do this. The whip came out, and the man cowered in fear. Down came the whip for a lash, causing a red mark on the man’s back where the whip made contact.

Gark administered six lashes before letting the man go. His back was a maze of hits; obviously this wasn’t new territory for him. Gark couldn’t continue to look at the broken man, and thus looked at his companions. They started to work harder on shoveling, trying to escape his wrath. But he wasn’t going to take any out on them. That wasn’t why he was here. “Boss wants all of you to increase production!” Gark roared to them. “So I suggest you start shoveling harder.”

“But we’re going as fast as we can!” one man complained.

Gark held up the whip, and the man continued to shovel, a nervous look on his face. Gark moved back to the other technician and handed him back the whip. “Good work,” the man replied. “Now, keep up the work, or I’ll be the one to administer the whips to you.” He disappeared into the haze, leaving Gark alone with the work crew. He looked at them once again, the flesh on their bodies looking weak. It reminded him of how bad Me’lin and Galin looked when he had been in the cell with them, of malnutrition. But he could do nothing for them. Their well-being was not why he was here, but perhaps what he could do would save them from this fate?

A call came in on the comm channel, and Gark picked up the conversation. “This is Nat, over,” came Nat’s voice.

“Come in,” Gark said.

“I’m not finding much out this way,” the Hapan said. “You discover any good leads?”

“No, but I’ve already been forced to whip a worker for being slow,” Gark said bitterly.

“Focus on the objective, not on the workers here or their floor bosses,” Nat replied. “We have a job to do, remember? Anything that deviates from that plan could cost us valuable time.”

“I had to fit in,” Gark explained. “But I’ll keep looking out for weak spots. There has to be one somewhere. Over and out.” He cut off the connection and then walked through the forest of vats. Each one was belching quite a bit of smoke and other particulates into the air, so Gark was glad to have the breathing device on his person so that he could breathe in fresher air. How anyone could stand this kind of environment for more than a few minutes, he didn’t know. But the workers here apparently didn’t have a choice, like the one he had just whipped. They were here because it paid, but it likely was as close to slave labor as you could get.

Once he passed the vats and the furnaces, he finally saw the meat of the operation emerge out of the fog. It was an entire factory and assembly line, workers placed every so often to cut the product, place it in bags, or to hammer out the raw materials. There were catwalks above almost every step of the operation, old ladders leading down to the floor in case workers in the old brewery needed to escape to safety. However, the workers in this operation weren’t so lucky, because each ladder had an armed guard standing above it, waiting to pounce on a worker trying to flee.

Gark kept walking, taking each step deliberately to avoid attention. But it wasn’t enough, because the same technician who had forced him to whip the workers strode up to him, an angry look on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “Go back and stand your post, newbie. Or do I need to whip you into shape like these pathetic workers?”

“I’m sorry,” Gark said, trying to back up and avoid the wrath of this man. But the technician pulled out the whip from his belt. “I’ll never so it again.”

“It’s time you learn your lesson, even if you are new,” the man said. “Besides, I don’t remember the boss asking for one of your kind to be working on this operation.”

Now Gark knew he had no choice here but to fight. He could easily beat this technician with his bare hands, but he couldn’t be seen by any of the guards. This would have to be done in the smoky haze set forth by the surrounding vat forest.

“Over this way,” the technician ordered. Gark was grabbed on the shoulder and roughly led to the side of one of the steaming vats. A shoveling crew was nearby, but when they stopped to see what was going on, the technician screamed at them to continue their work. “I’m going to make an example out of you, like it or not,” he said before holding the whip, ready to strike.

But Gark wasn’t about to let that happen. He twisted free of the man’s grasp and then smashed him in the face with a fist. The technician’s breathing device broke into two pieces on the force of impact, causing him to hack and splutter when his lungs were exposed to the dirty air. Gark dodged a wild punch that the technician threw and headbutted the man, who fell over onto the ground. Gark stomped on his chest to keep him down, and then dragged his body over to the shoveling crew.

“You want to dispense with him, or should I do the honors?” Gark asked the three men.

“What did you do?” one of them asked.

“What do you think it looks like? I beat up one of your supervisors,” Gark replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You know that you will be killed for your treason,” another worker said. “Take his body away before we get in trouble. That’s all we ask of you. Please.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Gark said. “If you gents don’t mind, I’m going to get rid of his body.” He moved the technician, who had come around again, over to the furnace.

“Get off me!” the man yelled. But Gark punched him in the face, silencing him. Then the Bothan heaved him into the furnace before turning away as the man’s body burned away in the inferno. He wanted to snap the door closed, but there was no point in doing that, because the evidence was already gone.

“You are a feisty one,” said the third worker.

“Who are you?” asked the first.

“My name is not of consequence,” Gark replied. “But I am here to liberate all three of you, plus the other workers, from this prison, if possible.”

“That’s a nice notion, but I don’t think it will work,” the first worker said glumly. “Too many guards around. We’d be dead before we reached the next area.”

“Besides, this is a job,” the second worker said. “I was once an addict, left alone on the streets with nothing to my name. But now I have an income. It’s small, but I need the credits. If you take me out of this job, I may not be able to survive.”

“They’re right,” said the third. “There’s no reason to resist, and nowhere to go. So just leave us alone, because we need the credits.”

“Wait a second, boys, this weirdo just killed a supervisor,” the second worker commented. “That means we may be able to turn him in to the big boss as gain a reward. Maybe a promotion, maybe be the ones carrying the whips instead of having them raining down on our backs. Maybe we can get a break from all this crap.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea,” said the first worker. The three men brandished their coal shovels in Gark’s direction.

“After you, fuzzball,” the third worker said with a toothy grin.

But Gark wasn’t about to let them take him to Kinshry. He easily deflected the first worker’s shovel and knocked it to the ground. In the process, it landed on the foot of the second worker, who yelped out in pain. This allowed Gark to move in and take him down with a chop to the neck. The troublesome worker hit the floor in a heap. The first worker charged, but Gark easily pushed him back with a strong balance technique. The first worker’s head hit the pile of fuel, giving him some whiplash. The third worker tried to hit Gark with the shovel, and the Bothan barely dodged getting hit with the large metal object as it swung at his legs. He was able to grab hold of the shovel and push it down to the ground, causing the third worker to lean over as his grasp pushed him forwards. Gark ended the man’s resistance with a strong chop to the back. Now all three men were out of commission.

The comm. unit crackled, and Gark picked it up on his receiver. “What’s going on over there?” Nat asked.

“Nothing. Just ran into a few old friends,” Gark lied.

“You got this whole party started, didn’t you?” the Hapan asked.

“Probably. I wouldn’t doubt it if I did,” Gark sighed. “But I had no choice. These workers tried to stop me, even in disguise.”

“What did you do now?” Nat asked.

“Leave it. We may need to fight our way out of things keep going like this. Over and out,” Gark said before cutting the connection. Nat was right; this might have gotten more difficult with what he just did. Then he surveyed the bodies of the workers on the ground. Should he let them be and continue on with the mission? They had seen him, and if they came around, they might rat him out to the other supervisors. That would further complicate things. They had to forget he was even here . . . but how to do that.

He quickly contemplated killing the three workers. Before this whole mess, he would have hesitated to do such a thing. Killing beings was not something he wanted any part in, because that would stop him down to the level of the murderers he was pursuing. But did he have a choice in this matter? If not killing them would help the enemy swoop down upon him and threaten his life, was that worth a clearer conscience? Was him getting killed because of that decision ultimately worth it? No matter what he did, any supervisor coming over in this direction would see something wrong, whether the bodies were there or not. Either way, workers not at their stations might set off the alarm, and then the whole infiltration of this place would get a hell of a lot harder.

But Gark couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Something in the back of his mind told him to dispose of the bodies in another fashion. He could move them into a cloud of smoke, which would hopefully hide them until they came around. By then, if all went well, the three infiltrators would likely be out of harm’s way. It was a good plan, but one of the workers began to stir as he lay on the ground. Gark knew he had to make a decision. This whole mission might depend on it. He looked to the furnace, still hot with the coals that these men had been shoveling in only minutes before, and likely helped by the burning of the supervisor’s body. Could he condemn these workers to death for turning on him?

He knew what Nat would say, and that was to dispose of the bodies in any way possible. Tark would likely agree, because he was supposedly an expert at killing someone without being seen or heard. Either way, the other two silently told him to kill the workers. Disposing their bodies would at least cover the tracks a small amount, while leaving the bodies to be found by a supervisor would just sound the alarm. And Kinshry had killed many an individual over the years. Yes these workers likely had nothing to do with those murders, but Gark had no choice. He had to kill them.

As he pulled on the leg of the closest worker, he could feel a muscle twinge in the man’s leg. He came around and tried to lunge for Gark’s head, but the Bothan stepped aside. The man, in his anger, shot directly towards the furnace. He tried to stop his momentum by going on his tip-toes, but he hit the metal side of the furnace and yelped in pain. Gark used this opportunity to kick the man into the furnace, killing him instantly. The second worker he disposed of immediately by throwing into the furnace, and then it was on to the third.

Gark bent down to grab the man’s shoulders. This was like the cremation of a body, reducing it to nothing but ashes. Taking hold, Gark moved the man into position. He was still out cold, his slow breaths inaudible in the din of the surrounding factory. Gark was ready to throw him in, but then a small item fell out of the man’s pocket. Gark dropped the man’s body down onto the floor and picked up the item. It appeared to be some sort of locket. He flipped open the small compartment to reveal a tiny Holo. It was of the man and his family, three children staring back at him with an air of wonder and confusion in their minds. None of them likely knew what they were staring at, but the effect was the same. And Gark knew that this was going to present a problem.

If he was the man unconscious on the floor, about to be thrown and instantly burned away . . . what would the soon-to-be killer think if they saw a Holo of Galin sitting next to his father in a small locket like this? Gark closed the item to not have to look at the faces, but they still danced in his mind, tormenting him. All he could think about now was the look on the face of the two children of Mila Milberry, their mother murdered in cold blood. There was no smiling for them now, even weeks after the slaying. Could he bear to do that again to this man’s children? Yes he worked in a drug lab, yes he probably needed to be punished for his actions in the face of the law, but Gark was a changed man. He was a father, and that had changed his countenance since he had started as Superbothan in 272. Back then, when he had no one but himself to rely on, he would have made this decision as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t have cared about the locket. It would have been a trick put forth by his enemy to try and nag at him, or something to discount in the face that this man was up to no good. Undoubtedly the spice being manufactured here was harming someone out there in the galaxy. But now was different. In the faces of those children, he could imagine Galin next to them, smiling away even though they didn’t fully understand why. If he killed this man now, if he threw his body into the furnace, then, despite all the horrors of the drug lab here, he would be no better than Kinshry. He had already authorized the murder of several individuals, and had participated in just as many. The man at the club, the police officer at the theater, the supervisor, and now two of the three workers, all of them dead by his hands. There was no escape from the awful truth; he was a monster.
Gark knew he had to make a decision. If he killed this man now, he would hopefully gain some breathing room in case a supervisor came along. However, would his conscience let him kill this man, after all he had done to hurt others in recent weeks, including himself? No, he couldn’t bear himself to kill someone, not again.

The man finally stirred, and Gark looked down at him. Eyes flicked open, and the two stared at each other for several seconds. “Just kill me now,” the man said weakly.

“No,” Gark replied. “I could kill you, but I won’t. Not today. Get out, save yourself.” He tossed the locket on the man’s body, and the man craned his neck to see what had just hit him. “But since I can’t have you following me, or ratting me out,” he said before landing another punch and knocking the man out cold once again. There, he hadn’t killed the man. He was making amends for his deeds.

Gark finally moved forth into the haze, ready to take out this operation. He had lost precious time back there with the workers, so now he was fighting against the clock. There was no telling what Nat was up to, and he wanted to keep Tark out of this unless something came up. He was on his own for now.

He made his way back to the conveyor area. This time no one paid him any mind, so he proceeded. The packets of spice were being wrapped and sealed on the various machines on the line, almost ready to be shipped out. There likely was a loading dock somewhere in the rear of the building, Gark figured. The product had to leave somehow. Perhaps a loading dock would prove itself an alternative avenue for escape if things went south?

As Gark surveyed the site, he also was silently making notes on where to place the charges. There were quite a few vats here that he could blow up, but how much damage would that do? If he tried to set the explosives on the conveyor system, he likely would be caught by the guards on the overhead catwalks. There had to be something he could target, something that would help start a chain reaction.

Once his tour of the system was complete, Gark retreated back into the shadows. He noticed the number of guards on the walkways; they wouldn’t be easy to fool, even if he was able to set out the charges. This likely was going to end in a fight, which he wanted to avoid if at all possible. Nat and Tark would likely not have second thoughts about it, but there was something nagging at him to get in and get out without needing to resort to any more violence. Hopefully destroying this place would be enough to send a message.

The communicator crackled once again, and Nat’s voice came online for a third time. “OK, I think I’ve found our ticket to destroy this place,” she said.

“Shoot,” Gark said.

“If we rig the furnaces to blow, we can take them out of commission for a while. However, they would be back on line in a few weeks, so we need to give them the knockout punch. We have to rig this whole place to blow.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Gark asked. “Destroy the infrastructure?”

“Exactly,” Nat said.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Gark replied with a groan.

“Look, if this place collapses on itself, hopefully we can destroy all of its components in one fell swoop. That will do far more damage than just one furnace or vat.”

“So your plan is?”

“Drop some charges near any weak spots in the infrastructure. If you see any beams, supports, or anything that looks like it might cave this place in, set one there. Also, if you can, put a detonator or two on the conveyor belt. We might be able to distract them if we can blow a hole in that thing.”

“What about a vat?” Gark offered. “That might give us enough cover to finish the job.”

“Only problem is, we can’t see at that point,” Nat replied. “Blow up a vat, play with fire. We don’t know how those chemicals would react to the flames, so we can’t risk it becoming a poisonous vapor cloud that we’re then trapped in.”

“OK,” Gark said. “Where are you, exactly?”

“Other side of the belts,” Nat said. “We need to move quickly, because another patrol is coming around. Use your charges on the walls, and I’ll do the same. Then we blow some holes and finish the job.”

“How do we escape when we’re finished?” Gark asked.

“Tark, talk to me,” Nat said, bringing the Mando into the conversation. “How do we get out of here?”

“Through the back, or from the top,” he said. “Get out quickly, because this place might burst.”

“Great,” Gark said. He didn’t want to still be in here when it blew. And that was supposing that this plan would be successful.

“OK, I’ll be in touch in a few minutes,” Nat commed in. Gark pulled a charge off his belt and moved over to one of the walls. Sure enough, he could see a pillar here. Blowing up this joint would put undue pressure on the roof, which with another well-timed blast could bring this portion down. He bent over to place the charge, but was stopped by the sound of boots nearby. Looking up, he saw two guards staring straight at him, their blasters raised.

“Stop right there,” one said in a gruff voice.

“I’ve been discovered,” Gark said over the comlink line. How was he going to get out of this one?

 

Another Gunny cliffhanger.

Here we go!

 

Part Eighteen

TAG to jcgoble3

Nat finished placing a charge on the side of the conveyor belt. It hadn’t been hard to get this far, since the guard who had been nearby had his back to her and was an easy target for her to kick down. The rest of this mission involved hiding out in the shadows and planting these charges when no one was looking. Hopefully this device would rip a nice section of the conveyor belt apart and, if nothing else, cause a small blaze if she could ignite some of the spice on the belt. She had already placed a charge on a nearby support beam, which hopefully would provide nice cover in case they were discovered, and might do some damage if it hit in the right spot.

“I’ve been discovered,” Gark said over the comlink line.

Frak! Nat thought to herself. Gark had gotten himself caught red-handed by some guards, obviously, and now she needed to save him. She immediately commed in to Tark, who was hiding up above somewhere in the haze. “Tark, I need you to find our furry companion,” she said.

“He is down on the opposite side of the belt,” Tark commented. “Two guards are holding him at bay. Shall I proceed to eliminate them?”

“Let’s see how he handles this,” Nat replied. Gark was good at this trade. She had trained him, after all, so he knew a few things about how to dispatch guards. Besides, they likely wouldn’t shoot him right away, which would allow either her or Tark to close in and finish them off.

Twisting the mechanism on the conveyor belt charge, she slunk around the side, making sure to watch a worker who was menially cutting some of the spice packets for easy distribution. This worker would have no idea she was even here, because they were focused solely on the task at hand. Smiling at her own genius, she slipped back to the wall and planted another charge on an opposite beam. This one might rip a hole open in the wall, which might prove nice for an escape route if things went to hell from here.

---

Gark didn’t move, frozen by the two guards who had spotted him. There was no easy place to run to, but did he have much of a choice? He needed to plant a few more charges, and these guards were currently in his way. How to dispatch them?

“Get out of these, and follow us,” one of the guards said. Gark moved up, subtly attaching the charge to the wall as he went. Then he “tripped” over the beam, which set the charge, before walking towards them, his hands raised.

“Did you really think you could hide here?” the other guard asked.

“I had to supervise . . .” Gark said, but the guards weren’t having it.

“There’s no need for a supervisor to be over here. So we want to know why you are.”

“Stupid rookie,” the other guard said. “Always trying to snoop around instead of doing your job.” Gark had finally made it over to them, and one guard reached out to frisk the Bothan. However, Gark was ready for this, and he punched the guard in the face. He gave out a yell, but Gark then knocked his blaster away with a swift punch to the arm. The blaster clattered onto the ground, but no one could hear it over the din of the factory. The other guard readied to fire, but Gark ducked the incoming shot and rammed the guard in the knees. Over went the man, and his blaster also hit the deck. Gark made sure to kick the man down as he tried to get back up, and then snatched up the blaster in his hand. Looking around quickly, he shot the guard dead on the spot, and then wheeled around just in time to be tackled to the ground by the other guard.

Gark now found his face on the floor, smashed down by the other guard. “You’re obviously more than just a supervisor,” the man said. “But now you’re not going to do me any more harm, will you? You’re going down, mister. And I’m going to get a reward for it, because it’s obvious that you are trying to take us down.”

Gark struggled to get free, but he couldn’t budge in the tight space that he was being afforded here. If he could just reach his belt . . . he had something that would get rid of this pest immediately. Finally, he lifted his head off the floor just enough to say something. “You’re a good one,” he said. “But I have something I need to say to you first.” He snapped his head back and butted the man in the face, which caused him to recoil. That was enough for Gark to flip over off his face and pull a small blaster from his pocket. He shot this guard dead on the spot, and the body fell over limply. Gark took a few breaths to calm down before standing back up. The guards were now eliminated, but had he betrayed his position to the entire factory by shooting them?

“OK, I’m free,” Gark said over the comlink line.

“Good. Took you a little longer than it should have, though,” Nat commented.

“I’m not in as good a shape as I was back in the day,” Gark said. “Or, at least not top-notch condition. I’d like to think I’m still chugging along nicely.”

“That’s great. But we have a mission to finish, so plant those charges and get out of here,” Nat hissed. Gark rolled his eyes and kept laying charges, one on another support beam, and a third on the wall. He pulled out another charge and readied to pull the pin on it, but a heavy gloved hand whacked him in the shoulder and sent the charge onto the ground. Gark looked back at another armed guard, who was going to try and pin him to a surface. The Bothan shoved backwards, moving the guard, and then kicked the man in the stomach. He went down to the floor, but not before calling for backup on his comlink.

“I need help! Intruders! Intruders near the belt!” the man shouted. “Sound the . . .” But he never finished, because Gark whacked him across the face to shut him up. Still, alarm sirens began to sound, likely the fire alarm from back in the day.

“Nat, tell me you have a plan to get out of here,” Gark said once he heard the wailing.

“Nope, no plans at all,” Nat said. “But our margin of error is a lot less than it was before.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gark commented. He picked the charge up off the ground, checked to make sure that it wasn’t going to blow up in his face, and then ran towards the belt. A blaster bolt whizzed by his head, and he looked up to see a guard standing on the walkway above with a blaster held firm at his head. Gark dove behind the conveyor to barely dodge the next bolt, and now he for the moment was under cover. He latched the charge onto the side of the belt and then ran for more permanent cover.

This run took him right by a worker, who decided that now would be a good time to try and stop the intruder. Gark bowled the worker over with ease, sending them sprawling onto the conveyor belt. Gark didn’t think twice to take the person off the belt, and just kept running.

Meanwhile, Nat put on her last charge and then stood up. The sirens were wailing away, but no one seemed to be coming after her. “You alright out there?” she asked through the comlink.

“No!” Gark yelled at her. “I’ve got several guards chasing after me, if you must know, so a little help would be appreciated.”

“Fine, I’m on my way,” Nat said. She jumped onto the moving belt and rode it around partway, knocking two workers out cold who looked up to see a white lab coat-attired woman come by on the belt. Some of the spice that she kicked aside decided to spray itself on the lab coat, but Nat didn’t mind. It was borrowed, anyways, so it didn’t matter how it looked when she was done here. As long as her fighting suit didn’t get dirty, that was the main goal.

She finally jumped off the belt on an unsuspecting guard, who went down easily as Nat squeezed the man’s neck so that he went out cold. A worker yelled, and a few of their fellows charged forwards at the Hapan, who just smiled. Workers armed with small bits of wood and metal bars thought they could stop her? That was laughable. The first worker who came up had a cordless drill, which Nat whacked away before pushing the man aside. He fell down dangerously close to the drill, and breathed a sigh of relief for not having fallen on it despite its low power output. Two workers tried to converge on Nat, and she kicked out at their faces by jumping into the air and flailing her legs out. Both of them went down with shots to the face, and they were out. A last worker charged her with a crowbar, and Nat made sure to make quick work of this one, punching the woman in the face and sending her sprawling down to the ground.

Then a shot rang out, and stared down three armed guards in the vicinity. They squeezed off a volley of shots, and Nat had to dodge them by flipping over on her hands. As she did so, one of her holdout blasters dropped onto the ground from its perch. She reached down to pick it up, and then shot one of the guards in the arm. The guard dropped their blaster, which then shot the guard in the foot. The other two guards were unfazed, and fired again. Nat hid behind a post, and then moved around quickly to let off a shot. The blaster bolt went way too far and disappeared into the haze. Nat slapped the wall in frustration before having to peel back around it to avoid being shot by the guards. When they had stopped firing, she moved around the pole again to squeeze off her own shot. This time the bolt hit home, killing one of the guards. That left one in commission.

Gark was now stuck out in the middle of the area, and the number of guards coming into the space was increasing every second. Bolts were whizzing everywhere, and he had to run to try and avoid being hit by a fatal shot. This was crazy, he thought to himself as he ran. He was surprised to see so much security here at the brewery turned drug lab, but he supposed that Kinshry wanted to make sure his operation was as seamless as possible, and that meant keeping it safe from intruders like his small band.

A worker came at Gark with a shovel, and Gark pushed the man aside with an armbar move. But he noticed that a few guard were lining up on the other side of the area, ready to try and mow him down from here.

“Hey, uh, Tark, now would be a good time to get involved,” he said in the comm. unit.

“Very well,” the Mando replied. He checked his utility belt before producing a thermal detonator. From his vantage point, he couldn’t hit anything with much accuracy, so he would have to go airborne. He ignited his jetpack and shot into the air. A guard saw this movement and fired, but the shot went wide of its mark. Tark, without even needing to look, picked up his trusty blaster pistol off his belt and shot the guard dead on the spot without a second thought. Yes these guards were armed, but it didn’t mean that they were good shots, or expected their target to fire back.

He switched his helmet filter on to see through the haze of the lab. He could see movement down below, energy bolts being shot everywhere, and quite a bit of activity.

“Do something! We’re running out of time down here,” Nat said as she bashed the head of a guard with a hard chop, sending the man falling hard to the ground.

Tark looked at the vats that were spewing hot liquid and contributing to the haze. They needed a diversion, so he was here to give them one. Pulling the pin of the detonator, he chucked the small ball into a nearby vat. When the switch timed out, the entire vat exploded, sending its boiling hot contents out onto the floor area of the factory.

“Jump, or you will get burned!” he said into the comlink.

Gark heard the loud explosion, and for a moment all activity ceased as everyone looked to see what was going on. When the liquid started to come towards him, he reached down to try and pull the ascension gun off his belt. But the lab coat was blocking his access to the device. “Dammit!” he swore through gritted teeth as he kept fiddling with the lab coat to try and help him access the belt. Finally he got through, and his fingers touched the gun. He could feel the heat of the liquid oozing towards him at high speed, eager to burn him to death. He punched the trigger, and the grappling hook shot off into the air, hopefully finding a target. The hook slipped when it hit a support beam and fell off, but somehow clipped itself on another lower beam and was now secure. Not giving it a second thought, the Bothan shot into the air just as the liquid was screaming towards him.

He landed nimbly on the support beam and surveyed the situation. The guards who had been on the floor trying to stop him were either running up the stairwells to get away, or were caught in the landslide and scalded to death. He could hear the screams of those unfortunate souls, unable to save themselves from this grisly fate.

“OK, Nat, how do we get out of here now?” he asked.

“Looks like we’re going to have to avoid going through a hole in the wall if at all possible. If the liquid is going to get into any kind of receiving bay, then that’s useless as well. We’re going to have to go up and out.”

“That’s going to be the hard way,” Gark said.

“Of course. Since when was this easy?” the Hapan asked.

Gark looked at the guards swarming up around the stairwells, trying to stay as far away from the raging liquid as possible. If he charged into them, he would likely be killed, especially since he was far away and was a sitting target here on this beam. If only he could have some extra support from here.

“Should we detonate one or more of the charges?” he asked. “I’m stuck here right now, and if I get away from my location, I’m stuck out in the middle of space with at least ten guards ready to shoot me down.”

“Always getting into trouble,” Nat commented. “But I think you’re right. We can’t waste any more time, especially now that we can’t use the floor. I’m going to detonate the first charges.”

“Wait, not the support beam ones!” Gark yelled, but it was too late. One of Nat’s charges exploded in a brilliant display, blowing through the bolts holding the beam to the wall and causing the system to shake. Gark could feel the tremor of the explosion on his own small beam, but then the second device exploded. Now his small cross-section shook even harder as a nearby large beam was dislodged by the force of the explosion. He could hear a sickening groaning sound from the large beam above, and looked up to see it slowly fall towards him. If he stayed here much longer, he was going to be crushed to death.

“Dammit, Nat, I’m on one of the beams!” Gark yelled. “Don’t keep destroying them!”

“Oops, my bad,” the Hapan said. “Can you get off in time?”

“Not sure. Looks like I have about ten seconds,” Gark said, evaluating the situation. The groaning of the twisting metal now became shriller, and the beam he stood on tottered to the brink of collapse as its infrastructure began to fall into the liquid lake below. Taking another look at the pack of guards assembling on the walkways, he knew that he likely would have to take his chances here in order to survive. Yes the guards would likely see him, and would shoot in his direction. But he had no other choice.

And then he thought of the conveyor belt. Perhaps he could make it to the top, and then out of here. Gripping his ascension gun tightly, he aimed it at the railing of one of the walkway areas away from the guard pack. He let the hook fly out once more, and it found a grip on the railing. Jumping off the beam, he flew through the air above the liquid just in time. The beam he had left was crushed seconds later by the large beam coming down, and both landed in the liquid and burbled over. A jet of hot liquid shot into the air like a geyser.

Gark missed the railing and landed on the conveyor belt. It was difficult to gain traction on the system, and he fell down as soon as he landed. The guards noticed him flying by, and now were ready to try and shoot him. Gark sat up and tried to get his wits about him, but this was going to be difficult. Pulling himself up, he finally stood on the belt once again, this time able to stay upright. Immediately the bolts started to be fired in his direction, and he tried to get to a spot where he could avoid them. However, this caused him to ram into a piece of machinery from the belt. A surge of pain shot through his snout as he adjusted. A blaster bolt hit the belt next to him, and the system rocked a slight bit on the force of impact.

“Uh, a little help?” he asked.

“On it,” Nat said. She fingered another trigger for a charge.

A piece of the conveyor apparatus at the bottom exploded, and the entire system rocked. Gark was almost thrown off the belt due to the impact, but thanks to the ascension gun somehow managed to stay on. His feet, already wobbly with the movement against the grain of the belt, now had to deal with the belt slipping and the entire apparatus shaking.

“Nat, stop trying to kill me!” Gark yelled angrily into the comlink.

“If you would stay still, I could destroy this place!” Nat fired back. “But you have to keep moving to a place where I have charges set!”

“Assume I need to get out of the way before blowing things up!” Gark replied. Another blaster bolt came too close for comfort, and he finally decided to get up to the railing. He let the ascension gun take him the rest of the way, and he hauled himself up onto the walkway. Now the guards were momentarily confused; where had their target gone? Gark took this opportunity to run down the walkway. It was still difficult to see where he was going in the ever-present haze, but at least he knew he was safe for the moment.

Then he could see a pair of guards blocking his path. They fired in his direction, and he had to fall down on his back in order to dodge the shots. Grabbing his ascension gun, he fired it at the crotch of one of the guards, since aiming at the head would take too much time. The hook speared the man in the groin, and he fell over. The other guard fired once again, and the bolt barely missed Gark as it landed hot on the walkway.

Jumping up, Gark caught the guard by surprise. This gave the Bothan a chance to make a run for it, but towards the guard, not away. The Bothan rammed into the guard, who went down without much effort. Gark stomped on both guards to keep them down before recalling the ascension gun and continuing his run. A shower of blaster bolts rained behind him as he went, the pack of guards now on to him. One of them tripped, however, and a pileup occurred.

Gark ran through a doorway and around a corner, but then found a blaster jammed into his muzzle. At the handle of the weapon was the one worker he hadn’t killed at the main station.

“Easy there, buddy,” Gark said, holding his hands up in front of him. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Bosses say I need to,” the man replied stonily. “And I’m going to kill you.”

“I could have killed you back at the work station,” Gark said. He needed to get through here now before the pack of guard arrived. “But I spared your life. Isn’t that enough to have you spare mine?”

The man contemplated for a moment, then lowering his blaster. “You’re right,” he said. “But, why did you spare my life?”

“I couldn’t leave children without a parent,” Gark said.

“You’re too sentimental. It’s going to get you killed,” the man said. “If I didn’t have a conscience, I would have shot you dead now, or at least turned you in.”

“Then I’m glad you have a conscience,” Gark said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said as he whipped around the worker. Looking back to make sure that the man wasn’t going to fire at his back, he retreated down the hallway.

“Go! Go!” the worker yelled. Gark continued to move, but as he went out of sight, saw the worker be stabbed by a guard for failing to stop the Bothan. The man’s lifeless body hit the deck, and Gark wanted to charge back out and kill the guard responsible. He had saved this man’s life because he didn’t want those three children to not have their father. And yet, by his action, the man had been murdered. This was a cruel galaxy.

Gark kept running down the hallway, before finally making his way into a hangar of some sort. It must be the receiving bay, he thought to himself. Using the ascension gun, he shot down from the overhead walkway and slammed his feet into a guard on the floor, who crumpled beneath Gark’s boot. Another guard tried to shoot Gark, but the Bothan was ready and took this guard out too while airborne. He finally landed, and realized that he had options.

“I’ll meet you two in the receiving bay,” he said into the comlink.

“Already here,” Nat said. “Get into the yellow truck, to your left. Go now!”

Gark turned around to see Nat waving at him to get into the truck’s passenger seat. He took no additional time, diving into the comfort of the truck when he saw a few guards enter the bay. Nat revved the engine, but nothing happened.

“That’s not good,” she commented.

“Not good? We’re dead if we don’t get out of here!” Gark exclaimed.

Nat tried the keys again, and this time the engine roared to life. The truck peeled out of the receiving bay at high speed, leaving the guards behind in its dust.

“Where’s Tark?” Gark inquired.

“I would have preferred to not be in this ridiculous position,” the Mando said. He was jammed under the dashboard on the passenger side. Gark had his feet on the man’s back, and as soon as he realized he was there, recoiled his foot. Tark sat up, his head not even reaching the dashboard.

“Sorry about that,” Gark said quickly. “Would now be a good time to blow that place apart?”

“Go for it,” Nat said. She fingered the trigger of her last remaining charges, and Gark thumbed his. A series of explosions rocked the brewery building, causing pieces of the walls to crumble. Support systems began to fail, and the roof of the building imploded on itself. Smaller explosions started to break out, but the job was done. The brewery was now rubble, most, if not all, of its inhabitants now dead or dying.

“What’s the next move?” Gark asked as he watched the destruction in the side view mirror.

“We finish this,” Nat said as the truck continued to speed away into the hyperlane.

 

Well, that takes care of that.

Now where are Me'lin and Galin?

 

Likely trapped by one of the beams that Nat blew. It was part of her plan all along!

 

This is not an official "Superbothan" post, but it brings things full-circle with the game thread story.

“ . . . my family was abducted under my nose," the Bothan continued. "Two weeks or so before the season began. I thought it would be all over by the time the season started. I thought the police or someone else would find them and bring them home safely.

But I was wrong. As every day passes, I get more worried about them. And it’s translated to me being moody at practice and at games. It weighs very heavily on me, and I wish it wasn’t the case. But I need to keep trying. All of you know that this season has been a disaster thus far. We aren’t playing well, and we had a divide before the game. But you have to push through that. That’s what champion teams do. They push through adversity. The comeback trail isn’t an easy road to take. I know because I’ve been there. Now you . . . now I . . . face that long road back. And I need to keep working until I bring them back safe and sound.

I deceived all of you, and for that, I am truly sorry. It wasn’t meant to be anything personal. I told one being whom I trusted, but it was suggested to me that I finally explain myself and my actions. You deserve better than me, flitting in and out without warning or excuse. So I need to rid this team of that distraction, and that means me stepping down as defensive coordinator for an indefinite period of time, perhaps permanently. Hopefully I’m still in one piece when all is said and done. For now, I trust that you will be able to succeed me, Dirxx.”

“I can try,” the Besalisk said, stepping forward.

“You told me it was time, and I finally knew that it was,” Gark said.

“Wait, you knew,” Adanna said, pointing her finger in an accusatory manner at Dirxx. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“He deserved his privacy,” Dirxx said plainly. “It wasn’t my place to say something unless he wanted it announced. So I kept it to myself.”

“Does that explain why you were terrible at coaching in that Smuggler game?” Adanna countered.

“No. I was new to the coordinator position then. But with a week of practice, I can give it another go.”

“That’s all I ask,” Gark said. “So I need to take my leave from the team. Adanna, you’re going to be in charge when I’m gone. But don’t do anything too hasty, or you’ll find your job gone before you can say ‘Limmie’. Do I make myself clear?”

“Unescapably,” the Hapan said, rolling her eyes.

“Before I leave, I want all of you to know that you played one hell of a game out there. Now, do that again next week, because we’re not dead yet. Keep fighting until the last horn sounds, because we can still make the playoffs this year. Don’t give in, and never surrender. Got that?” Some nods came from the players. “Good. Now I have to go, and hopefully I will return by next week and be ready to go.”


With that, the Bothan left the locker room. He had said his piece, and had excused himself from the team. Now he had to talk to Nat to see what the next move they were to make would be. He was closer to finding his family than he had been previously. Now he just had to finish the job.

 

I don't know if I'd agree that Gark "deceived" the team, though he certainly withheld information. It's the age-old question of the lie of omission. However, a tough blow for the Senators franchise just when they were getting their sea legs under them again.

 

Part Nineteen

This is several days after the Week Six matchups in the Elite League.

TAGS to jcgoble3 Tim Battershell and Trieste

Binn Kinshry sighed. He could not believe that his spice factory was destroyed, and that his supervisors had been unable to do anything about it. He would have killed beings in his rage, but they were already dead, taken down with the building they had once worked in. So he was left alone to stew in his rage, wanting to make heads roll but unable to do so. It was unfair.

And then his mind went onto the perpetrators of this act against him. The Bothan had struck back in a very efficient manner, and in a way that definitely hurt the bald man’s plans. This was going to be a chess match between two skilled opponents, one who had the high ground on the overall but had just suffered a major defeat, and the other who had lost almost everything but had just won a major victory. Now the rubber match was coming, and Binn wanted to make sure that he won this time around.

Perhaps he could kill the prisoners? They had never been of much use to him except to manipulate S’rily, but since he had escaped and was no longer doing the biddings, then there was no point to keeping them alive. His men likely would love to slit the throats of the woman and the young child, the smell of blood an attractive scent to trained killers. A move like that would bring the Bothan to his knees . . .

But then Kinshry realized that it would only make things worse. Kill his family, and S’rily was going to come even harder. He would be fueled by rage, fueled by an intense desire to kill his enemy. And Binn didn’t want to cross the Bothan like that, because he had seen what Calo Mornd had become when he had stepped over the line. He had been blown up by a thermal detonator. Binn Kinshry was not going to have an end like that. He could not afford to lose this battle, and slaughtering the two prisoners would only make it worse. Damn, for once a brilliant plan would likely lead to his downfall. That didn’t happen often.

So what to do now was the question. He needed to get the Bothan and his meddlesome allies out of the picture, all while being successful in his endeavors. Somehow, he had to find a perfect balance between brilliant and brutal, find a happy medium in this plan to accomplish both tasks with one simple move. He could take a hit out on the Bothan, but who would be up for that kind of thing outside of his cronies? He didn’t trust them to take out such a high-profile target; they likely would be killed in that process. The Bothan was a strong enemy, and he was no fool. This was going to be difficult.

But he was also running out of time. Kluun’s speech had gone over well, and now the Senator was going to stay in office for several more years. That was not going to stand. His policies and programs were of the utmost severity on what Binn wanted to do. The Kel Dor had to be removed, somehow. Without S’rily to take the shot, now Binn had to finish the job. What he needed was a chance, an opening to make this happen. He didn’t have time to let S’rily get on his trail, so that was going to make things more difficult.

So he made up his mind. He was going to take another shot at Kluun’s life. It was now or never. He called up one of his most trusted sharpshooters, a former military officer who had fallen upon hard times and was now completely dependent on this operation to live. It was a perfect criminal combination, brainwashing through the military to morals, complete distrust of society, a thirst to kill, and the dependency brought on through failures in life.

“I need you to kill Kluun by any means necessary,” Binn said into the comlink, after explaining why he needed Kluun disposed of. “Just succeed in your mission, or you won’t live to see another day.”

“Right,” the sharpshooter said on the other end of the line. A hard chop nailed him in the neck, and he was out of commission.

Nat cut the connection on the device. “All right, we have a lead,” she said.

“What’s the plan?” Gark asked.

“Kinshry’s going to move on the Senator later today,” Nat replied. “He’s going to have multiple agents out there to kill him, but this shooter was the main focus of the attack strategy. With him out of the way, we need to prevent the others from finishing the job.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Gark inquired.

“We’re going to need to be creative, as usual,” the Hapan said. “But first we will need to find the assassins, and then dispatch them.”

“It’ll be difficult,” Gark noted. “If we don’t know what they look like, it could prove impossible to spot them in such a close proximity.”


“We don’t have much of a choice,” Nat said. “If Kinshry is successful, then he’s got another leg up on us. If we stop him here, we might be able to put him on the defensive for good. Then we can hammer away until he gives in.”

 

How did Gark and Nat get in there? Interesting transition!

 

Very carefully.

Part Twenty

TAGS to Tim Battershell, jcgoble3 and Trieste

The room guards stiffened their backs as their boss approached. “You two need to maintain a strict watch on this post, because your lives depend on it,” Binn Kinshry said. “If the prisoners escape, you will both die. If any enemies, be they police or otherwise, get in here, make sure to kill them without hesitation. I am counting on you two to stand your ground at all comers. Hopefully it will not come to that, but I am making sure that this mission goes down. You know what to do.”

“Yes boss,” the toothy guard said. Kinshry walked away, leaving the two guards alone near the door to the prison room. When their boss was out of earshot, the other guard slammed his fist into the wall.

“Why are we even here anymore?” he asked. “We oughta be allowed to go on this mission instead of being forced to stay here and watch the prisoners who aren’t going anywhere. Does he really think the cops are going to find out about our little hideout here?”

“The boss always knows best,” the toothy guard replied stubbornly. “Besides, who are you to question him? He knows what to do, and besides, we aren’t alone down here. This entire base is a large complex, and anyone who happens to stumble across it won’t ever find us. We have enough guards to keep this place locked down for a long time, long enough for the boss to get back and finish off the threat.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. Why not give us a better guard post, one that is near the action?” the other guard whined. Toothy guard reached over and slapped the other guard on the face, causing him to wince in pain.

“Have you lost your mind? Stay on task. Besides, this isn’t a terrible post.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I say it is,” the toothy guard said, reaching into his pocket. Out came the pair of binders that they had used before. “Anyways, while the boss is away, we have a chance to have a little fun with the prisoner.”

“Good idea,” the other guard said, a crooked smile coming to his face. He opened the door, and both of them stepped inside. They could see the Twi’lek huddled up against the wall, her son not too far away. They were wasting away by the day, the food they were given not enough to support them. Had they not been prisoners, they would be a pitiful sight, but the guards didn’t care. All they saw was a chance to have some fun with their prisoner, to torment her a little more.

“It’s time,” the toothy guard said in his sweetest voice, although it was about as sweet as a clogged sewer drain. The other guard used his key to open up the cell, and then grabbed Me’lin S’rily by the arms. She didn’t flinch as he did this, obviously too tired and beaten to resist.

“It’s gonna be easy today,” the guard said as he hauled Me’lin out to the rings on the floor. “No resistance. I think we’ve broken her.”

“Just the way I like it,” the toothy guard said, readying the binders. The other guard roughly forced Me’lin around, but had to stop and sneeze. The force of the sneeze incapacitated him for a second, and this was enough time for the Twi’lek to act. She had been saving her energy for one final attempt at this, and sure enough, the guards had come around again. Her head snapped back to whack the guard in the face, which worked to perfection, and then she grasped his utility belt. She couldn’t get his blaster, but she found a knife. Grunting and using what little strength she had, she picked it off the belt and plunged the knife into the man’s chest, and he yelled out in pain before he dropped to the floor, dead. Me’lin lost her strength and then collapsed on top of the dead guard, now totally spent.

The toothy guard couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His fellow guard had just been killed by the prisoner? That was unbelievable! He reached down to his belt to grab his blaster, but then remembered what Kinshry had said earlier about the prisoners. They were not to be killed under any circumstances. If he retaliated and killed the Twi’lek, then the last moment he likely would see in this galaxy would probably be a blaster bolt to his skull later on. The boss had been very particular about not killing the prisoners, and he wanted to stay alive. So the blaster stayed in the belt.

However, toothy wanted his moment. With the other guard out of the way, he had no competition. Holding the binders tight, he roughly grabbed Me’lin and threw her down on the floor next to the rings. He bent down to tie them to the rings, but Me’lin kicked him in the crotch. The pain shot into his mind, and he fell backwards onto his ass as a result of being shocked. Had that really just happened?

Then Me’lin jumped on him, punching him in the face when she landed. Toothy’s head slammed onto the hard floor below, causing a bit of whiplash to occur. He now felt slightly dazed, and was unable to fend off the suddenly-feisty Twi’lek. Me’lin punched the guard in the face twice more, now causing some bruises to appear near the man’s eyes. She wanted to let him have it for all the times he and his buddy had assaulted her, had tormented her, had tried to break her spirits. She was a firm believer that there was goodness in most, if not all, beings, that some just didn’t know they had in them. But these two guards had no soul, had no compassion, and certainly had no scruples. They had taken the dignity from her, and now she wanted this guard to pay for having raped her multiple times.

The Twi’lek reached down and grabbed the guard’s blaster from his belt. Thoughts flashed through her mind. Even though this man was evil, did he deserve to die for his crimes? Could she bring herself to kill him as he lay on the floor, dazed? Yes he had abused her and her son, but would she be justified in killing him? Would killing him bring the wrath of Binn Kinshry down on her? They had been safe enough so far, but who knew when the bald man would finally give the order to have them both murdered? She had finished off the other guard only a moment ago in an act of self-defense, but this guard was now at her mercy. She could easily kill him with the blaster, but would that make her as much of a monster as he was?

She looked over to the cell that had kept her trapped for a long time. Her eyes made contact with Galin’s. She knew what she had to do. This guard had done the unspeakable, had taken everything from her, and from Galin. He had been forced to watch as she had been raped by these guards, had been forced to see these evil acts taken upon the woman who had done so much to protect and nurture him, even in the face of this chaos. Even if he was still only a hair over three years old, who knew what kind of damage could have been done to his mind as a result of all this? And she would never forget, either. She could go through therapy, through sitting in psychologists’ chairs and regale her woes, but these memories likely would never fade away.

So she clicked the trigger and shot the guard dead on the spot. A single tear fell from her eye and landed on the guard’s body, but it was not a tear of happiness. It was a tear of sadness. She had just killed another being, taken a life with a blaster. The feeling of doing such a thing weighed heavily on her heart . . . but it was what she knew she had to do. She slid to the door, but found that it was locked from the outside. There would be no escape for her and Galin. Greatly saddened by this revelation, she scooted back into the cell, back to where Galin was waiting for her.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said to her son as the young boy clung to her side. “The bad men are dead.”

“Sleeping,” Galin said, trying to correct her.

“No, Galin. They’re dead.”

“Dead?” Galin asked. Obviously he didn’t know what she meant.

“They’ve gone to sleep . . . and will never wake up,” Me’lin said. She tried to be serious about this, because death wasn’t a happy thought.

“Dead . . . dead . . .” Galin repeated. “No wake up . . . dead . . . me not dead . . .”

“Yes,” Me’lin said. She gave Galin a big hug, which was difficult to do because she was so exhausted. “As long as I’m here, you won’t be dead. Trust Mommy, OK? Stay close to me.” All Galin did was hug his mother close. It was obvious that he wanted to be sheltered by her, and that he was most comfortable with her around. And Me’lin knew that she was most comfortable with him around. After having committed murder, at least her son was here to comfort her. And she wouldn’t trade that for anything.

 

At least Mel'in and Galin are safe for now. Now will they escape on their own or will Gark find them?

 

These are precisely the sort of events that will spur Galin to either become the greatest limmie player in the history of the game, or Batbothan, scarred by his early childhood trauma to root out evil and never, ever use weapons other than his own fists and some limited gadgets.

 

Part 21

TAGS to jcgoble3 Tim Battershell and Trieste

Day Before Week 7 Game

Senate Building

“Representative, I am doing what I can to maintain funding for schools in this sector,” Res Kluun said to the human representative across the table from him. They were sitting in his office in the Senate building, away from the prying eyes of those who might disagree with him. Here they could speak about politics to their hearts’ content and bicker if necessary without disturbing the peace. The Senate could be a squabbling bunch, and Kluun wanted to avoid making a scene if at all possible. Being a good politician meant getting things done as quietly as possible with little fuss.

“I understand that, Senators, but test results seem to indicate anything but,” the representative said. “Achievement seems to be down all across the board. We are failing these children in the classrooms by not getting them prepared for the real world!”

“Standardized tests are one thing, but can we really take anything from those results?” Kluun asked. “They are a bunch of marks put down on a server. Can we assume that just because each child who fails this test is doomed to be on the streets their entire life?”

“That’s not the point,” the Human said. “Too many children are failing these tests, and I don’t think all of them are doing so because they are sick on test day, homeless and hungry, or have home issues going on. I think that the teachers and school curriculums are setting up our students to fail. It’s no secret that our college students are failing to achieve as much as they used to.”

“That is an area I cannot take charge of,” Kluun replied. “That is for the University systems to look at, not me. My area is of primary education, no more.”

“But if the children are not given proper life training early on, they won’t have it later on. So we’re condemning them to fail. And there isn’t money like the private schools have. It’s no wonder we’re losing our smartest children to the private schools, because they can afford to recruit the cream and discard the rest. As a public system, these children and their families deserve more than what they’re getting.”

“It is a complicated issue, to be sure,” Kluun said, holding up his hand to stop the conversation.

Then a knock came at the door, and a human female stuck her head into the room. “There is a meeting with the Finance Committee in five minutes, sir, at the offices across the street. Your escort is waiting downstairs.”

“Another meeting,” Kluun said, shaking his head. Sometimes his life seemed like an endless stream of meetings, especially since he was on the Executive Board for Core Affairs. Their primary goal was to look at the well-being of the Core worlds, and to find ways to alleviate poverty, increase the quality of education and healthcare, and try to provide certain welfare services for those in need. It usually didn’t do much, but Kluun hoped that what little did get done was actually making a difference. As usual, politics and business interests got in the way. “I am sorry, Representative, but I cannot finish this conversation now. Perhaps we should finish it up later?”

“Fine,” the human said before walking out of the room.

“What’s eating him?” Kluun’s assistant asked.

“The state of the school system,” Kluun explained. “It is a mess. But if I have another meeting to get to, I better pack up my things and head out.” He turned off his Holo terminal and packed his suitcase with the items he would need for the next meeting, and then locked the office door behind him as he left. Two minutes later, he was down in the lobby, where his security detail of two Coruscant Police Department officers was waiting. They were both clad in standard body armor, with face shields and everything. The blasters they had slung on their belts were larger than the normal carbines found by police officers; they were heavy escort detail. Given how rumors had come out about someone trying to take a shot at Kluun’s life during the recent rally he had held, his assistants had taken the time to assign the Senator a security detail. It would last until things died down . . . and the Kel Dor hoped that wouldn’t be because he lay dead.

“All right, gentlemen, let us go across to the office,” Kluun said.

---

“When the man’s head is in sight, shoot him dead,” Binn Kinshry said to his sniper. “I trust that my former military officer will be able to finish this off, but if the Senator gets this far and isn’t dying, take the shot. I will make sure that he is right in your line of sight.”

“Understood, boss,” the sniper said. He locked his carbine into place on the rifle that he was going to use.

“Use caution,” Kinshry said. “Ever since rumors started to leak that we may be going after his life, he’s going to be well-protected. And that could make your job more difficult. So take the shot, finish him off. And then get out of here.”

“Understood,” the sniper repeated.

“Very good. This will be an easy task. Soon, the Senator will be dead, and I will be one step closer to my grand scheme working to perfection,” Kinshry said before leaving the room. The sniper, now alone, readied himself to take the shot. Kinshry assured him that the Senator would be coming by in a few minutes, if not sooner. Checking his sight, the sniper put the rifle up to his eye and trained it in on the ground below. If the first sniper failed, he wouldn’t. The Kel Dor was going to lie dead on the street in a pool of his own blood. This thought made the man happy, because he always liked this part of the job. Killing people was his idea of fun.

---

“OK, we know Kinshry was going to have a spare sniper around here somewhere,” Nat said. The three of them were standing near the Senate building, hiding in the shadows to try and stay out of sight of any enemy agents.

“The question is where,” Gark said. “There have to be at least thirty different buildings here that they could be hiding in. And we don’t have much time to search.”

“True,” the Hapan said. “If only we could find a way to make a distraction . . .”

“Do we even know where the Senator is going to be?” Gark asked. “Kinshry didn’t exactly say what was going on . . .”

“I have a feeling that he’s going to be walking into the trap,” Nat said. “Kinshry is no slouch. He knows how to play the percentages.”

“Then we need to act now before something can happen and he’s lying dead in the street,” Gark said. “We can’t let baldy succeed.”

“Over there,” Tark said. He pointed a large gloved hand at the Senate building. The other two wheeled around to see three small figures emerge from the gigantic Senate chambers complex. The Mando used his helmet vision to zoom in on the three figures. “A Kel Dor, and two armed soldiers. Or police.”

“That would be him,” Nat said. “Frak. We’re running out of time. If he keeps walking on this line, we’ve got roughly two minutes to act.”

“Two minutes isn’t enough,” Gark hissed. “We need at least five if we’re going to find this hidden sniper.”

“I know. But we don’t have a choice,” Nat said. “We have to play by his rules.”

“Always the worst part about dealing with criminals,” Gark muttered to himself. The three of them continued to watch as the three figures got ever closer, the Kel Dor coming into the trap without knowing it. They had to warn him, but if there really was another sniper hidden in the vicinity, running out and informing him that he might be shot dead could also tip off Kinshry. If there were other agents in the area, then that would lead to a full fight in the street, during which the Senator likely would be vulnerable. They needed to act, and fast.

---

“It looks like it shall be a beautiful evening,” Kluun commented to the police officers. But they didn’t say anything. They weren’t paid to speak, just use their bodies to guard the Senator. The Kel Dor sighed, which sounded odd in the breathing apparatus he used, and then stayed silent. Perhaps after this meeting he could go home and relax? Politics drained his energy, and recuperation was a must after the trying days.

As he walked, he wondered what kinds of things would be brought up in the meeting. The other members would likely look at bottom lines, and try to use those to figure things out. He tried to be more practical, but business, and money, talked louder than most political programs. It likely would turn into a grudge match, and those never led to productive sessions.

Although it was quiet out, and not many beings were milling around, a hunchbacked individual waddled over to the Senator. His cloak was torn and frayed at the edges, and he smelled something terrible. “Alms, please, sir,” the figure croaked out.

“Get away, vermin,” the police officer to Kluun’s right said. The man held out his club to keep the beggar at bay. But the beggar was intent on getting through.

“Please, sir. I have no home, no family, and no food. I need one or two credits. That’s all I ask. Please help,” he croaked again.

“Away!” the officer barked. When the beggar tried to touch the Senator, he was clubbed once to send a message. Then the officer shoved the beggar to the side, and then used his body as a barrier between the beggar and the Senator. “Now piss off before I hit you again.”

“Leave him alone, officer,” Kluun reprimanded the man. “I can spare a credit or two.”

“Not today, sir,” the officer said. “We have strict orders to not allow you to contact anyone on your trips out.”

“What?” Kluun asked. “What else haven’t you told me?” But the other officer stayed silent, and the one dealing with the beggar had to keep the figure from getting any closer.

Using his helmet vision, Tark saw the blaster hidden in the beggar’s cloak as he tried to get closer to the Senator. It was of the holdout variety, and was something that most beggars wouldn’t hold. “That beggar is part of the plot,” he announced to the other two.

“The trap’s been sprung,” Nat said. “We need to act now, before anything happens.”

Then the party of three reached the intersection, the right officer still trying to fend off the beggar. A shot rang out, and the angry blaster bolt struck the officer to Kluun’s left in the chest. The man went down, the armor he wore likely not enough to save his life. Gark doubted that the police force had adopted blaster-proof technology like his technician on the Superbothan project had. The other officer jumped over and took Kluun to the ground as another shot came in his direction. The Kel Dor and the officer hit the deck, but the blaster bolt whizzed harmlessly into the ground below.

The beggar reached into his cloak and pulled out his blaster, but he never got a chance to use it. Nat was all over him, sending him down with a vicious kick to the face. The man went down, the blaster clattering onto the ground. Nat turned around and expected to hear another shot coming down from up above, but now she could see Tark using his jetpack to get into the air, and firing several shots from his blaster pistol into a nearby building. She didn’t know if this was a smart idea, but if he could kill the sniper, that would make things easier.

Then two more shots rang out, and Nat wheeled around to see several thus approaching from multiple directions. By coming out here to take the beggar assassin out, she had put herself in harm’s way for these thugs. Kinshry was taking no chances; he wanted Kluun dead at all costs, Nat knew as she surveyed the situation. This was going to be tricky. But before she could react, Gark let his ascension gun take him forward, where he then kicked a thug down in the chest. Another thug fired his blaster at the Bothan, but Gark was ready and dodged them. He punched the thug in the face, and then grabbing his weapon, shot another thug dead on the spot. Three thugs down, two more to go.

Nat turned her attention back to the Senator. Kluun was confused, and the living officer helped him to the safety of a building corner. Through the breathing device, it was obvious to tell that the Kel Dor was frightened. Nat came up to them, but the police officer pointed his blaster at her. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“A friend,” Nat said.

“Doubtful. You tried to kill us!” the officer yelled at her.

“It’s not my fault,” Nat said. “Someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the officer said. A blaster bolt whizzed by his head, and his ducked down, using his body as a shield to cover the Senator. Nat also crouched down to get out of the line of sight. Another bolt went up by up top to keep the three of them pinned down, but they could not be hit here.

Gark sent the last thug down to the ground with a solid armbar, and then shot him dead on the spot as he lay on the ground. All five thugs were now out of commission, so he could proceed. Whipping around, he could see Nat, the police office, and the Senator all crouched down behind a barricade. A blaster bolt whizzed by their heads, and Gark ran out to try and draw the fire. A shot came passing by him, and he knew that he was lucky to have dodged that one. Finally he slid down behind the barricade to join Nat.

“What took you so long?” Nat asked.

“Took longer than it should have,” Gark said. “Where’s Tark?”

“Up there,” Nat said. Gark followed her finger to see where Tark was. He was latched onto the side of the building, trying to sneak up on a window. The blaster bolts stopped, and then Tark launched himself into the building. A few blaster shots were heard, and then the Mando re-emerged.

“Target has been neutralized,” he said over the comlink.

“Copy that,” Gark said.

Kluun moved his head to see a caped Bothan crouching next to the Hapan woman. Could it be?

“Excuse me, but are you . . .?” he asked.

Gark looked at the Kel Dor. “Fine, you got me. I’m . . . I’m . . .” He hated to say this, but it needed to be mentioned. “I’m Superbothan.”

“Why weren’t you coaching this past week against the Smugglers?” the police officer asked angrily.

“In your current position, I wouldn’t be too worried about that right now,” Gark said. “I’d rather lose a few games than my life.”

Tark came down onto the street level, killing his jetpack’s rockets as he touched down. But then he went over to the beggar assassin and put his boot on the figure’s chest. “Who sent you?” he asked.

“None of your business,” the figure spat.

“Where is Kinshry? We know you are one of his workers,” Tark demanded.

But he never got an answer. A blaster bolt shot and killed the beggar, his body now limp underneath Tark’s boot heel. The Mando looked up to see another thug retreat into the shadows, obviously having finished his mission. Angrily, he kicked the limp body aside; this happened far too often for high-profile targets. They either killed themselves or were killed by someone else before he could pump information from them.

That seemed to be the end of the fight, as the street became deathly quiet once more. Anyone who had been milling about had long since scattered, not willing to take the risk that more blaster fire might erupt at any moment. Police sirens could be heard in the distance.

“It’s time we take our leave,” Nat said. “We have to find Kinshry.”

“Kinshry? Binn Kinshry?” the police officer asked. “You’re going after one of Coruscant’s most dangerous criminals?”

“Pretty much,” Gark replied.

“It’s a suicide mission,” the officer said. “No one has been able to bring him to justice.”

“We intend to,” Nat said.

“I already told you, its suicide,” the officer replied.

“We understand, and are willing to take the risk,” Gark said. “Now, get the Senator to safety.” The officer helped Kluun to his feet, and the Kel Dor dusted himself off.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he said to the two fighters. “You saved my life from an obvious trap.”

“It’s what we had to do. Nothing more,” Gark said.

“Don’t be modest,” Nat said.

“It’s all I can be right now,” Gark said.

The officer helped Kluun across the intersection into the correct building, leaving the three vigilantes out in the empty space of the intersection. They had stopped the assassination attempt, but Kinshry was nowhere in sight. He likely had left the scene long ago, if he had been here at all.

“What do we do now?” Gark asked.

“Check the body,” Nat instructed. Tark looked through the beggar assassin’s clothing. The Mando finally held up a small trinket.

“This is all I found on him,” he announced. Nat came closer to inspect the item.

“What is it?” Gark asked.

“I don’t know. But I think I know someone who can tell us,” Nat said. “But we’re running out of time. Undoubtedly Kinshry knows what we’ve done here, and will accelerate his plans.”

Then Gark’s comlink buzzed. He looked at the number, but didn’t recognize it.

“Hello?” he asked warily.

“You may have defeated me at this juncture, but you will not win the war, Caped Crusader,” Binn Kinshry said from the other end of the line.

“Kinshry,” Gark said, his eyes narrowing. “What are you up to now?”

“Only what I need to have done,” his enemy replied. “And you won’t like what that entails.”

“Try me,” Gark replied bitterly.

Nat then came over to listen in. “What the hell do you want?” she asked.

“I figured he had roped you back into this little mission of his, Ms. Patrovish,” Kinshry said in that sickeningly-sweet voice. “It is too bad for you that I will not spare your life this time.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t need you to spare her. Because you’ll be dead soon enough,” Gark said.

“Fool. If only you knew what I have planned . . .”

“What do you have planned, anyways?” Gark asked.

“You know where I stand. And I will not say anything more. My actions shall do the talking,” Kinshry said.

“We know that you came from the area of the Brewery,” Nat said. “Everything you have done has been in a pattern. You couldn’t hide your tracks very well.”

“I see that you have caught me,” Kinshry said. But this was not over the comlink. Instead, he was right there in the flesh. Nat jumped back and pulled out a blaster, but then realized that the bald man was wearing a jacket lined with explosives. If she shot him dead, he was wearing enough explosives to easily kill all four of them, plus do major damage to the surrounding buildings.

“What do you want?” Gark growled.

“You really think you can defeat me?” Kinshry asked, a smirk on his face.

“Of course we can. If there’s a will, there’s a way,” the Bothan said.

“As to your question about my heritage, Ms. Patrovish, you are right. I grew up in that area,” Kinshry said.

“So why the pattern?” Nat asked.

“Revenge,” Kinshry said simply.

“Revenge?” Gark asked. “Revenge for what?”

“Everything the galaxy has done to me!” Kinshry roared. “I never really knew my parents. My father abandoned me when I was just a young child, and my mother left soon after. She couldn’t support me, and thus kicked me to the curb. I was devastated. I could hardly feed myself, could hardly stay alive. It was a rough time in my life. I knew nothing but sadness and anger. Especially anger. I was confused about why I had been left behind by my parents, why they didn’t want me.

As I grew older, I started to join other youths on the streets. How stupid we all were. We robbed a few people, we threw rocks into store windows. Typical hooliganism. But then as I got even older, I realized that it still wasn’t enough to satiate me. So I kept pushing it to the limit. Some of my friends found homes, stable ones. But no one wanted me anywhere near them. They were afraid of me, and I of the rest of the galaxy. I needed stability, but I didn’t want it from the society that had abandoned me.

I can remember my first kill like it was yesterday. It was so easy to pull that trigger, so exhilarating to see the body limp to the ground. I had the power of life and death, and that was something that I never wanted to give up. So I went into organized crime at fourteen. I went up through the ranks, stabbed whoever I could in the back, and then built my empire. By twenty, I was already an established criminal, and I wanted more.

So here I am, having everything I ever wanted. No one can keep me down, and neither of you two will succeed.”

“But why does that explain why you had us kill Pulmee? Milberry? That other businessman? The politician?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kinshry asked. “They all went back with me.”

“How so?” Gark asked.

“Pulmee once was one of my fellow youths on the streets,” Kinshry said. “But unlike me, he found a stable home, screwed his head on straight. And look at what he became, a frakking millionaire who forgot that I helped get him to where he was. Without me, he would have become nothing. I pushed him to the edge, pushed him out of crime. He would have made a good partner in crime, but once he went straight and left his criminal days behind, there was nothing I could do. And now he’s dead, unable to divulge my biggest secrets from those days.”

“Why you ran away,” Gark surmised.

“Exactly. Mila Milberry? Her older brother was out on the streets with me. He died a long time ago after getting in a shootout with the cops. But she knew me, knew what I stand for. And she knew where I would be hiding. So now her secrets are gone as well.”

“And the politician?”

“He was a political casualty, an enemy of mine,” Kinshry said. “He interfered with my plans, so I had him killed. Simple enough.”

“So you’ve been running away this whole time,” Gark said. His mind wandered to Nat; she, like Kinshry, was trying to run from her past as justification for her actions.

“And I’m glad I did. Had I stopped running, I wouldn’t be here now. My time is limited, and so is yours. And one more thing. I had your family slaughtered like animals. Your wife squealed for mercy, but my guards cut her down. How I loved torturing your son before I slit his throat,” Kinshry said with that same evil smile. “So farewell for now, because the next time we meet, you will not survive.” He reached down to his belt, and Nat followed with her blaster. A canister hit the ground, and smoke popped out of it.

“Smoke grenade!” Nat yelled. The area was quickly inundated with smoke, and Gark coughed several times on the choking dust. He couldn’t see a thing in the cloud.

When the smoke finally cleared, Kinshry was gone. Nat looked to the Bothan, who was now complete distressed. Was his family truly dead? If so . . . how could he soldier on?

“I’m sorry,” Nat said. “I should have taken the shot.”

“If they’re dead, I’m going to rip Kinshry limb from limb,” Gark said. He wanted to yell out in rage, but he felt too depressed to do that. The agony of hearing that his family was dead was too much to overcome, and he wanted to cry. “We are going to finish this right now. I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care what we have to do. I’m going to kill Kinshry if it’s the last thing I do,” he said.

“And I know just where to start,” Nat said, holding up the small trinket that Tark had given her.

 

So they finally meet Kinshry in the flesh. Hopefully he's lying about killing Gark's family.

Now what is this trinket?

 

Was Gark really wearing a cape during this scene?

 

Sure, why not?

Part 22

TAGS to Tim Battershell, jcgoble3 and Trieste


“Where are we going?” Gark asked. It had been many long hours since they had narrowly missed out on capturing Binn Kinshry during the assassination attempt on Senator Kluun of Dorin, and with every passing hour Gark started to feel more and more anxious. The bald man had said that his family was dead, slaughtered to send a message. The thought nagged at him; could it possibly be true? Villains in movies always passed lies to get what they wanted, but Kinshry wasn’t like them. He wasn’t an actor. He was very real, and the threat he posed a grave one.

“We need to find out what this means,” Nat said. She held up the trinket that Tark had found on the body of the beggar assassin. It was no larger than a tooth, an odd object for those who did not know what it was. “If we find out what it is, I’m hoping that we can go to the source.”

The Hapan stepped over the threshold of a door, and Gark followed suit. Tark had elected to stay back and watch them from above, in case they were attacked. Gark reasoned that it was because the man didn’t want to be seen down here for some reason.

They were now standing in a small shop. Shelving units of all kinds of odd or fantastic items lined the walls, some of the items gathering dust, others shiny and new. Whatever the score, this was a quirky little shop. It seemed to be a pawn shop, given the wide variety of items for sale. A bell rang as they entered, its tinkling sound reminding Gark of the sound of a bell on a child’s plaything. Out from the back came a sagely old Ithorian, the wrinkles on his face betraying his age. He had likely been working here for some time, Gark noted as he and Nat approached the counter.

“Can I help you?” the Ithorian asked in a slow manner.

“I would think after all the times I stopped by here, you would recognize me by sight,” Nat said.

The Ithorian perked up a little. “Ah, Nat’alia! How good to see you again.”

“It’s been a while, Hec’tor,” Nat replied.

“What are you up to now? It’s been ages since I last saw you,” the man said.

“Same old, same old, it seems,” Nat said.

“What brings you in to my humble shop?” the Ithorian asked.

“I need you to tell me what this is,” Nat said. She placed the small trinket on the counter. The Ithorian picked it up and inspected it for several seconds. He then pulled out a magnifier lens from a cabinet behind the counter and continued to inspect it. Finally, after about a minute, he looked back to Nat.

“Do you know how long it has been since I have seen one of these?” he asked.

“You know what it is?” Gark pressed.

“Certainly. It is a small identification token for the Umima Ironworks, down in the fringes of Midtown. The hyperlane CC-56 is down that way. Takes you right by it. Or, what is left of it,” the Ithorian said. “But, if I may ask, how did you come to be in possession of this item?”

“Long story,” Nat said.

“Does this have something to do with organized crime?” the Ithorian asked.

“Perhaps,” Nat said. She placed her elbow on the counter. “Depends on what you’re thinking.”

“There is a reason, Nat’alia, that I never see these tokens anymore. They don’t come by my shop because they belong to a very select group.”

“What kind of group?” Nat asked.

“Illicit activity is all I can say,” the Ithorian said. He leaned in a little closer to Nat as he spoke. “It’s a group that does not like to be known in the public eye. Now, how did you come into possession of this?”

“It came off the body of a lackey of Binn Kinshry,” Nat said. The Ithorian looked startled at the name being uttered, and then took a quick look behind him before turning his attention back to the Hapan.

“Nat’alia, you aren’t seriously . . .” he said.

“I’m going after Kinshry. All I needed was the location,” Nat said.

“But it’s suicide. You know the stories of Binn Kinshry, and the wake of destruction he’s left behind wherever he goes.”

“I do. But if we can surprise him, then we may have an advantage,” Nat said.

“You have that same sense of stubbornness,” the man said, shaking his large head. “That will only get you killed.”

“But what does the token mean?” Nat asked.

“It was an identification marker, as I said earlier. But it has now been repurposed for more sinister means.”

“How so?”

“Let me tell you something,” the Ithorian said as he leaned in even closer. “Kinshry . . . dare I say his name . . . was last located at the IronWorks, many years ago. No one knew why he was there, or what he was up to, but given his track record, it was likely up to no good. I used to see these kinds of tokens come into my shop every now and then . . . old ironworkers looking for any small bit of scrap they could sell to me for credits. But that market dried up around the same time that Kinshry was last seen there. There were . . . rumors . . . floating around that his cronies were buying up all the old I.D. tokens they could find, to cover their tracks. No sense in making new ones if you could blend in with the existing batch.”

“But why would they buy up worthless tokens?” Gark asked.

“Because it covers his tracks. Destroys the evidence of the place’s existence,” the Ithorian said. “If I.D. tokens are not available on the market, the populace may forget the place even existed. I say that it might be a front for his operations, but no one has seen him in a long time. The police lost track of him. Too many dead-end leads for their liking. But I know these tokens when I see them, and it is too much of a coincidence that one of his thugs was carrying it.”

“Why carry it, though?” Gark inquired. “Wouldn’t that tip off the authorities?”

“You would think so, but Kinshry was smarter than that. Maybe just damn lucky. He wants to know which thugs are working for him. I wager that he sent each and every one a token. It’s like a mark, a symbol the thugs can use that the rest of the underworld knows and fears.”

“So it’s like a gang symbol,” Nat said.

“Precisely. But Nat’alia, I do not think it is a good idea to go after Kinshry. He knows this terrain, and will likely kill you.”

“That’s a risk I am going to have to take,” Nat said. She picked the token up off the counter.

“I can see that you are not to be dissuaded,” the Ithorian said, shaking his head once again. “That token shall lead you directly to the IronWorks, and directly to Kinshry. That is your best bet.”

“Thank you,” Nat said before walking out the door. Gark hurried to keep up with her. As soon as they left the building, Gark had to ask a question that was burning at him.

“How do you know him?” he asked.

“He offered me a place to hide, back when I was in my darker days,” the Hapan said. “I would come into his shop and hide from the galaxy in the back room. Sometimes I helped him move his inventory, but most of the time he let me be, knowing what I had gone through.”

“Do you trust him?” Gark asked.

“To the end of the galaxy,” Nat said.

“Why do I have a feeling that’s not helpful?” the Bothan asked.

“It may not be, but we now have a location. I say we strike whenever able.” She looked up into the night’s sky. “It’s too dark to try today, but tomorrow night will be perfect for going in.”

“You have a plan?”

“Not yet. But I will soon,” Nat said. “And it’s going to need to be a good one.”

 

Nice scene! At last we have a location.