Written by Siegfried86 for @MTrac1000 – July 14, 2020
Note: @Siegfried86 was relatively new to publishing their works online as of joining the Red Fleet Project, and used the collab to publish some of his first ever realized works on Wattpad. As of now, he doesn’t have a whole lot else published on his account, but if you’re looking for someone to discuss your own stories with and get some feedback on them, he’s always more than happy to help.
PART I
Corellia, 32 BBY
Corellia was one of many planets located among the Core Worlds of the galaxy, famous for the producing ace pilots and ships alike over time. Because of that, it was covered with shipyards where old wrecks and parts were also dropped on a regular basis.
Coronet City was the main capital of Corellia and, of course, it too had a hierarchy, as all societies do. The rich and powerful towered above the middle class and the poor, nothing new really, but nothing pleasant either. Especially if one was among said middle class or the poor.
10-year-old Jor Cantiny was one of those unlucky buggers. His mother had died just a year ago due to over working herself in order to enable her two children to have at least some kind of future. Together with his father, she had worked at the shipyards day in and day out, salvaging parts and constructing ships. However, due to an accident, she had lost her life, and with that Jor’s family had basically been broken. His father was now only a shadow of his former self, driven only by work and alcohol, not exactly an ideal environment for Jor and his sister, Jayla, to grow up in.
Their income had no longer been enough, so Jor had to quit school (or at least what barely passed as “school” down there in the slums) and put his talents to use to make whatever money he could. Unfortunately, he had always had somewhat of a frail body, so the shipyard was out of question. All that was left for him was to help out in someone else’s store. As soon as that was done with, he used the rest of the day to sit on the streets and play games of Dejarik with others for money.
Normally, playing Dejarik against a little kid in the slums was nothing someone would waste their time with. But Jor was different. He may not have been strong, fast, or possess any extraordinary physical abilities, but he had something even better:
He was smart.
He had figured out pretty quickly that there was a surprisingly universal way to almost everybody’s hearts: money. Accidentally drop a few credits in front of a customer and they’d all but forgotten what he just stole from the store from time-to-time. Slip a few credits into the patrols pockets every now and then and they’d overlook the little boy with his Dejarik board on the streets in the evenings. Forget a few extra credits for your fathers booze on the store clerks table and they’d never let his father know he mixed it with sleep powder on a regular basis so that his little sister had at least a few quiet nights.
So naturally, every now and then, when they had a visitor in the slums who didn’t know their way around, it was all but a question of time until they stumbled upon Jor and his unusual offer.
“50 credits if you can beat me in a game of Dejarik in under 10 minutes, sir.”
Jor had repeated that sentence so many times it had almost become a mantra by now. 50 credits for playing a quick round? Does this kid want to be robbed? These were usually the first two sentences that shot through everyone’s minds when they heard him say that. He could tell by the look in their eyes.
At first glance, it seemed ridiculous. People took one look at him and saw a ragged street rat desperately betting what was probably the last money he still had. Most took pity on him and thought they’d be doing him a favor if they just walked away. It was at that point where it was time to utter the second part of his mantra.
“If I beat you in under 5 minutes, I will get the 50 credits from you instead.”
That was usually the moment people stopped dead in their tracks, turned around and thought about it for a second. This kid beating me in five minutes? Impossible, was what every one of them must have been thinking. Whenever they were stuck in thought, Jor used the opportunity to complete his mantra with a third sentence.
“Unless, of course, you’re afraid to lose against an 10-year-old boy.”
And in 9-out-of-10 cases, that did the trick. People in the slums didn’t know the value of honor or the meaning of the words “be the bigger man,” and even if they did, it was only up until their pride was insulted. That was also about as far as their pity reached. Of course, this was only a tactic that worked on a few specific people, but whenever Jor was able to pick out one of these said specific people, it was a guaranteed 50 credits. 50 credits that would be just enough to support his current lifestyle until the next unlucky foreigner arrived.
They would then sit down and ask to see these 50 credits before anything else would happen. At first, Jor had always been nervous about that part out of a fear they’d just try to steal his money, but in time he had taken that into account as well. A guard just coincidentally decided to stick around whenever Jor would sit on that street of merchants. He in turn would ask to see their 50 credits, and as soon as these conditions were set, they’d start playing. In the case of an opponent loss, the guard would conveniently decide to do the “right thing” and demand the loser to give the money to the boy if they’d initially refused to, since the guard knew there’d be an extra tip in it for himself afterwards.
And up until now, Jor had never lost a single game.
***
Klysstol Slerhask walked through the merchant streets of the slums of Coronet City rather satisfied. He was on his way to make a rather lucrative deal with an arms dealer of the local black market for some ships he no longer had a lot of use for, since he had already replaced them with much bigger ones. It was a deal that would greatly benefit his still-growing crime syndicate. It was still in its starting phase, but with this arrangement, he would have access to three freighter-class ships, each equipped with a hyperdrive. With that, it wouldn’t take much longer until he could expand his own criminal empire.
He was dressed as an unassuming trespasser, just walking through the slums out of pure interest. His two bodyguards, an Aqualish and a Rodian whose names he didn’t care to learn, followed him discretely with a distance that wouldn’t betray their image of harmless trespassers as well. The rest of his men were waiting at his ship in the upper levels. It was just as he was finishing his walk through the main merchant street that he heard a little boy’s voice saying: “50 credits if you can beat me in a game of Dejarik in under 10 minutes, sir.”
He stopped for a moment and turned around to see where the voice was coming from. About two meters behind him on the ground, there was a boy sitting, legs crossed, wearing ragged down clothes and looking like the last time he had seen a bathtub was about the last time he had seen a proper meal. Klysstol scoffed, turned around, and started walking again, when the boy uttered a second sentence.
“If I beat you in under 5 minutes, I will get the 50 credits from you instead.”
Klysstol stopped again, turned around once more and looked the boy directly in the eyes. It was a Human, which were normally intimidated by Klysstol’s Quarren appearance, but this boy wasn’t afraid. On the contrary, he seemed quite confident.
“Unless, of course, you’re afraid to lose against an 10-year-old boy,” the small Human added.
The Quarren was about to retort with a rather violent counter, but hesitated. He needed to blend in, and this boy seemed almost like an attraction of sorts. Maybe he was a trickster or someone who cheated in the game to steal money from others. But Klysstol, as a foreigner dressed the way that he was, couldn’t know that, or at least the outside world couldn’t know that he did.
Besides, he had some time to waste, since his partner had insisted on meeting on this street, so why not kill a few minutes of time and win a quick 50 credits? He had a strong hunch that the boy was going to cheat, so he could cheat just as well.
He walked over to the boy and sat down on the other end of the Dejarik board.
“Do you really have 50 credits? I’m sorry, but it seems a little unbelievable for someone like you to have-” He was interrupted when the boy wordlessly held up five rectangular ten-credit chips.
“How do I know you actually have the 50 credits?” the boy retorted with a smirk.
Klysstol repeated the boys gesture, to which both of them let the money disappear back into their pockets. While the boy took both hands out and booted up the circular Dejarik board, Klysstol left his hand in his pocket, where he kept the remote with which he could temporarily disrupted the nearby surveillance cameras if necessary.
However, if his little jamming transmitter worked on cameras, then it would surely also work on an old holographic game board.
They both arranged their pieces on the board and got ready to start. “Five minutes,” Klysstol repeated. “If you take a second longer, the bet is null and void.”
“Agreed,” the boy said confidently. Klysstol was about to start the clock when he heard a familiar voice over his shoulder. “Ah, I see. The boy has found another victim.”
He turned around, only to see the ship salesman he was supposed to meet. A male Besalisk with the name Flex Galus, a shady local who was currently looking down on both the Human and the Quarren with a smile.
“Why, is he a little cheater?” Klysstol countered with a smirk of his own.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Flex said. “He is just that good, but people usually don’t believe it and think they can win. They always fall for it and in the end, lose.”
“Oh come on, you’re bluffing.”
“Don’t believe me?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Well then, put your money where your mouth is,” Flex said with a raspy laugh.
“How do you mean?” Klysstol countered warily.
“Remember our little deal? I seem to recall you having something of equal worth.”
“You mean the Fury?“
“The very same.”
“What of it?”
“Let’s forget the money deal and make it a bet shall we? You’ll bet the Fury and I will bet what you’ve come here for in the first place.”
“Bet it on what?” the Quarren asked cautiously.
“Whether or not you can win against this boy in a board game.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“The Fury is not a freighter.”
“But she is a beautiful ship nonetheless. For the sake of this bet, she’s of equal worth to me to the other three freighters.”
“You really think he’s that good of a player that you’d risk three freighter-class ships on a bet?” Klysstol asked, half in disbelief and half amused.
“I do,” Flex simply answered.
Klysstol hesitated. Flex’s bet could just as well be a bluff and the Quarren could go the safe route and refuse. But then he would run the risk of looking like a coward to his hopefully long-time business partner, appearing as someone who wouldn’t even take on a challenge against a little boy.
“Fine, I call your bluff,” Klysstol bravely declared. He turned around and faced the Human. “Alright boy. Five minutes. Do your best.”
***
Jor allowed the Quarren to realize pretty quickly that he was no cheater. The man had insisted on getting the first turn in the game, which Jor had gladly given him. The Quarren probably had some kind of deal going on with Flex Galus and didn’t want to appear as weak, hence why he agreed to this escalated game in the first place. That was probably also the reason why the Quarren didn’t just sit deliberating on his first turn for five minutes and wait for Jor’s time to expire.
No, instead he went into a full-on assault and attacked Jor’s game pieces one after another. For the first minute, at least. Jor purposely took more time than his opponent to decide on his turns, even if just a little, and tried to appear uncertain. This was a common tactic to taunt the opponent into getting more daring with their turns, which worked down to a tee with this guy.
Jor didn’t even look at his watch, he counted the seconds in the back of his head while continuing to play. However, the boy dropped the apprehensive act as soon as the second minute began and moved his pieces almost instantaneously after his opponent was done with his turn. Then, after one minute and 30 seconds, the holographic board began to glitch.
At first, they both paid it no mind, but when it happened again 15 seconds later, the Quarren suddenly got angry and exclaimed: “I knew it, you’re a little cheater!”
“I sincerely apologize,” Jor quickly countered and tried to appear polite while beginning to sweat. “Whatever this is, I’m sure it’s just a technical error. I’ve got real pieces here too, so we could continue with those should it happen again.”
2 minutes.
The game glitched again, longer this time than just for a moment, and made it impossible to safely make out which pieces were where on the board. Jor quickly pulled out the aforementioned physical figurines from a little box he kept with him and began placing them where the digital pieces stood. This had happened once before and had cost him valuable money, but ever since then, he had been prepared in case it should happen again like it was now.
“The game doesn’t seem to be working today, so why don’t we use these?” Jor quickly added before the Quarren said anything else.
2 minutes and 20 seconds.
“Seems like a fair solution to me,” Flex Galus said with a dirty smirk, before Jor’s opposite could say something. He grunted in reluctant approval, but then grabbed Jor’s hand as he was placing a piece on his opponent’s field.
“This one was here,” he said, acquiring and placing the piece down himself. Jor had a borderline photographic memory, so he knew that the digital counterpart had not been where the Quarren had just set it down. He was cheating. However, Jor was not particularly worried, as it was a bad move all the same.
He knew this game inside and out, had been playing it since the earliest he could think, which meant he knew countermeasures to nearly every turn. Flex Galus didn’t say anything, which meant that he was either ignoring the cheat or just didn’t see it.
2 minutes and 40 seconds.
It was now Jor’s turn, which he executed as fast as ever in contrast with his opponent, who now took longer than before to carefully plan out his moves.
His opponents turn. The Quarren took some time, but ultimately only moved his pieces without attacking.
Jor’s turn. He managed to eliminate a piece of his opponent.
The Quarren’s turn. He wasn’t able to deal any significant damage, but he did waste another 20 seconds.
3 minutes and 30 seconds.
Jor’s turn. He carefully placed one piece into position and simultaneously took out an enemy figure.
His opponent had one piece left.
3 minutes and 35 seconds.
The Quarren sat there, deep in his thoughts apparently about how to make his next move.
3 minutes and 50 seconds.
He slowly moved his hand to his piece and acted like he wanted to move it somewhere, but stopped himself halfway, put it back on its place and put his hand on his chin, as if to pretend he was in deep thought again.
4 minutes and 20 seconds.
His eyes darted around and made it appear as if he searched for a way out of his situation, but Jor knew that his opponent was just stalling for time.
4 minutes and 30 seconds.
“Klysstol stop wasting time or the bet is off and you pay the full price.” Flex Galus said somewhat agitated to everyone’s surprise.
4 minutes and 40 seconds.
Finally, the Quarren made his move and got his piece to somewhere else on the board, with a sudden burst of confidence. Probably because he thought he had won the game by bringing his piece out of reach in preparation to pounce.
4 minutes and 50 seconds.
Immediately, Jor moved one of his own attackers and eliminated the last piece, winning the game. Surprised, the Quarren doublechecked the movement distance of the piece and then looked into Jor’s eyes with astonishment. Jor felt pretty self-satisfied with himself and let out a sigh of relief. Another game won, another 50 credits. Another few weeks of survival for he and his sister.
“The game is invalid,” Klysstol suddenly said. Jor’s statisfaction disappeared immediately and was replaced with unease.
“What do you mean the game is invalid?” he asked.
“Do your ears not function, Human? I don’t like repeating myself.”
“B- But I won fair, and square,” Jor stammered.
“No you didn’t, you cheated.”
Oh shoot. Jor knew he had won. He also knew that the Quarren was the one who actually cheated, Jor had seen it with his own eyes. But he couldn’t accuse him of being a flat out cheater AND a liar, because that’s what he would do if he’d try to prove his opposite wrong. Jor knew that his opponent was very aware of that fact, which was probably also why he just pretended to have been the cheated participant.
Jor glanced over towards the guard, or at least where the guard had been standing just a couple moments ago. JHe cursed himself for not taking into account that Flex Galus also paid off the guards, in way more fashionable amounts than Jor ever could, so of course they’d magically disappear as soon as Flex showed up.
Jor was alone. Worse, he was alone with two large scoundrels, one of which was now pretending to be angry at him to cover a very real anger brewing inside. And they were in the slums. Where nobody would care if they came across a young boys corpse on the street.
Shab, shab, shab, what do I do? Jor panicked internally.
“No he didn’t,” Flex intervened all of a sudden.
Both the Quarren and the Human turned around to the Besalisk in surprise. “As a matter of fact, you did Klysstol. Or are you really trying to tell me that I won’t find an intermittent jammer in the pocket you so adamantly persist to keep your hand in?”
The Quarren’s face changed colors a bit, which was probably their species’ equivalent of a face reddening when being found out a liar.
Flex let out a roaring laughter and continued: “Unbelievable. Not only did you lose, you lost while cheating against a child that beat you fair and square in the end.”
He took a couple moments to catch his breath. “I’ll be expecting your ship at my yard next week,” he said still chuckling and walked away.
Jor’s face lit up with excitement and joy. He was saved! He never thought he’d be grateful for a corrupt salesman like Flex Galus to exist, but there he was. His smile faded, however, when the Quarren known as Klysstol slowly turned around to him and looked him deep in the eyes. He dropped 5 ten credit chips on the now deactivated Dejarik board and then said: “You’ll regret that.”
Jor’s stomach suddenly turned to ice at those words and gulped. That was no empty threat.
He waited a couple minutes until after Klysstol had gotten up and left, then he grabbed his stuff and ran like a river.
Jayla, he kept thinking. His little sister. He needed to make sure she was safe. His father was long gone, a broken man driven only by booze and gambles who had forgotten his children an age ago. But his sister…
She was innocent. He needed to make sure she stayed safe, he needed to get to her before that Quarren did, or else she’d be-
Jor stopped running.
Wait a minute. How would the Quarren get to her first? He didn’t even know where Jor lived. He didn’t know Jor had any family, and for all that squidhead knew, Jor was just a simple orphaned street rat.
The boy calmed himself and took one deep breath after another. With each breath, he tried to get rid of the sheer panic that had created a giant knot in his chest. Calm down, he kept telling himself. Approach this rationally. Stay in the busy streets for now and go over the possible scenarios.
But what were the possible scenarios? He needed to start somewhere. The Quarren himself was as good a point as any go off of. Jor had never seen him before and he had been living in this swamp of a slum, consisting of stacked up buildings and makeshift homes carved out of abandoned shipwrecks, ever since he could remember.
That meant one of two things: the Quarren was new in this neighborhood (which was unlikely, since nobody with clothes that good would live down here voluntarily), or he was here on a business trip, which made a tad bit more sense. He and Flex had been talking about a deal of sorts, and they obviously seemed to know each other. So it was also safe to assume that this Quarren was somewhat involved in the local cartel.
He didn’t usually come here. But he arrived today for a deal. Down into a city, or at least part of a city he normally didn’t occupy himself in. So he was probably unfamiliar with the territory and there for probably an anticipated chance of acts of violence happening to him, or because of him. Jor blinked a few times as a realization washed over him.
The Quarren probably had bodyguards. Hidden, but present.
Now he was getting to the real meat of this thing.
Bodyguards meant people that could be commanded. Commanded to do things like, for instance, beat someone up, burn down their home, kill their family in front of them… or simply follow a person. He tried to look inconspicuous and checked the area around him, which was still the main merchant street, where buildings served as storage rooms for the salesmen in the front. No side alleys, so if Jor was tailed by someone, it would be either over the rooftops or the shadows of the street. Jor carefully eyed the street, but couldn’t make anything out. If his pursuer was on the street, then he was very good at hiding in plain sight. Next Jor let his eyes wander upwards to the rooftops and it was almost shocking how quickly he noticed the suspicious looking Rodian sitting on top ofone, staring straight back at the young boy.
Jor turned around and slowly nodded to himself as he began to get a grasp on his situation. He couldn’t go home just yet, despite how much he wanted to. First, he had to shake his pursuer. Unfortunately for that Rodian, Jor was pretty knowledgeable when it came to the maze that was the slums of Coronet city. And so he began to take the first step of many down the overly complicated route he had just planned through half the community.
***
2 hours.
2 hours he had been walking and climbing, up and down, through broken windows and houses, cranes and tunnels, until he was sure that he had lost the Rodian. About halfway through this impressively slow chase, he finally confirmed that the Rodian was actually pursuing him, or else he wouldn’t have seen him at every second crossroad or rooftop.
But now he was in the clear and made his way to the abandoned ship that was his home. It was broken down and buried under a pile of other useless ship parts, some of which gave off the almost slightly sweet scent of oil and decay, but it had never gotten to the inside of his home, so he didn’t mind it.
He climbed up a ladder and through the half opened hatch that served as the entrance to get to the inside. Said inside of the starship was big enough for four people to sleep in it, as well a makeshift table and chairs to eat on, and even a couch with a small glass table, which was a leftover interior furnishing from the ship’s early life. He checked up on his father’s current alcohol bottle and was surprised at how little was left this early into the day.
If he continued at this rate, he’d need a refill sooner than expected. Jor put the bottle back and walked over to his sister who was sleeping on the ground. He silently checked her for bruises and other wounds, signs of infections and so on, injuries she could have gotten from sharp and rusty edges by climbing around. His father didn’t do anything for their health, and if it hadn’t been for Jor’s insistence, he and his sister wouldn’t be sticking around, at least not alive.
He was just getting up when he heard a loud screeching noise from the old cargo hatch they sometimes used as a back entrance. Was his father already home again? No, he didn’t usually do anything to the cumbersome hatch whenever he entered the ship, the upper opening was large enough for him to crawl down through, so what was…
His musings came to a stop when he was suddenly staring into the eyes of the Rodian who had been following Jor. With a blaster at the ready, he said something in his alien language, which probably meant something like “don’t move.”
But I was so sure that I lost him! How did he-?
Once again, his train of thought was interrupted as another person entered the ship. An Aqualish stepped up next to the Rodian, followed by… the Quarren.
No.
“Well, well, well, look at what we have here,” the Quarren snarled through his tentacles. He took his time to pace around the ship and examine various things. “Cozy,” he uttered. “Adequate furniture, given the circumstances. A nice little home, wouldn’t you say boys?”
The Rodian and Aqualish cackled, both in their own alien way. “But I’d say there’s one problem. Well, more like two.” The Quarren slowly paced over to Jor and his sister, crouching down and looked Jor in the eyes with his own, deep, dark, filled with malice.
“There’s a rat infestation.”
“P-p-please I- I’m begging you, couldn’t we-?” Jor began stuttering.
“Oh I’m sure we could,” the Quarren interrupted and simply snapped his fingers. “But we don’t want to.”
The Rodian walked over to his sister, grabbed her by the hair, and lifted her off the ground. She woke up when he grabbed her and started screaming and struggling, so the Rodian let her down on her feet, pressed a hand on her mouth, and held her close to himself with the blaster against her temple.
Paralyzed, she stood still and stopped fighting back at the realization of having sudden death pointed so close to her head.
“Let her go!” Jor yelled, and wanted to jump on the Rodian, but the Quarren held him back, before whirling him around and punched him in the face. Pain exploded in his left cheek and he stumbled backwards until his back hit a wall, where he slid down and sat on the ground, holding his face in agony.
“See young man, you caused me a rather severe loss today,” the Quarren calmly explained as if he didn’t just strike a child. “Not only did I lose face in front of a valuable business partner, I also lost one of my best ships to him. And that, I must admit, is not something I’m particularly happy about.”
“How… how did you… even find me?” Jor finally managed to ask through the pain and numbness in the left half of his face.
“Oh that? That was simple. Your wild goose chase was an admirable attempt to shake my dear guard, but ultimately a fruitless effort,” he walked over to Jor and started searching his clothing until he found the pocket with the credits, pulled one out, and held it in front of Jor’s face, “when you carry a tracking beacon on you.”
The Quarren’s face twisted, which must have been his way of smiling. Then he got up and slowly took a few steps backwards. Jayla’s wimpering got Jor to turn around and focus on her again. He tried to be reassuring and held out his hand to her even though he couldn’t reach her. “Everything is gonna be ok Jayla, alright? Don’t you worry, everything’ll be ok, just-“
“Do it,” the Quarren simply said.
In a matter of moments, it was over. The Rodian pulled the trigger, the laser went straight through his little sister’s temple. Her head was hurled to the side from the impact, and all life disappeared out of her eyes in an instant. The Rodian let go of her, and her lifeless body crumpled down onto the floor.
“NO!” Jor screamed. He got up and ran over to her, but was once again stopped, this time by the large Aqualish. He grabbed Jor by his ragged shirt and held him up in the air. Jor struggled and struggled some more, hit and scratched at the Aqualish’s arm and everything else that was in reach, but nothing helped. Jor finally quit his meaningless efforts and just glared at the Aqualish, and then to the Quarren.
“Do something about those eyes,” the Quarren then uttered, disgusted. “I can’t stand the sight of them.”
The Aqualish grabbed Jor by the head with his other hand and and then slowly approached the glass table in front of the couch.
Without mercy, he slammed Jor’s head down on the table, and the world instantly went black.
***
Jor woke up, and the first thing he noticed was the pain. Pain around the upper parts of his face. He tried to move, but something was restricting his arms and legs. He tried to open his eyes, but no matter what he did, the world remained black.
I can’t see!
He panicked and began screaming. He felt somebody walk up to his bed and sit down on the side. The persons hand was not familiar, but the pressure on his shoulders felt soft and reassuring.
“Don’t panic, child,” a woman said. Her voice was soothing and calm, taking away a part of Jors fear.
“Don’t try to move or to open your eyes,” she continued. “Your head is in bandages and your body is in terrible condition. You need rest.”
“My… my eyes,” Jor stuttered and tried to ask a question, but suddenly felt tired.
“Rest, my child.”
PART II
Corellia, 32 BBY
“Paroke, no,” the hologram of a Devaronian said.
Paroke Dunchit, or as some of his colleagues called him, “The Mole,” was walking down the hallway of a hospital, while he was conversing with Belyular Criff, one of the highest ranking officers among the pirate organization known as “The Red Fleet.”
“You haven’t even tried it yet,” Paroke insisted.
“Because I know it won’t work. We need real pilots, not orphaned children with the “supposed potential” to become one,” Criff, also known as “The Red Right Hand,” replied.
“That’s why you could educate them. Think about it; you’ll have your own pilot fleet made up of people bound to you by loyalty, not credits. That’s gotta be worth something.”
“We already have that.”
“Yes, but you could give a few poor children a home and a future. Two birds with one stone.”
“If that were our objective, we’d already be doing it. We don’t have time to babysit Paroke, and you know that.”
The Talpini clicked his tongue. “Fine, then we won’t.”
A longer pause occurred, where none of the two said something.
“…you’re still gonna do something aren’t you.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“You’re way too nice, old friend.”
“If only I had a credit for every time I heard that one.”
“I mean it.”
“Everyone does.”
“Just don’t forget why you are in Coronet City.”
“Understood,” Paroke said, and ended the call. He put the holodisk back into his pocket and continued his way past the lobby. He was currently in one of the small hospitals of the lower class area of Corellia’s capital, Coronet City.
He was about to walk into one of the infirmaries, when a Twi’lek nurse stopped him. “Excuse me, can I help you?” Her tone was concerned and wary. Of course, Paroke chided himself, somebody would get suspicious if an old Talpini in a crimson and gold jumpsuit just walked into a hospital like that.
“Oh yes, of course, I apologize. I must have passed the reception, I was just a little lost in thought. Given the location of this hospital, I reckon you might be having some problems of monetary nature?”
“And what if we did?” The Twi’lek countered, still wary. “Why would you want to know any of that?”
“Well, as it so happens, I was just in the area and I felt like doing some good in the world, so I’ve decided to make a donation of considerable amount to this hospital.”
The nurse’s face lit up. “Oh, well in that case, you are welcome here. I’m sorry, I didn’t try to offend you or anything, but it’s like you said; with the hospital being where it is, the visitors sometimes have… less-than-savory intentions.”
“Reality is often unfortunate,” Paroke agreed. “I also have certain… connections to people who hold some amount of actual power, meaning it wouldn’t be a problem to find a new home for outpatients that have nowhere to go. In case you have any of those.”
“At the moment, only one,” the nurse said, worriedly. “Follow me.”
Paroke did as asked, and together with the nurse, he walked to an elevator, up two floors, and was then led into a room with several children in it. It reminded him more of a wide corridor than an actual room, and had beds along both side walls of the room, with a big window at the end.
They walked past the children’s beds, while the nurse smiled at several children, some of which who smiled back and even waved at points, while others were fast asleep. The last couple of beds were empty, except for the one right at the end next to the window. A boy was sitting in it, with fresh bandages wrapped around his eyes and a book under his fingers. On closer inspection, Paroke noticed that the child was reading the book with his hands.
“What happened to him?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” the nurse answered concerned. “His father brought him to us about two months ago. His eyes and the area around them were severely damaged. He had other injuries, but none were as major as the ones on his face. Shortly after, his father left a certain amount of money that he wished to be used for the boy’s treatment and stay, and then he disappeared. We last got notice of his father’s whereabouts about one and a half months ago.”
The nurse hesitated as if she had to prepare herself for what she would say next. “He was found at the bottom of a dismantling site for one of the bigger ships. They say he voluntarily walked off the edge…” She broke off her words and tried to suppress a slight sob.
“We’ve been keeping the boy here ever since,” she continued after a while. “I’m really worried about him, you know. When we told him about his father, he didn’t even react. It was just like he had lost to ability to grieve. We thought he needed more time to process everything, so we gave him some room. His eyes received permanent nerve damage and the doctors spent all night picking glass shards out of them when he first got here. It’ll be a miracle if he ever sees again, so we thought it would be best to prepare him for a life of blindness.”
Paroke absorbed her words and took another look at the boy. Then he noticed the speed at which the boy was reading his book.
“When did you say you started teaching him?” he asked.
“We didn’t,” the nurse countered. “He did it himself. He learned how to read and write in the span of three weeks.”
“Self-taught?” Paroke asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” the nurse answered. “We tried asking him about what happened, but every time we do, he gets flustered, defensive, or upset. We assume he’s been heavily traumatized, so we started giving him math exercises and various other activities as a sort of occupational therapy.”
She turned to Paroke and looked him in the eyes. “We ran out of challenging math problems after 2 hours. I play Dejarik with him every now and then and he beats me every single time. He doesn’t even need to see the numbers or pieces, it’s like he knows the whole game by heart.”
“Any other exercises you let him do?”
“Aside from helping him learn how to walk again? It’s difficult without eyesight, but even then, he figured that out pretty quickly too. Ever since we told him that his father was dead, it’s almost like he has this… drive to learn.”
“I understand,” Paroke said. “Would you mind if I talked to him?” he then asked.
“No, I don’t. He’s generally open minded towards others, but please avoid questions about his eyes. Like I said, it’s the one thing he doesn’t like.”
“You have my word,” Paroke said and smiled. Then he walked up to the boy’s bed and slowed down a couple steps away from the edge.
“I know you’re there,” the boy suddenly said without directly looking at Paroke. “You and Sella weren’t exactly discrete.”
“Is that her name?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure she’s got a nametag though, probably so she doesn’t need to constantly tell people.”
Paroke looked over to Sella to check if the boy was right. And he was.
“How did you know that?” Paroke asked warily. He didn’t want to agitate the boy, and judging by his achievements, he wasn’t dumb, so he’d probably realize that Paroke was talking about the fact that he was blind.
“She’s a nurse in a hospital. It makes sense that she’d have one. She also taps against it whenever one of the others forgets her name, so it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
“You’re pretty smart.”
The boy tilted his head a little like someone trying to listen closely. “And you’re pretty short. What are you, an Amaran?”
“Talpini, actually.”
“You sound old,” the boy bluntly continued.
“I am,” Paroke simply retorted. He waited to give the boy some room and tried to get him to continue the conversation.
It almost seemed like it wouldn’t work, until the boy suddenly spoke after about a minute. “I’m Jor.”
“I’m Paroke.”
Another moment of silence. “You wanna play a round of Dejarik? Everyone else here doesn’t want to and Sella is the only one who doesn’t mind losing all the time.”
“Is that so?” Paroke smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well then, it would be my pleasure.”
***
“I think I know a place for him,” Paroke said to the nurse.
“You beat him,” Sella said in sheer disbelief while she stared over to the equally baffled boy. “Nobody’s managed to do that the entire time he was here.”
“With age comes wisdom and knowledge,” Paroke said as response. “I also happened to have taken a liking to the game a long while ago,” he then added with a wink of his left eye. “So, unless you want to keep him here at all costs, I could take him with me right now if you’d like.”
“But he doesn’t have any extra clothes.”
“A minor inconvenience that’ll quickly be taken care of.”
“He still has injuries that need to heal.”
“I’m acquainted with a doctor that can take excellent care of that. As far as I’ve observed, his injuries don’t impair his judgement or ability to think clearly.” He fumbled a small holopad out from his pocket and started typing in a few numbers and commands.
Sella squinted her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong,” she started, “you seem like a decent person and all, but down here a little skepticism has never failed anyone. I want the child to find a new home, but why should I trust you with him? I’ve known you for about, what, 30 minutes, and seen you play a board game?”
“Don’t forget the declared donation,” Paroke added and handed her the holopad. “Would you be so kind to enter your bank account’s routing number into the designated slot?”
“I don’t know that number by heart, I’m just a nurse.”
“I’m sure this hospital employs an accountant of sorts?”
Sella frowned, then tapped on a control panel attached to her left arm, which caused the ear piece in her left ear to blink. After a moment, somebody appeared to have taken the call as she began to speak.
“Alyah? Yes, I need the routing number of the hospital bank account. Yes. Because we have a visitor who would like to… spend some money. No, he gave me his own holopad. Yes, those signs are on it. Yes, the amount of digits adds up. Yeah. Ok, I’m ready.”
Apparently, the person on the other end of the line provided the required account number and Sella ended the call as soon as she double-checked that the number had been entered correctly. Then she pressed enter. And her eyes widened in shock.
“Bu- But that’s-“
“A considerable amount,” Paroke calmly ended the sentence for her.
“This is- why would you donate this much?”
“Well, as some of my cohorts tend to say, I’m probably just too nice,” Paroke chuckled. “I do believe my credibility could be proven with this, no?”
“I- Sir, this is really generous and in the name of the hospital you have my deepest gratitude but… still, the boy, I-“
“Miss Sella,” Paroke softly interrupted her. “You said it yourself. He has nowhere else to go. And even if he did; his future is not in this hospital. I can provide a home in which his talents can be honed and fostered into something that will allow him to build himself a life with it.”
Sella frowned again, looked around between him and the boy, and then replied somewhat reluctantly.
“Fine.”
She gave Paroke his holopad back and turned around. “I will go get his things. In the meantime, I’ll have to ask you to stay down on the lobby and wait for him.”
“Of course.”
***
“For the record, I’m not gonna call you dad,” Jor said to the Talpini currently guiding him out of the hospital.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” the old being chuckled. He said nothing else, and the two walked in the silence. Dark silence. The nurse had insisted Jor keep his bandages on for at least another day or two, so he still couldn’t see at all. About a week ago, he had pleaded with her to be allowed to open his eyes at least once, which she had reluctantly agreed to.
His vision wasn’t really much of a vision anymore. He could still see colors, but everything was blurry to the point that colors weren’t helpful at all.
“Where are we going?” he asked a little uncertainly after a while.
“To an old friend of mine” the Talpini retorted. “He always has a place for someone who’s good with numbers. I’d almost say with certainty that they can do something about your eyes too.”
“What kind of friend is that?”
“A mechanic, engineer, and physicist. He also likes to play Dejarik, so you’ve got a few things in common.”
“So you’re just dropping me off somewhere?” Jor continued.
“As much as I’d like to tend to you and help you get on your feet again, I have other business I need to tend to.”
“Ok, so where on Corellia is that friend?”
“He’s not on Corellia,” the Talpini retorted.
“Wait,” Jor said and stopped, now a little afraid. “We’re going off planet?”
“Don’t worry,” the Talpini said with a reassuring tone. “It’s not as much of a change as you’d think. Or quite as horrifying. Trust me. You’ve been on one planet, you’ve been on them all, apart from inhabitants, wildlife, and environment, they’re all the same.”
“Those are the things that make all the difference,” Jor countered with a dry attitude.
“They are? Well then I must really be getting old,” the Talpini chuckled. A couple minutes later they arrived at the destination ship and boarded it. However, Jor hesitated as soon as he remembered what happened the last time he had been on the inside of a ship.
He took a deep breath and calmed himself. It’s just a ship, he thought.
Once he was on the inside, the Talpini stowed away his scarce belongings and guided him to a seat with a belt.
“Would you like to go somewhere first, maybe your old home or something of the sort to pick up some things you might want to take with you?”
“No,” Jor answered. “There’s nothing left that I don’t already have with me.”
“Alright,” the old man said.
Jor heard several clicks and clacks of buttons and switches, which meant that they were probably in the cockpit of the ship. He heard a damp swooshing noise from somewhere behind himself, which were probably the nozzles heating up. Actually being in a cockpit and being about to witness his very first take off was something that made Jor suddenly very nervous. What if he had to throw up? What if he actually had a fear of flying? Especially now while he was completely blind, just being placed in a cockpit like that and venturing into outer space was a very scary thought.
The Talpini must have noticed and cleared his throat. “So. The nurses told me you’ve been learning new things with a certain… drive. Does that mean you actually already have something you plan to strive towards?”
All fear and panic was suddenly washed away and was replaced with an almost feverish determination as a picture of the Quarren only known to Jor as Klysstol appeared in his inner eye.
“Oh yeah,” the boy uttered, his voice carrying a sinister undertone. “I know exactly what I want to do.”
PART III
Corellia, 25 BBY
Klysstol Slerhask walked down the streets of Corellia on his way to a VIP club. The last seven years had been a steady rise for both he and his criminal empire, and today, he’d make sure to keep that the way it was for at least another decade. He was about to meet an old Human drug lord, who was slowly but surely feeling his age and encroaching demise.
So, in a fit of benevolence, he had decided to sell parts of his considerably prosperous estate for an arguably fair price. It was the offer of a lifetime, one which Klysstol could never say no to. Of course, he’d brought his Aqualish and Rodian bodyguards with him, who’d been in his employment ever since the beginning.
With pride swelling out his chest, he walked up to the entrance of the rather exclusive club the meeting had been set in. At the entrance, however, he was stopped by the Besalisk doorman. “Weapons stay outside, just like those bodyguards.”
Klysstol sighed and simply snapped his fingers. The Rodian and the Aqualish nodded and positioned themselves to wait outside. Then he handed the blaster he always carried with him over to the doorman and was about to step inside, when the Besalisk growled: “All weapons.”
With a roll of his eyes, Klysstol took out a small knife from his sleeve and put it on the counter in front of the doorman. The latter grunted, gave the weapons to a colleague, and made way for Klysstol to step inside.
And what a sight to behold it was. Beautiful women dancing on elevated stages, waiters running around from table to table to cater to the every need of their customers, and a lounge singer with a notably fantastic voice. Jazzy tones were filling up the entire room, accompanied by the angelic voice of the performer onstage. The bar itself was almost like a circle, as was the room itself. Several tables were filled with people laughing and conversing over a couple of drinks. And all was lit in a beautifully violet neon light.
Klysstol didn’t need to look for very long before he found his future business partner. Dressed in a white suit, his old face was decorated with a bushy moustache and a monocle, while the look was completed by a couple of elegant white gloves. He was currently sitting at the bar, accompanied by an extravagant entourage of lovely ladies.
The Quarren walked over to the bar. “Ywal,” he greeted him.
“Ah Klysstol, what a pleasure to meet you again. By all means, take a drink,” he gestured to a silver platter in front of him with glasses on it. “It’s on me”, he continued, and laughed, obviously already fairly drunk.
That was fortunate. Drunk people made irrational choices. Klysstol happily obliged and took one of the glasses from the platter. He examined it a little closer and found a small ten-credit chip in it. Strange choice for a cocktail decoration, but this was a wealthy establishment, so hey, why not. He clinked glasses with the old man and emptied almost half the glass at once. This stuff was pretty good!
“Now,” he began, “I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but how soon can we start talking business?”
“Oh Klysstol,” Ywal lamented, “always so quick with the work. Why don’t you kick back and enjoy yourself a little, no? Certainly wouldn’t hurt now, would it. Come on, look around,” Ywal said and gestured to the entire establishment, “there’s gambling, women, drinks, and more. Why don’t you live a little?”
“I think I’ll live easier once this deal is over with,” Klysstol uttered, which wasn’t a lie. Even if it had still been going uphill business-wise, there had been certain… setbacks. Setbacks that worried him and caused him to really depend on this deal if he wanted to let the problems eventually disappear.
“Alright, if we really must,” Ywal sighed, and got off his seat, though the women objected.
“Do you really have to go so soon?”
“Can’t you tell us a few more of your stories?”
“Pretty please?”
Ywal looked around between the three and smiled in defeat. “Alright. One more story, but that is it, then I really need to go and do business with this gentleman. Klysstol”, he said, and turned to the Quarren. “There’s a table somewhere close to the wall, it’s almost empty except for one person. That would be my accountant. You can go ahead and take up the numbers with him so that everything is ready. The preparations are almost done on my side, so as soon as he is done with his work, we can simply shake hands and start to have fun. Sounds good, no?”
“Sounds excellent,” Klysstol retorted, took his drink, turned around, and began looking for said table. He found it almost instantly, as it was the only table occupied by only one person. On the way to sit down, he briefly asked himself why they would leave one large table to a lone person in a clearly busy and popular establishment such as this. But then, as he got closer, he realized pretty quickly why.
The person sitting at the table didn’t really seem like somebody people would feel… comfortable with. First of all, his clothes were completely out of place, being the only person far and wide just wearing a simple, if clean, white, unbuttoned mechanic’s vest. His pants had a lot of bags on them, while his shirt was of a darker color that wasn’t really determinable in the unique lighting of the club. The only thing that sprung out was the strange glove he was wearing on his right hand, which only covered his middle finger and his thumb.
“Ywal’s accountant, I presume,” Klysstol said to him. He moved his head to meet Klysstols eyes, and only now did the latter realize that the accountant also wore some weird sort of goggles over his own.
“Absolutely,” his opposite responded in a rather upbeat manner. “Then you must be Klysstol Slerhask. Chief Ywal has told me so much about you already. I gotta say,” he stood up, grabbed Klysstols hand, and shook it rather extensively, “it’s very impressive to build what you did in just seven years. And to think it all began with just one ship.”
“Yes, yes thank you,” Klysstol said, and forcefully freed himself of the rigid handshake. This number cruncher was annoyingly energetic.
“I must confess, I’m actually somewhat of a fan,” the accountant continued. “I’ve dreamed about flying the Fury all my life, ever since I heard about it.”
“Yes, very nice, and I love that you’re an admirer and all, but I’d appreciate it if we could postpone all of this fanfare until after our business is concluded.”
“Of course,” the accountant said and sat back down. He took out a personal holopad and started typing, when all of a sudden the display started to glitch. He cursed, knocked the container that produced the holographical screen a couple times, and then sighed.
“I’m terribly sorry, it appears to be malfunctioning. We are going to have to wait a few minutes for it to reboot.”
“Are you really employed by Ywal for your skills?” Klysstol asked judgementally.
“Oh, but of course,” the accountant said, now seeming a little nervous. “I’m so sorry, this is- this has never happened before, it’s quite embarrassing. Might I make it up to you by giving you some entertainment while we wait for this devilish thing,” he shook the holoboard container, “to reboot? Perhaps a game of Dejarik?”
“No thanks,” Klysstol immediately denied. “I’m not really fond of it.”
He really wasn’t. Not anymore. The disaster that had ensued when he had refused to hand over his ship to Flex Galus a few years back still haunted him sometimes. He had lost many men that day.
“In that case, why don’t we make it a little bit more… appetizing?”
“Like I said, not interested, kid. I don’t-“
“If you beat me in under ten minutes,” the accountant suddenly interrupted him, “you’ll win 50 credits from me.”
Klysstol was about to get angry, but then he hesitated. Hadn’t he heard those words before?
“And if I beat you in under 5 minutes, I will win 50 credits from you.”
Klysstol suddenly got cautious. Something wasn’t right here. “Do I know you?” he asked and squinted his eyes to make out more of his opposite’s facial features.
“Oh no, you don’t. I’m surprised you’d be able to remember anything at all. I could have sworn your microscopic squid brain had all but forgotten me.”
“Microscopic- you got a death wish, bucko? Just because you work for Ywal doesn’t mean there won’t be-“
“What?” Klysstols opposite interrupted again, this time with a surprising verbal bite. His energetic attitude and nervousness was all but gone, now replaced sinister confidence. “Consequences? Through whom? Your prized bodyguards that follow you around like lapdogs all the time?”
Klysstol was about to have an emotional outbreak, but then calmed himself. He was still in the middle of a deal. He could have the accountant killed later if he wanted, first he had to clear this one transaction and then it was free game for him to do anything he wanted.
“You sure your boss is gonna be happy about hearing how you talk to such important customers?”
“Who?” His opposite countered with ridicule. “Oh you mean the old guy at the bar. Yeah, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. See him sitting at the bar over there talking to the ladies?”
Klysstol hesitantly turned around and looked over to Ywal.
“The funny thing is, you think he’s gonna get up and walk over here any second now, but I, on the other hand, know that he won’t. I know that he’s going to spend a good portion of the entire evening talking to exotic women that are about 40 years his junior, entertaining them with the wildest stories he can imagine. They don’t mind that he’s old, after all, they’re getting paid more than enough to spend this evening just listening to him. Then again, they’re not nearly as well paid as the old man himself,” Klysstol turned around to the “accountant” again, whose chin was now leaning on his hands, “for playing a drug lord about to go into pension.”
“So this entire thing-“
“Was all just a ruse to get you here, yeah. You’ve been played, squidhead.”
“How dare you, you little kriff! So the real Ywal isn’t even here? Boy, when I’m through with you, it’ll be like you never even existed. Nobody plays with me like this!”
The Human simply tilted his head a little and then snapped his fingers with the glove.
Suddenly, the entire club went silent.
“I’m sorry”, the Human said in normal volume, but now that everything was silent, it sounded frighteningly loud. “Could you speak up? I couldn’t quite make out that last part.” Klysstol turned around to check the room and froze.
Everyone in the club was staring at them.
“Why don’t you try calling your prized guard dogs now?” the “accountant” all but whispered.
The Quarren hated what he was about to do, because it was exactly what this pretentious Human in front of him basically commanded, but something was severely off about this situation. First he called the Rodian, but nobody picked up. He checked his reception and saw that his connection was good, then he tried again only to fail once more.
Next he tried the Aqualish, only to achieve the same results.
“See, I thought they’d be too busy to pick up,” the Human said with a smug smile on his face, giving him a very strange appearance together with the goggles. “Well in the Rodians, case I’d be impressed if he managed to be busy with anything at all except picking up the remains of his gray matter off the walls of some dark, forgotten alley. And in regards to the Aqualish, well,” he clicked his tongue leaned back, “let’s just say he’s occupied with fishing glass from his eyes right about now, so I wouldn’t bet on him picking up a call anytime soon. Ah, and in case you’re trying to call anybody else”, he put a hand into his pocket and put a small electronic device on the table that looked very similar to the jamming device Klysstol used to use on the regular. “I’m pretty sure you already know what this thing does.”
The Quarren hastily checked his communication device again, only to find that he no longer had any reception.
“…who are you?” Klysstol managed to ask and failed to suppress the evergrowing fear spreading through his body.
“Wha- you still don’t? I- I mean ok, that’s fine, we still got a couple more minutes until this baby boots back up,” he said and shook the container of his holoboard, “let’s take a trip down memory lane.”
He sat back up into a more straightened position and continued. “Seven years ago, you wandered down into the nearby slums to make a deal with a certain Besalisk. You wanted to buy freighters so you could enter the weapon and drug distribution business. You only had one ship, the Fury, at the time, but that wasn’t enough for you. Plus, she wasn’t a cargo ship, so she was only of use for persons transportation. Not ideal for moving contraband. So, you decided to meet him in a random market. Nervous as you were, you got there a few minutes too early, disguised as an unassuming business man. And that’s when you were spoken to by a young kid…”
“… with a Dejarik board,” Klysstol finished the sentence in a whisper.
“You-” he only managed to utter as it finally dawned on him just how twisted his current situation truly was.
The young man clapped his hands together and happily declared with a roaring voice, “ladies and gentlemen,” then, his voice got quiet again, but all the more menacing, “we have a winner.”
Watching the slow realization on the Quarren’s face was more satisfying than Jor had expected. He wasn’t a sadist, but given his personal emotional investment in this, situation he just couldn’t help it.
“After losing a fair bet with your partner,” Jor continued and his voice was almost akin to a growl, “you decided to make a 10-year-old boy responsible, not only for your stupidity, but also for your incompetency. And at the very end, you didn’t even have the balls to do the job yourself. No, you had to bring along your little minions so you could finally feel like the big man. Tell me, did you feel powerful when you commanded a grown man to shoot an innocent 8-year-old girl in the head? Or when you watched a defenseless child’s head be smashed into a glass table by a creature three times his size?”
He temporarily took off the pseudo-cybernetic goggles that allowed him to see normally and showed his disfigured upper face to his opposite.
“Gorgeous, innit?” he said with bite. The room was somewhat dark and not ideally lit (not that he could have seen without his aid, even with proper lighting), but just hearing the Quarren swallow was enough. He put the goggles back on and saw that his prey was slowly losing some color in his face.
The holoboard started itself again with a sudden whirring noise. “Ah,” Jor exclaimed, “just in time. See, even when you had two guys with you, you failed to be efficient, because you didn’t kill my dad. Or bothered to find out if I even had anyone other family, despite the obvious evidence strewn about. Seriously, how someone like you built the ’empire’ that you have now is beyond me.”
He leaned back again and began to type several controls into the board while absentmindedly continuing his story.
“Lucky for me, he found me, and by some miracle didn’t go for the booze first and carried me to the hospital. Then, when he did go for the booze, he walked off the edge of a star destroyer. Sure, I was a little sad about it, but not as much as I probably should have been, considering the fact that he was my father. Two months later some pirate happened to stroll into the hospital, and in his generous, or maybe pity, he picked me up and drop me off at a friend of his, where I learned how to do the most amazing things. That inludes coding and engineering, which is how these,” he tapped against his goggles with his finger, “came to be.”
He chuckled. “Funny thing about coding is that, with it, you can also hack into the majority of systems when you’ve got a good enough understanding of it all. For example, various bank accounts, secret databases about drug smuggle routes, supply facilities, resource numbers, the whole package really. It allowed me to keep track of you the entire time, note every expansion, failure, success, and so on and so forth. I actually know more about your drug cartel than you probably do, now that I think about it.”
He held up the holoboard so that the still petrified Quarren could see it clearly. “Now see, this,” he pointed to the holoboard, “this is where the fun begins. A couple years back, I suddenly woke up during the night with a flash of inspiration, so I sat down and wrote this disgusting subsystem for autopilot ECUs. It doesn’t actually do anything, unless,” he pointed to a symbol on the board, “I push this little devil here. Until then, it hides behind the autopilot completely unassuming, but once it’s activated,” he made a dramatic pause, “every single one of your ships, no matter where it is, will set course for the nearest sun. Your pilots, if they happen to be on board, can, of course, try to alter their final destination, but they’ll fail. Do you know why?”
Klysstol didn’t react to the question, being calcified by the monologue that was slowly dismantling his entire life.
Jor chuckled and continued anyway. “It’s because this subsystem fries the autopilot and replaces it, like a parasite. Smuggling it onboard all your ships was a little tricky at first, but once I figured out where you let the maintenance of your ships be taken care of, bribing the mechanics to replace the autopilot update data was child’s play. After all, there’s little more people love than money.”
Jor smirked as he cited the first lesson he ever taught himself to survive.
“Now of course, you might be wondering: how do I know where to send this signal to? I may know where your storages and factories are, but I couldn’t possibly know where all your ships are, since they’re constantly moving around? Well yeah, of course I don’t, but now, I no longer need to. You’ve made it your habit to carry a small transmitter with you at all times that allows you to call up information from your main computer. For efficiency, this computer is connected to all your ships and facilities so that they can update info and receive orders at all times. A smart system, I gotta admit, and it even has remarkable encryption. The weak point in that encryption, however, is you. Or, to be more accurate, your own personal transmitter. While your lackeys only have access to a limited amount of data, you have access to all of it. That makes it a lot easier to smuggle in a little egg that should already be in your main computer by now. To give you a little hint as to how I did it: maybe check out that decoration in your drink.”
Klysstol shakily looked down and fished the ten credit piece out of his glass to examine it a little closer. As he looked at it, Jor continued.
“While you carried that thing, it synced up your transmitter, which also doubles as my Dejarik holoboard here, and when my board supposedly crashed and needed time to boot back up, that was the time it took to send that little egg. Oh and by the way, I made that out of the same one you used to follow me 7 years ago. Ingenious tech, really.”
Klysstol looked Jor dead in the eyes, still at loss for words. “Yeah, guilty as charged; I’m a fan of poetic justice. Now this ten credit chip disguise is to your transmitter’s defense systems what a full frontal laser barrage by a command cruiser is to a tiny little asteroid: complete annihilation without anyone even noticing. Meaning that your main computer has no idea that you just fed it a deadly poison. When I push this button, and trust me I do intend to, the bug that hatches out of this egg will not only destroy all your ships, but also set off the charges I’ve smuggled into every single facility and storehouse you’ve set up over the past 7 years. Oh, and it’ll also empty every single one of your bank accounts, just for fun.”
Klysstol seemed like he was about to find his voice again, when he was suddenly grabbed by two of the nearby guests and pulled from his chair.
“Ah yeah, I probably forgot to mention. Most of tonight’s guests are people who have come to hate you, which apparently are not in short supply. And they all want the same that I want.” He got up from the table and walked up close to the Quarren.
“And what is it that you want?” the Quarren whispered in fear.
“What I want,” Jor interrupted him, entertained, “is an eye for an eye. Call it irony if you want. Seven years ago, you took everything from me. So now, I’m going to take everything from you. Admittedly, your “everything” is a tad bit bigger than mine, but that’s a minor quantity detail I can live with.”
Then, without another moment wasted, he pressed the symbol on his holoboard that let Klysstol’s entire life disappear in a glorious ball of fire.
“With that, my work here is done.” Jor threw his hands up, “ladies and gentlemen, he’s all yours.”
“Wait!” the Quarren exclaimed as Jor casually walked past him towards the exit.
“WAIT!”
Jor continued to stride forward and ignore the cries of the defeated crime lord. He also blissfully ignored his cries of pain and suffering, as the other guests exacted their own personal revenges on him. He never once turned around. But despite his best efforts, couldn’t suppress a smile of catharsis.
“Is he dead?” the Besalisk doorman asked when Jor stepped out of the building.
“He will be”, Jor replied.
“But you’re not sure.”
“In Hutt Space, Jor began to explain, “there’s this planet called Saki. The people there make obsessive use of a certain toxin called ‘Dendriton.’ Soon after the exposure to the toxin, the victim starts to feel fatigue and lethargy, followed by numbness that eventually turns into intense muscle pain. and finally, complete paralysis.””
“And?” the Besalisk asked somewhat impatienlyt.
“I spiked his drink with it,” Jor simply answered.” Don’t worry Jet, he’s gonna pay with his life for your father’s death, one way or another.”
Jet Galus grunted and continued to hold his post in front of the rented-out club for the rest of the evening.
***
Jor sat on a hill with fantastic view over the nightly landscape of Coronet City. Lights were on all over town, making for a mesmerizing play of colors and everchanging blurry picture in front of Jor’s naked eyes.
Then he turned around, he was greeted by an even more beautiful interplay of warm, orange colors. The picture was completed by the warmth he felt from the flames coming off the burning ship formerly known as the Fury.
Seven years ago, when Klysstol Slerhask had lost his bet against Flex Galus, he would have owed this ship to him. However, instead of delivering it as promised, he had lured Flex into an ambush and killed Besalisk arms dealer together with all of his men in a bloody firefight. Escapades like this had allowed Jor to make allies out of Klysstol’s enemies across the entire galaxy, eventually ending in the latter’s doom, as finally showcased by this evening’s events.
And now Jor was standing in front of the only burning remains of what was once a fairly respectable cartel spread over this portion of the galaxy. He sat on a chair that he had brought with him and simply reveled in the warmth emanating from the flames.
“An eye for an eye,” he muttered to himself.
An eye for an eye.
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