[GCWIII] Royal Hapan Ascension | Daughter of Hapes

[SWSF Hoppus]

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Daughter of Hapes

The Battle of Endor has been fought on the farside of the galaxy, but its fallout embroils  
all of the outer rim. Teth, once figuring large in the history of the Hutts, had been cleaned
up by Moff Sam Shild, but in the void left by the Empire's precipitous withdrawl the in-      
famous Huttese Clans have returned, eager to reclaim what was taken from them, and    
punish those who would deny them what is rightfully their due...                                    

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a

Royal Hapan Ascension Storyline

also featuring

The Hutt Empire


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[SWSF Hoppus]

Teth System

Anterk Consolidated Shipping Compound, Headquarters Suites

The Hutts would come, Willem Anterk had known they would. He had known it was only a question of how soon. His defiance and unwillingness to pay their absurd tribute demands could lead to only one thing. Hell, even paying the tribute could only delay it.

Anterk Consolidated Shipping, the business he had built with his own hands over the past two decades, was as good as lost.

But he would be damned if he'd just hand it over to an arrogant, filthy slug like Beemo.

Credits had been exchanged, promises whispered: he had a month, two months on the outside, before Beemo took him under more focused interest. That was the report, given to him just yesterday by Kavas, his trusted right hand, and the words had come straight from the bantha's mouth: there were over a dozen spies planted throughout the shambles of an organization that passed as a "glorious clan" around Beemo, and almost all of the sources had been certain that Anterk remained a business that had been earmarked for later. The Hutts grabby hands were full with putting the other scum elements of Peroon in line, and even more so with cowering the City Council.

But Beemo had made quick work of them yesterday. By lunchtime the entire top layer of the interim government of Teth had been swiped off like head on a hastily poured Corellian ale.

As soon as the news reached him, Willem had set his plan in motion. All bets were off now that Beemo had dropped any pretense at a lawful transition of power. He had sent home what was left of his staff as soon as news broke about the council -- "a temporary downsizing", paid leave, a short vacation, whatever the management had come up with. With the precipitous decline in shipping business since Beemo's arrival, it wouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but even the most hopeful couldn't help but draw a connection to what was happening in Peroon.

Kavas appeared in Willem's office doorway, red-faced and sweating with exasperation. "Everything is ready with the transports, sir."

"Did you run all the way over here just to tell me that, Kavas?" Willem guffawed. He refused to lose his good humor.

He turned off the terminal at his desk and swiped the handful of data cards he would take with them - the rest could burn with the rest of the compound. With a final glance out the panoramic windows at his precious kingdom, he turned and walked past Kavas into the hallway.

"Fenning is with Kata. He's meeting us at the transports," Kavas continued, following at Willem's heals. "There's still some staff left on the grounds, but what's left of security are doing their best to get them out."

"Good. Any updates from Peroon?"

"Just that Beemo is putting together a sortie, and almost certainly that it is coming here," Kavas said. They entered turbo lift and descended below ground into the auxiliary tunnels where cargo was moved and inspected. "Two of the sources said Beemo is coming in his private yacht. Apparently he wants to handle this one face to face."

"I suppose I should feel honored," Willem said wryly.

They jumped on one of the many cargo skiffs that were left at the turbo lift and Willem sent it barreling down the empty corridor.

"Were they able to get all of the fireworks in place?" Willem shouted over the whine of the skiff's repulsors.

"Yes," Kavas said. "They were able to put what was stockpiled into place, as we discussed. As soon as the last of the staff is out and we're airborne," he maid a gesture of an explosion with his hands.

Willem laughed. What else was there to do but laugh when the world was about to take everything away from you?

Well, almost everything.

# # #

Anterk Consolidated Shipping Compound, Auxiliary Grounds


Some girls loved their shoes.

Kata loved her guns.

Together with Fenning, her loyal shadow and bodyguard, they had compiled quite a collection over the years. She stood staring at it now, a canvas bag in her hand to hold what she could pack. It was all Fenning would allow her to take with them.

It wasn't fair. Having to leave all this behind, just because of some smug slug. She wanted to fight and had said as much.

"A wise warrior chooses her battles," Fenning had said. He loved his platitudes, Fenning did. On the rare occasion he did have some insight, but he was a much better soldier than he was a guru. What he lacked in philosophy he more than made up for as an adept instructor in combat. Kata had been his protege, so eager to learn that he nicknamed her Sponge when she was still a girl.

She didn't know much about Beemo other than what she could scour from the Holonet and newsreels, but she doubted any criminal organization, no matter how large, could match the discipline and training that Fenning had instilled in her. Together, they could take on a hundred times their number, with the right planning.

But instead, they were running away.

"What, can't choose?" Fenning's voice came from behind her.

"I was just thinking about how you used to call me Sponge."

Fenning laughed. "Come on, I'll help you pick." Kata threw him a sharp look. "Okay then, choose yourself. But we need to get moving."

His solemnness depressed Kata, and she softened. "Which would you recommend?"

"Forget the long range rifles and the esoteric guns and toys. Choose practical. That carbine, any of these are reliable and easy to find blaster packs for on any world," he looked at her meaningfully. "That's most important, some times."

She walked over to the rack and started filling the bag, stopping to handle a small sleeve-slung blaster.

"That's a good one, too," Fenning suggested. "And these."

He handed her a pair of vibroblades.

The bag was already full, and over two dozen rifles, blasters, carbines and melee weapons remained on the rack.

"Listen," Fenning put his hand on her back. It was a toss up for what would come next: another platitude or something vaguely fatherly and comforting.

"Let's go," she said, roughly zipping the canvas bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. She was tired of being treated like a child. Soon she would show them what she was capable of.

She picked up the small blaster and fastened the sling to her arm and followed Fenning towards the waiting skiff. Soon, she promised herself, sending her hatred through the air to wherever that fat space slug was.

# # #

Willem sat in the galley of the Anterk IV, nervously fingering the data card he carried palmed in his hand. Soon Kata, his beautiful daughter, would be here and he would have a choice to make.

He had made one hard decision already: Kata wouldn't be leaving on the Anterk IV with him. Instead Fenning would lead her out through one of the auxiliary tunnels and take her to one of the smaller space ports to the south of the continent. This way, her escape was almost certain. His own, he knew... they were the sort of odds you wagered on only if you accepted your money was already lost.

That had been an easy decision. Risking his life so that she was safe with hers. It was what a father did, wasn't it?

But you are not her father.

The data card in his hand held the secrets of her origins, but they didn't tell the story. How could facts and transactions lend any color to the seventeen years they'd grown together? Somehow, against all odds, he had grown into a doting father and learned to love the girl as his own child. When she saw this, however, how could she ever understand?

He could hold on to it. Tell her later, when they rendezvoused at Contruum, before they headed into the Transitory Mists. Tell her face to face, so she knew how much it had hurt him to lie, so she knew how necessary it was, too.

And if the Anterk IV doesn't make it off this rock?

"Ser Willem?" a female crewer interrupted his agitated thoughts.

"What is it?"

"Fenning and your daughter are here."

He fingered the data card one last time, then slipped it into his pocket.

Later. There would be time later.

# # #

[SWSF Eidolon]

re-post/move of old story for chronological order

Daughter of Hapes; The Taxman Cometh

 

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  For Millennia, under Hutt rule, Teth had simply served as their remote luxurious retreat where individual lords engaged in the general cultural megalomania of attempted one-upsmanship in display of personal wealth and glory.  The capitol city, Peroon, came in to being as a settlement by general definition through the denizen coalescing only when a number of the out structures, grounds and walls of several separate Hutt Lord's Palaces grew so large in acreage they butted against one another.  The usual corruption and debauchery permeated most all walks of life, cramping any meaningful growth.  The Hutts enjoyed the social melee.

  Under Imperial rule however, serving as a remote outpost in Hutt Space along with Kessel and the hidden guarded world of Honoghr, the world had been heavily invested in and improved, becoming an Agricultural producing hub, "cleaning up its act" and attracting settlers and interests from across the galaxy.  Imperial governorship gave Peroon a distinct architectural and societal make-over in the Administrative Center and immediate outlying boroughs- the usual gentrification that followed the establishing of their brand of Order.  It was there that most of the "respectable" beings dwelled and made their lives while most of the rest of the city retained its Hutt-like cultural identity.  But with the fall of the Emperor and splintering of his Forces, Teth had been abandoned by the Imperials and soon after the Hutts returned to reclaim their rightful possession- though never having actually left, merely losing their outright political domination of it.

  For a few months now they've been back in a position to publicly exercise their influence, though engaged in potentially rewarding talks with the local transitional government that had sprung up in the immediate vacuum left by the Imperial withdrawal.  The constituents of which sought to simply secure their existence and hopefully negotiate a modest degree of autonomy- the latter prospect of which was simply unfathomable in collective Hutt psyche. Eventually growing weary of talk, the Hutt lord of Teth put an end to discussion by having the Transitional Council members arrested by the City Guard, who were by now well in Hutt pockets, and sent to Nar Shaddaa- by this time likely already on their way to the Spice Mines of Kessel.  Now as Hutt dominance and life slowly returned to the city and world unabated, various locales, outfits and entities that had skirted repeated demands and warnings from the renewed landlords of Teth were to be paid a visit and motivated. . .






   Aside from Peroon and a handful of sparsely located smaller cities, most of the of the world was consumed by jungle, grassland or enormous plots of carefully crafted terraced farmland.  The Caravel Repulsorship was a smaller more open deck version of the popular hulky Land Sail Barges.  It was locked in to a smooth cruising speed and falling slightly behind as half a dozen or so smaller shuttle and fighter sized craft broke in to two groups that sped ahead and now together all raced across jungle canopy, towards the somewhat exposed Anterk Shipping Compound on the out skirts of the outer most suburbs of the capitol city, nestled amidst the rural jungle landscape.  

  Beemo, a rolly layered medium sized olive green and blotchy brown skinned Hutt with narrow set eyes and a regal seeming brow line, leaned over the finely sculpted ornate polished stone headboard of his repulsor throne-sled and extending his neck further, stuck his head partially out the rear port of the speeding vessel.  A kind of tiny fine cloth and jeweled crown indicating his lordship over Teth clung to his head as the excess skin around it rolled up along its sides pulled by the back draft of the ship's momentum cutting through the air. He looked down as they sped a hundred or so meters high over fields of perfectly lined towering fruit tree crops of some form. Large lumbering mechanized farming machines plodded along while tiny spec like diminutive figures scurried about, all tending to their tasks. This particular horizon to horizon spanning plantation produced enough foodstuffs to nourish the population of a small planet for an entire month in the same amount of time.  It cut a swath of hilly flat land through the jungle, momentarily breaking up the monotony of tropical forests peppered with suburban dwellings, commercial strips, industrial circles and roadways that they passed over.  The Hutt made a long embellished snort and hocking sound as he gathered a heavy glob of mucous in his mouth from the various nooks of his sinus chambers, lungs and stomachs.  Churning and chewing until of satisfied consistency, he puckered his lips and let it slowly fall to a thin strand and condensed bubble until the swollen end broke and fell hard while the strand broke up floating off in to the receding distance.  Beemo then scoffed,

  "Chooba! Huh huh huh! Gashi mooka deesex.  Pooprol sekka! [Shameful, Such a waste of good bog land.  Soon enough!]" he remarked to his surrounding immediate entourage.

  The quarters were small, poorly-lit and not really intended to serve any hosting function aside from shelter from the elements, in which the majority of the Caravel's other dozen or so crew members conducted their tasks on the outer exposed decks.

  A gang of several Klatoonians donned in dusty earth tones and shouldering blaster rifles or clenching vibro pikes and a Twi'lek hand gathered around the Hutt's throne-sled as he lamented the beautiful Agriworld and the changes the Imperials had made in between giving instructions on their looming task,

  "[..show them we mean business, and take no bullshit, but spare the old man and anyone who looks useful...]", he continued detailing his specific desires and expectations of conduct regarding their visitation of Anterk Shipping Consolidated.






. . .the Hutt ship's drew near their objective.  The outer walls of the compound were borderline approved civilian and military grade, probably a little further on the miltiary side.  About a hundred yards of clearing in the jungle preceded them.  Fifteen feet wide at the base and narrowing to a few feet as they rose upward around fifty feet tall and gradually angled back and topped with laser wire.  The speeder truck accessible front gate was closed.  The system's solar body was just beginning to dip below the Eastern horizon, to the back of the approaching force.

  The facility was comprised of four massive square warehouse and hangar bay structures with large frontal and roof mounted door-ways, a few separate cylindrical personnel housing type structures, half a dozen or so smaller storage and out buildings, and one three story central administrative structure, from the middle of which and up nearly a hundred meters  rose a traffic control tower.  Four slightly raised exterior landing pads capable of accommodating heavier freighters sat to the North Eastern side.  A Gallofree transport sat upon one of them, it's engines idling and warming up for a standard departure.  A number of heavy loading and work equipment was scattered around the grounds, some parked, others in operation of their duties.

  Two Headhunter starfighters broke off from the formation and darted ahead, their engine pods beaming a bright orange halo of fuel guzzling indulgence.  The lead ship let a single concussion missile loose from it's tube with a thud sound followed by a sizzling ignition, the small arrow like warhead zipped forward unseen beyond it's glow for a few moments before it smacked in to the Anterk traffic control tower near the middle of it's neck.  The structure seemed to rumble for a moment before it lurched westward from the impact force and fell backward unto the Administrative building itself, besides the head which cracked off and fell to the ground, collapsing upon itself.  A coil of smoke and dancing flame began rising up from the still attached broken section.

  Not to be outdone, the lead fighter's wingman fired a pair of concussive missiles that slammed through the roof of one of the warehouse hangar bay structures as the pair of ships crossed over the outer wall.  The smoke and slight fire emanating from the fallen and open end of the crippled tower were dwarfed by the ensuing secondary blasts.  The warehouse erupted in a chaotic rhythmless loud fiery deafening sequence of ancillary blast after ancillary blast.  Alone and in rapid succession, some light and some heavy.  Projectile bursts intermittently flung out and screamed from all angles in all directions and fireballs occasionally spewed out until a single heavy blue hued shockwave ripped out from the building and tore through the walls across it's disked path, emanating outward, slamming less forcefully against nearby obstructions, aside from a parked speeder tanker truck that contributed it's own fireball to the orchestra with a mangled metal flip landing on it's topside.  Afterward the entire several dozen meter tall and couple ten thousand square foot structure slumped down and seemed to collapse inward all around, leaving only the skeleton of the building that lay below the blast line standing.

    In the cockpit of the lead fighter that had surgically struck down the control tower, a Duros pilot groaned as he looked down on the additional unintended carnage while passing over as personnel that had been carrying on their mundane daily jobs now frantically scattered seeking refuge for whatever may come next.  His downing of the tower had been a planned display of force, the eruption of the warehouse and evident loss of it's contents was simply a case of an unnoticed underling doing too much to attempt and impress his master, thus attracting the wrong kind of attention to himself.  Pulling the wire arm mounted voice piece to his thin wide lips, the Duros inquired to his Hutt master, though already knew the answer himself,

   "Booku?"

   He waited only a moment before the familiar bellow of a riled and enraged Hutt came back across the transmitter,

   "CHOLO!  Kalamoosh! [THE FOOL! KILL HIM!]" he exclaimed.

    The Duros slightly shook his head and cocked his mouth as he applied only a bit of breaking thruster.  His wingman flew passed.  Clenching the center mounted control stick with both hands he pulled his nose up slightly to place the other Headhunter directly between his targetting hash tags.  He gently squeezed the fighter's main laser cannon trigger, the pair of wing mounted lance shaped energy bolt throwers each letting out an equally spaced trio of wop wop sounds that accompanied the red lashes themselves.  The first two pairs hit the forward Headhunters engines setting them aflame, the second clipped one of the targeted ship's wings, sending it flapping away and the remaining body in a tumbling end over front arced crash off in to the jungle.

     A second pair of fighters had followed the first by several moments, this time an aged Cloakshape and a bristling shiny new Hornet Interceptor.  The Gallofree transport that had been preparing to depart before the Hutt force arrived now slowly began to rise to a hover as it attempted to make a hasty get away.  Seeing this, the Hornet's pilot slammed the throttle pedal of his ship, sending it shrieking far ahead of the Cloakshape.  Bearing down on the Gallofree as it now rose to a couple dozen feet, the Hornet's chin mounted turbo blaster cannons opened up their relentless volley of rapid green fire.  Too many short jolts to count lept from the barrels and streaked towards their target.  The energy pummeling nearly all impacted directly on the ships rear engine quarters, severely damaging them and sending it in a slow casual drop back down to the landing pad as the Cloakshape finally made a pass and let a few pointless shots rip at the already neutralized freighter.  It's gear was crushed beneath the weight of the ship while it's lower body slightly caved as it cracked and dented in the reinforced concrete pad.  It would be going no where.

     The now lone Headhunter banked left in to a wide loop and came around speeding back towards the Anterk Compound where dark smoke clouds were rolling up and out, as pair of landing shuttles were setting down within the walls, passing through the thick folding smoke uninhibited, followed a short distance behind by Beemo's Caravel.  . .






. . .the shuttle's ramps dropped the moment their landing feet touched ground.  A small patch of soil and grass near the larger heavy freighter pads.  Dozens of soldiers from the subservient alien Si'Klaatan races clad in various sorts of armor from bone and shell to poly-what-have yous and bearing weapons ranging from shock pikes to blaster rifles streamed from each and fanned out in smaller groups in no distinct pattern across the Anterk campus, first swarming the immediately surrounding structures.

   A small security team of several beings immediately came out and surrendered their post occupying one of the smaller outlying reinforced shacks.  Their arms raised high holding their weapons outward harmlessly, they were relieved of them in the same motion of being roughed up a bit with potent shocks of a pike, jams of a rifle butt and even a case of a kind of severe jumping downward swooping backhand (the claw side in this instance).  They were led as roughly away as they'd been greeted and already being knelt down near the landing shuttles with their hands locked individually in binders when the Caravel first came to a gentle cushioned landing between the two troop ships, it's various components pressure exhaust ports breathing a heaving steamy sigh of relief.  A trio of fighters, one Headhunter a Cloakshape and a Hornet now made slow circles around the facility, keeping a close eye on the surface operation.

   The Caravel's side gang ramp dropped down and a dozen or so more heavily armored Klatoonian guards flanked a thick swollen Hutt figure on either side while the Twi'lek followed in his Master's shadow as Beemo made his rolling slithery way down the ramp and unto a wide bricked walk or parkway that snaked around the campus, breaking off and rejoining in to various tributaries as they led to the entrances of the various buildings.  New detainees apprehended from the other buildings trickled back towards the landing site, being led by smug mangled faced aliens.  A number of the Si'Klaatan thugs who had disembarked from the shuttles and carried on the sweep hurriedly jogged ahead of Beemo's deliberately slow march procession and barged in to the main Administrative building well before he and his personal guards were ascending the steps.

  The Hutt rolled his way in to the lobby, a wide open area with professional pop decor in the vein of Art Moderne.  A pair of wide arched stair ways leading to both upon levels reached up off to the sides of and behind a centrally placed receptionist kiosk.  Sculptures sat upon equal roughly hip height pedestals throughout the room.  A number of styles of seating lined the cool steel plate walls, a version existing for most every kind of oddly arranged being.   The interior air lacking the distinct scent of flame, smoke and ash that saturated outside.  The clarity of it all caused Beemo to break in to a brief cough before clearing his throat and swallowing with a gulp.  A number of what appeared to be Anterk Shipping employees were huddled on the floor in a corner, most shaking nervously, their heads down and hands wrapped over them as the Hutt's cronies paced around shouting in various languages, knocking over pedestals and sculptures sending them smashing to the ground, throwing chairs over and about and harassing the detainees.

  The Hutt took a moment to look around as he slithered over to the cowering beings.  None of them had he recognized.  A Nikto approached him and gave a short report,

  "No ssssign off zee Old man," it slurred out in basic.

  Beemo made an expression of discontent and looked up to the arched stairs as he yelled, his voice bouncing throughout the cathedral ceiling style room.

   "AHHHHNNNTUUUURRRRKKK!!!!!," he waited a moment before repeating himself, this time addressing a different name.

   "WWWEEELLLEEEEMMMM!!!" he exclaimed.

   The Twi'lek took the opportunity to offer a more complete and properly pronounced summoning, "Willem Anterk!  Show yourself to Lord Beemo and be held accountable!". . .(TBC)

[SWSF Hoppus]

The Anterk IV lifted off, disappearing into the maw of one of the hangar's exit ducts, leaving behind Kata and Fenning and a disarray of cargo containers and repulsor sleds. Wordlessly Fenning picked up the two canvas bags that contained their life belongings, at least temporarily, and walked to the service lift.

"So what's the plan?" Kata asked, following. She had dominated her anger now, accepted that they wouldn't fight, that they would run instead, even when she knew it was the wrong thing to do.

"We drop down into the auxiliary tunnels, grab a skiff, and take it to the southern end of the compound. From there we go on foot into the forest. One of the guard stations out there should have something big enough for us to fly to Peroon."

"And then?"

"Let's just take it a step at a time." The lift opened. "Get in."

The ground vibrated beneath their feet, followed a second later by a loud clap of thunder.

"What was that?"

Fenning silenced her, tilting his ear towards the ducts at the top of the hangar and listening. Kata followed his example, concentrating. A whistling noise rose and fell. Then another thunder clap. Then a third. And then the ground really started shaking.

Kata dropped to the ground instinctively, covering her head, knowing suddenly that she was dead. She did not face it calmly, as she imagined she would. Panic entered her heart. Wild, unknowing panic.

Then just as it had begun, it stopped. The dust settled like rainwater in the hangar, and then, before she could recalibrate herself to living, Fenning was shouting and pulling her on to her feet. "Get in, move!"

"But the explosives--"

"That wasn't the charges. Get in, we need to move."

The lift took them down several levels, where Fenning found a skiff, loaded it, and sent them barreling through the bowels of the compound. Over the whine of the repuslors, Kata could hear nothing else. If the compound was ignited in hellfire above them, she wouldn't know any better.

The tunnel ended where it intersected with another that ran east and west. They dismounted, running to the wall of the junction where a steel ladder set into the wall led up into a service shaft. Light streamed down from the vent above.

"Climb," Fenning ordered. She obeyed, hurtling herself up as fast as she could carry them, Fenning following, his muscles straining with the weight of the bags he carried looped over his shoulders. At the top of the shaft they were locked in. A small keypad and card scanner glowed to Kata's left. "What's the code?"

"It's deactivated, just give it a push."

Kata pushed on the vent above her and it opened easily, the hydraulics hissing as they lifted the deadweight open above her.

The compound wasn't on fire. At least not all of it. A single finger of black smoke wafted in the air behind the eggshell-colored domes of the hangars that covered the stretch of grounds between them. She searched the sky for the Anterk IV, but only saw two nimble fighter craft circling lazily in the air. As she watched them, the trailing fighter opened fire on its leader, which turned sharply towards the surface in a flash of fire and smoke. The thunder of its impact vibrated the ground.

"What was that?" Kata asked.

"I don't know, Kata. We have to keep moving."

They headed to the compound wall, running along it until they reached one of the guard's checkpoints. Fenning took care of the doorway, which opened onto a strip of brown barren earth on the other side where the encroaching forest had been burned away. Fenning grunted as he through the heavy bags through the door and onto the black-brown earth on the other side.

Kata stared through the door, then back up at the sky. No sign of the freighter. The explosion, the first one, must have been it crashing to the ground, she reasoned. She bit her lip, her resolve hardening.

"No," Fenning said, frowning at her. "Your father wanted you to escape. This is your escape." He pointed at the open door in the wall.

"But they could be alive."

"They could be dead."

"Beemo will capture them."

"A little girl and an old man can do nothing for them. I gave your father my word."

Kata glowered at him. "I'm not a little girl, and you are not an old man."

She walked past him, through the door in the wall. Fenning let out a sigh of relief. But she wasn't going to runaway. Not yet. She dug into her duffel bag for the electrobinoculars, and crossed back into the compound.

"We can't leave them behind to be captured."

"And if they're dead?"

"If they are, we run."

Fenning narrowed his eyes, calculating her. Kata knew he would give in, if only because he knew she would not.

"Get up the wall and get a good look. Keep under cover. They might have something in orbit scanning the perimeters."

She climbed the wall...

[SWSF Eidolon]

Daughter of Hapes; The Taxman Cometh Pt II

* * * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * * *

   . . .the initial chaos of the landing had immediately settled to a slow almost well-organized unfolding.  Light secondary fires burned from the one crumbled warehouse structure and the toppled traffic control tower.  While Beemo the Hutt and his personal guards ransacked the main administration building of the Anterk Compound in search of Willem Anterk himself, the rest of his small army of a few dozen thugs secured the outer grounds, sweeping the three warehouses still standing and the smaller out buildings and garages within the towering semi-fortified walls.  

    A trio of starfighters, one Headhunter, a Cloakshape and a Hornet Interceptor, made lazy circles while soaring overhead while a small rising stack of black smoke emanated from the jungle canopy in the not so far distance.  A pair of landing shuttles sat still humming with life on either side of the slightly larger Caravel, one of Beemo's smaller personal armored luxury repulsor ships with a mostly open-air upper deck.  A pair of portable mounted heavy repeating blasters were affixed to the walls of the larger craft as a Weequay and Nikto respectively manned them and surveyed the landscape.  The numerous detained Anterk employees were either knelt down with their arms behind their heads or plopped down on their behinds slightly before the collection of landed invading craft as a small number of Si'Klaatan guards watched over them.

   Nearby, upon a bank of reinforced landing pads, the would-be escaping freighter sat mostly intact, though obviously crippled as what hadn't been ripped apart of it's engine pods was left smoldering and it sat awkwardly on it's crushed belly.  The Hutt fighters had downed it almost immediately as it emerged from one of the warehouse hangar bays, without enough altitude for a true crash landing, thankfully for it's occupants, it roughly dropped only a couple dozen meters to a moderately severe but very survivable impact.

   A party of more heavily armed Hutt thugs hastily ran towards the downed ship and filed in a short distance behind a special group that huddled together near what appeared to be a cargo loading hatch.  They seemed to affix some device or substance around the door ways outline before uncoiling a thin wire line and stepping back several meters themselves.  The cargo hatch's perimeter lit up in a blinding bright rectangular trail as it emitted a loud sizzling hiss and burned through.  A lazy but escalating metal to metal drop and creaking preceded the louder grinding cry as the hatch dropped and fell forward, settling with a heavy ground thumping and dust wave inducing smack to the reinforced concrete pad surface.   The raiding party hurriedly filed in as various screams and whines of blaster fire erupted for several moments before abruptly going silent.  They began emerging while forcing along reluctant detainees with their arms and hands raised behind their heads, some wearing light battle attire but most simply civilian worker type clothing.

   One particular human being somewhere on the other side of middle-aged raised his defiant protest to a Klatooinian who was shoving him in the back with his blaster rifle clenching fists,

   "This is heinous!  You lord claims to be a shrewd man of galactic business, I see no business here merely shrewdness and a criminal act!," he sharply spoke with his head tilted back towards his personal attending Hutt underling, looking between his arched arm, his digits intertwined behind his head.

    The Klatooinian gave him an incredibly forceful shove just outside the makeshift entrance as they walked across what was the heavy interior wall of the cargo hatch door way, sending Willem Anterk stumbling and falling forward with an oompf and planting his face on the landing pad pavement.  His cheek was scraped with a few bits of sediment stuck to it as he raised his head and spit to the side, the Klatooinian chuckled through his clenched oozing smile behind him. As two of the other freighters detained occupants rushed away from their ushers to tend to Willem just as he'd began to pick himself up, their guards pursued with a lazy jog.

    The two beings, a Rodian and human female sought to check on Willem, but as they'd arrived at his side, their pursuers came upon them with brute force as they jammed the butts of their rifles in to their backs, taking the strength out of their knees as they dropped and were dragged away like rag dolls towards the swelling pool of prisoners.

    Willem spit again as he stomped the few steps up to the Klatooinian who stood a foot and a half over the man, attempting to aggressively bump him off balance chest to chest style but seemingly failing to nudge the sturdy being in the slightest,

    "Is this your kinds idea of enjoyment?  Makes you feel a man to abuse and take from others?" he inquired, puffing his chest out back against the looming alien.

    The Klatooinian chuckled, "Ha ha, a man, no?  A Klatooine, yes," the alien growled.  "Your wish to see Lord Beemo is granted," the slave soldier then answered while motioning with a nod across the compound grounds.




    Beemo scooted out of the Admin Building behind a short  procession of additional detainees of various species, most in casual business type attire.  A few notably flaunting office female types.  His personal guard flanked the prisoner column on either side as he and his Twi'lek hand took notice of the lone stoic human man standing on the landing pad and made a bee line in that exact direction.  Along the stroll the Twi'lek was lecturing his master to the contents of the warehouse manifests discovered in the administration building,

    "[Lord Beemo, the erupted warehouse-  munitions indeed as you suspected and actually declared.  Leftover Imperial equipment, officially destined for redeployment at Wayland,]" he began.

    "[Huh, Interesting indeed, the Empire now teeters.  A monster with no head and it's strongest arm removed.  Wayland is distant.  The more distant the better..] Beemo answered.

    The Twi'lek worriedly retorted, "[But Master, the Empire still stands- for now.  They will surely seek account for their losses will they not?,]"

    "Chogoka neepah, [That matters not,]"  Beemo began, "[you see how it sits now, it is of no use to them and no use to me, what else is here?]" the Hutt responded while motioning towards the crumbled warehouse in the distance.

     "[Half a dozen light freighters, one heavy hauler, three hundred million tons of exporting fruit-stuffs, and a warehouse full of imported core-built luxury speeders!]" he enthusiastically answered his master.
 
     "[Hmmph!,]" the Hutt replied unimpressed.  "[I have a weak stomach, fruit makes me sick.  And Core-built?!]," he somewhat angrily inquired to the subordinate as they plodded along.

    "Oooochaaaa! [Foolish One!]," he scolded the head-tailed alien.  "[The Core is nothing compared to the glory we build for ourselves here in Hutt Space!,]

    Willem and Beemo drew close together and approached each other directly with their respective shadowing attendants, the Hutt wearing a typical self-satisfied if not unconcerned smirk while the human man was awash with anger and exclaimed as he drew near the bulging other,

    "What is the meaning of this Beemo you swine! There's no need for this brutality!" he shouted at the Hutt while motioning across the grounds where the dust and smoke was not yet quite beginning to settle to the earth as they came face to face locked in stares of starkly opposed temperaments.

    Beemo chuckled at the rile of his would-be adversary.  To Willem, it was total upheaval.  To the Hutt, it was merely a small acquisition to be dealt with, and an example to be set,

     "Ho ho ho! Beetah caldo seshek?! [You call this brutal?!]", the hulking gastropod answered.

     "Ho ho ho, Kah do Chumka, boe dah nakka veeso poonda! [No my friend, you will know pain soon enough!] ha ha ha!" he then boasted.

    Willem continued to lament and plead his case in anger and in spite of the Hutt's indifference, "What personal offense have we committed? We were on our way out and left the door open for you!"
  
    Beemo chuckled again and replied, "Hu hu, choogah gammoe eekish yella koko, voo lama Teth Huttuk dahcree issee, Oy kagga tepish fraka zeppa [you could have left long ago, you could have never came, Teth is rightful Hutt property before and always, I shall take the fruit of my trees by the manner I deem necessary.]," he began.

    "[Many chances to display your favor to Hutt kind over the years.  Our emissaries refused time and again at your gates.  I show you same courtesy now as we return to our rightful thrones,]" Beemo stated while now prompting the Klatooinian guard to coax Willem along as he slowly made his way towards his ship, moving along slowly with a particularly upright extended posture for a Hutt and almost assessing his new possession in the Teth Anterk grounds.

    Willem matched stride alongside Beemo and attempted a last plea of negotiation,

     "So it's that simple?" he started as they passed the mass of guarded prisoners, his eyes scanning for something more than simply a familiar face, both relieved and worried to not see them.

    ". .you're mad we came," he continued, "you're mad we wouldn't be your pawns.  Now no ones here to stop you, so take what you want, take everything.. take me even!.. but let my people go.  They can't possibly be worth anything to you. ." the human offered in relinquished defeat to the force of the Hutt as he then stopped his mirrored pace.

    The Hutt stopped and turned to face Willem, sliding his way closer and offering a feigned expression of consideration complete with a finger at his chin and peaked brow line before responding,

    "Mmmm, Kah.  Oy chokka kep valla eechee! Hu hu hu! [Hmmmm, No.  I think I will take them to!]"

    Willem's defeat turned again to defiance as his lips seemed to twist and snarl as he reached out for what amounted to Beemo's neck,

    "You dirty space sluggehhmmpf!. .. ehhhgghh. ..,"

    Some blunt force clamped against the back of his head and stole his consciousness.  Beemo stood over his opponent with the Twi'lek and Klatooinian, blocking out the sun as his eyes dazedly drifted closed.

    Beemo looked up to the two and motioned for the operation to wrap up.   His Caravel's engine vents burst open as the craft's drives sprung to life with a deep guzzling whirr.   The pool of restrained guarded detainees had grown to several dozen beings.  The Hutt's war party regrouped and began rounding up their prisoners, assuring each was secured and tethered by electro-chains to the being in front and behind of it while  leading them on to the three Hutt landing ships, though mostly aboard the Caravel.  Beemo and his close hands were the last to board it as a pair of henchmen drug a limp and out cold Willem Anterk up the wide boarding ramp with him and it rose up

   The Caravel and one of the landing shuttles pulled up and turned about, then joined by the three remaining fighters headed back towards the city center of Peroon as the group cruised over the dense jungle foilage of Teth.  The partner landing shuttle and it's personnel temporarily remained behind, the raiders more meticulously looting and loading the little precious cargo found throughout the Anterk Consolidated Complex.  Beemo relaxed in his repulsorship's cabin as it sped victoriously away, the Anterk grounds would be another jewel in his newly forged crown of lordship over Teth in the name of clan Izissi, to whom he is patriarch, and Hutt kind in it's insatiable thirst for power. . .

TBC!

[SWSF Hoppus]

Teth: Anterk Compound

The afternoon light was beginning to fade when Kata and Fenning reached the crash site. A group of Gamorrean thugs walked out of the crumpled remnants of the Anterk IV, their blasters held lazily at their sides. The ship's occupants had been bound and corralled together on the hot duracrete surface beside the ship, surrounded by at least a dozen more of Beemo's soldiers. Further out an undisciplined but heavily armed ring of even more thugs formed a haphazard perimeter between Kata's position and the ship's survivors. Through the electrobinoculars, Kata counted all of the soldiers.

Fifty-four.

And more elsewhere on the compound wherever Beemo was exploring his prize. There was no chance of attacking a force like that and surviving. At the very least,  all of the prisoners would be killed or murdered as the fight wore on. Kata was a good shot and a good fighter, and Fenning a grizzled veteran of a hundred battles. But fifty-four? It was a small army. The odds were impossible.

Kata felt sick to her stomach, the bile of defeat rising in the back of her throat and desperation twisting her heart. Unbidden, her mind conjured images of her father as a tortured corpse. She wanted to cry, to scream.

To kill.

The lust for blood and death rose in her, flooding her with a sudden strength that made her hands tremble.

Fenning put his hand on her shoulder. "What's rule number one?" he asked her.

Dutifully, she answered: "Keep your head clear."

She handed the electrobinoculars back to Fenning, who had already seen everything for himself. His touch was warm and it grounded her, brought her back from that evil that lingered at the fringe of her conscious mind.

"What do you think, Kat?"

But she could think of nothing. As the blood-lust ebbed, the exhaustion flowed in to replace it. Tiredness seeped into every muscle of her body. She closed her eyes. For the first time she felt the repressive heat of the day, smelt the cloying stink of her sweat.

As she catalogued all of her discomforts, she realized: this was what happened when you gave in. When you accepted that winning wasn't possible. The mind betrays the body, and the body crumples in defeat. So much of her reading of history made sense in that light. The defeated armies, the capitulated leaders, they hadn't lost  because of tactical errors, or a lack of strength, or even because of their pride, as some historians loved to moralize. It was doubt. Doubt was the bell that tolled defeat, and once it was allowed to fester, the battle was as good as over.

Keep your head clear, she thought, and said: "We can't fight them all."

When she opened her eyes, Fenning was watching her without expression. The old bear was sweating and as red from the sun as she was. His old bones must hurt worse than her own, but his back was straight and his eyes clear. He wouldn't let the discomfort touch him, he's a soldier, Kata told herself. That's what being a soldier means, and you have to be a soldier, too.

"We can't take them on directly," Kata continued. "Not here, not like this. There are too many, we don't have enough guns, and we can't get to any of the high ground without being spotted."

"We could try to sneak up to them, use a distraction,"  Fenning offered, his eyes still measuring her, checking her for cracks and fissures.

"No, we have to wait. We have to wait and follow them back, and try to figure out something there."

"You would follow them into the hornet's nest?"

"We'll have time there to make a plan, a good one." She knew she made sense, and felt her confidence returning as the first part of the plan took shape from the ether of her mind. "We can watch them go and help any survivors. They won't have enough soldiers left behind to cover the entire compound, and if we can't get a ship here we can always retreat to the woods and get a swoop from one of the guard stations."

"Good. Before we go, I have another idea as well," he said. A grin cracked his mask of severity. "One your old man would appreciate, I'm sure."

He raised the electrobinoculars to his eyes again and watched as a large number of the thugs milled around Beemo's yacht, following the slug back into the ship with all of the prisoners who could walk at gunpoint...

[SWSF Eidolon]

Daughter of Hapes; The Taxman Cometh Pt III

 

   Night set in across the region as the gentle orange glow of the slowly dipping sun had completely faded and given way to a purple velvety darkness covered in seas of white diamond sparkling pin points peeking between a high hanging broken cloud cover.  Beemo the Hutt's warship party cruised in a staggered loose formation just above the dense jungle canopy beneath.  Again they occasionally passed over wide dug out swaths of cleared jungle with neatly organized rows of fruit trees stretching horizon to horizon, planet wide plantations, mostly apparent in the evening hours from the wide beaming lights of large mechanical harvesting machines that trolled along performing their tasks.

   They headed back toward their nest in Peroon, a sprawling urban center with several outlying suburbs that bulge out from the city proper in to the lush tropical habitat.  It was the only major settlement on the planet.   The majority of the population were Hutt vassal species from other systems throughout Hutt space, though under the years of Imperial Rule numerous other races had emigrated in noticeable proportions as well.  During their several year presence, the Empire's domain was focused primarily on the world's vast agricultural industry and administratively over seeing Imperial interests in this swath of the galaxy from the city's Old Central District- which they'd completely restructured and made over in a more modern "Core-like" theme and function.  For the most part, the rest of the city had maintained it's traditional Hutt architecture and character.   With the Empire's hasty abandonment of Teth in the wake of the calamities at the First Battle of Endor, Hutt influence and rule quickly returned as the planet practically put itself in line with ready acceptance of the transition.  Aside from the few peppered hold-outs, who were of course.. persuasively dealt with in that traditional Hutt fashion.

    Now lower and streaking across the outer suburbs, the vessels headed towards the city-center that was gaining resolution in the distance as the twinkling lights of it's few jutting towers gave more contrast to their silhouettes.  The largest of them was the Imperial Administrative Complex, a sleak silvery narrow obelisk like building stretching at least two hundred stories tall, now serving the role of Beemo's personal palace from which he oversaw lordship of Teth.

    The group's speed declined as they made tight slow ascending circles about half way up the structure before evidently disappearing in to it's interior. . .




      Beemo sat planted in triumphant rigid posture on the outer deck of his landed Caravel looking out at his returned attack group and the few other already present craft through the mostly empty hangar bay and lording over his most recent guests as they were being pulled from the vessel's crawl-space height underbelly storage where they'd been stuffed from a topside cargo hatch as they were herded aboard back at the Anterk Consolidated Complex.

      "Ho ho ho! ha ha! Chooba chooba mah deesee koeklas!  [Welcome, welcome my honored guests!]  Veecamma so lee kee epex!  [Mi casa su casa!]  Bey chagga coe la sessi doe moe! [We just hold different places in it!] Ho ho ho!" the bloated being gloatingly announced.

      The ride for the prisoners was surely discomforting if not hair-raising as a pair of angry scarred up krayt dragons who seemed to be well fed but were apparently starving at the moment screeched and hissed as they clawed at the steel floor attempting to pull away from the heavy collar and chains that held them to the squat storage bay's aft section wall.  As the last of the captives was led out, a Vodran and a Klatoonian drug some type of large animal carcass up the gentle inclined ramp and with a couple energy building swings heaved it within reach of the now screaming animals.   The Caravel's cargo bay doors swung closed behind them as Beemo himself rolled down the ship's wide main side ramp to personally direct the traffic.

     "Bah! Go ka, Go ka! Cheebee sakka!" he barked in one direction while squirming along.

     "Cholo sumdep!  Ekko deppa olop!" he commanded in another as his henchmen bullied the captives in to a single disorganized line while linking up the few separately chained groups in to one long procession.

       One particularly burly and muscular Gamorrean followed Beemo closely with the still mostly unconscious though occasionally moaning Willem Anterk slung over one shoulder.  The Hutt's Twi'lek secondary more closely directed the underlings as they began to lead the shackled arrivals away.  Ground Crews had by now scurried in and were winding down the returned craft.

       Beemo stopped the shadowing and burdened Gamorrean with a gesture before himself scooting over to a still idling Z-95 Headhunter.  It's pilot, the Duros Captain Waugak was just scaling down the side of his ship.  He hopped off the ladder early leaving the last few rungs un touched, his boots thumping the floor.  Turning to an attending Nikto mechanic and his crew he handed one of them his flight helmet and directed them to a few specifics, including briefly showing the Nikto Chief some concern he must have had with one of his still humming engine pods.

       Beemo cleared his throat, garnering the pilot's attention and bringing him hurriedly before his master,

       "Chu Motaba, bou glorratak vuntooba, vu chassa lekki bon oondra, go seppi dalla? [Yes Master, your victory today was glorious, I am honored to fly under your banner, how may I serve?]" he addressed Lord Beemo first in stoic stance before dropping to a knee with a bowed head.

       "Ooo-aah, Muck, muck mah brava peelow! [Rise, rise my brave soldier!]  Poe taga eechee soe dah [Come, let's talk],"  the Hutt beckoned his pilot to walk with him briefly.

       The two beings paced off slightly away in to the wide-open area of the hangar bay, which constituted most of the total floor space, as the Hutt kept the Duros akwardly close with his short stubby arm while motioning about illustrating his points about the vast bay,

       "[You prove yourself a worthy pilot again and again," Beemo began.

       "[The rest, mere pawns.  No discipline, no order, no skill.  But you, Waugak, you are my sabacc ace, ho ho ho ha ha!  My honor is yours to bear, my graciousness inspires even myself, for this, THIS shall be your kingdom Waugak!]" the Hutt emphasized the end while separating from his subordinate to theatrically extend both stout arms outward with an all encompassing turn, finishing up facing the Duros again.

       Looking deep in to the pilot's large empty eyes the Hutt narrowed his own and unfolded his point,

      "[. .Clan Izissi shall rise as no other before,  here we begin and we build.  You build.  Fill these berths with ships of war and able bodied beings to carry out my will,]" he paused to motion for his Twi'lek hand who was lingering in the distance to approach them and continued,

      "[. .In time the Council will call on us for greater purpose and I will call on you for greater service.   Take this,]

      He motioned to the Twi'lek who had just joined them, the head-tailed alien himself unfastening a small brown pouch from his waist tossing it to the Duros.
 
      Waugak, bearing the pouch in an open palm, curiously pried it open with the awkwardly long fingers of his free hand.  Dozens of tiny gemstones glistened while cradling a few ornate shiny golden credit chips.   He'd never held so much money in his life.  For a moment, as the Hutt droned on with a lot of self glorification, his mind flashed to a vision of himself jumping in to his Headhunter, pouch in hand, and leaving the life of an indentured solider behind.  But he then considered the prospect of living with a death mark under the Hutts, and quickly snapped back to the conversation at hand,

      "[. . .build me a fleet of ships to reach across Teth, and then, across the stars! ho ho ho! haaa!  Go now, about your work,]" the Hutt summarized and departed the still surprised pilot with a couple hardy slaps on the back shoulder and gesturing for the hulky load bearing Gamorrean to resume following as he passed heading the other way.  The Twi'lek remained behind to exchange a few words,

      "[Careful who's tails you step on blunt skull!  Do not think you will be Lord Beemo's favorite for long!  That is MY place!]"  *Raaaaaggghh!!!! hissssssss!!* he shrewdly scolded the other underling before displaying an animalistic character in taking his leave.

      The Duros pilot, Waugak was left behind standing relatively on an island in the emptiness of the vast hangar bay, looking interchangeably about the arena before him and the small satchel in his hand.  The Hutt, his prisoners and the returning warriors had left as a couple dozen beings of lower social stature remained, scurrying about tending to the several warships in one small corner of the bay.

      Waugak then tucked the pouch in to his flight suits lapel area somewhere and walked back towards his idling ship.  A smile began to creep across his mouth as he tried to control it, at first to no avail.  He let it slide briefly to a full closed grin before shaking it off as he drew near the ground crew tending to his fighter,

      "Boe chota kapasi feka eggun, hekka ocho, choo me galasee Kaptoon! [We tweaked your number two thruster, balanced now, ordinance restocked and fully fueled Captain!]" the Nikto Chief proudly reported in slight slur for his species to the pilot as he'd returned to their midst.

      "Bah gah! [Too slow!]" the Duros scolded, empowered now by Beemo's will.  He leaned closer to the Nikto and sniffed the air in front of the others face.

      "Pollo! Bakka gama drokose! Chooma doe ekka droggo! [Fool! And you're drunk! Perhaps you'll be next meal for the dragons!]" he exclaimed angrily in the horn faced aliens personal space.

       With large brow furrowed he aggressively reached for his helmet from one of the other attendants and fitted it to his head.  Beginning to climb the ladder to his cockpit, he stopped at the top to call out to the other crews and pilots remaining in the hangar,

      "Cho cho kala eeko oppum! [Change begins now!]" he yelled and waited for everyones attention,

      "[We drill until we are perfect.  And then we drill more.  You all know Lord Beemo's wrath, pray you do not meet mine!  There's always room for you in Beemo's court if you don't like it here!], he threatened.  Most Hutt subjects preferred to stay as far away as possible from the Hutt's themselves, for good reason.

      "[You and you,]" Waugak motioned to the two other fighter pilots, a Weequay and a Rodian.   "[We fly.  First I teach you that much,]" he commanded them as he hopped over the side and comfortably in to the cockpit of his Headhunter.

      He fastened his harness and stretched his gloves over his bony hands, his engines soon flaring up as his ship began to hover and his canopy lowered.  His ground crew scurried to unfasten the still attached fuel hose, just breaking the lock free in time to avoid pulling themselves and the pump unit up off the steel floor with the ship.

      The main hangar mouth was wide and tall, nearly the whole height of the several merged floor bay itself.   The purple hue of an early nite sky had given way to a denser darkness.  The lights of Peroon were warmly aglow as an occasional streaking ship coming in to or leaving the atmosphere stood out.

      The Headhunter burst forward out of the bay, followed by the cumbersome Cloakshape and nimble Hornet a few moments later. . .(TBC)