Cloud City

-Patrick Bateman-
"Mr Road I presume? Please. Sit."

The man was cold and to the point. The twilek with the slaves collar didnt move an inch, just had her eyes fixed on Roach.

"So, an echani. Intresting choice of race I might ad, not many of you we see anymore. Hard to come by. So, you came up on a search, along many other names, and you had the luck to be alive to answer our call. I am Patrick Bateman, CEO of a little company in the mid rims, called Juvex Import Exports. Its a nice company, we are on the stock market on several worlds, and are in a good respect with most factions operating in our area of the galaxy.

What I am looking for is a man capable of keeping a ship and its cargo safe from harm while getting from one point of the galaxy to an other, someone who can organise quick loads of cargo, and unloads of cargo, and someone that can be trusted with said cargo and the discretion a cargo might, or might not need. Since the unfortunate departure of our last captain from the ques of the living, a place has now opened, and you have became a candidate for the job.

Juvex Import Export is a respectable and law obiding company, and it is expected to act accordingly. Profetionalism and effectivity is required but you gain more. Good paycheck with hazardpay, health and dental insurance, pension, cafeteria addition, discounts on compani vocation resorts, and a good position in the company itself with chance of promotion.

Now, that I have sold myself lets hear you.

Go on then... why should I hire just YOU?"

The tall and lean man crossed his hands in front of him and rested his chin on it, watching the echani with delight.

Bateman snorted a hearty laughter at the echanis jokes. He was not a cold hearted businessman, he just was plain cold hearted, and could take a good joke.


-Bateman-
"Well, As it happens, fencing stolen goods is rather close to what you are going to do, at first at least. There is an Ardent Class fast frigate outside the gravity well, waiting its captain. You will get a test mission, Number Tventy Four here will accompany you and evaluate your work. The mission is simple. Get Number 24 To Yaga Minor, there to the shipyards main command fascility and there to the mainframe. Let her do her thing and then follow her orders upon completion of the mission. If this goes well, you will gain a promotion, a steady paycheck, and a new assignment with percentage gain from profit on your work.

First job is worth ten thausand credits, with five hundred credits for pocket money."

Nr 24 was the Twilek standing beside Bateman. A slave judging from the collar, but she seemed to ware the E11 blaster and the vibroblade with ease.

Bateman threw his hands out.

-Bateman-
"Truth? No idea. It is most likely you will not be confronted by the locals. An associate of my governed the place before the fall of the Phoenix Imperium, and the Ardent have had positive meetings with the shipyards. It was built there for one.
Only problem is, after the fall, no news have come from Yaga Minor. THis is a scouting mission of sorts, but 24 needs to get into that controll room, if all possible. I am not unreasonable, if you happen to be up against odds you would not even vager five credits on, report back. Command would be yours, but keep in mind, 24 is reporting to me on your work."

The Twilek slave did not move, not an inch. Just didnt let the Echani out of her sight.

-Bateman-
"Very well, now, if you would be so nice as to... lets see..."

He reached down for his briefcase and opened it, pulling out contracts, and a device.

-Bateman-
"Well, three copies of the contract to be signed. This incloudes hazard pay, health insurance policies, union membership, pension details and finally a bracket for your account information. Please sign and fill."

Reaching for the device he unfolded it and it showed to be a laser tattooing device.

-Bateman-
"And finally, to give you your rank insigna. It can only be seen by IV light, it is a way of making sure you are you, and not someone else. We ARE giving you a warship to command, and this is a show of trust. You may put it wherever you like."

Bateman put the tatoo where it was asked with the device, and then replaced it into his briefcase.s

-Bateman-
"Very well, it was nice meeting you, Mr Road, Twenty Four, good luck on your mission."

He turned and left. A moment later he had mixed with the swarm of commoners and was gone. 24 stood by road, the twilek looked at the male as if she was trying to see where he could be hurt best.

-24-
"Hangar five B in the eastern district. There is a small shuttle waiting for us there. What do you want me to call you?"

CONTINUED FROM BESPIN ORBIT



From his spot next to the cargo bay ramp controls, Dante winced inwardly at the groaning and murmuring of the ships superstructure. Muttering something under his breath about Liya needing to recalibrate the ventral repulsors amidships, he thumbed the button to equalize the pressure to the outside, and after waiting a timely cycling sequence was rewarding by the ramp slowly lowing itself to the ground with a hiss. Stepping out, Dante winced at the light outside the ship - they were on one of cloud cities infamous landing platforms, something near a work of art itself here among the clouds - apparently nearing evening local time, if the glorious sunset blinding currently blinding him with its splendor was any indication. It was...a surreal sight. Coolant hissed from the underside of the ship in massive spurts, the engines fading from their dull orange glow to black, and droids chattered as they started hooking up fuel lines. Surreptitiously Dante dug into his pocket as an port official approached the ship - an official that visibly paled and markedly slowed in stride when he saw Dante's armament - and passing the official flipped a credit chip towards the man. The official, fumbling with the chip for a few seconds, regained his composure after the seeing the amount and gave a slight bow in Dante's direction. This one was on Dante - enough money to cover fuel, landing fees, and to skip any inspections of the ship or her cargo.

Striding forward, Dante was already making his way across the short path between the circular landing pad and Cloud cities main buildings when a cloaked figure emerged from the doors across the way in front of him. Stopping cold, Dante leveled his rifle at the man...and a long and tense moment passed between the two. The man, an elderly human with bright blue eyes, a bushy white beard, and an old brown robe...his eyes seemed to twinkle as he regarded Dante in all of his gear; and indeed, his mouth stretched into a wide grin as Dante shouldered his weapon towards him.

=Xanathane=
"Dante...it has been a while."

=Dante=
“How...?”

=Xanathane=
“Did I know you were here? How did I get here so fast? Please. Strange black clad warriors show up spouting “Syndicate” philosophy…it was only a matter of time before you showed up to investigate, so I’ve been keeping my senses peeled for your arrival. It was luck that I was here on Cloud city running errands rather than Tibannopolis…a little force speed took care of the rest.”

=Dante=
“…Ah.”

=Xanathane=
“Disconcerted?”

Silently, Dante lowered his weapon slowly, and cast an eye behind him at the various crewmates on the ship. Xanathane chuckled slightly, and just shook his head unbelievingly.

=Xanathane=
“Oh my…made friends have we? How very…uncharacteristic of you.”

=Dante=
“I would call them acquaintances more than friends.”

=Xanathane=
“Indeed. Most of your friends typically wind up dead…why is it acquaintances usually last longer?”

=Dante=
“Usefulness, I suppose.”

A hearty chuckle from Xanathane, and the old man was suddenly at the ramp of the ship, entering the cargo bay – leaving Dante blinking. It WAS disconcerting seeing the force in action…especially something so effective as force speed. Dante couldn’t even follow the old mans movements…if he had been an enemy...no…he couldn’t think about that. Shaking his head, Dante turned and walked back to the ship, taking a seat on a haphazard crate near one of the ships occupying the Loronar. Xanathane, meanwhile, was looking over a hydrospanner, waiting for Dante to catch up.

=Xanathane=
“Lot of ships here…lots of battle damage as well. You seem to be doing well enough though…except for your lack of sensitivity, that is.”

Dante looked distinctly uncomfortable as he shifted on his seat, clearing his throat, he nodded at Xanathane’s belt, and the lightsaber clipped there.

=Dante=
“isn’t this where you tell me that the light is my only option? That it will return my powers?’

Xanathane’s ensuing guffaw was loud enough to echo through the entire ship, and even left Dante’s ears ringing. Narrowing his eyes at Xanathane and the old mans tears of laughter, Dante spat out a retort.

=Dante=
“Well you don’t have to be an ASS about it.”

Xanathane waved a hand as laughter turned to chuckles, and wiping his eyes just shrugged hopelessly at Dante.

=Xanathane=
“I’m sorry Dante, it’s just that you STILL don’t get it…power this…power that. You only look expectantly at the light side NOW, unlike ten years ago, because you think it will give you POWER. The irony is just…well, too good.”

Irritation flickered across Dante’s face, and he stood up from his crate and holstered his weapon once more in preparation to leave.

=Dante=
“Then why even show up? Is it just to mock me, JEDI? “

Seriousness now. Mirth left the old mans face as quickly as it came, and Xanathane leveled such a severe gaze at Dante that it sent even he, yes, even battle hardened Dante backward several steps. Leaning forward, a voice as aged and sage as they came seemed to seep into ones very mind…and Dante winced at the force of it.

=Xanathane=
“…You hunt across the stars for vengeance and blood, seeking the mortal frame of your wife. You use the powers that be to do…UNSPEAKABLE things…things that I wager those here cant even guess at. Do they understand, the depth of your rage? Do they understand the depth of a creature with NOTHING to lose? Do they know what someone like that is capable of? I do. I’ve peered into your soul, Dante Deveaux the Deceiver. I know what you’ve done, sinner of sinners, liar of liars…I know EXACTLY what you’re capable of. You’d make a FINE Imperial.”

Black rage. Skin turned silver in an instant, teeth bared to rip a throat out, curses in an alien language flew like arrows, and Dante’s hand sped to draw his pistol. The IMPUDENCE of this wizened HUMAN to compare him to an Imperial? Had one of the crew made such a comparison earlier, blood would have been spilled. Perhaps they would get a taste of that rage now.

Or…not.

Dante’s hand never reached his weapon. A trembling seemed to take hold of the air…a pressure that stifled, and Dante slammed down to one knee with a curse. Straps strained and then broke, grenades rolled across the floor, power packs and carefully selected equipment ripped itself from Dante’s body in a stream, flying out the cargo bay and over the side of the landing pad…lost. Xanathane, a crooked finger pointed at Dante, just chuckled lightly.

=Xanathane=
“An 95 year old human with arthritis…and the force. Even this you cannot overcome. Tell me, Dante, how will you combat my telekinesis? How will you escape the invisible hold I have paralyzing you in place? How will you snatch your weapons out of the air as I rip them from your body? Were I a Sith, I could have simply crushed you dead like a grape…or far worse, broken your bones one by one till even you begged for death. You are familiar with the technique I believe.”

The air trembled and hummed, broken only by curses rolling out of Dante’s mouth.

=Xanathane=
“…Listen closely. The reason I came here was not to mock you…but to sell a point. I know you. I know what you are capable of…and I know you have no options left. You have two choices…take on the syndicate without your powers, and probably die. Or…or you can do what you HAVE to do. You can redeem yourself, truly, and regain your powers by tapping into the lightside of the force. I know what your capable of – anything, in fact. And redemption is one of those…it would be the toughest battle you have ever fought. You would have to fight your very self…but if you were successful…there’s a chance you could get through all of this. Maybe.”

More curses, this time questioning Xanathane’s parentage with that of a native Firrerron swine. Hate filled Dante’s eyes, and cybernetically enhanced muscles strained against invisible bonds.

=Xanathane=
I’ll give you time to think it over. If you can answer this question…I’ll give you the CHANCE to get this right – one more time. Even if I agree, and even if you agree to do this once more…there’s no guarantee you’ll get this right. So tell me Dante…’How do you defeat the powerful without power?’, answer that for me, and we’ll talk.”

And then the old man was standing; brushing off his robes, he slowly walked out of the bay, making his way across the platform, into the main building…and then out of sight. All through this, Dante remained held in place, and even a good thirty seconds afterwards the air trembled. Then, with a gasp, Dante pitched forward, released – and furious. Silver turned to bone white, eyes widened with astounding rage…he took a step as if to pursue the Jedi…and then stopped. Amazingly, Dante’s hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he took several deep breaths, muttering something in the same alien language he had used to curse Xanathane. Slowly…skin turned back to gold, the growl left his voice, and eyes dilated to a more normal size. Clearing his throat, Dante spoke aloud to anyone left to listen in the bay – his voice still angry, but obviously much more under control.

=Dante=
“Meet Xanathane. He’s a prick.”

{ Loronar Medium Transport The Red Cred }


Almost by the time the ship had stopped its groaning and hissing and squeaking, I was back in my cabin, beginning preparations for my first adventure on Bespin. The long flight here had allowed plenty of time for a shower in the fresher, including extra attention for my formerly oil-stained hair, but I had put off the rest of the job as long as possible. None of my usual clothes or gear would do, and I set aside my combat boots, wrist console, comlink, guns, gunbelt, and wrist holster. If I wanted to get the full tour of The Black Bantha, I needed to look like a respectable businesswoman, not a drifter scouting out a location for a heist. Reaching deep into my private chest with both hands, I lifted out the false bottom, and set it on my bunk. Beneath, sealed in vacuum packs, were clothes and other items for concealing my appearance. They came in handy when working an assassin or bounty job, but most of the kit had never been used. It tended not to matter what a sniper wore if she were supposed to be a ghost anyway. Selecting the most uncharacteristic clothes I could find, I changed into a knee-length sleeveless black dress, stockings, a thin black decorative leather belt that couldn't have supported even a child's cap gun, and a dainty gold watch (on my right wrist!). Next, I filled a small purse with a compact datapad, and a random handful of cosmetics. I gave my holdout blaster a longing stare, but even that had to stay. I was absolutely certain to be searched. My one concession to practicality was to choose a sturdy pair of black flats for my feet. You haven't lived until you're tried to run a zigzag pattern across a sloped roof in six inch heels, without getting shot or breaking an ankle. Running barefoot after I ditched the heels hadn't worked very well, either.

But no change of clothes was going to protect me from someone who knew me well. That would take several extra tricks. First, ripping open yet another package and blinking back tears, I carefully settled colored contact lenses into my eyes. They burned even more than usual, but I knew the feeling would wear off soon enough. The important thing was that I now had bright green eyes, instead of the usual blue-grey, and with some clever applications of makeup, my face was quickly becoming unrecognizable. Next, I pulled my hair back, coiling and fastening it into a topknot with a bright red elastic. And for my favorite piece of obfuscation, I selected a pair of stylish glasses. They were nothing more than window glass, but would undoubtedly attract attention in a search for recording devices. It was a typical guild ruse. Give security enough items to check, and they'll let their guard down a little bit when you come back squeaky clean. My mind was the real threat. But they wouldn't figure that out until it was too late --- if they ever found out at all.

I was just picking up a bottle of flesh-colored nail polish when suddenly there were a series of loud noises from below-ships ---

The ruckus in the main hold had been unmistakable, even locked away in my cabin, an entire deck and length of the ship away. Just as the crazed force user departed, I came bursting out of the turbolift, a very familiar DL-44 heavy blaster pistol clutched in the left hand of an otherwise nearly unrecognizable body. Well, except for my height. There was no disguise in the galaxy for that attribute. Catching just enough of the altercation to understand that Dante's supposed ally was the culprit, but not quickly enough to make any attempt to intervene, I drew up short, scanning the hold in some alarm, before my gaze settled on an agitated Dante as he spoke.

"What the frack was all that about?" I demanded, completely forgetting to explain my own appearance. Even in my excitement, however, I had the instinct to remember to pause out of direct line of sight of the open hatchway. "What powers is he talking about, and why did he just attack us? I thought you trusted him." There was an especially icy tone in my voice, that really didn't fit with the outfit at all. If there was one thing that I absolutely hated, it was not understanding a situation. And I had no clue what had just happened. I had seen the old man's tantrum, but I couldn't comprehend it. At least not yet. The Force was still an unfamiliar world to me, and one that I very much distrusted.