- Coruscant
Even though it had only been a year since Toah had last been to Coruscant, it still felt much longer than that. Perhaps it was due to all of the changes that had come to the planet in the last five years that made it so unfamiliar to him.
While he had been able to land on the planet without much trouble, thanks to the clearance codes he had been given, he still could not help but notice that there was a larger presence of security than was normal. Practically everyone, from commuting businesspeople to innocuous families, had to go through the same extensive security searches and be patted down by heavily armored guards. While he had never been to Coruscant while it was under the Empire’s control, he had to imagine it was not too dissimilar from what he was seeing now.
As he made his way to an air taxi stop, he noticed that the large holoscreens all around the city were plastered with the faces of candidates for the upcoming election, which—if the dates on them were any indication—was going to be held tonight. Out of all of them, the images for Senator Tyron Valrisa seemed to be the ones that had received the most sponsors, given how prominently his face was being displayed relative to the other candidates. While he was no expert in politics, Toah had a feeling that the Senator from Sedratis was all but assured to win the election. What that would mean for the Resistance would have to wait; right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. Summoning an air taxi, he requested the droid pilot take him to the Uscru District—the last known location of the agent he had been sent to find.
Once there, Toah disembarked from the taxi and set out for the Outlander Club. In his experience, he found that clubs and cantinas were often the best place to start looking for someone or something; odds always were that someone happened to know something. He wouldn’t be surprised if the agent had also gone there for the same reasons.
As he stepped up to the entrance to the club, he found a burly Houk standing guard. A simple wave of the hand and suggestion from the Force caused the bouncer to turn a blind eye as Toah slipped in unseen into the bustling noise and colors of the Outlander Club. Music blared from overhead speakers as patrons of various species danced to the beat, while others gambled at gaming tables and cheered on as they watched broadcasts of illegal races. For all the security that had increased on the planet, the Alliance certainly hadn’t done much to impede the spread of corruption in its lower levels. Perhaps there was a connection to be made there, but again Toah did not want to dwell on it.
Making his way to the bar, he seated himself between an Aqualish and a younger human male, neither of whom paid him much heed, especially since the Aqualish was already passed out drunk. He ordered a simple beverage from the Ongree bartender, and when she returned with his drink he slid a few extra credits across the counter as he leaned in conspiratorially.
“I’m looking for a female Rutian Twi’lek who might have been through here recently. I don’t suppose you could help me?”
The Ongree snorted. “Blue Twi’leks are a credichip a dozen in these parts. You’re gonna have to be more specific than that… and maybe cough up a bit more.”
Toah added five more credits to the pile. “She’s a smuggler, by my understanding. Probably dresses like one, too. Brown top and pants, goggles on her forehead… ring any bells?”
“Nope.” The Ongree scooped up the credits and sneered at him. “Thanks for the tip, sucker.”
She stormed off and moved on to another customer. Sighing, Toah was about to take his drink and leave when the younger man to his right stopped him.
“I might be able to help you.”
Toah looked at him, eying him carefully. “And you would be?”
The man grinned as he extended a gloved hand. “Lance Nebula. Best smuggler on the Corellian Run.”
Toah couldn’t help but snort as he shook the proffered hand. “’Lance Nebula?’ That can’t be your real name.”
“It’s the one I have,” Lance replied. “Now then, this Twi’lek… her name wouldn’t happen to be Numa, would it?”
“Depends. Have you met her?”
“She was here not too long ago, asking around for….” Lance paused, glancing around the club before leaning in closer to Toah to speak in a hushed tone. “You wanna move to someplace quieter, away from prying ears?”
“Sure.” A part of Toah doubted that there even was still a spot on Coruscant that didn’t have prying ears, but he nonetheless left the bar and followed Lance to a secluded part of the club, away from the noise and crowds.
Once they had sat down, Lance said, “So, this Numa gal… she was here looking for a senator who I guess likes to visit the Outlander Club on his days off. Apparently, he was looking to purchase some spice from her and she had come by with his latest shipment.”
So far, what Lance was telling him tracked with what Toah knew of the agent’s cover story. As part of her mission to get info on the Alliance, she was supposed to get close to a senator who had less-than-licit interests and get as much as she could from him when he was high on spice.
“Go on,” Toah said.
“Well, the senator just so happened to show up, but he hadn’t come alone. He had brought some armored goons with him and they straight up arrested the Twi’lek there on the spot. Everyone here pretty much turned a blind eye and thanked the stars that they hadn’t cracked down on anyone else here.”
Toah frowned. “How long ago was this?”
“About three or four days ago.” Leaning back in his seat, Lance narrowed his eyes at Toah. “So, why the interest? You another customer of hers?”
“Consider me an acquaintance.” Getting up, Toah threw down a few credichips onto the table in front of Lance. “Thank you. I will be on my way now.”
“You’re not thinking of breaking her out, are you?”
“My business is no longer of your concern. Have a good day—”
“Hold it.” Lance got up from his seat and grabbed Toah by the arm before he could go any further. “I know why you’re really here,” he said, his voice lower than a whisper.
Toah tried not to show the surprise he felt on his face. “You do?”
“You’re not the first one to come by these parts and ask about stuff that you probably shouldn’t know about. Not too long ago, some girl at Club Kasakar was asking around about the Malvis Cabal. I know they have ties with the government and that something bad is afoot. I might just be a smuggler, but I pay attention to the news as well, you know.”
Toah eyed the other man carefully. “What are you getting at?”
Lance took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m tired of sitting on my butt and watching as things fall apart. If you’re gonna do something about it, then I want in on the action.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
Lance stared at him for a moment, working for an answer. “I guess you don’t,” he admitted. “But do you really want to break into an Alliance penal facility by yourself?”
Toah considered the question, while at the same time probing around with the Force. He sensed no ill intentions on Lance’s part; he seemed to genuinely want to help, if with some apprehension. Of course, intent could always be masked even to the most experienced of Jedi. But so far, the Force was not telling him to reject this man’s offer.
“All right,” he finally said. “I don’t suppose you might have an idea as to which specific facility she would have been taken to?”
“I have a few,” Lance replied. “By the way, I don’t think I got your name?”
“Aron,” Toah answered. As much as he was willing to trust Lance for his help, he was not quite ready to give him his true name. “Aron Sarjan.”
This time, it was Lance’s turn to snort. “And is that your real name?”
“It’s the one I have.”
“Fair enough.”
Several levels below the Uscru District, in a seedy hotel room, Vixen was not in a good mood.
She stood before a small viewscreen which displayed the face of Sal Orbego. There were plenty of people in the galaxy that got on her nerves, but the Pa’lowick was at the top of the list. It seemed as if he was utterly incapable of not sounding patronizing every time he spoke.
“Once again, your work is greatly appreciated,” Orbego said in a tone that was not at all appreciative. “However, the Cabal has more pressing concerns at hand and I can’t be wasting my time with every little request from our many, many operatives.”
“I literally assassinated the Chief of State,” Vixen retorted. “Surely that alone is worthy of a raise.”
“Perhaps once said assassination has paid off. After the votes have all been counted and Senator Valrisa has been declared the victor, then try calling me again.”
Vixen gritted her teeth as she pounded her fist on the viewscreen, causing Orbego’s image to briefly glitch out. “Dammit, Long Lips! I have done so much for your blasted Cabal and you’re just going to blow me off like you always do?!”
“’Long Lips?’” Orbego exclaimed. “Is that seriously the best you can do? Of all the insults you could have thought up, you went with ‘Long Lips?’”
“I can call you a lot worse if that’ll get you to cough up what I’m owed,” Vixen growled.
“I don’t think so. If you’re that desperate for a new shiny airspeeder, then you will just have to rely on the tips you collect from the men you sleep with to get by until the operation is finished and I’m in a better mood. Goodbye.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me you nerf kriffing moof milker!”
The Pa’lowick’s image vanished and Vixen screamed as she slammed her fists into the monitor, cracking the screen and cutting her knuckles. Cursing under her breath, she headed into the refresher to wash her hand and find something to stanch the bleeding. She knew she had an appointment that was going to be here in just a few minutes and they probably weren’t going to appreciate being bled all over.
As she put her hand under running water and searched for a bandage, she found herself reflecting on how she had gotten herself to this point. She had chosen her current line of work because she was good at it, it paid well, and gave her a sense of gratification both physically and mentally. Her clients were practically putty in her hands whenever she had them and it gave her a sense of power that she never felt anywhere else. She could have been a full-time Zealot of Psusan, which was what her mother had wanted for her, but her interests had never been in spirituality or anything of the sort. As soon as she had seen an opening at Maeve’s House of Maidens, she had taken it and had not looked back in the years since.
Of course, had she known that the House was an extension of what would become known as the Malvis Cabal, she probably would have thought twice. Before she knew it, she found herself working as an assassin, another thing she was good at much to her own surprise and also a career that paid well. But now, she was starting to feel that her talents were being taken for granted, and that people like Sal Orbego would continue to put her payment off to the side until she was completely forgotten about and she was left to fend for herself once more.
Unfortunately, she was too far in to turn back now. Her parents were long gone, the Zealots would not accept her back into their ranks, and she already knew too much about the Cabal to be allowed to live should she choose to leave. For better or for worse, she was stuck here.
The door chimed and she cursed again as she shut off the water. Wrapping her hand up in a bandage, she walked over to the door and opened it, ready to lay it on thick with sultry platitudes.
However, when she saw that the person standing outside was a short, blue-eared Ortolan, she allowed her mask to slip and she was unable to stop herself from staring in disbelief.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“So sorry about this.” The Ortolan drew a blaster pistol and pointed it at her, his pudgy hands shaking. “You’re awfully pretty though.”
Before Vixen could think to react, a blue ring shot out from the blaster and her world went dark.
- Ord Talavos
“’Long Lips.’ Honestly. I mean, who does she think she is?”
Mumbling to himself, Sal Orbego stepped away from the device he had been using to speak with Vixen and returned to the many other errands he still had to attend to. The invitations for the gathering on Ord Talavos had been sent out to all of the Cabal’s leaders and most of them had promptly responded; he was still waiting on Mikus, which wasn’t much of a surprise when it came to the Octeroid.
Probably high on spice right now, Orbego thought bitterly. He often found himself wondering why Malvis allowed such people into his Cabal. He understood that the primary focus was to expand their reach and resources, but was putting up with these crime lords and their infuriating quirks really worth it all? Of course, he would never voice such reservations to Malvis himself; his job was to keep things in check, not to question them.
As he was about to check up on Mikus, he received another incoming message from his holo-communicator. Thinking it was Vixen calling him again, he clenched his fists before turning on the device, pressing the button with much force. He was ready to fire off a snippy remark when the holographic image solidified into the form of an armored female figure.
Allowing himself to relax somewhat, Orbego said, “Ah. Agent Dorn. Any word from your contact aboard the Errant Venture?”
“Yes,” the operative hissed from behind her mask. “Apparently, Drakmos the Despised has deliberately given the Smugglers’ Alliance intel on some of the Cabal’s operations. Last I’ve heard, they were en route to Coruscant to track down Vixen.”
Orbego felt his heart sink like a rock as he processed these words. “I’m sorry… did you just say that Drakmos gave them Vixen’s location?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Is he… is he trying to set up a trap for them or something?”
“That, I am not aware of. Perhaps you should ask him to make sure.”
Orbego dropped himself at his desk, sinking into his chair with his hands over his protruding eyes. “Where are you now?”
“I have just arrived in the Coruscant system. I am currently tracking them down to Vixen’s current place of residence; I won’t directly interact with them until I receive confirmation that Drakmos has or has not set up such a trap.”
“Good, good. Keep me posted. I’ll keep you posted. Bye.”
Without another word, Orbego clumsily shut off the holoprojector before leaning back in his seat and letting out a loud scream. There was nothing in the galaxy that set off his anxiety more than meticulously laid out plans falling apart. What in the blazes did Drakmos think he was doing by leaking sensitive information to the enemy for the sake of luring them into a trap? Was he even doing that or was he actively working against the Cabal?
Determined to get some answers, Orbego was about to call up Drakmos himself when a black tendril wrapped around his arm.
“Not now, Xylini!” he snapped. “I need to call up Drakmos.”
“No.” The Xylini came into his line of sight, grinning at him from their white face as purple lights started to shine in their black, empty eyes. “You don’t.”
Orbego stared blankly for a moment as he slowly lowered his arm. His memory of the last few minutes became a blur. What was it had he just been about to do?
“You were going to call up Mikus,” the Xylini said calmly. “He still hasn’t responded to the invitation.”
“Right, right. Thank you.” Orbego returned his attention to the holoprojector and put in the code for Mikus’s frequency. “Honestly, I wish some of these crime lords showed some sense in their priorities.”
“It’s a good thing Malvis has you to keep them in line,” the Xylini whispered into his ear.
“Yes,” Orbego agreed. “I don’t know what he would do without me.”