Log:Array Consortium: The Infiltrator, Part 1
Seeking additional insight into the works of the Mathall Syndicate, Adhar dispatches new security officer - and assassin - Razia on a mission to penetrate the Syndicate's smuggling operation.
The captain has summoned you to his quarters in the dark of night - one wonders what that means, considering you've not much knowledge of him yet. This past week has been spent working through all the policies and strategies and what have you that the security troops use; they are a tight outfit on board, strangely paranoid. If the captain didn't know your background already, it seems likely that it would be swiftly extracted.
When you arrive, he sits on one of the couches in the main area again, in his plain blue shipsuit, sipping what looks very much like whiskey. His expression is one of grim consideration, and he frowns into his glass.
Razia enters with an air of formality, almost like a soldier within the military. She is wearing her uniform that was provided, the blue suit with the black sleeves. When she steps into the room, those steely eyes settle on him. Her expression is neutral, showing little to no emotion. "You called fo me, Captain?" She asks as her hands neatly fold behind her.
"I did." Adhar gestures for you to sit. "I'm sending you on a mission, Razia. I know you've only just arrived here, but you're wasted as a security guard and we both know it."
Razia looks to the seat that is offered and moves toward it. She still has that formal air about her, but she does sit, folding one leg over the other. She tries to hide it, but there is a faint twirk of her lips with the promise of a mission. "To the others, I can be a security guard if you wish. I actually prefer to keep my abilities on the down low." Her hands fold in her lap. "What is this mission?"
"Nobody knows but me," says Adhar, waving away the thought. "And nobody else need know. Razia, I want you to do something for me, something very important." He purses his lips. "I want you to infiltrate the Mathall Syndicate. Is this something you believe that you can do?"
Razia blinks at Adhar, arching a brow at him. "Dangerous work." She says evenly, but that twitch at her lips slowly pulls up into a smile. "That's my kind of work." She cants her head slightly as she regards her boss. "I may have to do some dastardly things to gain their complete trust. I would also need a starting point, a lead on how to meet them."
"You'd do dastardly things anyway if you weren't working for me," says Adhar. "But I expect that you keep your crimes to a minimum. I'd much rather you keep as much as your soul as possible when doing things in /my/ name, thank you."
Razia glances away from him, shifting in her seat. "I can try. No promises. One must have a soul first." Her gaze does look back to him, "Though, since you are sening me on this mission, I will keep it to a minimum." Her head cants slightly. "So. Tell me a little about them so that I can get started."
"Restraint is what I ask for," Adhar says, smiling fiantly. "It meets the persona that I've created for you." He hands out a sheaf of documents - identification documents, some spacer's licenses, a few fines from starports that have yet to be paid. Pictures of you with some mercenary outfits, de-aged by computer so you look like a younger recruit. It's...rather impressive. You've got a whole life in here. Even prison release papers from a Republic facility in the Mid-Rim.
"Take these. Learn them. I've hired you passage on a tramp freighter to Utapau. Your name is Matiza Nablus, and you are to report to a fellow named Fabbam Zibb, who is a mid-level spice smuggler for the Mathall Syndicate. You're going to hire on as muscle, being a former mercenary - this should give you all that you need. I've handled the actual job itself. Go forth, get as much information on their smuggling activities as you can, and report back. Try to keep any mayhem to a minimum. I have a holoaddress that you can reach that routes back to the ship, but be careful when you use it. And don't get yourself killed."
Razia takes the documents in hand and sorts through them. Her gaze is scrutinous of the various details. Once she is finished looking through them, her gaze lifts to regard her boss. "I will get on this right away." She moves to stand up, tucking the files away for further study. "Is there anything else that I should know before studying these files more in depth?"
"Nothing," Adhar says with a shake of his head. "It's all in there. Your ship will be waiting tomorrow evening. See that you're on it. Dismissed."
And that's...it, really. Time to go. You've got your orders, and you have your documentation. Time to see what kind of a sneak you can really be.
Indeed, you let the next night. Packed and gone without much more than the head of security nodding you out the door - having been told you were needed for ship's business - you found the tramp freighter Adhar described waiting for you at Lord Eebua's spaceport. A battered SoroSuub Nestt freighter called 'Wonderful Girl', the ship is crewed by a collection of cheerful Sullustan bachelors, all of who likely make passes at passengers who join fron the way they look at you - but one look is all that is required, for your general demeanor is that of a woman who would snap their necks for looking at you anywhere below the neck. So they do not, and they give you a wide berth for the entirety of your voyage.
For a day and a half you sit in your little cabin on the Wonderful Girl, poring over the identity that Adhar gave you, and you learn that it is a detailed one: as Matiza Nablus, you are a young Ratataki expatriate, having left the planet with your parents at the age of 12 to Nar Shaddaa, where they were killed in a speeder accident. Fast forward five years, and you are joining a mercenary group to make a living - and a year in, fall afoul of Republic authorities while smuggling conflict jewels from a battle zone near the edge of the Unknown Regions. Spending a year on a Republic prison moon, you fell in to several smuggling crews, and now have made your way to seek work with the Mathalls with the Core Worlds falling one by one to the encroaching First Order. It's a lot to process, but you've got time, and isn't that the way of assassins? Study, infiltrate, kill.
But the time passes quickly, and soon you find yourself on Utapau in Pau City, where the tall, gaunt, ghoul-like Pau'an spent centuries in their sinkhole settlements. Many of fearsome yet friendly people tower over the rest of the sentient at the spaceport, but you do not gawk, for you have your goal: a YT-1300 called the Ember, which has the position you are scheduled to fill. The captain? An Ortolan named Fabban Zibb. Sy Snootles of yesteryear he isn't - a good smuggler, yes. A violent being who dabbles in opportunistic piracy? Absolutely.
Down the rows of pads you finally find the ship, whose hull is painted a startling shade of bright blue aside from the occasional mismatched repair panels. That's it, all right. That's the one you're looking for.
Razia would indeed give rather cold stares at anyone who would try to aproach her in any fashion that was not strictly profesional in nature. Once shown to her room, she stayed there the duration of the trip. She couldn't be more pleased than when the ship finally landed. With her pistol on hip, bag slung over her shoulder, she finally makes it towards her destination. Her nose crinkles up at the bright blue paint job, but who is she to judge? Making her way towards the ship, she stops in front of the ramp, looking upwards. She does not board the ship just yet, instead opting to send a transmission to it's Captain to alert him that she has arrived. There she waits patiently, one hand gripped onto her satchel and the other resting cofortably on the hilt of her pistol.
There's a Wroonian standing by the ship's open entry hatch, frowning prettily at a datapad - they're always so pretty, those blue-skinned bastards - and looking generally bored. He nearly matches the hull with that complexion. Come to think of it, so do Ortolans. That makes you, with your oh-so-Gothic white-on-white palette, the odd lady out.
Still prettier than he is, though.
Razia turns her gze to the Wroonian and lifts her chin in a subtle form of greetings. She adjusts the pack on her shoulder before proceeding up the ramp towards him. "Hi. I am looking for Zibb." She says in a rather neutral expression. "He's expecting me. Name's Matiza." A pale hand with slender fingers reaches out in greetings.
The blue man stares at you for a moment, as if your momentary distraction from his reading is somehow a capital crime. Keeping his eyes on you, in that magnificently bitchy way, he plucks a comlink from his belt and mutters something waspishly into it.
"The Captain will be here in a moment," he says in a soft tenor voice that's as cold as the ass end of Hoth, and goes back to his reading.
The cold never bothered her anyway. Razia turns to lean against the opposits side of the hull, folding her arms casually across her chest. Those steely eyes turn to look over the starport before looking back within the interior of the ship. It is a casual interest that she shows, casually looking things over. Though, in her mind she is studying everything she can take in with such a casual glance.
It's an interesting place, this spaceport - crammed with so many people and ships, most of which do not stand out like the rest, it's very hard to see much of anything. You do, however, spot /one/ odd thing o the other side of the ship; a fat Ortolan with a droid is busy talking to a pale woman with white hair...Arkanian, maybe, or some other near-human species. No...that's...Echani? Yes. Echani. White hair, white skin, eye color indeterminate but there's no pointed ears. Plus the body is that of a warrior, and you ain't never heard of a fat Echani. Not with a group of people that punch each other in the face to communicate as much as open their mouths.
Eventually, the woman departs, and the Ortolan with the droid - now shown to be a rather weirdly insectile protocol droid walking stiff-limbed along underneath the ship toward where you stand. A thick-wristed hand lifts in hail, and the fellow calls - no, /trumpets/ - a jolly greeting in whatever language thse squat bastards use.
"My master wishes you a good day," the droid says in a flat, toneless voice. "He is told that you are Matiza Nablus. Is this so?"
Razia is a patient woman, remaining at her place opposite of the Wroonian. Once her gaze falls upon the Ortolan, she pauses to watch the interactions. She takes a mental note of the Echani woman, unfortunately too far away to hear what they were conversing about. She turns towards the robust alien and takes a moment to offer a single bow of her head towards him. Her gaze shifts to regard the droid, offering a nod. "I am Matiza Nablus. I have come for work." She focuses on the Captain, or who she assumes is Captain, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Captain Zibb peers at you with beady black eyes, trunk swaying in your general direction - almost as though he were sniffing you. His ears flap fitfully for a long moment, and then he utters a single grunted syllable before heading toward the boarding ramp, leaving you there with the droid. The other blue fellow falls in with the captain, as if you never existed.
Razia lowers her hand, canting her head slightly. There is a slight moment of confusion on her part. At first, she looks to the droid, but as the two blue people begin to walk away, she takes the initiative to follow along. Her hands fold casually behind the small of her back as she follows along. She did not want to speak too much. Growing up in a family that sells weapons for a living, she is used to this sort of behavior. First, she must get her foot in the door and get working for the Captain.
"Oh, good," the droid says in its flat way. "You did not tell me that you know Ortolan, mistress." Because of course that's what it's going to say, shuffling long behind you.
The ship is...blue. All through it - pastel, not lurid, and rather tastefully appointed, but still, blue. The droid, who introduces itself as J9TB, gives you a tour of the ship, pointing out various things. Here's the cargo bay, the refresher, your cabin, that sort of thing. Pointing these things out, it then lingers around, explaining that it's job is to translate for you during your stay. Until you buy your own translator, of course, or learn to speak Ortolan.
As for the Wroonian, that is the first mate, Belzab. He is explained to be...particular, and it is suggested by J9TB that you follow his instructions to the letter, or he will also get what the droid describes as 'shirty'. Odd crew, this. The Captain doesn't give instructions directly, choosing instead to use the droid or this Belzab fellow for communicaton. That said, the droid asks you to wait in your quarters and he shuffles off once more.
Razia follows along dutifully. Though once the Droid asks her about knowing the language, she shakes her head. She does not understand it. Though, one of those tiny translator droids seems to be rather needed. She mentally places that on her to-do list. As her cabin is shown to her, she looks about dubiously. Her gaze looks about the interior looking for anything out of sorts like survillance equipment or whatever. When she is asked to wait there, she turns back to ask a question. However, the droid is shuffling off. "Great." She mutters to herself. She turns to toss her bag onto her bunk before shuffling through the contents.
It's a poky littler room, the cabin, but at least it's not steerage. You find yourself sitting on its padded bench of a bed for thirty minutes or so, while the ship rumbles to life, takes off, and - from the rumble - jumps to hyperspace before the door opens and Belzab's thin frame attempts to fill the doorway.
"We're heading to the drop," he says. "You strapped?"
Razia moves to stand up when the door opens to the cabin. She looks directly at Belzab's beautiful face. "Always." She responds to him. She shifts to expose the pistol on her hip to him. "Where are we headed and what do you need me to do?"
The ship shudders out of hyperspace; Belzab looks at the ceiling with a sigh. "No questions."
Belzab heads out of the room, gesturing for you to follow him. "Keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and stand where I point." He points at a place next to and slightly away from the airlock foyer on the near side of the saucer. "You'll get what to do when I tell you to."
The Captain shuffles in, looking at the two of you for a moment with its blank eyes, and then wanders off down the short tunnel to the airlock.
After a few minutes, there is a soft clunk and the sense of mass meeting mass. The airlock hisses open.
Of course there aren't any questions. Can't blame a woman for trying. So, she simply falls silent and follows the Wroonian through the ship. Her gaze follows to where he points and she looks at it. Wordlessly, she moves over to take her place. The holster to her pistol is unlatched and she restsher hand calmly upon it. She is studious now, studying everything. Damn, she hates not knowing what is going on.
"And so I was telling him, I said, 'My friend, we only run Danati Blue! Clearly, the Consortium can't be responsible for /eldratz/ spice, why, it's the most dangerous ever! So we went ahead and took it anyway, and that's what we've got. Little did he know where he got it from, eh?"
A fat human man, balding and dark-skinned, comes out of the airlock corridor into the room, back to you. He holds his arms out to Belzab. "Gorgeous boy," he calls, perhaps a bit overfondly. "How I missed you. How are you? You don't ever seem to age. In fact, I--"
"Do it," Bezlab says coldly, looking past the man to you.
The words Bezlab say seem to be louder than anything else in the room. She suddenly felt her heart pound and her breathing hitches just ever so slightly. Her blood rushes through her ears. She doesn't even think twice. The pistol is raised and the trigger is pulled.
There is no remorse from Razia. First, the man is obviously one of the enemy, so he is completely disposable in her eyes. Second, this is what she needs to do in order to get -in- a bit more with the group.
After the pistol has fired, she lowers it with a nearly post-orgasmic expression on her face.
At this range, the man's head pops like a gourd left on a cooker plate, the top of his skull coming loose under his scalp as the blaster bolt bores a hold in the back of his head and vaporizes most of his brains immediately. Smoke and steam mingle as he falls to the deck, lying there very still.
There is silence; the Ortolan and his first mate look at each other, and then the Captain grunts before heading back into the other ship. Belzub looks at the body in the floor, nudging it gently with the toe of a heavy boot. Then he looks back up at you.
"Congratulations," the Wroonian says in his bored voice. "You're hired."