Value Loyalty Above All Else [Star Wars]

The corellian sector of Nar Shaddaa was a strange one. Its name came from the mostly Corellian descendant population, yet it was now home to many species living side by side.

That is not to say it was a peaceful place. Gangs controlled most of the streets, with port control largely content to live in their fortified barracks and outposts. Everything from gang wars to petty theft was ignored, but to the surprise of no one they came out in force should certain casino's or warehouses be so much as scratched.

The rich and powerful, those few that for one reason or another chose to live here, had their own security. Morgan considered that fair, seeing as he was currently moving through the sector with a twenty men escort.

Quinn's men were in good form, the captain himself walking beside him at the front while his second held up the rear. Most were new, recruited after the death of the Balmorran resistance, and this would be their very first mission working under him.

Said captain had spent their travel time drilling them in their still mostly empty cargo hold, although Morgan had little idea what Quinn had been teaching them. They looked impressive, however, and sometimes that was half the job.

The gangs agreed, resistance melting out of the way as they walked deeper into the sector. He did have to stop some eager soldiers from hurrying along an elderly homeless man, but other than that the walk was uneventful.

"Did I mention I hate slavery? I feel that, somehow, that will become important soon."

Vette's sarcasm lacked her usual levity, her hand never straying far from her blaster. He was about to reply when Alyssa did it for him, turning to the twi'lek with her customary seriousness. "You belong to Lord Morgan. Should any other try to enslave you, they will be slain."

Sighing, Vette patted her on the shoulder. "I can't tell if you're joking or not."

"We'll have to deal with Halidrell, unfortunately, but there is no scenario where you will not leave Nar Shaddaa a free woman."

Vette bumped her shoulder into his, smiling briefly. "Thanks. I just don't like dealing with slavers, is all. Although with twenty soldiers itching to prove their place and no less than three sith I don't doubt she'll be on her best behaviour."

Morgan returned her smile, idly turning to look at a badly hidden observer scurry back into darkness when their eyes met. "Don't discount yourself. I'm sure at least some thugs would be too busy drooling over you to aim properly."

Inara snorted, Vette scowling at her playfully before sticking her tongue out at him. "You'd be surprised how useful that can be. But then I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that."

Morgan put a hand to his chest, eyes widening. "The sheer cruelty and vile. My fragile masculinity, I feel it shattering. Breaking into a hundred little pieces, never to be the same."

She was about to reply when specialist Harrold interrupted her, his voice coming over comms. "Possible contact, three hundred and closing."

Quinn grunted, pointing. "Horas, Kapa. Intercept."

The two surged forward, lieutenant Helen barking orders as the rest of the men halted. Morgan stalled, watching as they brought back a nervous teen. He eyed the slave collar, waving the two soldiers away.

They saluted, the young man clearing his throat while bowing deeply. "Lord Morgan. Halidrell Setsyn cordially invites you to participate in drinks and entertainment in the Violet Moon cantina. Should that be amenable, I am to escort you to the establishment at your leisure."

"We have business, as it happens." He replied dryly. "Lead on."

The slave nodded, relief clear on his face, and turned sharply. Morgan motioned to follow him, walking deeper into the sector until they hit what could only be described as the upper class streets.

The filth and grime was gone, even now groups of janitor droids tirelessly cleaning every inch of the floor and walls. Guards of varying allegiances walked in small groups, keeping an eye on them but not intervening. Vette grumbled as they walked into the cantina itself, two holographic dancers framing the entrance.

"A pleasure house, of course it is." Morgan told Quinn to station his men outside, turning to her. "Bad?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Never been inside. Supposedly one of the nicer ones, so the rape is happening in nicely furnished rooms, but it's a slave brothel all the same."

He sighed. "Don't shoot anyone. For now she's important to the mission, and thus to Baras. When that's done I can take offence to something she said and there'll be one less of them on Nar Shaddaa."

Two young women curtsied at the door, smiling brightly with no collar adorning their necks. He let his perception wash through them, finding little but resigned bitterness in their hearts. "We're here to see Halidrell Setsyn."

The left woman motioned for them to follow, taking them to a private room. Inara elbowed Alyssa, pointing at a dancer doing very impressive things with her legs. "Neither of you are to frequent a slave brothel."

Alyssa seemed almost offended. "I can feel their emotions just as you can, my lord. I'd rather not spend the night with someone hating every second of it, no matter how prettily they smile."

He nodded shortly, finding his patience thinning as he caught sight of an older man inspecting several women. They looked afraid, glancing at each other as the man pointed to two of them.

Their guide pointed to a door when he asked, only refraining from kicking it in at the last second. He found a woman sitting with three men, two of them clearly guards, while the last had stood the moment the door opened.

"Everyone that isn't Halidrell Setsyn, get out."

The man that wasn't a guard turned, his two guards joining him. "So she wasn't lying about having sith up her sleeve."

Inara and Alyssa stepped forward, hands going to their lightsabers. "You've been given orders to leave. Follow them."

"Ha! We've been trained to handle sith. Kinda glad we get to show off."

When his hand went to his blaster his head disappeared in a mist of red, Vette calmly aiming to the next guard. He was dead before he could draw his weapon, his comrade managing to curse before Inara cut his torso in two. Morgan had walked to the now vacant seat, nodding to who must be Halidrell.

"Who did I just kill?"

Halidrell herself was still sipping her drink, nodding her head in greeting. "Exchange captain. Low ranking, so no one's going to miss him. Not after your dramatic entrance, at any rate. Halidrell, pleasure to meet you."

"What do you have for me? In case you're unaware, I'm here to kill Lord Rathari."

He wasn't. "Ah. Yes, of course. Won't be easy, he usually just appears, devastates then disappears. You'll have to draw him out by disrupting his power play, make him expose himself. I propose doing so during his meeting with the hutt cartels, where he is strong-arming them to signing over some important territories in their own headquarters."

"Estimated forces?"

Halidrell shrugged. "He has an apprentice, Girik, but otherwise a fairly normal Lord's retinue. On the smaller side, if I had to say. The cartels are Imperial allies, should violence break out it would be best if there were no survivors. I'll transfer you the location."

Morgan stood, finding little need to stay now that he got what he came for. "I'll try not to pick a fight with the hutts."

Vette broke off outside, nodding to the taxi service. "Not to abandon you or anything, but I do have some other stuff that needs doing. You alright with just those two?" She shot Quinn an apologetic look. "Not that I'm discounting the captain and his men, of course."

"I'll be fine." He waved her off, turning to the interceptor that served as their makeshift transport. "Go be mysterious and vague. Meet you on the ship tonight?"

She kissed him, walking off. "Wouldn't miss it."

He watched her disappear into an alleyway, turning to Inara. "Before I forget, go clear that warehouse for Wisi."

Inara raised her eyebrow. "Just me?"

"I have full faith in you. Go."

She left with a lingering look at Alyssa, the pureblood's scowl replaced with a small smile. When Inara disappeared the scowl returned. Morgan chuckled. "She'll be fine. Come, we have business of our own."

The interceptor took them to the duros sector with little trouble, its streets filled with the species the sector was named after. Poor would not begin to describe it, crawling with refugees and the desperate.

"This many refugees will be crawling with gangs." Alyssa said, a touch too nonchalant. "Not that I'm against killing the poor, necessarily, but it would delay us."

Quinn nodded, surprising Morgan somewhat. "Gangs will be prevalent, and my research has shown that this sector contains many specifically fleeing Imperial space. We will not find a warm welcome here."

The soldiers around them exchanged looks, tightening their loose circle. Morgan tapped his lightsaber. "Scare tactics only. That said, I value your lives over those I do not know. Use your best judgement."

Quinn signalled for the pilot to take off, to retreat to a safe distance until needed again, and started to move forwards. It didn't take long before they encountered resistance, finding a man standing on a makeshift platform some ways away. A growing crowd surrounded him, agitation in the air. "This is our home! The Empire took everything from me, from us, and now they come to take more? To take what little we have left?"

The shouting increased in fever, more and more people drawing close. Morgan spied a rather alarming number of weapons among them, but before he could do anything the man had seen them. "There they come! The defilers and thieves, come to take our homes, our children, to turn them into monsters. To bring dea-"

The man staggered back, Alyssa's boot kicking him to the ground. The crowd drew back as one, quiet falling like a wave. Her lightsaber ignited. "Disperse, now."

Her voice echoed off the walls, loud enough the closest people staggered back. The smarter of the crowd vanished down alleyways, fear replacing anger in many faces.

When the mob saw the soldiers marching their way they scattered entirely, Morgan heaving a private sigh of relief. "Well done. Mob mentality is a dangerous thing, even to sith."

Alyssa bowed. "I live to serve. Or to scatter the homeless, either way."

"That would have turned ugly fast." Quinn agreed. "You have my thanks. Killing a civilian population has negative implications on morale."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "And we wouldn't want that. Let's get to the headquarters before another mob forms."

Some gangs with more brawn than brains took longer to get out of their way than others, but they made it without fighting. That would have likely have drawn the hutts enforcers down on them like flies, and he preferred to keep an amicable relationship with them.

At least for now.

Coming to the hutt headquarters was a sight to behold, the population thinning until they were the only ones around. Large duresteel gates blocked the street, two dozen well armed enforcers standing outside. His lightest scan told him more remained behind the gate, and a small, hate-filled bundle of Force told him exactly where the sith was.

"The Lord either isn't here or I can't feel him. I can feel another sith, though, likely his apprentice."

One of the enforcers stepped forward, bowing lightly. "The esteemed Qiltakka and Ybann are in conference, honoured guests. You have been permitted entrance, but your retinue is requested to remain outside."

Morgan nodded to Quinn, lieutenant Helen already directing the men some distance away. The captain went with them, leaving him with just one. He walked past the gate, Alyssa close behind. The enforcer cleared his throat, Morgan waving his hand dismissively in reply. "She isn't part of my retinue."

He walked past, the enforcer letting them. Morgan smiled at the utter lack of anger or indignation, the man clearly not caring one way or the other.

They found the hutts in a grand room, richly decorated and with two large thrones dominating much of the space. Droids lined the walls, Morgan blinking at them.

Most looked normal enough, but he spotted six of the sith killers. They didn't look the same, much more modestly sized than those he fought on Balmorra, but after his lightsaber failed to do much of anything he'd recognize beskar anywhere.

Unlike the hulking things, these blended in. The sith already here clearly didn't know what they were, and he discarded the idea of starting a fight with the hutts.

A male zabrak was pacing before the hutts, anger etched into his frame. "You would be wise to bend to the great Lord Rathari's will. Sign over the specified territories before he loses his patience."

The left hutt, either Wiltakka or Ybann, he had no idea, scooped up a large frog and swallowed it whole. Their emotions were muted, somehow, but he didn't feel any fear in them. The hutt on the right laughed, waving his arm in Morgan's direction. "Another sith guest. Welcome, welcome. This welp was just threatening the hutt cartels while standing on Nar Shaddaa, it is quite amusing."

The droid next to the hutts translated, managing to express humour better than any droids he'd come across. Morgan bowed his head lightly. "Apologies for the interruption. I am here to provide an alternative to Lord Rathari's demands."

The sith, who Morgan assumed was apprentice Girik, rounded on him. "Baras's lackey shows his face at last. And he brought a friend, showing his weakness for everyone to see. That's right, my master and I anticipated your arrival."

"A rude, arrogant sith. How boring." Morgan shook his head. "I've been here for not even most of the day, Girik. Nor did I know you existed until a few hours ago. Let's not pretend we have some rivalry going on, that would just be sad."

The left hutt spoke, the droids translating in near real time. "Tell us your purpose, dark one."

"Rathari's death is my purpose. If that happens to align with your own interest I would be more than willing to aid the Empire's allies in their time of need."

"We have seen Rathari's strength, yet know nothing of yours." The right hutt shrugged. "Kill this welp and we will consider delaying our deal with Rathari until your mission is complete, or your death simplifies the matter."

Girik's lightsaber came screaming for his head before he could agree, Morgan sidestepping with a sigh. "Like I said, no manners."

The sith narrowed his eyes, lightning leaping from his fingers. Morgan held up his lightsaber to absorb it, unravelling a pull at the same time.

"Power but no skill. Such a waste." He stepped forwards, forcing the zabrak to defend left while his leg kicked right. It connected at the hip, Girik catapulting through the room and impacting the wall.

The four droids stationed there stepped out of the way, a scream resounding through the room. Morgan unravelled it again, managing to bleed half its power before it reached him. His shields did the rest, clawing past the sith's shield in return to freeze his foot in place.

Girik stumbled, turning his fall into a roll but losing sight of Morgan in the process. His lightsaber blocked the strike that would have taken his leg, Morgan's fist impacting his throat.

The zabrak choked as he tried to stand, the flesh turning blue before he managed it. Morgan shook his head. "You might have twice the raw power I do, yet look what that gets you. Sloppy form and slow reflexes, not to mention mediocre Force techniques."

He kicked again, feeling ribs break before Girik impacted the wall. This time he shot after him, the man managing to turn a sure kill into a crippling by leaning to the side.

His arm fell to the ground with a thud, the man drawing deeply on the Force and opening his mouth. Morgan's lightsaber sliced his skull in half before he could complete it, the Dark abandoning the zabrak in torrents. "And that's why I value speed over power."

The hutts clapped lightly, Morgan ignoring them for the moment and turning to Alyssa. "Burn his corpse."

He turned to the thrones as she pulled out an incendiary device, one each Enosis member carried. Soft Voice was of the opinion no Force user's body should remain behind, something Morgan agreed with wholeheartedly.

"Great sport. Great action. You were clearly the stronger."

The other hutt chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated through the room. "Defeating the welp is one thing, sith. Lord Rathari will be another matter entirely, but we will stall any agreements with the man as promised."

Morgan smiled as Girik burned, turning to leave. "Then our business is concluded."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It had been a long time since she'd walked the streets of Nar Shaddaa as she was doing now. Marching through with a small army didn't really count, nor did it grant the true experience of the ecumenopolis.

The last time she'd walked it's paths she'd been an artefact hunter and thief, not exactly the highest on the totem pole. A crew helped, as did experience, but neither could account for what she had now.

Armour that cost a small fortune, a sniper that could punch through durasteel with ease and that's not even mentioning the skills she picked up on Drumond Kaas. She'd hate the Empire for the rest of her life for what they did to her, but she had to admit they knew how to train their soldiers.

'Silly me, I almost forgot the strength to bend steel.'

She snorted, outright ignoring the teenager waving a blaster her way and ducked into an alleyway. Her map said that her meeting point was at the end, and then she could finally unload her merchandise. 'And get Quinn off my ass. It's almost as if he doesn't like that I'm smuggling with impunity.'

The door at the end of the alley flew open, two cyborgs escorting Dorka outside. The mandalorian grunted, moving past her with barely a look and muttering angrily. She raised an eyebrow, stepping to the door when the thugs were about to close it again. "I'm here for Bert. Got that shipment he's been waiting for."

They motioned her inside without a word, revealing a warehouse behind it. Most of its space was filled with containers, closed and marked with gang sigils. She briefly inspected them, finding she recognized less than a tenth. 'Not a surprise. The smaller gangs fracture, reform and fracture again like it's going out of style. It's been what, three years?'

Bert walked up to her, a mountain of a man more droid than cyborg. He grinned, holding out his hand. "Bert. Armie tells me you have my shipment, and something about a change of employer."

She shook it, squeezing back as the metal fingers tightened. His grin widened as he let go, inspecting the small imprints on his prosthetic. "Always liked a girl with some bite to her. Afraid to inform you I don't work for Armie, though, nor for you. I'm independent, you might say, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fine by me." She shrugged. "I'm here to sell, and Armie tells me you have something I might be interested in."

"The armour, yes. Come."

Bert walked past rows of containers as she followed, explaining as he went. "I serve as a neutral secure storage facilitator. Don't need to know what's in it, as long as it's not alive or might explode in my warehouse. Good money, if you have the contacts."

"I bet." Vette halted as they came to an unmarked section, Bert opening one of the things and walking inside. "Must say, you're pretty confident walking into a dark place with someone you don't know."

"I'm a confident guy. Does help that I'm stronger than anyone I come across." She walked inside, a single light illuminating the space. He sent her a considerate look. "Usually."

He pulled open a crate, a suit of armour lying inside. She briefly inspected it, sending over a list of modifications. "Armie sent me the specs already. You got the facilities to modify it?"

"I do. But only because you're a friend of Armie. I normally take payment upfront."

She flicked over her last ten thousand as if it was nothing, bending down to check the helmet. "That should cover it."

Bert nodded easily, tucking the chits away. "Where can my boys pick up the goods? If they're good I'll be paying you that twenty times over, and I don't suppose you'd thank me for it if I gave you a bag."

"Not here. You can inspect on site, and I'll take the money there."

The cyborg grunted. "No time like the present."

She agreed, and after a walk found herself standing in front of her very own, very recently acquired, warehouse. Commander Clara had been kind enough to loan her some bodies to move the goods here, although they had vacated hours ago. "And you call me confident. I could take this shipment and kill you, you know. Armie's a practical sort, no trouble at all to resume our old partnership."

"Eh." Vette stretched, idly looking over his six men. "I figured I'll just kill you if you try something and sell it myself. It'll take longer, that's all."

Bert chuckled, waving at his men to start inspecting. "There's rather more here than expected. More than I can move if I don't want to start a war."

"That's fine. Your original shipment is in there somewhere, but the death of the Balmorran rebellion opened some lucrative opportunities."

The men tore open crates and inspected the goods, Bert stalking around them. She waited, not really all that tense. Even if her people skills had failed spectacularly and they'd attack, she hadn't been lying when she'd said she'll kill them.

Their armour didn't even have shields, nor did their strength eclipse her own.

"All here boss." One of the cyborgs called. Bert nodded to the woman, turning back to her. "Then it seems our business is finished. I'll have someone deliver your armour when it's done, shouldn't take but a few hours. Your money."

She snorted when he handed over an actual bag, opening a compartment in his torso that must have taken up half his stomach. He nodded at her, then whistled sharply as he and his crew left. Vette looked down at the money, jiggling the bag. "Shame most of it is going back to Armie, could do some fun things with that much cash."

Her display told her it was still hours till evening, unfortunately, and she had weapons to sell. Most of her old contacts had dried up years ago, nevermind that she had little interest in tangling with her old life, so it was time to make some new ones.

If only she knew someone that was looking for weapons and had the connections to get her more buyers, while undermining that bitch Wisi at the same time.

Hiring a slicer to find Dorka's contacts was easy enough, if not cheap, and an hour of idling later found a meeting invitation popping into her display. It was close enough, still in the Correllian district, but she ran into a problem.

More accurately, the problem ran into her. Some hulking man with glowing eyes rounding on her after bumping into her, anger stitched over his features. Her strength stopped her from sprawling to the ground, but even if she had this one had the look of someone spoiling for a fight.

So she shot him. Her draw had always been fast, running with pirates will do that, and her hesitation to kill had been low long before consorting with sith. What she hadn't counted on was her blaster bolt doing very little at all, having to sidestep to avoid a meaty hand grabbing at her.

'Ah, subcutaneous armour plating. That's. That's very expensive, actually. Who is this?'

"Tail-heads." The man spat. "As if there aren't enough twi's on Nar Shaddaa, now they're thieving and knocking people over. Brutus will kill you for this, mark my words."

She stepped back again when he lunged, her leg snapping to hit his knee. She saw brief surprise flicker through his face when the leg buckled, her sniper in hand before he could regain balance. Her rifle hadn't been made for close combat, but then boltguns didn't exactly lose power at close range.

Quite the opposite, really. The round punctured through the man's torso with a low whine, his body pressed to the floor. She put the barrel to his head, lightly squeezing the trigger before he could do much of anything in response.

The fight, if it could even be called that, had lasted some four seconds if you counted the initial shoulder bump. The street was clear, only a single blind drug addict left behind, looking around with a confused expression on his face.

With a clear victor emerging and the violence over the people returned, reappearing from alleyways or hiding holes and going back to their business. She shrugged, checking his pockets to find a few hundred credits, and left herself.

'Here's hoping he wasn't anyone important.' She dropped the pouch, pulling out an identity card. 'Oh, look at that. He's actually named Brutus. Who even talks like that?'

She'd known she was more dangerous than ever. Goddess, she'd survived Korriban and fought in an actual war. This felt different, though. The person she'd just killed, in self defence or not, had terrified her when she was young, walking Nar Shaddaa as apex predators. Now people scurried out of her way, fearful looks and submissive gestures forcefully reminding her she'd joined their ranks without properly realising it.

Vette put it out of her mind when she arrived at the club, two bouncers nodding politely as she entered. In stark contrast to the one she'd been to this morning the hostess had an easy smile and fancy clothing, her suit clearly tailored to her frame and what she guessed was a blaster hidden on her hip.

Her contact was known here, fortunately, so the hostess beckoned her to follow when she mentioned his name.

Dorka was drinking when she found him, alone and watching a zabrak dancer move on stage. She sat down herself, ordering a drink and admiring the woman for a few seconds. "Not the place I usually do business."

The mandalorian snorted. "Where would that be? From what my slicer tells me you've been a pirate and thief, skilled but inexperienced. Then your records stop abruptly some two years back, vanishing without a trace. When everyone you knew assumed you were dead, you show up linked to a sith, killing kingpins like so much trash and looking to sell mountains of equipment."

"That was only twenty minutes ago." She complained goodnaturedly, accepting her drink from another sharply dressed server. "Suppose that's what I get for not having someone scrub the net after me."

Dorka waved his hand, his eyes flickering back to the stage briefly. "To be blunt, I shouldn't be here talking to you. You're dangerous, unpredictable and while Wisi and your boss might be allies, if you're blind and highly optimistic, we both know it's war sooner rather than later."

"Not here on orders from my boss." She countered lazily. "He cares little what I do in my free time, and after I saw Bert kick you out I figured we might as well talk. No need to get either of our bosses involved, now or later."

The mandalorian sighed, putting his back to the room to face her properly. "You'd be selling weapons to someone who, by contract, will be forced to fight you. Quite literally supplying the enemy."

"Oh my sweet mandalorian." Vette leaned back, tapping her glass. "Wisi truly has no idea who she's gotten involved with, has she? When my boss tires of her games, or more accurately decides her death will be more convenient after all, no amount of weapons or armour is going to save her. Not unless she has some jedi tucked away, which I doubt."

She drained her glass, the server appearing with another almost the second she did. "Or maybe she figures those little sith killer droids will save her."

Dorka didn't stiffen or otherwise betray his surprise, but Vette had been doing this long enough to know it when she saw it. "Thought so. Those don't work as well as advertised, I'm afraid."

"Now how would you even know those exist? And, perhaps more importantly, why would you tell me?" His casual relaxation didn't change, so much, but he straightened. "Who is he?"

She giggled, enjoying the disturbed look he didn't quite manage to suppress. "That would be telling. I like you, though, so here I am. Now, you wanna buy some weapons for the very fair and not at all hopeless war you insist is inevitable? Promise they'll be in working order, straight from the Balmorra factories."

Dorka haggled well, his eyes dragging back to the stage after they shook hands. "You can come by tomorrow morning to pick them up, I'll send you the address."

The man nodded, accepting another drink. "I'd say it be nice working with you, Vette, but I don't think you'll be good for my health."

"Liar." She snorted. "Mandolorians don't value their wellbeing."

She left him behind, the hostess bowing politely at the door. "We have many other accommodations for someone of your means, should you wish to avail yourself now or later. It was a pleasure serving you, ma'am."

She stalled, throwing a look back to the dancer and feeling heat rise in her stomach. "Tempting, but I think not tonight."

The hostess bowed again, holding the door open. She saw the zabrak dancer bend, twirling on the pole. 'I might need to seduce Morgan again, though. For all that he's coming along nicely he has the bad habit of not initiating.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan found himself walking the spaceport of Nar Shaddaa, stretching his legs. Vette had gone off to do 'crime stuff', her words, so he was taking his walk alone. Not that, after last night, he was feeling particularly lonely.

Morgan blinked, ducking into a small cantina built into the walls when he felt a familiar signature standing behind the counter. John waved, cleaning some cups and nodding to one of the few seats. "You got a job. Or a second one, stalking me seemingly your main purpose in life."

John shrugged, his hands keeping busy as he looked around the empty space and ignoring his sarcasm. "Temporarily. How was your flight?"

"Better than yours, I imagine." Morgan sat, accepting a sweet tasting drink. "I don't suppose I have to catch you up on anything?"

"You mean about working for Wisi, killing a Lord's apprentice and securing neutrality from the hutts? Consider me caught up."

Morgan nodded. "Good. I could use some advice, actually."

"Kegel exercises." John supplied. "Works wonders."

"Not even remotely what I was going to ask, and I'm doing fine in that area, thank you very much. It's about Wisi. In your professional opinion, should I kill her or not?"

John kept silent, serving some sliced fruit that tasted bitter. He only answered after some time, motioning to the exit. "This is Nar Shaddaa. To say the hutts are in control here would be an understatement, and Wisi very much belongs to the cartels. Killing her would, by precedent and law, start a war."

He put the glasses away, leaning on the counter. "That said, she's losing her grip. The hutts are firm believers that the strong rule, and that belief is ingrained so deeply in their culture it applies even to other hutts. Do you know how they first rose to claim what is now known as hutt space?"

"They came to power fairly soon after the Infinite Empire collapsed, expanding their territory on the back of slave-armies. They ruled much of the galaxy as the dominant government of the time, but I've no idea how long they existed until they formed their empire."

John nodded, looking faintly surprised. "Indeed. It should be noted that hutt space existed even before the rakata collapse, and they came to galactic power only after. Nevertheless, their species is highly intelligent, although notable outliers do exist, and can live for over a millennium. Killing a hutt ensures grudges that can last just as long, assuming they don't use their extreme wealth to kill you first."

"I'm not hearing a recommendation."

"Then you aren't listening." John tapped the counter. "Hutts that lose their power are no hutts at all, and will not be avenged."

Morgan tilted his head. "Rob her, then kill her?"

"I assumed that was already the plan, especially with how Vette's been going after her people." The man shrugged. "But yes. Take everything, and the cartels won't lift a finger to help when you shove a lightsaber through her neck."