Session export: Hands Behind the Syndicate, Part 2
The heels of his combat boots clicked off the plasteel floors. He had been summoned by Isaak. A slight concern given Vigo’s current tier in the crew. Nevertheless his arms were folded behind his back as he rhythmically walked toward the meeting room. He waited at the doorway to proceed once called.
“Zakirov.” A masculine voice called sternly, rolling the R.
Vigo’s features were made up of a calm neutral demeanor as he entered. Standing in the marked circle on the floor. A crowd of people were sitting in a crescent shape all pointed in the direction of where he now stood. He gave a slight nod to the man in the elevated seat but remained silent.
“As you should know,” The man continued “The Matron has been under distress since the disappearance of the Captain. The people– animals more like it, are tearing themselves apart more each day. The Majordomo– the Poor Sap can only do so much.” He chuckled. Vigo’s gaze narrowed for a split second, letting the jab at him and the sympathy felt for the Majordomo silently fuel his rage. He never got any sympathy, all he got was either disgust, disappointment, or silence when he did well.
“I’ve already informed the Strygae of your arrival. I hear they’ve been helping the First Mate. Eh- one Morgan Sorren. Maybe they can do something with you, I’m tired of seeing your face.” The crowd behind Isaak chuckled, and Isaak waved his hand. That was his orders. Vigo was dismissed.
Vigo’s gaze drifted to the left side of Isaak where Abram sat. His face was also stern, although Vigo knew that Abram had at least not joined in on the laughter. He found no amusement in watching his adopted son be berated.
Vigo didn’t need to sense, to hear a set of noisy footsteps approach behind him. He already knew who it was, his brother had not been taught to stealth and be silent as Vigo had. Instead Dominik had gone down the mechanical engineering route. Vigo about-turned, staring at the floor, not wanting to look at his brother’s sad, pathetic, eyes. “Walk with me.” Vigo said as he began walking down the hall towards the living quarters, making quiet conversation.
42 ABY • Godless Matron • Lower decks
The lower decks. Nobody slept here. Sleep required stillness and a sense of safety, a sense of belonging. The lower ring of the Matron’s circular corpse traded sleep away long ago for survival. Here motion was life, you moved to avoid being seen, to eat, to scavenge, to kill. Even in the silent moments, when you could barely hear a whisper of conversation or distant footsteps, there was still the sound of machinery breathing, choking, straining against itself from all the rust and disrepair. Like a vast, ancient predator gasping for its last lung-full of breath.
Tonight, that sentiment was painted across Morgan’s face. To her even the air itself felt agitated as she sensed in her gut the hundreds rioting on the decks above. Heat clung to her like condensation on the walls around her. Thick, oppressive, infinitely offensive to her nostrils and taste buds. The filtration systems on these levels were beyond repair, for all she knew. Since she was last on the Matron it had fallen into even greater disrepair. An oversight she would soon fix.
Exposed conduits sparked with life, diming the lights above her head as Charoo Vaan — a blue skinned Twi'lek with a perpetually smoking cigar in his teeth and a gunslinger’s belt at his thigh — who also happened to be her quartermaster aboard The Kraken, approached the holotable she was leaning against. “Spast,” he cursed as a spark landed on his neck, running his fingers across the spot with irritation.
“You’ll live, Mister Vaan,” she murmured, her one good eye never leaving the map of the ship dotted with red markers, as if tossed by a child onto a canvas.
“We’ll see. The day’s still young, cap'n.” They shared a knowing smirk between them. Morgan stretched her back, her long brown leather coat groaning underneath her. She looked around to take everything in.
Circular room. Embedded consoles along the walls, holodisplays flickering with loss of power. The large holotable dominated the space, dragged in here through sheer might of arms — literally — by Morgan’s crew. Vaan stole it from some deck or other. She didn’t care to ask further. Around the table several individual sat, reclining against rails, in impromptu seating, and one actual recliner. Old, busted, but still reclining. Where Torve, Morgan’s Bosun, found the thing wasn’t nearly as interesting as the fact that it could still take her muscular bulk and not break.
The others were smaller gang lords and smugglers that decided to join Morgan’s cause. Joining the winning side, she supposed, though the fight hadn’t yet been won. Only one individual she knew, apart from Vaan, held absolute loyalty to her: Ebeda Vuull, the mistress of the Strygae coven. A slight woman, all black leather and pale skin, covered by a thin veneer of silky fabric obscuring her features enough for the eye to wander. She, on the other hand had no issues staring. Directly. Purposefully. Unsettlingly. Next to her stood a lieutenant of the Leviathans, sent over by Zahlia Vryn, the Matron’s own Quartermaster. He had the reports they needed to bring this strategy meeting to a close.
The last important individual was the one they were waiting on. A representative of the Severed Hand. Morgan knew of them. Small-time back in the day, but apparently their deal with the Syndicate was lucrative enough to bring them into the fold. By her calculation, the disregard and disinterest of previous captains only made the small-fry stronger. Now she relied on them more than ever. Fanatics most called them, but Morgan didn’t care. Ebeda and her witches were worse than anyone. Besides, replacing arms with mechanical replacements was pretty common, despite it looking like a morbid tradition. She would bit her tongue and graciously accept the help, after which she and Isaak would settle debts, with interest.
Outside the assigned meeting room, Vigo had flicked off his filtered mask and combed back his hair.
The air, thick and heavy weighed on him instantly, he thought about flicking the mask on and going in that way, but alas he prided himself on presentation.
He took a breath, sliding that firm, unwavering mask over his features. Suppressing the hit-in-the-gut feeling that he got every time he had to say goodbye to his brother, Dominik. He didn’t need that impairing his judgement.
He told the guard the assigned code, and was granted access in. He purposely didn’t suppress his footsteps and allowed the click of the heels of his dark combat boots echo off the floor.
He wore a dark set of tactical pants, with a blaster secured to his thigh, and a dark turtleneck sweater, mostly covering a set of light armor.
He walked with his arms folded neatly behind his back, posture squared, and confident.
He approached the group, giving a graceful, albeit begrudging, bow. He hated that required policy of the Severed Hand.
“Vigo Zakirov, representative of the Severed Hand.” Rolling his R’s as he spoke.
He gave a saccharine smile, careful to not show his elongated cuspids. “Isaak said you were informed of my arrival?”
Morgan observed the man as he walked in, noting his posture, his gait, even his somewhat hesitant bow. She couldn’t rightly tell whether he was respectful, afraid, or indifferent. Good. At least it won’t be boring. She thought.
“We don’t bow here. This isn’t a court,” her reply was even, calm and neutral. matter-of-fact. There was no humor or sarcasm in it, but even despite that several crewmen behind Zakirov snickered. Morgan shot them a glance that shut them up right quick. Torve , the bosun, simply smiled as she lounged on the sofa, noting them for later discipline. Charoo, the Quartermaster, shook his head.
“Apparently, Isaak neglected to inform me that you’ll be thirty minutes late.” Her expression didn’t change one bit but there was a serious undertone of annoyance to her statement punctuated by her nostrils flaring in soft rebuke. She understood the powerplays of the underworld, especially when someone liked to remind others their help was invaluable. Isaak was one such sleemo. He’ll do the work as promised, but not without flexing.
Vigo let the initial comment and snickers roll off him. It wasn’t the first time folks had issues with the bow, sometimes it feeds their egos.
Although being told he was a half an hour late was not what he was expecting.
He checked the time on his compad. Displaying 1 minute past the hour. He had been on time according to the information that Isaak provided him…
The information Isaak provided him.
His eyes flicked up to meet Morgan’s gaze, an icy fury burning behind them.
“Apologies.” He said through gritted teeth.
“Isaak failed to also inform me of my late arrival.” The wheels in Vigo’s mind started to turn. He faintly recalled overhearing a one off sentence mentioning sending a message but it had been after he had been dismissed, and he had chalked it up to being other information outside his jurisdiction.
It made sense now. He was to be the pawn, the fool, for whatever power trip Isaak had planned for himself. He let that calm, cool mask slide into place over his rage.
“Please inform me directly for any information regarding meetings until our business has concluded.” He almost instinctively went to bow again. Muscle memory, instead he stiffened before shifting to the “at ease” position they drilled into him in the military. Feet shoulder width apart, and arms behind his back, before nodding to the holodisplays.
“The plan?”
Morgan gave him a once over again, squinted and nodded. “Straight to business. I like it.” She turned to the others at the table. “Before we discuss the plan, introductions are in order.”
She pointed at the blue Twi'lek extinguisihing his cigar. “Charoo Vaan, my quartermaster. He’ll be on the Kraken coordinating our efforts. The ship is nearby and had an advanced sensor suite that can map the matron’s levels and lead us to our objectives.”
Next her gaze fell on the witch: “Ebeda Vuull, mistress of the Strygae coven. They’re very much interested in retaking Chute Town. Her sisters are deadly, for the proper tasks.” She gave Ebeda a knowing look, one of sharp understanding and clandestine meaning.
“Abedo Huna, lieutenant of the Leviathans. Here representing the Majordomo and the Matron’s crew. They’re spread thin as is so he and his men will assist us with heavy firepower.” She pointed at the heavy blaster on the Hapan’s shoulder. “He’s with us on the front, along with my whole crew led by myself and Torve Anna Bomme, my Bosun.” She presented the Pantoran who stood at Vigo’s height and twice his bulk. Torve, for her part, simply saluted informally and continued listening.
Finally she presented the other bosses, smugglers and pirate captains who joined Morgan’s cause. All in all around two thousand crewmen, soldiers, bounty hunters and mercs. A small army. Enough to take the ship, especially with the Leviathan’s on their side, but not without a fight.
A holographic display of the Matron popped into existence from the table. Green grids displayed Chute town, the various hangars, docking ports, docking rings, cargo holds, and other rooms. The ship was a monumental maze where anyone and anything could go missing and never be found. And there were several dozen choke points, areas of interest and objectives spread across it, all painted as red dots, including their current position deep in the basements of the ship’s left arm.
“Here’s the situation: a dozen or more crews have taken onto themselves to duke it out over territory and important systems. With the Captain’s position vacant and myself as the successor, some of the crews who have issues with me are emboldened to try and take over.” She said so with equal parts malice and disgust. “They whipped up the crowds in Chute Town. The rabble is up in arms. Well, mostly with sticks and pipes, but a blaster here and there is enough to create chaos.” She pointed at Chute Town where a red area appeared showing numbers. Ten thousand, or more, people already joined the riot.
She turned the hologram to display the rest of the ship. “There are sixty objectives, all in all. Most are small fry but crucial for secondary systems. Some are system critical, like the power regulator for the life support system. That’s been taken over by a small coalition of gangs. There are at least a dozen more like it and every one of them needs handling. Each crew gets one. One particular objective is in the engineering section.” She pointed at the red dot right above the main engine generators at the back of the ship. “That one is the toughest. That’s where I’m going.”
“Captain!” Vann protested and Torve half-leapt to her feet, shock writ large on her features.
“Quiet. It’s my decision. If I get killed here, it wasn’t my ship to begin with.” There was a sternness to her that allowed no argument. “And that’s where you’re going, Mister Zakirov. You, your men and my crew.” A hush fell over the gathering as they looked at Vigo, anticipating an answer.
His grey eyes revealed nothing as he took in the information. The Engineering sector, holding the Matron’s engines, the life support, the gravity calibration, one wrong bullet and that can cause a long list of issues. It is one of the most coveted areas of the ship. Only the strongest most reinforced crew would be in control of it because of the vast importance it possesses. Everyone’s lives on board were relying on the Praetor to regain control.
In the absence of the Herald, Vigo had heard through inner communications of the Severed Hand that they had done a few backroom trades of experimental combat droids and other technology to a crew inhabiting that sector. But they hadn’t heard anything since one of the traders mentioned them protecting a large communal treasury.
He assessed the display silently, arms still behind his back, his grey eyes darting around. He nodded and spoke.
“My knowledge of the group inhabiting the sector is limited. They at the very minimum have combat droids. We believe they also possess a large variety of valuable items, credits, and technology. We call it the Obshak. The Severed Hand has talked about attempting to seize it but haven’t executed it yet. Though if any damage or theft of the Obshak were to happen everyone involved would be marked for death. We’ve sent scouting parties there but found nothing. We think its hidden in the walls.” He turned to look at the display once more.
“Perhaps we could use some choke points in our plan, to avoid damaging any of the machinery. I am adept in close quarters combat and could go ahead stealthily and attempt to take out the guards. Likely droids and guards will be on every corner.”
The holographic display of the Matron rotated slowly above the table, its vast circular structure glowing in layers of green and red and the red dominated. It always did, these days. Morgan didn’t immediately reply, instead studying the map as Vigo talked. She reached out, rotating it with delicate movements, zooming in on the area of operation with a single flinch of her finger.
“Hidden in the walls.” She pondered. A cache of resources, even a smaller one, would be valuable to stabilize the Matron in the immediate future. Reasserting control wasn’t just about killing everything that opposed you, in fact it was rarely about that. Mostly it was politics, deals, arrangements and bribes being divvied up between crews. The power plays in the Shroud Syndicate were never simple, and rarely cheap.
“There’s no way to know where it is. It’ll take a while to search the area. Besides, finding any loot is a secondary objective. That they have combat droids concerns me more.” She rubbed her chin absentmindedly. “Those were smuggled in, most likely. There are no ledgers about any combat droid shipments. Something that should have been addressed…” she left the rest of the thought hanging in the air.
Around the table reactions varied. Charoo Vaan exhaled smoke slowly, lekku twitching as he considered their options. Ebeda did not move an inch, instead her dark eye fixated on Vigo with unsettling intensity, as if trying to peer at something deeper inside him. Abedo Huna shifted his stance, eyes focused, heavy blaster humming faintly as its powercell cycled. Torve, however, watched Morgan. She waited patiently for a decision.
Morgan leaned against the table and observed the multitudes of shafts, hallways and corridors snaking through the Matron’s complex structure. It was a place where a wrong turn got you killed, or worse.
“These choke points,” she said, almost to herself as her fingers traced a path through the schematic, pointing at the most obvious ones along the fastest route. “We should expect resistance here,” she pointed at a wide corridor. “And here. And here.” Each marked path pulsed white in contrast to the rest of the holo. “Which means fortifications. Droids in front, meatsacks behind. Fallback positions as well.” She looked up at them all. “So, that’s not where we go.”
Torve frowned. “Captain, with respect, those are the fastest routes.”
“They’re also the loudest and deadliest,” Morgan replied flatly. No reply. Then she turned her head toward Vigo again. “You’re thinking is correct,” she added. “Close quarters. Control the engagement with minimal collateral damage.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, in approval laced with caution. “But stealth alone won’t carry us there.”
She expanded another section of the schematic, one with tight, twisting corridors barely large enough for two people abreast. Maintenance veins running alongside the ship’s vital systems. Some of them flickered, marked unstable or partially collapsed. “This,” she said, highlighting them with her index finger, “is where you’ll lead the assault.” A soft murmur rippled through the gathered captains and mercenaries.
Lead.
Not assist in it. Not support it from the flank. Lead.
“You’ll take a group of us in through stealth,” Morgan continued, “your people, part of the Kraken’s crew, and the Strygae.” At that, Ebeda’s lips curved into something faintly pleased. “They move quietly,” Morgan added, not looking at her. “And they are… deadly in close quarters.”
Ebeda inclined her head just slightly, letting her jaw drop, roll and readjust. “We are.”
“And you?” Torve asked, her voice careful, but laced with concern to anyone who knew her well.
Morgan didn’t hesitate. “I’m going with them.”
That did it.
The murmurs grew louder now, uneasy and incredulous. Even Abedo Huna’s composure cracked for a moment. “Captain, the engineering core is the most volatile sector on the entire ship. If—”
“If it falls,” Morgan cut in, “nothing else matters. I know my worth as the Captain, and I know my worth in the fight. They’ll need me.”
Silence fell over them again. “Mister Zakirov, your thoughts?”
He was silent for a good while. The cool metal of his prosthetic thumb skimmed over his bottom lip as his grey eyes slithered over the holodisplay like snakes.
Lead. That word rang through his mind, it almost was comical, until he realized she was serious. Isaak had never let him lead anything. Perhaps he was sure Vigo would make a fool of himself, or perhaps he didn’t know Morgan would allow Vigo to do much of anything besides aid.
His eyes darted up, following the maintenance lines seeing it branching outwards towards side corridors outside the main control room. Lights flickered, indicating a collapse. Still… it very well may be of use. He nodded.
“I propose we take the next day to scout this out here.” he pointed to the collapse, “I’ll also take the time to contact the Severed Hand for resources. A member in there might be able to get us a device to decommission the combat droids temporarily, allowing time for an override.” His brother. “If we can clear this blockage here, this is where Alpha crew will go.” He nodded to Morgan, “Likely the main control room will be heavily guarded and the moment they hear any noise in the vents, they’d be on high alert. Beta crew will continue down the maintenance lines, but wait for our signal. Alpha will clear out the rooms and hallway to the control room, 2 members will break off from Alpha and keep watch where the remainder of both Alpha and Beta squads will enter the room at the same time, covering most of the angles. All the while Charlie crew will be coming in from the front.” He took a deep breath, that was a lot of speaking he was not used to doing in one go, or perhaps it’s the slight high from the freedom to be able to propose a plan. He wasn’t sure.
“That, of course, all depends on the removal of the blockage. Proper scouting to assess ahead of time. Which I can handle tonight solo, but willing to take up to one other person, because I can cloak them if need be.”
Dread hit him like a punch in the gut, although he worked hard to keep the remainder of his neutral mask in place, remembering he would need to contact Dominik for help with the droids and scouting. He hated asking his brother for help during a mission, but he was one of the few that were adept enough in what he needed.
“Any addendums?”
Morgan looked at the map as Vigo spoke, focused on the plan, but keeping half her attention on his body language. She assessed, calculating the odds of success. She wanted a bigger edge, more leverage on their side of the scale.
“Yes,” Charoo piped in, pointing at the map. “What happens if there are guards in the maintenance corridors?”
“You should be able to warn us,” Morgan piped in before Vigo could. “Get as close to the ventral hull for a better scan, and keep us in communication. You’re our hub.” She gave him a pointed look at which he simply nodded.
“Team…Charlie, was it?” Morgan asked, confused by the nomenclature. She usually defaulted to aurebesh. “That’s Thorve and Cheonooga’s.” She turned to the Pantoran who looked ready for a scrap. “Make a lot of noise and get the wookiee riled up.” It was an order. Torve’s smile cut like a blade.
Morgan turned to Vigo next. “We can organize Alpha and Beta on the spot. When do we scout?”
He nodded to each question, watching the interaction. A Wookie? His eyebrow cocked slightly. Now that would be a lot of fun to watch.
He checked his compad, “I’ll start scouting about five hours from now.” That should give his contact enough time to get him some resources, and enough time for him to prepare. “We should reconvene after the scouting, to discuss what was found, and solidify our plan. Alpha should be made up of those adept in close quarters combat, as they are the ones to see most of the action. Start thinking about where your strengths would be best in.” He glanced around the room.
“If anyone would like to accompany me for the scouting I’ll actually be on time.”
Morgan angled away from the holographic display, its green glow washing over her profile, sharpening the angles of her face into something almost sculptural. Contemplating. Scrutinyzing the plan. This man, vigo, looked to be interested in the mission above all, even his own gain. Rare. Unexpected. His motivations were unclear, which made him unpredictable, something Morgan came to admire and often defaulted to herself. The issue was, she couldn’t tell if it was an act or genuine.
Someone would, though. Or, at least, someone of Vigo’s disposition could. The man seemed to be a straight shooter, no preamble, no chest pumping of humor. And Morgan knew the exact man who would work well with him.
“You won’t be going alone.” That wasn’t a suggestion. Her gaze slid past him, settling briefly on the edge of the room where one of her crew had remained silent through most of the exchange and as still as a statue. His silhouette almost easy to miss if one wasn’t looking for him.
“Bellamy.” The name cut cleanly through the room. A few heads turned. Some recognized it, some didn’t.
But the man himself moved before any murmurs echoed out. Tokra Nash, a Togruta, stepped forward without a word, as tall as Vigo, but bulkier. More heavyset.
White montrals caught the dim light while the green of his skin seemed to swallow it. His presence wasn’t loud or imposing in the most common sense, but there was something about his body language that spoke of a viper ready to spring. Matte black armor absorbed light and seemed to fade into the gloomy parts of the room. Utilitarian. No wasted space, no unwanted decoration save for a Kraken crew symbol on his shoulder pad.
“You’ll help you Mister Zakirov live through this ordeal.”
A few of the mercs smirked at that. Tokra — Bellamy — simply stopped at Vigo’s side, offering a simple, neutral nod in greeting. He didn’t speak but simply turned to Morgan. He was already part of the plan.
Morgan’s attention returned fully to the table. “Five hours,” she said. “Scout, map what you can and don’t engage unless you have to.”
Her gaze flicked between Vigo and Bellamy now.
“And if you do…” She paused. “…you end it before it becomes a problem.”
She turned slightly, already shifting her focus to the broader operation. “We reconvene after. Finalize Alpha and Beta. Then we move.” She paused another moment as she gave Vigo another look. “Don’t be late.”
She dissolved the meeting with a wave of her hand.
Vigo’s icy gaze slid across the room to where the other heads turned to the mention of Bellamy.
His eyes slid over the Togruta, analyzing his chosen attire. Not much different than his own. A wave of relief rushed through him. Grateful for not much of a yapper to accompany him.
As Tokra approached Vigo returned a nod in kind.
This.. soldier before him was everything the Severed Hand wanted him to be. Quiet. Following orders. Blending into the shadows. Mission after mission prepared at a moments notice. Vigo couldn’t tell if him and Tokra have a lot in common or quite the opposite. Although he suspected getting either of them to open up would be a tricky task.
“Five hours,” Morgan said. His grey eyes snapped to her. He said he would start scouting in five hours, not be completed by then.
Perhaps this Morgan Sorren also enjoys playing games. No wonder why Isaak used Vigo as a pawn.
Five hours to be done by. Fine. He’d need to immediately contact Dominik after this, giving him as much time as he can spare, but still accounting for travel time, preparation, and mission time.
“Five hours.” He gave a swift nod before turning his attention to Bellamy, offering his contact information and making his leave out of the meeting room.