Atton Rand (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stuck_mynock) wrote2007-05-26 10:01 pm
stuck_mynock) wrote2007-05-26 10:01 pm
(no subject)
”Your job is simple. We have a gift for some ... allies of ours, against the Hutts. Slaves, weapons, mechanical prosthetics, food and most importantly, medicine - “
“Allies?”
The woman paused, before reluctantly nodding: “Yes, allies. Of a sort. Now, Helkosh will be present himself, so his safety, along with that of the shipment, must be assured. We’re foreseeing trouble - With the plague, people - Aliens,” It was voiced with a tone of disgust. “Are willing to engage in quite violent behaviour to get their hands on the medicine to treat and cure the plague.”
“And you’re keeping it from them?”
“We all are. The Hutts do it for business, us ... The plague is a sign. The mark of the beginning of the destruction of aliens everywhere, starting on this ... Forsaken alien-infested world. Helkosh has spoken to the Prophet personally, and he says it is so. We are entering a new age, where humans won’t have to share the galaxy with ... Unnatural sort.”
The wait was remarkably calm, really. Twice, small groups of aliens approached, coughing and hacking, looking far paler than Atton knew they should. He batted away the temptation to pass them medicine, shoving them away with his foot instead.
Helkosh wandered around, sneering at the aliens. He was in his mid-forties, well built and bearded, unremarkable save for his overpowering smugness. Atton wanted to punch him every time he came close, every time he leered, all glittering eyes and rubbing hands, at something, every time he made some stupid, inane joke that Atton didn’t really get, but was apparently funny enough to make him laugh for ten minutes straight.
Laughing for that long was a talent Atton could appreciate. It was a shame, really, that he was such an unpleasant person to be near.
Atton watched, with only slight interest, as a massive, many chinned Rodian in a hoverchair (Laute? Lauter? Some friend of Helkosh, Atton couldn’t be bothered to commit his name to memory) passed by, engaging in the brief small talk that Crime Lords tended towards - All veiled threats and snide remarks, and, in the case of Helkosh, barely disguised distaste for anything non-human.
The Rodian passed on, eventually. One long, dragging hour followed, before a looming, masked, dark robed figure appeared through the doorway, flanked by a force of four dark armoured, glowing eyed soldiers.
Helkosh chattered at them, bowing profusely, almost kneeling. Atton ignored them, pulling the glove off his left hand, drifting amongst a larger crowd of guards, making sure the movement wouldn’t look too odd on camera.
Lightning sparked around his hand. Drawing in a short breath, he snapped his fingers, directing a pulse of lightning into the nearest control panel.
The lights flickered out, the cameras off. Taking advantage of the brief chaos, Atton clambered into one of the larger crates, nestled amongst enough others that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to look there.
Outside, he heard Helkosh chattering apologetically about how random power loss was common in this part of Nar Shaddaa, and that they simply must forgive him.
Nobody mentioned a missing guard. Nobody suggested looking in the crates.
As the crates started to move, Atton stifled a short laugh.
“Allies?”
The woman paused, before reluctantly nodding: “Yes, allies. Of a sort. Now, Helkosh will be present himself, so his safety, along with that of the shipment, must be assured. We’re foreseeing trouble - With the plague, people - Aliens,” It was voiced with a tone of disgust. “Are willing to engage in quite violent behaviour to get their hands on the medicine to treat and cure the plague.”
“And you’re keeping it from them?”
“We all are. The Hutts do it for business, us ... The plague is a sign. The mark of the beginning of the destruction of aliens everywhere, starting on this ... Forsaken alien-infested world. Helkosh has spoken to the Prophet personally, and he says it is so. We are entering a new age, where humans won’t have to share the galaxy with ... Unnatural sort.”
The wait was remarkably calm, really. Twice, small groups of aliens approached, coughing and hacking, looking far paler than Atton knew they should. He batted away the temptation to pass them medicine, shoving them away with his foot instead.
Helkosh wandered around, sneering at the aliens. He was in his mid-forties, well built and bearded, unremarkable save for his overpowering smugness. Atton wanted to punch him every time he came close, every time he leered, all glittering eyes and rubbing hands, at something, every time he made some stupid, inane joke that Atton didn’t really get, but was apparently funny enough to make him laugh for ten minutes straight.
Laughing for that long was a talent Atton could appreciate. It was a shame, really, that he was such an unpleasant person to be near.
Atton watched, with only slight interest, as a massive, many chinned Rodian in a hoverchair (Laute? Lauter? Some friend of Helkosh, Atton couldn’t be bothered to commit his name to memory) passed by, engaging in the brief small talk that Crime Lords tended towards - All veiled threats and snide remarks, and, in the case of Helkosh, barely disguised distaste for anything non-human.
The Rodian passed on, eventually. One long, dragging hour followed, before a looming, masked, dark robed figure appeared through the doorway, flanked by a force of four dark armoured, glowing eyed soldiers.
Helkosh chattered at them, bowing profusely, almost kneeling. Atton ignored them, pulling the glove off his left hand, drifting amongst a larger crowd of guards, making sure the movement wouldn’t look too odd on camera.
Lightning sparked around his hand. Drawing in a short breath, he snapped his fingers, directing a pulse of lightning into the nearest control panel.
The lights flickered out, the cameras off. Taking advantage of the brief chaos, Atton clambered into one of the larger crates, nestled amongst enough others that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to look there.
Outside, he heard Helkosh chattering apologetically about how random power loss was common in this part of Nar Shaddaa, and that they simply must forgive him.
Nobody mentioned a missing guard. Nobody suggested looking in the crates.
As the crates started to move, Atton stifled a short laugh.