Later that day…
Montcalm-class Frigate
Pallas, in orbit via Jeyell
Harding frowned at Cuthus, “Let me get this right, you need detailed holos of President Tikoth in order to lure the droids?”
“Yes.”
“You really think those droids are going to be confused by a simple holo-projection? Even I could see easily through such a ruse…except, perhaps, at a distance…”
“Well, that’s true,” admitted the former bounty hunter, “but we can also use the holos to create physical dummies of the president to lure the droids in. That’s why they need to be so heavily detailed. You can talk with CSIS if you’d prefer. I told them about the scheme, and they suggested that they edit the holo-footage and leak it on the local data net to draw the droids into a location where we can easily capture them. If it helps, Controller Mormandi is the one I talked to.”
Harding clapped a hand over his eyes, “I won’t object to this little scheme if the president doesn’t object, but I’m going with you when you ask for his permission.”
“Thank you Councilor.”
Cuthus spared a glance at his chrono.
Five hours left before the deadline…that should be good enough to get the initial shots over to Tre , but CSIS may need some more time for their plan, but that suits me fine…if they get to it, it works. If they don’t get to it, that means I can use my first plan instead and have the justification to use it too. He banished the thoughts from his head as followed the Audacian councilor through the halls. Several rooms latter, they entered an officer’s quarters where a man with unkempt black hair stood at a viewport, eying the world below and fitfully fiddling with his casual business wear. The man turned to meet the confederates and smiled.
“Councilor Harding…and you might be?”
“Ah, Redhammer, Mister Redhammer at your service,” offered Cuthus, with a slight nod of his head.
Harding warily eyed Cuthus, “Mister Redhammer here is one of our people working on the ground to get rid of the assassin droids targeting you, mister president. He would like to have your permission to make a detailed holo-scan of your body in order to help build a decoy to lure the droids into a trap, where they can captured for later study.”
Cuthus nodded, “If you would permit me sir, not only will it be the quickest way to deal with this mess, but also the one causing least collateral damage and public outcry. No-one would ever be the wiser about the droids, and your true situation of being hunted.”
The president nodded in agreement, “I’ll come myself. The real thing will be far more convincing, and if you’re willing to risk your lives for me, well, I should be willing to do the same…”
“That’s really not necessary, sir,” suggested Cuthus.
I don’t need you to be a bloody hero.
“I have to agree with Mister Redhammer,” said Harding, “you’ve already demonstrated incredible courage by sticking up to the criminal organizations down there, but your people need to make sure that you survive in order to lead them out the corruption that your predecessors have left your world in. Jeyell needs that change, desperately so. Please Mister President, if you will just let Mister Redhammer take a few minutes to scan you, we will all feel much safer, knowing that you and your world will be more safe for doing so, and that Mister Redhammer can adequately perform his job without having to worry more about your safety during such an operation.”
“If you insist,” said the Jeyellian, “but how should I pose?”
Cuthus almost raised an exaggerated eyebrow at the man, but quickly thought better of it. The president began to strike up various poses, some of them painfully cheesy looking.
Apparently I’ve entered the modelling world. Too bad it’s a he…The former bounty hunter pulled out a brick-sized device, pointed it at the Jeyellian, and began to walk around the preening president. The device thrummed as it captured the minutest details of the politician’s outfit and mannerisms over the course of several minutes before he finally shut it off.
“That should be it, mister president,” said Cuthus, lowering the device, “thank you for your time.”
“Thank you for your service,” replied Tikoth with a slight bow.
With a curt nod of acknowledgement, Cuthus quickly excused himself from their presence and tapped a button on the device, transmitting the data to the local CSIS station as well as the grounside base set up by Zumi.
*************
Some hours later…
“Well, that
is interesting,” admitted Trep, eying the footage, “and certainly worth your inclusion into this venture, son.”
Trep, the two executives from Reibar Manufacturing, Cuthus, Shield, and a host of Trep’s lackeys viewed the footage once more. The visage of the president once more began a variety of poses in front of a hotel mirror, as if checking himself before a meeting with the public. Trep tapped a button on the remote, freezing President Tikoth just as the man began to run a hand through his dark hair.
“I didn’t know he was such an egotist,” noted the Zabrak, “but the time-stamp and footage looks genuine. And that hotel even looks familiar. Where did you get this from?”
“Oh, an information broker, an old friend of mine,” replied Cuthus adroitly, “she typically does things for the paparazzi by putting spycams in certain…areas. But she really got lucky with this one. She tells me it’s the Chantier Hotel, about fifty klicks from here.”
“It’s a big place,” noted Trep, “care to tell me the room number?”
“I do, in fact,” said the confederate, “and I’m not releasing the room number to you until I know about the droids. I could care less about your president. I want the droids before I hand you the room number.”
“One droid before you give me the number, and one droid after,” counter-offered Trep, “these things sound tough to take, and I can’t guarantee two droids before the President moves from that location.”
“Fair enough.”
“All right then,” said Trep, “As it so happens, I got a lead on those very droids, in fact. One of our snitches said he noticed some of those droids getting on a freighter in the Penhote district about an hour ago. Looks like they’re trying to escape you folks, so let’s get at it. I’ve got speeders in the back, let’s go.”
The group rose up from their seats, with many of them hefting various weapons. The alleged executives of Reibar Manufacturing had brought even more of their droids, though these ones seemed to be carrying blasters and various projectile weapons now instead of the melee weapons Cuthus had previously seen.
Probably more efficient for it…Trep’s people toted everything from bulky hydrospanners to several pricey-looking DEMP guns likely stolen from a military armory. As they all piled in the back of the two speeder trucks in the back of the gambling establishment, Cuthus briefly wondered if he was an idiot for putting himself in the situation. But he quickly shook the thoughts away by checking the power of his blaster pistol and inspecting a pair of EMP grenades. He had had to conjole Olm for them before the twi’lek begrudgingly gave them to the man when it became clear that he, not the rest of the team, would face the assassin droids in combat.
Not that the rest of the squad wasn’t being useful; they were busy interrogating several minor members of the Cartel that they had managed to pick up off the streets after a fruitful series of transactions at a local info-broker. Shield gave out a low growl as the speeder truck briefly bounced as he was checking the energy quarrels of his bowcaster. Cuthus grinned.
Better not get in his way when he goes to ‘talk’ to the truck’s driver. It seemed like forever until the speeder truck came to a complete halt and the rear door zipped up above them.
The motley group of fighters piled out of the truck and onto the hard duracrete landing pad. An immaculate white SoroSuub-built star yacht sat on the pavement in front of them, with its ramp still lowered. At its base, he could see a pair of spacers. Judging by their uniforms, he guessed that they were probably the ship’s crew getting ready to take off, but then there was Trep. The zabrak had gotten into argument with them after trying to walk up the ramp, but the two spacers pushed the alien off the ramp once more.
“Look Trep,” said the ship’s pilot, “it’s nothing personal. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Cartel, and between you and the droids, I’d rather die by your hands. The things are nasty. Besides, they’re about to do your work.”
“What? Kill the president?”
“He’s in space, on a ship,” stuttered the second man, “well…that’s what the Cartel thinks, at least.”
Trep let out a brief roar, “Idiots, I just saw holos of the man, and he’s still here on this world. Move, or I’ll let
them kill you.”
He gestured to the encircling mob of men and droids that had slowly gathered around the ramp. The crew’s faces grew pale before they scampered out of the way and into the city. Trep broadly grinned and turned back to stroll up the ramp. Almost immediately, a large blaster bolt flew down the ship’s hold to disintegrate Trep’s head. Decapitated, the crime boss’s smoking body collapsed onto the pavement. Almost immediately, a storm of fire from his followers retaliated against the shooter, filling the air with countless colors of energy bolts and projectile fire. Smoke and the smell of burnt ozone filled the air, causing Cuthus to wrinkle his nose. Sheathing his pistol, the man gingerly crawled up to the ramp and tossed one of the EMP grenades into the hold. Seconds later, a loud crackling filled the air and blue sparks sprang down the ramp. One of the Cartel’s A-series assassin droids came tumbling down the ramp to collapse prostate on top of Trep’s body. Almost immediately, the droids of Reibar Manufacturing sprang up the ramp, followed shortly by the Sadeet Gang’s bloodthirsty members.
Quickly glancing around, Cuthus drew his blaster pistol again, slapped the selector onto stun, and promptly shot the two Reibar Manufacturing executives with his gun at his hip. The two Jeyellians crumpled onto the ground silently. Shield let out a rough noise that Trep had learned was a whine.
“Hey, I don’t like it either,” said the man, holstering his pistol, “ but it’s part of the deal with CSIS. They want them, okay? I’ll take care of things here, you get them out of here before they all get back, got it?”
