Inside the Capitol City of Tacto’Aubendo, the planet Radnor, Avani-Radnor System, Daimar Sector, South Midrim, Mid Rim
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Wind and rain howled between the towering earth-tone buildings that dominated Tacto’Aubendo, their sturdy sloped construction and heavy inverted overhangs shrugging off the storm and forcing it downward, down through balconies and skyways, down to the twisted streets below. At the towering structures' base, large volumes of water dumped by drains and chains onto the empty dirt roads pooled on top of the oversaturated soil.
Trudging through the whipping sheets of rain an isolated figure emerged, obscured by a billowing cloak. The rising maelstrom snapped the fabric back and forth across their form, revealing a humanoid shape. Forward they marched, step by step, heavy boots sinking deep into red, clayey mud as they approached a crossroads.
The humanoid halted. Taking a wide stance to hold against the torrent, their hooded head looked between the various offshoots and alleyways ahead of them, before deciding on a thin passage.
Protected within, the figure shook out their cloak and doffed their hood, revealing a full-helmet breathing mask. Exhaust shot from its atmo-port in parallel with their slowly drawn breath, condensing in the cold air. Gloved fingers curled into a fist, and then relaxed again, forcing blood to circulate. The figure idly checked a weapon on their hip before sweeping it under their cloak and making their way further into the cramped alley behind them.
Clearly constructed for beings of smaller stature, the stranger crouched and weaved through haphazard ducting before arriving at a pale tan door. After a final glance over their shoulder, they turned their attention to the adjoining pin pad. A quick code was entered and the door slid open with a hiss. The figure ducked in, disappearing through the threshold.
As the door slid closed behind him, the harsh sound of the rain diminished, reduced to a weak pattering. The helmeted figure stood, taking up the entire doorway, rainwater quietly dripping down their brown brismoss cloak and pooling on the floor around their clay spattered boots.
The room was small, and barely lit by the minuscule amount of gray light filtering in through the battened storm shutters. The room’s inhabitants were as gray as the planet’s skies; two Radnorans, small and stocky, dual-thumbed hands gesturing aggressively at one another. These particular specimens were pale and grubby, with ash-colored faces. Their hushed squabble stopped, and they trained their beady eyes on the helmeted stranger. An electronic voice emerged from the mask,
“Delivery for Bode, express from Saracor. Go, get him, he’ll know.”
The two Radnorans regarded him suspiciously, before exchanging a few words in their native tongue. One turned and disappeared into a back room, while the other, eyes fixed, stepped closer. Their hands fell to their belt, purposefully accentuating the disproportionately sized blaster pistol that hung there.
“We get Bode. No bad ideas, yes?” the Radnoran managed in broken Galactic Basic.
The stranger said nothing.
The two stood there a minute, the beating of wind against the outside walls the only sound as they waited for the other Radnoran to return. When he emerged, he had a taller, more elderly and dignified Radnoran in tow.
“Welcome. I hear you have what I asked for… Courier?” the new arrival said aloofly, eying the covered stranger, as his guards formed up behind him.
“If you have my reward, as specified,” the metallic voice of the Courier retorted.
“Yes... not an easy request, but we managed. You must have done your research, to know we had what you sought,” Bode said as he pulled out a datapad, scrolling through it idly, before setting it down on a nearby table. His goading eyes flicked back to the stranger. “It’s all here. Now lets see what you have for me.”
The Courier reached into his cloak – a gesture which caused the Radnoran goons to twitch – and withdrew a small package, tightly wrapped in burlap and twine. The stranger promptly unwound it, revealing two small cylinders. Each canister had metal capped ends, with a thick rounded wall of transparent durasteel at their core, bubbly chrome liquid visibly churning within.
“Two units of the highest grade Saracor rhydonium, stabilized, as requested,” the electric voice hummed. “Twist here,” he motioned to a valve on one of the caps with his hands, “the stabilizing inert gas boils off and it’s ready for use.”
“Splendid. Well, do we have a deal?” Bode said, offering a hand to shake the stranger’s, a toothless grin crossing his face.
The stranger stepped forward, extending an open hand, the rhydonium held in offer in the other. “Datapad, please.”
Bode sighed, and grabbed the datapad and passed it to the Courier, who quickly skimmed it before stashing it in their cloak. The Courier set the rhydonium on the table, and promptly turned to go.
“You know,” Bode said, taking a seat and placing his feet up on the table next to his prize. “I appreciate what you have done for me. Rhydonium of this quality is hard to source.”
The Courier paused, and turned back.
“In fact, they say the Hutts watch the Saracor facility in particular quite closely. I’m told no units of this quality leave the refinery floor without their express approval.”
The Courier looked down at Bode. “It was the job. I made it work.”
“Yes, you did.” the Radnoran continued. “This is not well known, but I’ll let you in on a secret, Courier. Radnor is becoming… important to the Cartels. Our history is in weapons, and as I'm sure your research must have revealed to you. Toxins, viruses, chemical agents. Our capabilities are unique among Mid-Rim worlds.”
“Did you forget where that got you?” the Courier retorted. The younger, ashen-faced Radnorans twisted uncomfortably. Bode swung his feet off the desk, and leaned forward.
“No, we have not forgotten." He said sullenly. "But," Bode's toothless grin returned, "the Empire has. To remember, they would have to accept us Radnorans are capable of such ingenuity, such resourcefulness, such... resolve,” He slowly rose to his feet, chin up, smug. “Imperials are incapable of such thinking. And thanks to them, the Mid Rim is now full of buyers. There is much… opportunity.”
The Courier squared his shoulders, hands coming to rest at his waist within the cloak.
“Your point?” The synthesized tones betrayed impatience. "Sorry, but I'm not looking for more work."
“Perhaps reconsider." Bode said, the uncanny grin returning. "The Hutts contacted me after your little heist. We reached an... understanding.”
“You reached an understanding?" The Courier asked, incredulous. "After you hired me to rob them?”
The old Randoran man put his hands in the air, miming apology. “Yes. And the Hutts are willing to forgive the both of us… if we do a job for them,” Bode offered.
The Courier emanated distrust and distain.
“Oh, don’t worry, it benefits all parties involved, yourself included, you’ll be paid well.”
“I don’t like this,” the Courier said, his weight shifting subtly forward to his right foot.
“Listen. Things are happening in the Western Reaches. The Hutts don't just move recreational goods. Their ships bring in countless needed items to besieged worlds, right under the Empire's nose. Unfortunately, one of their ships ended up in a Trade Federation impound on Enarc while performing a delivery.”
“And?”
“And they had one last drop on board for our Hutt's clients bound for Darkknell. The cargo is still safely in the smuggler’s hold, undetected in Federation impound. The Hutts are on a tight schedule, and you have one of the fastest ships this side of Mon Gazza. I need you to retrieve the package and complete the delivery.”
“The Empire’s been tightening the noose on Enarc for weeks now. I'm not looking to run across an Imperial cruiser. No dice.” The Courier’s hand subteley shifted beneath the cloak, coming to rest over his holstered pistol.
“I wasn’t asking,” Bode said, any pretense of civility dropping instantly. The Radnoran muscle, recognizing their cue, clumsily grasped for their weapons. The Courier was faster. His weapon was drawn and zeroed on the elderly Radnoran in a blink.
“If you know what happened on Saracor then you also know I'm capable killing all three of you and walking away. The Hutts I can evade. I’ll take my chances,” the Courier said coldly.
“I think you’d have a harder time with the Empire on your back… Clone,” Bode spat back.
“Careful.” The Courier’s weapon did not waver.
“No, you be careful, Aux Kavass. The Hutts know more than you think. And if the Empire knew what they knew, well, there’s an ever-growing price on Clone deserters and they’d be happy to collect. Lucky for you, the Hutts seem to believe you have tremendous potential. So. Why don’t we make this simple and work together?” Bode said, confidently placing his hands behind his back.
Both parties glared at one another. The dull sound of rain dripped, dripped, dripped. The seconds passed like hours. Finally, Aux Kavass spoke.
“Fine," he said, raising his pistol. "Send the details to my ship. I'll get your bloody cargo."
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