The Rebel Faction

(Continued from Truth or Dare: Restoration)

Hyperspace

Aboard the freighter Black Knight

"...tell me again what happened...?"

The man, a tall figure in a pale grey suit asked, staring out the viewport at the swirling stars as they shot past them.

"...he was killed, as per your orders..."

The second responded, his own eyes travelling across the small room on the freighter.

"...but...?"

The first man prompted.

"...but... the target, one Seti Ashar, escpaed... his organization launched a rescue attempt that cost us the complex and a dozen enforcers..."

The man swore.

"...and why wasn't I informed of this ...occurence... earlier?..."

He demanded, rising and stretching his lanky figure to full height.

"...the boss didn't consider important, I guess... figured he could get Ashar before I made it back to you..."

"...I am the boss here... understand...?"

He swore again loudly and jammed his fist down on the table. Then, still shaking he sighed.

"...see that Bror Hatta is... dealt with..."

He said softly, regaining his composure and sitting. The second man nodded.

"...it will be done, sir..."

A bleating alarm alerted the two men to the fact that the freighter was coming out of hyperspace, and the first man stood again and made his way to the cockpit.

"...we're entering Sluis Van now, sir... we've got permission to dock at one of their obiting stations and we'll have to take a shuttle from there to the surface..."

The crime boss' eyes narrowed and he looked down at the com board.

"...why are we stopping on a station, Captain...?"

He asked, almost casualy.

"...I thought we had clearence to land on the surface..."

The pilot nodded.

"...we did, sir... but apparently the Sluis Van authorities have it on good word that there were, or are, some unfriendlies in the area who want to either blow something up down there, and smuggle something in to blow up later..."

The boss turned, eying the second man up.

"...we didn't plan to blow anything up, did we...?"

He asked.

"...no, sir... nothing I know, anyway..."

The crime boss turned back to the viewports and frowned. Most unusual...

Authority presence did seem remarkably stepped up as they entered the system, however. A pair of Carrack Cruisers guarded what appeared to be a bottleneck of an entrace into the compound.

"...damn... something must of spooked them good..."

The pilot commenting, bringing the shuttle into the back of the que. From what could be seen, zero-g troopers and droids were doing a secondary, thurough scanning of each vessel, and the suspicious ones were being pulled aside and searched. The pair of Carrack cruisers flanking them left any idea of tring to run out of the question; even if one of these freighters could threaten a ship of the line like that, there was another standing by. And TIE patrols were zipping up and down the line seemingly at random.

The crime boss immediatly noticed that half the guns on the que were tracking the overflying starfighters. Perhaps Sluis Van wasn't the only one being paranoid...

Without wanring, a voice crackled across the com unit. It was a private channel... directed only to the single freighter.

"...freighter Black Knight... this is Sluis Van Space Control... you have immediate clearence to land in docking bay thirty-seven-b, dirt side... and have a good day..."

The crime boss smiled broadly, cracking his knuckles as the freighter began to move.

"...looks like they finally grew a brain stem..."

He muttered to himself. The second man smirked and said softly,

"...more like they bought one..."

<font color=gray>Eriadu

Red Light District...

The dark shape glanced both ways before leaping from his hiding place and dashing across the darkened street, zigzagging between passing speeders. In this part of town, such occurence was common, even expected, and this figure araised no concern among the hundreds of beings walking the Red Light District.

This man, not unlike most of the others, was dressed in a long black trench coat, made of a stiff leather derived from some native of Tatooine, cheap stuff, but very tough. It still bore marks from the time he had almost been shot to pieces on a botched assignment...

The man who had sent him out there that night was dead now... he had found a blaster in his mouth just before his morning meal.

Avoiding the crowds, the dark figure entered on the dozens of seedy porno theatres and, hunching over a lit cigar, made his way to the balcony. The film was some plotless piece of garbage where two Twi'lek girls who couldn't be more than twelve pleasured a man who must have been forty.

The figure spat on the seat next to him as he sat down; a man of (some) morals, he was against the explotation of children. He had even killed a couple of people for directing trash like this... without pay, even!

The target, as it had been established, snuck out of his high-security apartment at 11:00 every night and made his way... here. Always the same theatre, always the same seat. It was only to easy for the assassin to make his way in and sit behind the target, then slip the thin cord from his waste and reach over the seat in front.

The man was dead in a heartbeat, his last heartbeat dying just as the man on screen moaned in pleasure. Sickened more by what was on screen than the murder he had just comitted, the assassin turned and left the theatre...

Sluis Van

The Docking Bay Hotel...

The lobby smelled of smoke and booze. Not entirely unusual for a place frequented by smugglers and pirates... and some of the more 'respectable' pilots. Many of the legitimate companies banned alcohal on their ships, and with good reason, and most of the civilian transport ships outlawed smoking of any kind unless one wished to do so in the airlock. Hot the wisest choice one could make...

The smell, nor indeed the less-than-standard cantina-style lighting and intermingling sounds of three hundred plus patrons, bothered the trio of men as they entered the doors and walked the dozen steps into the basement/lobby.

A band was playing music from somewhere in the Core in one corner, and a group of various humanoid races were dancing on the floor with some interest. Most of the others were simply sitting at darkened tables, nursing drinks and cigarettes. The reception desk, for what is was worth, stretched across one end of the room and was, at the moment, empty. Those that frequented the hotel never bothered to return their keys, and the manegment either didn't care or was to lazy to puruse retreiving those keys.

"...it was done, then...?"

The first figure asked, removing the dark glasses that covered his eyes and looking around.

"...yes... Bror Hatta was been... dealt with... as per your request..."

The first man nodded and pulled a cigar from his coat pocket.

"...very good... and the agent...?"

The second man pulled off his hat and coat and waved one of the server's over, sticking a thin cigarette between his own lips and lighting it.

"...the agent is on his way back now..."

The first figure smiled, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth with a single shiny gold on on the bottom.

"...and the evidence...?"

Number two laughed.

"...the place was torched... the authorities will be convinced it was a terrorist act..."

The first man took a long drag from his cigar.

"...excellent..."

Sluis Van

The Docking Bay Hotel

"...interesting news, boss..."

The crime boss nearly jumped at the voice. Dragon, the assasin who had killed Wes Yono and Bror Hatta, had an uncanny ability to sneak up behind people.

Probably why he found work as a hitman... The boss mused for a second. Then he swore and turned to the man.

"...I told you never to do that again..."

He seethed, glaring at the man. Dragon, however, simply blinked and nodded.

He doesn't care... Perhaps I should teach him to repesct his employer... but later, I think...

"...yes, sir..."

The assassin said, unable to restrain a tight-lipped smile.

"...get on with it, then... you said you have news...!"

The man nodded, the smile vanishing.

"...I do... it seems that our friends have arrived on the planet..."

The boss looked at him for a second, searching for a clue, before realization dawned on him.

"...the same 'friends' who destroyed the operation at the Christi Hall...?"

Dragon nodded a silent acknowledgment, the smile reappearing, more sinister now.

"...the very same... Seti Ashar, and his little entourage of Corporate Lackies..."

The crime boss smiled, a sinister smile similar to the assassin's. It was time to repay an old debt.

"...see that he is... dealt with... if the chance presents itself..."

"...of course, sir..."

The assassin left, no doubt to begin the immediate planning of an unfortunate 'accident' to silence Seti Ashar. The crime boss, checking his chrono and swearing softly, walked over to the bar and poured a glass of rye.

Settling into the chair by the holoset, he closed his eyes and sipped the drink gladly. Dragon had never failed before, he knew... the man was the best in the business, and he had cost the crime lord a bundle to bring into his private employ. Still, the idea of knowing that the best of the best was not out to kill him made him feel better... and Dragon had thwarted no less than eleven attempts to kill the criminal mastermind. He had recieved nice bonus' for that.

Perhaps on the twelfth, he will find something special...

He thought, taking another sip of the drink. It was, he mused, a good day to be alive. His empire, despite the setback at the Christi Hall, was still very much alive and prosperous. He was healthy, and that bumbling fool Bror Hatta was out of the way.

And Seti Ashar will soon be out of the picture as well...

He took one final swallow from the glass and set it on the table. Then, kicking off his shoes, he rose and walked towards the bedroom. There were some things a man just had to look his best for...

Sluis Van

Downtown District...

The faint glow of dying glowlamps provided the only illumination on the street. The light was reflected in scattered waves from the water on the ground, water from the rainstorm that was pouring down around the man and soaking his body with cold.

He stopped suddenly, straining to hear above the pouring rain, the buzzing glowlamps, the occasional rumble of thunder.
There it was, again... a soft pattering of feet on pavement.

And again... He turned, drawing his blaster and looking around. A pair of feet smashing into his chest, knocking him backward into the street and sending the blaster clattering to the ground. The attacker stooped to pick it up and trained it on the man...

But he was gone, having jumped up and now ran at the man, slamming his shoulder into the attacker's stomach and sending him to the ground with a grunt. He kicked the blaster away into a dark alley, our of sight.

"...It's just you an me, fella... get up"

He said, smiling wickedly and waiting for the man to rise.

"...I said get up...!"

He yelled, aiming a kick at the man's chest. The figure on the ground grunted and doubled over. The speaker pulled his foot back to kick him again. But the figure grabbed his foot and yanked it towards him, brining the figure down hard on his back and shattering his elbow against the pavement.

He swore and jumped up, but the other man beat him. They stood there, the two of them, looking at each other between the curtains of relentless rain. The attacker, blood streaming from his nose, the first man, his elbows torn and bloody.

They said nothing, each man now to immersed in the combat to waste time with simple threats. Both of them knew that this fight was to the death; it was the unspoken challenge. The loser would die tonight.

The first man raised a hand and waved the attacker forward, crouching and balancing himself on his back leg. Rather than charge forward, as the first man had done earlier, the other came around and rammed himself into the first's side. But the man was ready, and he gave way as the attacker hit him and rolled, throwing the man down to the ground again. That man grunted and spared a look up to his attacker. The blood from his nose was smeared across his face, and his wet hair was plastered to his face. He smiled a grin of broken teeth and spat on the pavement beside him, and got up on his hands and knees.

He spat on the man and extended a hand, which the attacker used to bring him to the ground. The first man swung around and slashed his fist into the man's head, feeling bones snap as he made contact. He rose, and the two men regarded each other again.

The rain poured down around them, and as the attacker charged forward again the first figure extended the blade of the virboblade he'd held the entire time and swung it in a wide arc.

The attacker stopped short, his body falling. But the momentum of his run kept his head flying, and it landed on the pavement at the knife-bearer's feet.

"...I thought you had missed..."

The voice came from the right, where there was only a brick wall. Dragon smiled and pulled the helmet from his head, grabbing a towel to mop away the sweat.

"...I never miss..."

He replied, only half joking. The other man leaned against the doorframe and shrugged.

"...I'm sure you never do..."

Dragon dropped the towel on the chair beside him and stepped into the refresher.

"...what do you want...?"

He asked, turning on the water.

"...the boss wants to see you in the main room in a half hour... new mission..."

Dragon smiled.

"...I'll be there..."