Smoldering Ruin

[Upstate]

 The Niboba struggled to set down comfortably, which said little for both the disrepair of the ship and the state of Nal Hutta. Kuruuga cursed quietly, blinking knowingly as to the condition of his yacht's landing stabilizers. The Hutt waited impatiently in the guts of the ship, not wanting to view the conditions of the his home world from the cockpit, partly from a habit of observing a dire situation firsthand, but also from personal sentiment. If half of the reports were true, viewing the destruction on the ground would be terrible enough. For obvious reasons, these feelings could not be expressed outwardly in the presence of Kuruuga's companions, or perhaps ever. These followers had accompanied him since the fateful battle that claimed the life of his sole parent, Derugo, and had almost resulted in the complete destruction of the militarized yacht and the loss of all hands. What was left of his retinue was pitiful, though not unexpected, the brave were often not survivors of heated battles. The clever and the weak are better survivors, Kuruuga considered. 

 Thus, the remaining crew of the Niboba was comprised of sycophants, battered droids, a set of dubious mercenaries who were likely to desert once in a less desolate spaceport, a single Twi'lek slaver, and a particularly useless Rodian mechanic. They were supplemented by several slaves and refugee conscripts from the initial mobilization against the Chorus. It was the Twi'lek, Dekko, who approached Kuruuga, "We have set down outside of the compound as requested, greatness." His Huttese was perfect and eloquent, which the Hutt had assumed meant that Dekko had spent a good part of his life in Hutt space.

 "Bring the droids suitable for heavy lifting, that insipid Rodian, and all of the mercenaries; I don't trust them alone with the ship." Even for the state of the planet and the certain chaos of Hutt space, he didn't think it likely that anyone would risk stealing a Hutt yacht off their own planet. Rather, Kuruuga understood the importance of appearances in uncertain situations such as these. An entourage meant status, and status was all the Hutt could hope for.

 As he slithered calmly down the descended ship's ramp, the most horrifying sight was that of the rubble. The Hutts enjoyed smooth surfaces to move their significant forms upon, and open spaces and cavernous interiors to fit in. The jagged building material and shattered pathways were contrary to all that a Hutt consider beautiful, and in this instance, homely. Kuruuga barked for the droids to move ahead of him, they did their best to clear a path but the going would still be rough for the Hutts' movement onward. The entourage moved respectfully slow, aware of the precarious nature of serving an upset Hutt boss. Kuruuga was also aware that they were probing him for a sign of weakness. 

 The ship was situated in what was once a small plaza in front of the Desiiug Palace on the outskirts of Bilbousa, the planetary capital. The compound was Kuruuga's family home and birthplace, and the many recently collapsed domed structures that housed his extended clan. It seemed that the only familiar sights was the swamp which surrounded most of the outskirts of the grounds and a single gazebo that bordered the boggy area, which Kuruuga presently made his way towards. The droids were struggling to hammer down a protruding stone from the path ahead, and the impatient Hutt simply slid over it, nearly crushing a smaller repair droid which whined in retreat. Kuruuga let out something between a laugh and a pained guttural grunt as he ascended the gradually sloped ramp that twisted around the gazebo to the summit overlooking the bog and the ruins beyond. The gazebo's ceiling and floor were ornate and decorated, infused metals into stone formed murals depicting the flight of the Hutts from Varl and the subsequent enslavement of the Evocii and velvet conquest of Nal Hutta. This is where his clan often met in summit or entertained important guests, and despite being a large structure, it remained seemingly undamaged. 

 The Hutt considered the large open floor and noticed several caches laying about in pristine condition, the mercenaries already eyeing them expectantly. One in particular had a suspect looking liquid emanating from the hatch. "Check it out, carefully." Two mercs, a Devaronian and a Human, approached the metallic case, careful not to step in the reddish leak. They tried the hatch, and seeing no visible lock or electronic device to open it, turned back to their employer and shrugged. For once, without prompt, the Rodian mechanic took initiative and approached the case knowingly. "It's just an internal lock, greatness, I can have it open in a moment." Kuruuga grunted assent and slithered around the back of the container. The Rodian produced a nondescript tool and went to work, it took several moments and no small number of jeers from the eager mercenaries, but the locking mechanism popped and the container's top opened slowly, it seemed pressurized. The mechanic gazed over the box, eager to please his master, and a blaster shot from within disintegrated his face. He collapsed lifeless. A meek, but unmistakably Hutt voice called out a foul curse from within and Kuruuga motioned for his guards to lower their weapons. 

 "Come out of there little one, I am Desiiug." Kuruuga was internally baffled as a tiny Huttlet tipped the box from within and emerged with the confidence of a thousand year old elder. They locked eyes, and they each recognized each other after a mutual moment of puzzlement. The young Huttlet considered the aliens present, and remembered to not use his elder's secret clan name, "Cousin Kuruuga? We thought you died in the battle."

 "Cousin Hargu, I thought you would be buried in the rubble. Tell me, what of our clan?" Kuruuga looked past his young relative into the crate that had housed the Huttlet for sometime, and saw the source of the liquid. The young Hargu had stowed, or been stowed with a pair of unfortunate off-world Jawas, who must have made sufficient nourishment for little one. All that was left was their robes.

 Hargu slithered up to his kin and received what would pass for as a mere head rub to an outsider. "All dead, I only made it out because I'm little still. I crawled up here and noticed some of the Jawas from grandfather's menagerie trying to steal. I stopped them. They weren't very tasty." Kuruuga belted such laughter and for such a long period of time that a few of the mercs shifted uncomfortably. After a moment Hargu joined in his similarly eerie guttural laugh, just in a higher pitch. The human mercenary whispered to one of his peers, "Didn't they just say their entire family was dead, and now they're laughing?"

 Kuruuga, containing his laughter, considered the situation. The bright little Huttlet did the same, and it was he who spoke first, "What of Elder Derugo, if you lived, does he?" Kuruuga shifted, and quivered his head in negative response. Hargu continued, "Then that makes you head of the clan," the Huttlet motioned to data pad wrapped in the bloody cloak of a consumed Jawa, "I took that from great-great grandmother's chamber." The Devaronian, who seemed the most loyal (or opportunistic) of the mercenaries, bent down and handed the device to Kuruuga who inspected it as if he didn't know what it was. Hargu took the hint and said no more of the subject. The elder of the two Hutts quickly entered his clan password into the device, and uploaded the encrypted information to his vessel. The young Hargu had done him an immense service by preserving what was essentially the clan's 'black book', all while a building collapsed around him, and he had likely emerged from the crushed corpse of his own parent, another distant cousin of Kuruuga's.

 It was not uncommon for Hutt's to destroy their younger Huttlet relatives in fear of later competition, when they could get away with it. Kuruuga had considered it soon after it was revealed to him that he was now titular head of Clan Desiiug. If the circumstances were different, and he had a child of his own, or there was some other weaker relative that could assume the duties of heir, he would likely have had one of the mercenaries hawk the Huttlet into an area of the bog where several capable captive predators awaited such an opportunity. However, duty the clan paramount over personal ambitions. Only two living Hutts in a clan was a horrifying prospect, but given the situation on the planet, it was likely that they were a clan fortunate presently.

 Hargu had been lustily eyeing the Rodian he had slain, who had ceased twitching sometime during their shared laughter. The Desiiugs were one of the old Hutt clans that would occasionally consume their enemies, and it was clear to Kuruuga that his young cousin was likely famished, or had simply never eaten Rodian and didn't know about the unpleasant texture.

 "Come young one, we have an amphibian stew on the yacht, preserved from Mon Cala, much better than Rodian..."

 

[Rugs]

Nal Hutta, Io’an imagined, had seen many, many better days.

Worse, too, Io’an reminded himself as his sleek courier sliced through the world’s pungent skies. Much worse.

The Archeri were gone. On Nal Hutta, as with his home on the Smuggler’s Moon, the signs of their passage were everywhere. A different sort of devastation reined across Nal Hutta. Nar Shaddaa, sprawling city that it was, looked much like any urban environment after a pitched battle and extended siege. Save near the Cerbozz Pit, where the Singing Spire’s tilted, broken husk still towered above the cityscape in permanent monument to its near-conquest.

Here, the rains and corrupted bog water long ago washed away had long ago washed away the spores that must have once coated the planet. Yet jagged crystal spires still stuck out of the ground at odd angles — still embedded from the orbital bombardment with which the Chorus battered the world into submission before loosing the Spire upon it to force pacification.

There wasn’t a population center on the world that Io’an had yet seen left untouched. Cities, towns, even small processing operations in the middle of nowhere. As much attention as the Chorus lent to subjugating Nar Shaddaa after breaking Nal Hutta, they’d spared the Glorious Jewel no mercy.

The ship’s nav computer chirped three times. Io’an adjusted the control sticks slightly, angling it down under a layer of fetid clouds. He’d come to the world on something of a diplomatic effort on behalf of the Exchange.

With the Crisis behind them and reconstruction well on its way, the Exchange was now turning to ensure its relationships — such as they were — with the fellow players in Hutt Space remained strong. True allegiances were rare in the criminal world, but working relationships, mutual understandings — these were important in Hutt Space’s crowded field. With the ruling Hutt clans dramatically weakened from the Archeri’s onslaught, the Exchange’s attention focused inward to rebuilt and whispers of the Black Sun making a return to Hutt space, now was the time to ensure those old mutual understandings still held.

And so he’d spent much of the day — and likely much of the next few days — hopping from clan stronghold to clan stronghold. On more than one occasion, he’d arrived to nothing but ruins and rotted corpses awaiting him. One grim stop featured a towering Archeri tree, fruitless and silent, watching over the ruins of a once-great clan palace. A dark substance, dark and dried to hardness after so long in the elements, had coated the entryway.

Io’an hadn’t lingered enough to think about what that might have been.

Bilbousa rose out of the swamp in the distance, domes and towers visible through the polluted haze that so often choked the world. Io’an had quite a bit of business to tend to there, but first, a stop.

The nav computer chirped again. Two sharp marks, this time.

The Desiiug Palace — what remained of it, anyway — lay ahead, on the edge of the city. Io’an wasn’t particularly familiar with the clan, and it was one of the few for which he could find no information on any previous relationship with the Exchange, good or bad.

Now was not the time for unknowns, and for better or worse, he decided it was a stop worth making en route to the capital city.

At first blush, Io’an expected the stop to be a short one. The Desiiug Palace was in no better condition than many he’d stopped at, but a Hutt yacht, squatting in a plaza before the palace hinted otherwise. As he set down, finding a clear space beyond the plaza, he reached out through the Force, feeling the compound.

A number of people were onboard or otherwise near the Yacht. As a measure of caution, Io’an sent an automated message to the ship from his own, stating that he was looking only to speak.

A few moments later he emerged from the courier, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. His disruptor pistol hung at his waist, as well as the smaller hold-out pistol he kept hidden in his jacket. His lightsaber, as well, was tucked away inside he jacket. He’d not come to fight, but only a fool ventured to deal with Hutts unarmed.

He waved as he approached the yacht, to ensure someone saw him, and began his approach, to learn what — if anything — remained of Clan Desiiug.

[Upstate]

 Aboard the Niboba, both surviving Hutts feasted greedily over a transparent cauldron of live amphibians. Hargu had seemed to have eaten twice his already significant weight in a short period, much to his cousin's pleasure. An intense appetite after such a time in isolation was healthy. Between the gluttonous devouring of living frog-like creatures and Kuruuga's preference to have his home world's atmosphere, putrid to most species, filtered into most of the ship's compartments, most of the ship's crew had found an excuse to retire to malinger elsewhere. In the mean time, Kuruuga had taken the time to analyze the recovered datapad. His entire clan's finances, legitimate and illegitimate businesses, associates, and other assets were now effectively his own. The finances weren't much of an issue, the Hutt surmised, he had the access codes to the legitimate bank accounts and the reputations of the money laundering clans were perhaps more severe than their legal counterparts. It had also occurred to him that would be set to inherit as the next of kin for many of his dead clan members, who have stashed away some of their more private earnings.

 Redeeming himself as the rightful heir of front corporations and industries would be just as simple as the finances. The real task would be securing the off-world rackets: the casinos, the smuggler rings, the narcotic manufacturing and distribution networks, the real source of income for any self-respecting Hutt clan. The ones run by lesser off-world Hutts would do their best to hold off the competition for as long as was respectable or profitable, as a point of pride. The others would defect at a much more accelerated rate, either due to sheer capitalism or intimidation. That's why his next step after consolidating his position on Nal Hutta would be to personally ensure the off-world conspiracies remained loyal. Hutts, more so than anything, were driven by paranoia and ambition; while Kuruuga realized he had become immeasurably rich by sheer fortune (that is, the indiscriminate slaughter of his family), even now he knew forces were working to undue him.

 An interruption. The Devaronian had entered the yacht's Great Room, where both Hutts eyed him cautiously. The room, while both grand, hospitable, decorated with Hutt battle emblems, various hunting trophies, and an exotic fauna or two, was curiously intimidating when not populated by a party or some function. This fact was not lost on Kuruuga who generally preferred the presence of a large entourage around him for any audience, even while addressing a supplicant. After an awkward bow, the Devaronian, being a better mercenary than a courtier, spoke,"A vessel recently landed within the vicinity. They sent word that they wished for an audience, greatness. No other details. We tried to check to ship's registry, but between the state of the planet and a lack of record in our own registry, we were unable to..."

 "Enough. How many?" The Hutt lord had wished it was the twi'lek addressing him instead, the slaver was much more to the point. Mercenaries had a tendency to say either nothing or far too much.

 "Just a human, greatness, he approaches alone wit-" 

 "Go out with your partner there, the other human. Bring one of the dancers to greet him, a contracted one, not a slave. Slaves are too meek. And send in the twi'lek..." Hargu had been attentively watching how his elder conducted business. That was good, although it would be many years before the Huttlet would be in a position to dictate terms to anyone, he would benefit by such observations later in life. As the mercenary swaggered out of the hall, Kuruuga grunted approval to his ward and beckoned him to their personal chambers. "Watch the proceedings on the security feed if you wish, it is best that our guest does not surmise our clan's number by your presence."

 As the young one slithered away, the Twi'lekk, Dekko, entered and bowed. "Dekko, our guest is a human. Switch off the external filter, we shall breathe that sterile air the humans enjoy. If he is not a mere messenger you will have the dancers bring in seating and... whatever humans eat. Preferably something from the inner-worlds, they have the least detestable palate, so I'm told..."

---

Outside the Niboba, a beautiful blue twi'lek, adorned in fine brazen ornaments and just enough clothing to be diplomatic, emerged from the yacht's ramp flanked by the Devaronian and Human mercenaries. The guards looked prepared but particularly disinterested in their guest (and much more in the dancer), carrying a disruptor pistol and a sonic rifle, respectively. The trio approached their visitor. The twi'lek girl bowed, smiling and confident in her hastily memorized lines:

"Greetings! Our master, the exalted Kuruuga the Hutt, bids you welcome and invites you to address him aboard his yacht, the Niboba. He apologizes in advance for such a meager reception, but is sure that you understand given the current predicament planetside. As a token of his faith and goodwill, our master wishes you to maintain whatever arms you carry. Would you care to follow me?"

[Rugs]

The walk to the Hutt’s yacht was blessedly uneventful. Io’an could only hope they’d gotten his message, or at least weren’t the sort to be immediately hostile toward any stranger spotted walking their direction.

Could I blame them if they were? Even lawless Hutt Space was now vulnerable to untold chaos, with the old hierarchy in tatters. Who could say that no one would be brave enough to stage an attack on the weakened Cartels?

Still, Io’an was alone, and a single Sephi — Force-user or no — was not going to be taking on an armed Hutt ship and its complement of mercenaries. He could feel no signs of coming conflict through the Force. There was a certain tension — a wariness, of sorts — but that wasn’t unusual for these meetings.

He’d be more alarmed if wasn’t there.

And so he walked on, across the ground, avoiding bits of rubble and broken pieces of what once must have been a grand estate. All reduced to nothing.

As he approached the yacht’s ramp, a Twi’lek and two guards emerged. To the Twi’lek, Io’an nodded politely as she stopped before him. A quick glance at the guards revealed that one carried a sonic rifle. Io’an’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a heartbeat longer than it might have otherwise. Do they know? They can’t. Curious.

A troublesome weapon, if a confrontation broke out. Though unless forced to defend himself in some manner, Io’an bore no desire to fight. A quick search of the Force, a subtle listen to lingering surface thoughts indicated that the guards weren’t overly concerned about him.

That was good, he supposed.

“Your master’s graciousness is most appreciated,” he said, smiling warmly. “I’m well acquainted with the struggles we all face in the wake of the Archeri’s unwelcome arrival, and his reception already outshines others.” You may call me Draco.” The name doubled as both his slicer identity and an agent name for his work with Exchange. “It would be an honor to speak with his excellency.”

Greeting dispensed, he motioned for the Twi’lek to lead on into the yacht.