Ridefort never would have admitted it to the man next to him, but hyperspace always gave him the creeps. He had gone through it a thousand times, and yet every single time he felt that pull of his flesh, the press of the seat, the gap in his stomach, no matter the inertial compensation, he had to fight off the chills. Once he had even needed to excuse himself and feign food poisoning to escape looking like a fool in front of the crew.

He assumed he would never get used to it - and why should he? It wasn't natural for humans to be flying through space at near light speeds. He never understood how Olan got the hang of it, or how any old star fighter or freighter pilots did for that matter. Perhaps, though, hiding it was half the trick.

That had to be it, he reasoned. The others were just good at hiding it.

Ridefort unstrapped himself and rose from his chair, cracking at his joints now that the ship had come to a complete stop. Nym had insisted that if they wanted to do their business on the planet, it had to be swift, and they had to maintain as much radio silence as possible during the flight to the surface. The old pirate had never shaken his insatiable paranoia, and Olan reasoned that was part of the reason he was still in business. Perhaps not at the top, but he was certainly the person to go to if one was in the back waters and needed parts, protection, or arms.

Olan had a few other propositions up his sleeve that he hoped to entice the aging Feeorin. Ridefort had not been overly eager to expose himself to the pirate, or help him in any way. Not that he was xenaphobic, he primarily disliked Feeorins, much less ones who had a host of guards and droidekas littering his self-claimed planet.

In fact for all intents and purposes he had planned to stay right where he was on Abregado, running shipments to and from nearby starports for a few extra credits here and there, perhaps selling his gun for hire from time to time. However Olan had, in Ridefort's mind, cheated him into coming.

"The kimogilas, some say, are the size of a Krayt Dragon," Olan had said, which immediately grabbed Ridefort's attention. "I've heard of one skeleton that was forty meters in length...the planet is almost entirely uninhabited...and their hides go for a considerable sum."

He had gone on about how rare it was to find kimogila hunters, and how some systems had even put a ban on them following environmentalist propaganda that kimogilas were on the verge of extinction.

"They aren't on the verge of extinction," Olan said, "just no one knows where they are."

The next day Ridefort had sold his speeder and his ship, and was en route to Lok to help set up the new business, under the promise that he could hunt kimogila. The man had to grin as he considered how easily he was tempted. Was excessive hunting a vice, he wondered?

As he looked out through the transparisteel viewport of the Wilma's Scorn at the expanse of dry, arid wasteland, he began to consider just how lucky he was that he sold his ship in favor of hunting supplies. Not that the ship was anything to be proud of...it was an old beat up Corellian model, the original intent of the ship buried under decades of modifications that turned it into some kind of bizzare hydra of a transport.

It certainly didn't fly very well - he had clocked it at 60 MGLT, or 90 if he really had to hussle, and it didn't care much. In fact, the Kindred Spirit probably did him more good sold to that Trandoshan than it did in its top condition for himself.

"Ready?" Olan asked as he finished his post-flight checks, stuffing the clip board back under his seat.

Ridefort sighed as he nodded - he was ready to hunt, not to play pseudo-politics.

***

Nym was as arrogant, egotistical, and self-righteous as all the holodramas had portrayed him. He sat on a kind of throne that was made out of what looked like some kind of ivory - Ridefort had to wonder if it had come from these fabled "kimogilas" he'd heard so much about.

So far he hadn't seen a single one between the starport and Nym's palace, and it was beginning to anger him. His finger trigger was sore with neglect - he needed to shoot something he reasoned.

The "throne room" of the palace was a collage of races and species. A cultural anthropologist would have had a field day analyzing each of the difference peoples in the room, and it seemed that Nym prided himself in such diversity.

He was legendary in his anti-Imperial antics, but had always been wise enough to lay low, so that scrying Imperial eyes would never really have anything to charge him with. Naturally, the odd officer would attempt to get his name noticed by taking the initiative against Nym - and that certainly explained his swiftly amassing starfleet.

At least that was what Olan called it, the ship types were as diverse as the people inhabitting the pirate's throne room.

Olan's people were still bringing in the gifts, enormous crates, each of which could have bought a three story estate. Nothing grand, but certainly not overly modest. Ridefort had had a chance to see the contents, spices of all sorts that had him scratching his head. How had Olan gotten his hands on all that?

Knowing the older man, he had probably slit quite a few throats for it, and was using it as a show of his own power and influence. In fact, Ridefort was certain that Olan had no intentions of actually giving all the spice to Nym, just to show him how much was at his disposal.

The green Feeorin certainly seemed impressed. When Ridefort had first seen him he assumed the pirate looked the part of a theater of indifference. Nym showed no intentions of letting his true emotions be expressed outwardly - or so he had thought. As Olan knocked more and more tops off of the spice containers, the pirate's visage had cracked, and now he was like an eager child watching the birthday gifts stacked before him.

His two advisers had mixed expressions. The taller, Quarren seemed slightly perturbed, eyeing the spice with a level of dismay that belied his boss's excitement. The shorter, bat-like figure however seemed even more excited than when Ridefort had first seen him - that seemed impossible to the man too. He didn't know the thing's real name, but Olan had called him "Fuse", he was allegedly Nym's demolitions expert, but he was apparently more of a pyromaniac.

Which was just what Ridefort wanted to deal with.

Nym adjusted himself in his throne, then looked upward at the two guests, letting the servants carry in the rest of the gifts while he spoke.

"You bring quite the generous offer," Nym said, his voice drawn out in a malevolent, and yet surprisingly melodic tone. "But that, I daresay, has me concerned."

Olan expected this, and simply nodded to the Feeorin.

"I hope you are not expecting a percentage of current income..." Nym prodded hesitantly.

"I want exactly what your first impression was from my package," Olan responded. "I want to set up a trading ring based off of Lok, I'll pay a 30% tax to you, and then when you become comfortable with the situation, I want an assimilation of the two groups."

Nym narrowed his eyes as he considered this. "You basically want to supercede basic recruitment policies."

Olan grinned. "Yeah."

The Quarren's brow scruffled irritably, Ridefort noticed, but almost immediately he took on an obviously feigned, passive gaze. Nym laughed at the boldness.

"I like you Olan," he said, "you've done well in the past...I tell you what...meet with me tomorrow, we'll talk it over a cup of juri juice, you must be exhausted from the trip."

Olan shrugged - in truth he wanted to get on with it today, and Ridefort certainly wanted to do whatever got him out looking for kimogilas fastest, but he was stuck with whatever Olan planned.

It would be rude to deny the host of course.

"Why not," Olan said at length, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'll be in my ship, you can-,"

"No, no," Nym cut him off with the wave of a hand, "I insist, use my guest chambers."

Ridefort wasn't as sure about that, but Olan sure seemed to be, as he accepted the offer with that tell-tale grin.

The room was more plush than Ridefort would have expected from someone of Nym's reputation, but what it had in decor it lost in basic comfort. Whether by intent or just a simple oversight, the room did not have any access to the palace's main air conditioning, and thus the dry, permeatingly hot air managed to creep into the room and left Ridefort in a sudden sweat that had him shedding clothing.

Olan had been given his own room, another gesture that had bothered Ridefort. He was brought, officially, as Olan's body guard, and that was exactly how Nym saw him. So why then had the pirate king been so insistent on seperating the two? Perhaps, like the air conditioning, it was just an oversight.

Or, perhaps like the air conditioning, it was intentional. The confusion bothered Ridefort almost as much as the unbearable heat. He stalked over to his window, which he had hoped would help cool the room down if left open, and looked out over the wastelands. It was a perfect planet for Nym and his personality - it was big, it was arid, and it was full of junk waiting to be scavenged left over by the Trade Federation.

At that moment, Ridefort could already imagine the enormous frame of a kimogila dragging itself across the sands and rocks of Lok. He had been fortunate enough to find a painting of one not far from his room, and he had meant to ask Nym if he could have it temporarily located inside of the room itself. He was cautious not to take the painting too seriously - it was, afterall, nothing more than an artist's rendition, but he was curious to see how the local populace imagined the beast.

One man in the palace had claimed that the kimogila was at least forty meters long, adding credibility to Olan's claim, but another had also claimed that the one he had seen was eighty.

Either way, it had excited Ridefort to the point that these duties were beginning to infuriate him.

Olan had asked for an hour or two to speak with Nym in private, which struck him as foolish. If he was meant to be his body guard, in fiction or in truth, he needed to be there at all times, not just when it was convenient to the pirate. Aside from the sheer security issue, it damaged their attempts at building the business up - if Nym saw them as weak or easily pushed around, that could be remarkably detrimental.

Ridefort himself was hoping to immerse entirely into the organization and burrow himself in like a tick, so that Nym would find it dangerously difficult to try to uproot him and Olan later. There was a lot of money to be had with the amount of criminal capital that Nym possessed - it was all just waiting for the Feeorin to find the initiative he had lost some time during the Galactic Civil War.

A knock at his door disrupted his line of thought, and he looked down to insure that his blaster was armed and at the ready. Picking it up off the shelf, he was pleased to note that the charger pack was still in, and the safety was off. He turned on his heels and holstered the weapon before moving over and opening the door.

On the other side was a being that Ridefort recognized from the throne room, dressed in the uniform of Nym's pirate kingdom - a mock up of an Imperial uniform with a long red sash, and a defaced Imperial seal. The Anzati took a moment to peer at him up and down take in the man's features before introducing himself.

"I am Absashi," he explained, pressing his hand against his chest emphatically. "His greatness mentioned that you were an accomplished hunter, I was hoping to discuss your stories with you."

Ridefort cocked an eyebrow before looking back and forth down the palace hallway, as though suspecting an ambush.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily, finally realizing that he had only woken up because of the heat, he didn't actually know the region's time. His body felt like it was seven at night, but then, he was still on Abregado time.

"It's an hour to noon," Absashi explained, confused by Ridefort's disorientation.

Making a show of clicking off the safety on his pistol, Ridefort opened the door and shrugged the Anzati inside, shutting the door behind him. The alien took a moment to look around the room before removing his cap, and bowing gracefully to Ridefort as he turned.

"May I sit?"

"Sure."

Ridefort took his own seat across the small table from Absashi, who was now sitting cross legged, hands resting in his lap.

"Hunting is a common pass time on Lok," he began, "many of the body guards and soldiers like to hunt the native creatures - or others actually like to hunt the renegade droids of the Trade Federation."

Ridefort cocked an eyebrow. "Renegade droids? They haven't died out yet? It's been what, a half a century since they set up on this planet?"

"The Trade Federation planned well in advance for its more versatile units," Absashi explained, "the battle droids' power cores are all but depleted, but droidekas and the like are still very active, as are some of their automated defense platforms...their cores are primitive, but they are stlil charged." He chuckled slightly as he seemed to remember something. "Those defense platforms are dangerous, I advise against wandering into abandoned buildings and huts."

Ridefort mentally noted that.

"Quksish tells me you were interested speifically in...the kimogilas?"

"That's right."

Absashi peeled his lips back in a deformed, Anzati grin. "I wish you luck on that, but even if you find one, well, I will be sending a crew out looking for your remains."

That sent another pang of excitement through Ridefort. "They're that rough eh?"

"I am not doing them justice my friend."

"Compare them to a Krayt Dragon."

Absashi rubbed his chin as he thought. "Hmm...how do you compare a creature you have seen with your own eyes with a creature that exists only in myth?"

"Only in myth?" Ridefort spat. "You've never seen the pearls?"

"I've seen pearls," Absashi agreed, "but pearls that are only masqueraded as coming from the belly of a dragon."

"If you insist..."

"If you are certain about hunting a kimogila..." Absashi said suddenly, his voice low as though he needed to remain unheard by the rest of the palace, "I can perhaps lead you to the location of a pair."

Now Ridefort was intrigued.



Olan liked what he saw. Nym had showed good faith by not bringing his own body guards, and had insisted that it wa sa discussion between two men, rather than two potential business associates. Nevertheless, Olan had made sure to remain on his toes and keep his professional eye on things. But he had a hard time seeing anything but the purity of an entire room filled with top quality, if not slightly aged, Imperial and Republic weapons and armor.

The armory had been arrayed meticulously, and at first Olan had been convinced that it was a historical display, perhaps a private museum owned by Nym. The Feeorin had explained that he had been stockpiling it for years, and always kept it on hand in case of an emergency - one that had yet to show itself fortunately.

"If ever I need to," Nym explained, "I could turn this palace into quite the formidable fortress. I couldn't hold off a full blown Imperial invasion force, but I could give them hell for months and months afterward."

"This is your only armory?" Olan inquired, cocking an eyebrow as he examined a mint condition E-11 Carbine.

"No not at all," Nym responded, "this is just the palace armory...naturally it's also the best. I keep the others actually down in the tunnels."

"Beneath the palace?"

"Beneath the Maze."

Olan put the weapon down and turned, cocking an eyebrow on the grinning Nym, who simply patted the man on the shoulder. He was showing off Olan knew, and he certainly had reason to.

It was an impressive display, that the gifts of spice were probably going to add onto.

"Now as much as I hate to cut into all this bragadociousness," Nym said, stifling a chuckle, "we have to start talking a bit of business."

Not that it bothered Olan any - the informality of the tour of the palace had bothered him. He was uncomfortable around such a historic figure, much less when he was meant to act casually. How does one act casually around one who had dug as many hidden graves as he had men on his pay roll?

Nym led him back towards the throne room, though they turned and entered into a more secure chamber, thick durasteel blast doors slamming shut behind them as they passed through. The room was small and empty, it had only a long table surrounded by simple chairs, a 3PO droid that seemed to be de-activated, and a holo grid.

Long, heavy lights hung on the ceiling that Olan imagined could be blinding when turned completely on - only two of the four were actually activated - and he had to wonder how often the conference room had been used as an interrogation room.

Nym sat at the far end of the table, waving his hand at Olan, gesturing for him to sit. Nodding, he sat across from the pirate, and made himself as comfortable as formality would allow. He noticed peculiarly that there were still no body guards involved.

"Your display of spice," Nym started, his tone suddenly deathly serious, "did a bit to unsettle my palace." Olan wanted to respond, but Nym continued before he could say anything. "Qukshish, the Quarren you saw at my side, specifically thinks you're trying to usurp his position. Now tell me honestly, is that your intent?"

Olan bit his lower lip. "No, not at all," he said, and he was in fact being honest. His goals far exceeded something as trivial as an aide to Nym.

Nym didn't seem so sure. "It's shattered the fragile state of mind that most of my closest aides have...but amongst the lower rungs, your arrival and offers have triggered a kind of furor that's contagious. People like the idea of tossing off this complacency we've found ourselves in lately."

"Complacency? Your men were getting bored?"

No wonder Nym had been so willing to contact Olan...

Ridefort mulled over the previous day's encounters in his head as he waited in the hangar bay for Olan to return, thinking back specifically on some of the stories Absashi had told him. He had actually been contemplating asking Olan if they would just make an out-sourced smuggling project and letting them go, the old pirate (or quasi-pirate as Ridefort used to call him) never had the guts for hardball criminal politics, and he wasn't confident that Olan would be able to stand to stand up to any scrutiny that Nym decided to hit him with.

But Absashi's stories about the kimogila had him absolutely fascinated, and he was determined that he wasn't leaving Lok until he had one's head...or if that was too difficult to carry, a tooth or a scale. Ridefort had been impressed by the Anzati's story of the lizard's ferocity, how it had taken an arm and an eye from his last comrade he had gone hunting with.

Not that Ridefort cared about stories about how some beast was so terrible it severed limbs. He had heard of, and seen, womp rats take out eyes and hands, but Absashi had gone into detail about the beast's frightening level of intelligence.

On the third day of tracking the beast, it had apparently caught onto the fact that something was following it, and had gone through great pains in an attempt to elude its trackers. Naturally, the kimogila wasn't worried at all about its own hide, rather, it was concerned that whatever was following it was one of the native scavengers, and intended to follow it back to its nest, wait for the kimogila to leave, and then devour its compiled food.

It was a common problem that kimogilas faced, Absashi had told him.

Deciding to use that to their advantage, Absashi and his companion had set up an ambush for the beast at its nest, but when it had returned it immediately pounced on the trap and routed both of them. After a long and hard fight, the two returned to Nym's stronghold empty handed - as well as empty eye socketed and stumped on the right arm for his companion - but Absashi swore the beast had to have succumbed to its wounds in the desert.

In an act of spite, the comrade had lodged a thermal detonator in the beast's nest, and with the wounds they left on it, there was no hope for it to collect more food later. Absashi had explained that it was his one greatest regret that he had never returned and confirmed the kill.

"And yet, I am glad I didn't," he explained, "for if I had, and confirmed that we had murdered, not slain, the beast then I would never be able to overcome the fact that even after I had lost, I spitefully stole the victory from that creature. So, although it is a frustrating ignorance, it is a blissful one."

Ridefort had already sworn to himself that only one of the two would return to their nest if he encountered a kimogila.

Absashi had recommended a number of droids and fellow hunters to join him in the hunt, but Ridefort was none too keen to share in his personal glory, nor was he willing to cheapen it with droids. He intended to do it the old fashioned way...give or take a few thermal detonators.

When Olan finally entered the hangar bay, Ridefort was at first taken aback by his appearance. A deep crease across his forehead indicated the level of stress the man felt, and the deep bags under his eyes told of the lack of sleep he'd had. Ridefort always knew the man tended to cave under pressure, but he had to wonder what exactly Nym had been doing to him the past two days.

"What's up?" Ridefort asked as Olan stalked towards his ship. The man did not even stop to look at him before he began keying in the numbers on the security panel for his ship.

"Nym has a task for us he'd like us to do," Olan finally said at length. "It's nothing major, just one of those 'I want to get to know you' types of things."

Ridefort was not so sure.

"Really? What kind of task is that?"

Olan swore as he failed to type in the security code the first time. "He wants us to go with a crew of his on a scavenging mission."

"Scavenging? Like old droids and the like?"

"Yeah, and weapons."

Ridefort nodded. "And what's the catch?"

Olan seemed to be having trouble with the key code, which set Ridefort back a bit. The old quasi-pirate had always been overly protective of his old ship, as much as any space junkie out there, so either he had been so deprived of sleep and comfort that he was forgetting something as basic as his security code, or Nym had sent in some goons to mess with his ship.

Neither prospect seemed to be very warming.

Finally Olan let out a confident sigh as the key pad beeped a confirmation back at him, and the boarding ramp lowered with a loud hiss followed by a thundering crash. He slapped his hands together as he turned to look at Ridefort.

"There's no catch per se," he explained hesitantly, gathering his words. Ridefort never liked per se's, they were like a Jedi with their "certain points of view" lies. Olan could easily read the unconfident expression on the man's face. "They're just kind of shy of Nym's territory."

"Shy of Nym's territory?" Ridefort balked. "How is something 'just shy of Nym's territory'? This damn planet is Nym's territory."

"Per se..." Olan muttered miserably. "Look sometimes marauders and swoopers and pirates like to come down and set up shop under Nym's nose. It's a big, inhospitable planet, and he's been here a long time, but the fact is he spends his money on things other than a planet-wide surveillance. There's no natural resources of note here except a few ore deposits here and there, so he doesn't need to really 'watch' everything, you know?

"As long as they stay away from his stronghold, the other guys are pretty much safe...or as long as they don't shoot at his scavengers."

"You mean as long as they don't shoot at us," Ridefort accused. Olan looked at the ground sheepishly.

"Look you know how these criminal types are...you bring 'em some spice, they'll love you for a day and offer you their first born, but they won't let you into the organization until you fulfill some menial task."

"I wouldn't call getting shot at by pirates a menial task Olan..."

Olan shrugged. "It's nothing you haven't done before."

Ridefort didn't like it. Sure he'd been in a scrap or two, he'd even killed a man once, but there was something about the way Olan was looking that he didn't like.

Olan turned suddenly towards the ramp, and gestured for Ridefort to follow him, so he shrugged and did so. Olan had always bragged that his ship was unbuggable, probably due in no small part to the idiocy with which he had attached some of the wires.

Ridefort wouldn't have been surprised if Isard herself would have been unable to find the right outlet to stick a tap on the ship. Of course, he had never admitted that to Olan.

He followed the older man to the cockpit, and he threw himself down into the torn and holed leather chair comfortably, as though it were the only place in the galaxy he could be comfortable right now. The chair was at least three times as old as the ship was, Olan had called it his lucky chair, and brought it with him from ship to ship.

He swore all of the holes were due to old age and moths, but Ridefort had spied him picking at it with a knife out of boredom, or even pulling at the torn edges. He had recommended a few times that he just go out and get it repaired, but Olan had scoffed and claimed that cleaning it would "kill the magic".

As if the tricky wiring weren't enough to deter him, Ridefort swore he never intended to pilot the ship if he had to sit in that damn unwashed chair.

Instead he took his seat in the co-pilot's chair, watching Olan as the man compiled his thoughts.

"What do you say we uh..." he started, drumming his fingers across his own jaw, an annoying habit he'd picked up on Carida, "well...what do you say we just carry out this task and maybe leave the planet?"

Although Ridefort had been thinking the very same thing, his eyes belied that inner desire as he shot a scrutinizing glare at Olan, who bowed away sheepishly. "Leave?" he asked angrily. "You just dropped enough spice to put a Mon Cal family through school for generations and you've been having private talks with Nym for the past two days, what in the name of hell would we leave for?"

Of course he had neglected to mention that he hadn't had his kimogila yet.

Olan bit his lower lip, clearly trying to find a way to put his fear to words, without seeming as though he were a coward.

"I don't think we're overly welcome here and I think...I think it would be best that we didn't stick around the stronghold...maybe we can outsource the project to Abregado or something..."

"Yeah?" Ridefort asked doubtfully. "What about all that spice?"

"What about it? It's my gift to Nym, maybe he'll let me set up off world or something."

"That's not what I mean Olan, what about the guy you got it from?"

Olan paled. "What do you mean?"

"Takrit is going to want it back," Ridefort reminded him, although Olan continued to play the part of an ignorant.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he denied unconvincingly.

Of course he would have known what Ridefort was talking about, Takrit had been the captain of a Corellian Corvette in the small flotilla of pirates Olan had served with. The two were never good friends, partially because Takrit was so successful, or rather, because his success was due in no small part to his brutality and ruthlessness.

Olan had become a pirate with the swasbuckling image in mind. He had even bought a vibro-cutlass custom made for the occasion. He wanted to jump onto rich merchant vessels, plunder from the rich, blow a kiss to the lady, watch her swoon, and make his daring escape.

Takrit, however, loved the thrill of the slaughter almost as much - or possibly even more - than the booty. Olan told stories of the man's ferocity, how even after plundering the vessels, he would order his ship to open fire. Takrit had sworn that one day he intended to take an entire world.

Ambitious he was.

One of the pirate's fatal flaws was that while he loved spice, he hated using it in excess. Naturally of course, some considered this to be a virtue, but what he did not use, he stockpiled, and his raids compiled a lot of spice. He considered it his own goods, goods that his crew weren't allowed access to, which had led to a mutiny once or twice.

Although Olan claimed to have won the cache he had given Nym in a card game, Ridefort was well aware that he had led quite the raid on Takrit's stockpile of spice.

It was quite the insurance policy that Olan had to stay on Lok too. There was no way he could hope to return to private life, much less leave the planet without the protection only Nym could offer. The kind of protection not afforded to outsourced industries.

"Don't lie to me Olan," Ridefort went on, "lying to me pisses me off. I'm trying to help you, the least you could do is be honest with me. I know you got the spice from Takrit, you can't leave the planet, you're marked."

"And Takrit can't come here..." Olan continued for Ridefort as he thought about the implications himself, "...but on the other hand, I can't stay here either."

Ridefort cocked an eyebrow.

"Bringing in that spice may have been a bad idea..."

"How? Nym was ready to bear your children..."

Olan had to stifle a laugh, despite the obvious concern. "It's not that easy...his aides aren't as pleased."

"That little bat looking thing people call Fuse?"

Olan shook his head. "Fuse is just a bomb lover, but a useful one. No it's that Quarren we need to lookout for. He's stayed in his position as long as he has because he's violent, he's protective, and to be 100% honest, he's a hindrance to Nym's cause. He does everything he can to keep Nym small time, because he doesn't care about the organization, he cares about the profit he's getting, and as the organization expands, he loses micro control. He fears I can either usurp him, or make the organization too big for him to control."

"And you know this...how?"

Olan sighed. "Nym told me."

"Nym told you?" Ridefort scoffed. "And how do you know Nym isn't just trying to turn you against him?"

Olan shrugged.

"Or, why hasn't he simply removed the fishy bastard outright?"

"There's a lot of people loyal to Quksish," Olan continued, "people who like the profit they're getting, and he's pretty ruthless. Nym knows he's got a fierce reputation, and he can beat just about anyone one on one...but...he really can't handle a coup right now."

As opposed to any other time? Ridefort thought distastefully. He gritted his teeth as he mulled over this new revelation in his head. He didn't like the idea of coming to Lok and triggering a criminal civil war...especially when there were kimogilas that needed killing.

"What makes now so special that he can't handle a coup?"

Olan drummed at his jaw once more.

"Well..." he started hesitantly, "you know those pirates whose territory we're going after I was telling you about?"

Ridefort nodded.

"They're a bit stronger than the normal marauders. They've got a sizeable force based out of the asteroid field in this system, and are of the belief that the time of Nym is over."

"Doesn't surprise me, that guy's been able to stick it out since before the Clone Wars..."

Olan nodded. "Precisely, and some think he's too conservative. In fact, a lot of his own men do...there's going to be a fight between those two pirates and..."

"And he wants to use us as the catalyst for that fight."

"That's about the jists of it," Olan said at length.



Quksish reached down and snatched another of the writhing, worm like figures and placed it hastily in his mouth, swollowing the thing down with a definitive gulp. The salty, slimy little creatures reminded him of the food back home on Mon Calamari, though perhaps not quite as tasty. Importing those types of delicacies were ridiculously difficult in this region of space, and there was no way he intended to try out some of the "sea life" that inhabitted Lok.

Although Nym had sworn that as a child he was orphaned on the planet, the Quarren saw no way how he could have survived as he claimed. Every foraging crew he had sent out had lost at least two members from poisoning, all the others usually struck with some terrible illness.

The wragskat slugs he was devouring had actually come from Ando, a domesticated version of the kind he would eat on Mon Calamari. They lost some of their sweetness, but they were cheaper and easier to get throughout the galaxy, and Quksish had contacts on Ando who often times did free lance runs for Nym.

It had been a few months since they had been back, he noticed, and he was getting rather low on his wragksat supplies...

He slipped another one into his mouth and slurped at it rudely, clearly disturbing his guest. Absashi was always considered to be the most well mannered in the palace, the etiqouette he showed at the table was the stuff of legends, and the way he squirmed in his seat made Quksish grin.

The Anzati looked unusually uncomfortable today, causing Quksish to cock an eyebrow as he watched him enter. He had never had a strong stomach for dirty work, he, like that fool Olan's body guard, Ridefort, liked to do apply himself more towards the hunt.

He had once said that he enjoyed hunting the creatures of Lok much more than the pirates, because the creatures, being non-sentient, didn't have to know what they were losing. Quksish could never understand how Absashi had found himself in Nym's employ, much less working in his own movement against the Feeorin.

He was, however, brilliant at applying himself at logistics, mathematics, and oddly enough, mechanical skills. Often times Gukran, the Gamorrean brute of a mechanic in the docking bay - a genius of a mechanic in his own right - could only sit scratching his head as Absashi fixed some kink in the chain of any of Nym's barely flyable ships and speeders.

Although he didn't like the man's weak constitution and lack of taste for betrayal, Quksish knew that Absashi was a valuable grab for his operations. He was capable of accessing just about anything in the palace, and was allowed to tamper with Nym's private vessel.

What's more, he was well trusted and well-liked in the palace for his stoicness, the way he rarely spoke unless necessary, and his lack of desire for confrontation. To get him in Quksish's employ, he had sealed the deal with at least half the men he had wanted.

Which still left him at a considerable disadvantage if he ever hoped to move against Nym. The last check he had done with Absashi showed at least four thousand guards in and about the stronghold, not counting maintenance crews and the like, as well as whatever droids he kept around.

The droids would be the deciding factor, Quksish knew.

They came about well before the Clone Wars, and therefore were still bound to a main computer. Nym had worked night and day to try to individualize them, but that either cut into their lifespan, or would simply kill the thing outright.

Naturally, the old pirate king had no intention of explaining where the main computer was, but Quksish had some ideas...ideas that he hoped Absashi would help with.

"What are you so quiet about?" Quksish asked rhetorically. It was kind of a dumb question, he knew, because the Anzati was always quiet, but he needed something other than his slurping to break the silence.

Absashi shrugged slightly. "That Ridefort is a huntsman," he said slowly, "I hope to bring him on a kimogila hunt some time soon...when the time permits."

"A kimogila hunt?" Quksish scoffed, waving a hand about. As he did so, an idea cropped into his head for future use. "When about?"

"Hopefully in a day or two," he said, looking down at the floor, not noticing the gleam in Quksish's eye. "When I was out scavenging last I came across a pair, and I think he would prove most adeptly at taking one down."

"Indeed..." Quksish said, engrossed in his plan.

It was a simple thing to just arrange that Ridefort never returned, men went out all the time to hunt kimogilas, and many had died before they ever reached the things. The carrion buzzards sometimes grew impatient waiting for one to die, or the simple lack of edible plant life often contributed to a shortage of returning hunters.

But what about Absashi? It could soon well be time to get rid of him as well, it could be blamed on Nym. Quksish and Absashi had been seen together on a number of occasions, many had whispered that they had become good friends, so there wasn't the slightest chance that the faithful Quarren would murder the Anzati.

On the other hand, the steadily growing rivalry between Quksish and Nym was well known. It could well serve as a perfect message that Nym would murder Absashi to get to Quksish, and the Anzati's popularity would result in a tumultuous uproar.

Quksish most liked the idea.

If Ridefort survived the next day's scavenging run, he would insist that Absashi would bring the man kimogila hunting - afterall, it was best to make the guest feel welcomed.

Ridefort never really appreciated just how pitiful the planet really looked until he was sitting in the back of an open speeder, watching it speed by him. The driver was an old Devaronian with a habit of forgetting he was the one driving, turning around and trying to hold a conversation with the passengers, who usually protested and pointed out that he was ignoring the man sized rocks or cliff faces.

The speeder was obviously intended for civilian use, but a new repulsor lift and a heavy mounted E-WEB were plenty to make it a decent anti-infantry vehicle. The amount of firepower they were bringing with them worried Ridefort, and he glanced over at Olan who was seated uncomfortably next to him. In addition to the one E-WEB speeder, there was one other civilian speeder packed full of twelve armed guards, the one Ridefort was in had five, including him and Olan.

There was another speeder lagging behind that was about empty that was intended to be loaded with the scavenged goods, but no one had actually taken it seriously that this was intended to be a simple scavenging mission. They were armed to the teeth, some wearing basic body armor, others wearing just their tatoos and camo pants (something that didn't seem like that bad of an idea considering the heat), but everyone having some sort of blaster, usually a rifle.

In that, at least, Ridefort was not alone, though a pair of the body guards had laughed when they saw that his was little more than a hunting rifle. One person had even poked fun at him for all his talk about wanting to slay a kimogila with such a tiny stick. He intended to show them that his hunting rifle was sorely misinterpreted.

They were right however, the rifle wouldn't be sufficient for taking down a kimogila, something he had well planned on before he had gotten to Lok. His heavier weapon, a later model of roughly the same rifle he held now, was still back in his room, with some personal modifications. He had no intention of carrying it wherever he went, the thing was heavy, it was not very good in a fire fight, and the ammunition was expensive.

Against pirates, his basic hunting rifle would do.

As the speeder cruised at faster and faster velocities, and got closer and closer to the targetted area, Ridefort saw, for the first time, the toxic rivers he had been told about. He had assumed that they were exaggerated in some way, or that it was only around Nym's stronghold that the rivers were polluted, but the truth was sure put to that myth when he saw his first two rivers.

They were literally a green sludge that didn't quite flow, but rather just trudged along depressingly. Even though they only passed over the rivers for a second or two, the reek of the sludge reached into the speeder, and it made Ridefort have to suppress a gag.

That of course was met with great laughter from the other soldiers in the speeder, who had since grown accustomed to the smell.

Olan continued to tap his fingers nervously across his jaw, until he was confident that the others were not paying attention, they were primarily engrossed with the passing country side.

"How did you know I got the spice from Takrit?" he asked Ridefort, trying to find the balance between a whisper and a shout to be heard over the roar of the repulsor lift.

Ridefort turned to him, a sly grin playing his features. "Your ship longs need to be flushed out every couple of days for security purposes," he explained wryly, which was enough for Olan. In truth, Ridefort had suspected since the day in Nym's throne room. His suspicions had been confirmed in a discussion with Absashi, who had explained that the spice was specially stamped with a line of glitterstim.

To the untrained spice addict that might seem as an inconsequencial detail, but to hybridize the spice in such a way required a meticulous level of detail or else it simply wasn't useable, in many cases, it was even toxic. Other reports had indicated an increase in downer effects, or immediate negative repercussions.

Takrit was a notorious glittbiter, thus coining his nickname "Glittblood", and as kind of a trademark he used his private laboratories to hybridize Glitterstim with whatever other spices he had come in contact with. Ridefort did not often sell himself out as a smuggler or pirate, but it was important to keep up to date on the underworld scum he may come in contact with.

The answer seemed sufficient to satisfy Olan's curiousities though.

"Hey fasten up," the Devaronian driver yelled, surprisingly without turning his head to look at the crew, "we're about at the position and we need to work quickly."

Ridefort looked down to make sure that his gun was cocked, and the power pack was still in there. He nodded and exhaled softly.

The speeders came to a grinding halt suddenly, and Nym's body guards leapt immediately out of the speeders, taking military style poses and waving their guns about wildly. Ridefort followed suit and threw himself out of the speeder and shouldered his rifle.

There was no one in the immediate vicinity, which bolstered Ridefort's immediate confidence, and he leaned up from his crouch.

"Everything clear?" the Devaronian asked, and he got back a crescendo of confirmations. "Alright then." He pulled back on a lever and the speeder shot off over the nearby hill, swinging around on a kind of patrol as he left the others to their scavenging.

As he got adjusted to the solid ground, Ridefort got a chance to assess his surroundings for the first time. The dirt and rock littered plain was not as barren as he had initially thought - and the scavenging, he noticed, would be easy pickings. He had assumed that the items they were after would be buried under the sand and would require jawa levels of skill to pryout, instead the mechanics and metal actually protruded outward waiting to be claimed.

There were pieces of wiring and droids about that Ridefort could not identify in their current state, as well as the exo skeleton of what was no doubt, at one time, a droideka.

One of the body guards from the palace nearest him took a moment to kick at something with his boot before tossing a casual glance back at Ridefort.

"The entire planet is like this?" Ridefort asked, his head reeling at the possibilities.

"Yup, about," the body guard responded, seeming to take the point proudly.

"What stops people like the Empire from swooping in and picking it up?"

The body guard laughed. "Nym."

That seemed to be reason enough indeed.

The team seemed completely comfortable in their task, picking pieces apart and recognizing what pieces were worth bringing back and which pieces need to simply be discarded. The back of the larger, empty speeder was pulled open, and the larger pieces of scrap were hoisted into the back, such as the exoskeleton that Ridefort had noticed.

As he scooped up a handful of discarded machinery and brought it back to the cargo speeder, he noticed a pair of body guards who were putting some kind of beat up old box onto the frame of a thin, rusted battle droid. After he dropped his handful off, he walked over inquisitively.

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning down to try to examine the box.

"It's an explosive charge," one of the body guards responded, not taking her eyes off of it. "When we leave, it'll activate a proximity mine. It'll arm itself when someone approaches, and detonate when someone adjusts it."

"So we're finding something we'd like, but don't need, so that a pirate will grab it and blow himself up?" Ridefort asked, impressed.

"Yeah that's the jists of it."

"Neat."

The task went on simply and mechanically, and the excitement that Ridefort had felt moments ago began to fade as the sun lowered off over the horizon. The task was seeming like it would be nothing more than a simple scavenging hunt, which seemed almost disappointing after the hype built up on the trip.

Or at least he was disappointed.

The sound of footsteps over the hill that the Devaronian had flown over set Ridefort off immediately. Spinning on his heels, he noticed the first figure with a carbine, taking aim in a kneeling position. If he hadn't been pointing at Nym's body guards, he would have mistaken him for one of them, he wore the same cannibalized Imperial uniform that the others wore, and his mannerisms left nothing to subtlety.

Ridefort noted that he needed to study the differences between these pirates and Nym's body guards or else he was going to find himself with some rather tragic friendly fire incidents.

"Incoming!" he yelled, dropping to his own knee and shouldering his rifle. The pirate shot twice, the red bolts skimming off the side of the speeder or vomiting dirt around Nym's soldiers.

Ridefort shot back, hoping mostly to get the man ducking for cover, and thus cutting off his ability to take another shot. The first shot sizzled past the man, and he took the hint immediately and threw himself to the floor.

The following blaster shots from Nym's men caught only dirt and air, and as the moments passed, it became obvious the pirates had been watching the scavenging crew. A remarkable number of them were already pouring over the hill and laying fire down on Ridefort and the crew, who scurried behind speeders and rocks for cover.

The basic goal of any fire fight was to lay enough fire on the enemy that they would be forced to reduce their fire on you. Contrary to popular belief, casualties were relatively low in the initial parts of the gun fight, in fact, the few Ridefort had been in were relatively low casualty counted. Both sides were experienced - except for Ridefort - and shot at each other until one side's nerve broke, and a handful were killed in the flight.

He suspected the pirates weren't as saavy in that regard, and shot to kill with every blast. Nym's guards seemed to have a similar zeal for the killing, but were disciplined and experienced enough to hold their ground under the onslaught of blaster shots.

Ridefort saw the first, carbine wielding pirate peek his head up, and he repaid the man's confidence with a bolt between the eyes. The man jerked backwards, and then smashed his face forward into the dirt in front of him, but he had had no way of actually feeling that with the well aimed shot.

His team getting the first kill was a good omen.

The pirates did not relent however, several attempted to stand and run down the hill, and were mowed down by the onslaught of gunfire pouring their way.

Ridefort noticed that Olan was sporting a small, hand held pistol that he was firing with a frenzy. Watching the trail of his shots, most scored harmlessly against the ground, a couple sending pirates dodging for their lives.

"Sithspit," one of the body guards hissed before firing off a pair of shots, "where is Gan and his damn speeder?"

Ridefort didn't quite recognize the name, but he assumed that Gan was the talkative Devaronian. Knowing him, Ridefort assumed he was in the midst of an enthralling conversation with a rock.

The pile of dead pirates seemed to be rising by the second, but every time one hit the floor another, or two, replaced him, and it was beginning to get under Ridefort's skin. This wasn't the fight he was expecting - and in hind sight Gan never should've gone off on that patrol, and should have stayed up on that hill to maintain the high ground.

You've got a tactician in you yet Ridefort thought to himself. Now let's see if you can apply that if you get out of here.

A sudden blast near his face that shot sparks from the speeder he was hiding behind brought him back to reality, and he angrily shot two shots back up the hill.

He looked over at Olan once more, who was creeping onto the other side of the rock he was hiding behind, and blasted off a pair of red bolts, one caught a pirate in the thigh, which won him a scream of pain.

For a moment Ridefort considered simply dumping some of the salvage out of the speeder, having everyone pile up, and escape - but that would mean having to leave the open top speeder behind, and Gan may simply walk right into the trap of waiting pirates.

Not to mention they would all face Nym's ire for going out there, wasting two speeders, getting no salvage, and sending the message to the pirates that he had become weak. Yeah, Ridefort wanted to explain that to him.

A tell-tale roar of repulsor lifts screeched from somewhere to the east, and Ridefort nearly up and cheered when he saw Gan and his speeder flying over the hill, E-WEB gunner blasting as he went. Heavy, red blasts cut into the pirate ranks and sent men and aliens alike scurrying, or hitting the ground in various, disfigured shapes.

One unfortunate pirate was unable to leap out of the way in time, and had most of his upper body crushed by the high speed craft hitting him head on - what was left of him was eviscerated as it got sucked down under the speeder.

That gore was the most beautiful sight Ridefort had ever seen.