Session export: Spring Cleaning

Besadii Embassy Hamartia city, Wispor I 42 ABY

“Oh poodoo, we’re already behind schedule!” Elar Baaksob, the Seneschal of the Besadii Embassy, sweated as he watched precious seconds slip away, a tangle of datapads blinking on a bandolier across his chest. The Duros was even more neurotic than the usual amount, and being in charge of His Eminence Pribba Chaba Besadii’s residence was enough cause for severe neuroticism at the best of times.

The cool air of the security control room did little to dissuade the beads of sweat rising on his well-worn brow while his scarlet eyes moved from monitor to monitor, observing the staff at their tasks. Progress was going slowly, far too slowly. But soon the next wave of hired hands would arrive. That would surely help them keep a schedule.

“What point in your plans if they fail so soon?” a hulking sandy-beige Trandoshan inquired mockingly, standing a full head higher than the Duros though he was still seated and absently tossing puffed snails into his maw to pass the time. “Pribba has no hurry to return from Nal Hutta to this pizdak backwater. You have time.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” the Duros spat bitterly. “This year I am going to impress him and finally earn my raise!”

The acting chief of security raised a scaly eyebrow. “Raise? Seneschal not as high as it goes?”

“Oh please,” Elar scoffed, “I am a glorified secretary. But if I do this right, and I intend to bend heaven and earth to make sure I do, he will finally allow me into his inner circle as one of his advisors. That is where the real power lies. Hope that all the extra hands I’ve paid for make an impression.”

“Great, your reward for sucking up to the Hutt is a bigger mouthful of tail.”

“Silence! Master would have your head for such insolence!” “Pribba does not even know I exist. As long as I do my job and keep the sleemos out, he pays me no mind.”

“You lack of ambition does you credit, Krad. You must be the least ambitious lifeform on this entire planet…”

“Thanks, probably makes me the luckiest too,” Krad replied, flicking another puffed snail into his gaping maw, closing it with a crunch shattering chitin.

===

A chill breeze swept through the streets of Hamartia’s diplomatic quarter, the air carrying with it a distinct scent of baked goods and sewage. One was the product of the city’s venerable bakeries while the other the result of its dilapidated infrastructure. The city had seen better days—decades ago. The plaster fixes were like make-up on a corpse as beneath the facade of dignified pedigree, the city and its inhabitants were slowly marching towards extinction. Mayhaps not in many decades yet, but the inevitable was looming as the Hutts slowly but surely closed their claws on the struggling system. Without the Severian Principate to balance their influence, it would be a struggle they could not hope to prevail.

A small gaggle of assorted day laborers, hired hands, and roustabouts stood behind the imposing monolith of the Besadii Embassy, the building squatting like a round peg in a square hole. Flanked on either side by the stark faces of Imperial architecture, the Embassy was as much an eyesore as it was a message to the locals. The Hutts were here and had no intention of leaving.

The bastion of a building was built as a gently tapered cylinder in traditional Hutteese style, its outer walls painted a pleasingly inoffensive dark beige that had taken on some discoloration over time, giving it the effect of an aged Hutt hide—and probably not by coincidence. Windowless beyond the promenade deck just beneath the roof overhang, it loomed large more like a fortress than the office building that it ostensibly paraded as.

Standing in its shadow, the workers puffed into their hands to keep warm and made hushed conversation, already planning on how to spend the day’s earnings. If there was one positive to be said for the Hutts, they did pay well. At least when they had need of you.

With a buzz and a click, the perimeter gate clicked open to reveal a Gamorrean dressed in a purple jumpsuit bearing the Besadii emblem on its chest. A blaster and shock baton hung on his belt, next to a simple Ident-chit scanner which he fished into his meaty hands and proceeded to belt out in Hutteese.

“Work permits! Get your work permits out!”

The order given, the assembled began filing inside the Embassy for the day’s labor.

Zig adjusted her slightly modified version of her usual clothing preference. The Voidbreaker uniform she’d stylized had been dyed a more muted (boring) gray color. The jacket sat comfortably over her shoulders and longsleeve shirt (she prefered tanktops), the pants tight but covering her legs fully (as a truly health and safety department compliant worker would) paired with hard-toe’d black work boots.

She then took a moment to look over the rest of the team. Mex seemed…very Mex. Inquisitive but quiet. Adem, of everyone gathered, seem to be the most ‘in character’. That was good for the “junior” engineer. He was very good, and Zig didn’t have much to teach him, but he seemed fine with the chain of command aboard the ship, or at least not super interested in pushing up said chain.

Shamiir? They were new, and Zig was determined to make friends with them. But she knew that could take some time, and she could be patient.

Lastly, she gently nudged the Barabell next to her with her elbow, looking up towards Druzk.

“You ready, big shoots?” She took our her own work slip and readied it.

The work slip rolled between Adem’s dexterous, pale fingers - an old habit from younger days - as he readied his credentials. Though he took care his affect did not betray this, his nerves glittered with anxious energy, like barely extinguished embers. The issue of his abysmal Huttese had gone largely overlooked, as Adem was chiefly concerned by the need to leave his lightsabers out of this job. Their absence on his hip left the Umbaran Jedi feeling positively nude, despite wearing an unadorned Voidbreaker engineering jumpsuit. He’d attempted to distress it a bit, if only for effect.

The act’s the easy part. Getting there, though…

The Gamorrean’s cavernous nostrils flared as he loomed over Adem, who meekly held up his work slip in clear view. The gatekeep waved the ident-chit scanner over the token. The device chimed affirmatively. The boar squinted at the droid tucked behind Adem’s shoulder and grumbled around four or five Huttese words, their tone questioning.

“Booooo-wooo,” BD-99 warbled, shrinking further down the strap across Adem’s shoulder.

“He’s good,” the Umbaran conjured in Basic, “for ducts. Air conditioning.” Adem’s blaster, discreetly tucked in a shadowholster in the small of his back and sandwiched between various tools, felt tantalizingly near and impossibly far away all at once.

Try touching him, and it’ll cost you your hands, with or without a lightsaber.

The guard snorted, and grumbled something as he waved Adem off and moved down the line.

This sort of mission was different from his usual fare. Quiet. Boring. Druzk preferred the quick in and out, and if a few unlucky individuals decided to get in his way, blasting them was always entertaining, too. He wondered why he even volunteered for this mission in the first place when he returned from his hiatus from the Voidbreaker and even the Brotherhood as a whole.

Perhaps a tiny part of him wanted to try something different.

The Barabel snorted quietly in annoyance as Zig nudged him. A hand reached into his jacket to reveal his own work permit for scanning by the pig guard.

“I’m always ready,” Druzk muttered flatly in response to Zig’s question as his pass was scanned. “You better be, too.”

Shamiir did their best to look, well, bored. An endeavor assisted by their actual boredom with all this standing around. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to this sort of stuff, hopping from junker to junker on an endless meandering trek about the galaxy was rarely a wild ride. This was, however, the most invested in selling that impression they had ever needed to be.

A large Gamorrean eventually opened the gate and barked an order in Hutteese, eliciting a momentary look of consternation from the Echani before their face settled back into apathetic placidity.

Shamiir was immediately out of their element. It was rare to find a port where Basic wasn’t at least widely, if not predominantly, spoken. It went a long way when you didn’t need to talk to anyone in specific, and years of bouncing around meant it was the only thing they’d picked up.

They settled further back in the line, watching what went on ahead. Perhaps predictably the guard seemed to want to see their permit. A slender finger slowly traced the stitching of a small concealed pocket on the inside of the poncho as the line inched forwards.

After what felt like an age Shamiir’s permit generated the scanner’s beep. They did their best to maintain the look of disinterest, sliding the permit back into a pocket of their loose clothing and continuing inside as the Gamorrean grumbled something in Hutteese they couldn’t understand a word of.

They weren’t getting the wrong end of that shock baton for now, so that was at least the easiest part of all this out of the way.

Tall, lanky - and almost uncomfortable looking in their own chitin, Mex kept staring at the buildings around them. Whether in awe or curiosity was sometimes hard to tell - even to Mex themselves. Taking in the architecture, watching how the electronics operated the buildings, listening to the signals generated by both radio and droid alike, the verpine seemed very intent on taking in the environment. Contrasting Shamiir’s attempts to look bored and Druzk’s general attitude of looking bored, Mex quietly revelled in the anxious excitement.

It had been a long time since they’d been off of the Voidbreaker for a mission, the open space was almost too much to contain. But they had a job to do: ‘Improve the ventilation’. It was strange that they had parts to install surveillance - but maybe it was some colloquialism that they didn’t understand. It happened a lot, they pondered on the implications - and even asked Zig on occasion but the answer seemed pretty clear: Ventilation. Maybe some of the species here could breath easier if they knew they were watched and safe.

Bumbling along with the group and not completely paying attention, Mex almost wandered past the Gamorrean guard. They weren’t certain what was belted out at the group as the verpine did not speak Hutteese, but seeing the ident-chit scanner prompted the verpine to quickly fumble out the pass from their belt.

“Hi, I am Mex. Work-Permit.” They replied, as they wiped the permit across the scanner, locking eyes with the guard as they did so.

Without waiting to actually see if they were cleared they skittered off to keep pace with the rest of the group. “Hi, we will fix the ventilation and everyone will be happy. Is there anything else?”

Zig grinned back at the Barbell. “Ferda.”

Zig casually tapped her chit to the scanner, flashed an innocent grin at the Gamorrean.

“Ready to work,” she said in fluent Huttese, which seemed to give the guard a half moment of pause.

When the scanner chirped in approval, the Gamorrean grunted and then waved Zig on.

Cleared, the Zygerrian moved to keep close to Mex. “Yeah, something like that. They also want us to keep an eye out for any older, unused tech. Junk to these people, obviously, but good for the project pile back ok the ship, yeah?” she patted the Verpine in the back in a reassuring manner.

“Hi Zig, ok! Will fill belt pockets. Always have room.” They loved to look for old technology, it was often the most stimulating to take apart and put back together. They resumed their sentry, ready to snag anything of perceived relevance.

The workers filed in past the Gamorrean guard and through a service entrance inside the Embassy proper. Immediately their senses were assaulted by the smell. The kitchens were definitely close, though they had entered next to the staff lounge and cold storage. A mix of sweat, grease, and pungent spices with an undercurrent of ammonia wafted in the air, if anything highlighting the importance of a thorough scrub-down. A utilitarian corridor led them towards the assembly area at the lobby, the corridor lined with various storage rooms, kitchenettes and other utility spaces until they emerged through a durasteel blast door into the foyer.

The change in ambiance was so jarring it might have snapped weaker necks.

Gone was the hum of high-volume ventilation fans, harsh acoustics of steel paneled floors, and the assaulting odours. In their place was pleasant wood paneling, plush carpets, elegant decor, and a slight hint of incense lingering in the air. It was rather obvious which side was for the staff and which for the dignitaries.

“Hurry up, hurry up! I don’t pay you to drag your feet. And if I see you dragging any mud on these carpets, so help me Hutt…”

The strained voice belonged to a copper green Duros who stood behind a podium marked with the Besadii emblem, a bandolier of datapads blinking around his chest. “Was that the last ones? Good, now listen up. I’m only going to say this once.”

“I am Elar Baaksob, Seneschal to the illustrious Pribba Chaba Besadii, by whose grace you are allowed within the sovereign territory of the Hutts. I hired you all for a very simple task and I expect only perfection. You will be divided to your assigned sectors and ensure the Embassy is cleaned thoroughly from floor to ceiling, and any untoward technology found is ruthlessly eliminated.”

The Duros gestured at a pair of workers dressed in blue jumpsuits with white accents, hard hats and thick rubber boots. They tended between them to a rather crude looking device that those mechanically inclined would immediately recognize as an Ion disruptor. The device was hooked to a portable power supply not unlike an ancient vacuum cleaner, though many times larger and more cumbersome.

“There are several specialist Tech Sweepers deployed around the Embassy. If you encounter any untoward or suspicious technology, inform them and they will deal with it. They will be conducting a systematic sweep of the entire premises and will not tolerate any other disturbances. If you have any tech on you, do not get close when they work. The Embassy will not be held liable for any damage caused to your personal comlinks.”

“Now, your sectors. Team Aurek, you will handle the lounge and promenade. Team Besh, office spaces. Team Cresh, kitchens, ballroom and staff quarters. Then for our specialists. Team Dorn, you will have access to the private residence of His Eminence. You’ve been specially screened for this task and I warn you in advance, trying to pickpocket anything will result in punishment.”

The Duros waved over a small gaggle of people who seemed to know what they were doing, handing them a set of golden key cards.

“The security elevator will only operate with those cards. The rest of you will have no business among the gentry, so use the service elevators at the back.”

“And finally, Team Esk. The ventilation needs to be cleaned good and proper. We will run an ion charge through the system after you’re done, so make sure you’re clear by the appointed time. We don’t want a repeat of last year…”

“Any questions? No? Good. Now get to work, I don’t pay you for standing around!”

A dour-faced Trandoshan, his hide a sandy beige, proceeded to step forward and hand them each a silver key card. It would be enough access to get to the staff spaces, but nothing more. However, despite the teams being singled out, they all seemed to obtain equal access. Only Team Dorn appeared to have any sort of special access, a trait they seemed to relish as they swiftly swiped their cards by the Security Elevator and disappeared inside.

Zig tapped her foot idly as she did herself a big think. She fidgeted with the silver card between her fingertips. “Alright squad,” she said, making a universal gesture for Druzk, Mex, Adem, and Shamiir to gather up, as she pulled out her datapad to review the data they’d been given to work with.

“I think it’s best we don’t split the party. That said, those Ion Distruptors are…interesting. I wonder if there is a way to reverse the polarity. Maybe if we can find a terminal, Shamiir…you can do the Jedi cloaky-thing, right?”

Mex wandered in with the group, still looking around and seeming inattentive. Regardless, they were listening and chimed in. “Hi Zig, I do not think of a reason why we could not. Reverse it, move it, turn it off, make it big, make it small - just have to find it. MCU, power generator, or the mechanism to disperse pulse itself. Lots of options. Maybe somewhere important. Private room?”

The verpine was restless and couldn’t remain still, shifting around and looking for something to do. “We clean ventilation soon, yes?”

“Yeah, one way or another, we’re going to need to get you up in there, bud.” She fidgeted a bit more, mind overclocking a bit. “We should get to the staff elevator…do we want to go through the kitchen first, maybe see if we can plant something there?”

None of this was very much Druzk’s forte. The fact that they decided against going in guns blazing was a bit disappointing, but even he understood the rationale.

“Zig’s… right,” he muttered, hesitating to admit her being right about anything. “We should stay together. There are fewer problems, and there are fewer chances of things karking up. Kitchen might be worth a shot.”

“Sure.” Shamiir said in response to Zig’s question, settling in to the group as well but not really paying much attention to the datapad. Their eyes scanned the surroundings instead, looking for details that might be worth taking note of and watching the other people distribute themselves about.

The Echani was less certain, however, of the proposal of staying together than Druzk. They disliked groups to begin with, but here they also doubted the actual strategic advantage. Sure, it put them all in one place where they were less likely to be isolated and a group tackling a single task might make sense in some cases. But it also put them all in one place, where they were more noticeable and more easily surveilled. Any deception also would have to account for the whole group.

“If you were a paranoid guard who hired a bunch of people to clean and find spying implements, what would you think of a group of them wandering everywhere together?” They wondered aloud. An especially poignant question considering the group divisions here aside from those with the gold key cards seemed more vibes based.

“Plus, if we do mess up in a group, everyone’s compromised. Zero to shootout, no slack.”

Looking to Shamiir, Mex considered their point. It wasn’t incorrect, but it was made with a certainty the verpine lacked “Hi, I am Mex. There are many groups. It would be strange if only one of them did not remain as a group, yes? We should return intermittently if split. Coordinate cleaning. Get job done.”

Zig listened intently as they walked into the kitchen. Shamiir had very good points. Mex–she thought with a bit of pride at them speaking up more confidently–also made a solid point.

She wasn’t Captain anymore. And while she was the senior ranking crew office on this mission, sure, she wasn’t a tactician. It was one thing to delegate, manage and inspire, and motivate. But in that moment she…didn’t know what to say. Even with all the experience shed gained in her years with the Voidbreaker and it’s crew, the larger galaxy was still a mystery to her outside of droids and terminals.

“If we stick together as a crew, it is less suspicious. Perhaps once we are…more into the job, it will ‘look’ better if we split off.”

She looked around the kitchen, surveying.

The group passed their plotting under hushed breaths, the utter lack of interest paid to the “hired help” from the people in charge aiding in their subterfuge. The stern gazes of the Trandoshan only persisted until they had returned whence they’d come and their feet touched the sterile steel of the kitchen and utility areas. The noise of ventilation helped masked their banter even further, affording them a degree of freedom to discuss their plans without being eavesdropped.

To Mex’s trained ear, the ventilation was clearly in need of a thorough scrubbing. Despite the whine and howl of the fans, he could feel barely any air moving in the overhead channels. (Do an Intelligence check.)

As Zig focused on her surroundings, trying to take in any motes of useful information, she noted that the usual kitchen staff had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Only a handful of serfs were actually making anything in the kitchens and it seemed only the unluckiest sods had been ordered to work today. None around seemed to have any ‘rank’ and so they were milling about rather uselessly and paying the “cleaners” little mind. However, she did pick up on the fact there were security cameras even here, though they appeared more focused on preventing petty theft than infiltration or espionage. And a year’s worth of cooking grease had dulled the lenses a fair bit…

Mex wracks their brain as they consider the sound and inefficiency of the airways. There must be some serious clog in the filters. But then, those ventilation pipes are huge, surely any blockage couldn’t be that severe? Actually, it seems like the entire ventilation system is over-built for a kitchen this size. Almost like it’s servicing more space than it appears to…

“Hm. Seems pretty light for a kitch crew for this size of a venue…” Zig murmured as the group walked through the kitchen.

She raised her datapad, and did not have to pretend or mime that she was quickly swiping through different screens and multitasking as she walked. Anyone trying to peek at her pad would have a hard time following, at least.

She took note of the security camera positions. A quick plan formulated. “Hey Mex, why don’t you grab that ladder over there, check to make sure it’s up to code, and start working on that vent panel,” she pointed at a grate panel that seemed roughly adjacent to where she assumed the HVAC system was piped into.

She shared a glance with Druzk and mouthed, follow my lead. She patted the Barabel on the shoulder and lightly guided him to stand in a certain position over by the circruit breaker. She flipped it open and then leaned in close to whisper to him.

“Just read the labels out to me, slowly, and keep your shoulders turned…just like that.”

Based on where the towering Mercenary stood, he did a nice, organic job of blocking the security camera that would be pointed at where Zig and Shamiir now stood.

She handed Shamiir one of the “plant” microphones she’d designed. The recording device and radio were small enough to fit into a rusted looking can of foodstuff. It was dented and would blend in with the rest of the foodstuff fairly easily.

“Try and place it towards the back of the cabinet.”

After taking some time to look over the vents above them, Mex pondered. Their antennae twitched in realisation - as Zig had already meandered over to the circuit breaker, Mex decided to use their wrist comm-link.

“Hi, I am Mex. Ventilation is partially to substantially blocked. Design is large for kitchen - may run through multiple levels. If cleaned, there is potential to end up somewhere else.” They didn’t bother to lower their voice - after all, they were here to clean the ventilation.

Shamiir turned the device over in their hand for moment, the proceeded to dig their way into a lower shelf of the pantry. It was deeper than they expected, though in retrospect considering Hutts and the function of this place maybe that wasn’t too surprising.

The can was a good disguise though, they had hand it to Zig as it wasn’t something the Echani would have ever come up with. Even the sweepers were likely to assume they were getting interference from somewhere else.

Shamiir worked their arm deeper into the shelf, pushing the can as far back as they could, half on the shelf themselves in the process. One last little swipe spun the can off into the back corner of the shelf, a perfect place for something to get “lost”.

They emerged fidgeting with their scrunched up poncho, giving a momentary thumbs up to indicate their task was complete.

Zig grinned as Druzk read out some of the labels. It was actually helpful as she wrote down the circuits and mapped out a rough estimate of what could control what.

She would need a terminal at some point, but electrical engineering was just as important as the ones-and-zeros.

“Alright, good work big guy,” Zig commented loudly, patting him on the shoulder.

She winked at Shamiir, then gestured towards the vents. “You go with Mex. I’ll stick with Druzk and we will go check the next ventilation point.”

She handed Shamiir a small pouch, and a spare hydrospanner. “Try and plant these smaller ones as you go. There’s some adhesive that activated when it’s pressed against metal and held for five seconds.”

She leaned away and looked at the kitchen staff, who didn’t seem to care what the Voidbreakers were talking about. Clearly they weren’t supposed to be here today.

Druzk restrained all desire to roll his eyes in response to Zig’s praise of his abilities to read basic Basic words from a label. Just play along, he mentally told himself. Stick to the plan.

“Thanks!” he replied, perhaps with the most positive intonation that anyone has ever heard come out from his mouth. It almost made him retch.

Druzk’s voice returned to his usual flat tone as he lowered it. “Ready to go when you are.”

The kitchen staff seemed bored out of their minds. Some were absentmindedly scrubbing their griddles while others pretended to tidy up the place, but were mostly just moving stuff from one place to the next and then back again. Inefficient busywork at its finest. Only one enterprising young soul, a Rodian with skin so dry it was flaking off his pale verdigris face, was actually putting any effort into his work, scrubbing and cleaning like he actually cared about it.

The staff pay the two ‘technicians’ no mind, though they overhead some snippets of conversation.

“Can’t believe they made us stay. There’s nothing to do here!” “It’s not as bad as the sods upstairs. Imagine being stuck actually working?” “Speaking of, when’s the boss’ lunch hour? Should you get on that? I wouldn’t wanna upset him today of all days.” “Relax. I whipped up his favorite, it’s on the hot plate over there, waiting on him.” “Ace. Let’s head for a smoke. The air in here’s worse than in an Exogorth’s stomach.”

The pair of line cooks head outside and the sparse crew is suddenly even fewer. Beyond the kitchen, Druzk and Zig can see the next ventilation access. Situated next to a utility closet that seems to house the cleaning equipment, judging by how pristine and unused it appears to be. The reek of chemicals is also a dead giveaway.

Wandering uncouthly through the kitchen staff to get at the entrance, Mex only paused a moment, showing the pass and chittering out a curt “Work-Permit.” Pulling open a maintenance panel, they powered down the ventilation so it may be worked on.

Moving on over to the vent, they gestured Shamiir over for assistance. Grabbing some cleaning supplies from the utility closet - such as cleaner and a bucket, Mex outfitted themselves for blockage disposal. Getting the ventilation hatch open, they then mentioned quickly to everyone around “blockage.” before climbing in without further delay.

Activating the ilumiwand, they were met with a rather disgusting sight. A amalgamation of cooking refuse and mechanical components. Donning their trusty Hydrospanner™️ they uncoupled the blocked fan and used a rag to begin to clean it off. They weren’t entirely sure how some of the chemicals worked, but cleaner was cleaner. Applying the potent cleaning supplies, the coagulated grease began to practically melt away, collected into the bucket that the verpine Brought with them. This was just like working on the ship… but with more grease. With some time, they were left with a pristine fan mount. It likely ran better than it ever had before. All that was left was to reinstall the parts. But what of the upgrades that they had brought along with them?

Opening their wrist-link, they contacted the rest of the team for deliberation. “Hi, I am Mex. I am in ventilation. Do I apply upgrade?” They coordinated.

Shamiir tucked the hydrospanner and the bugs into their robe before pulling the poncho over their head. The muscles in the Echani’s arms strained as they squeezed all the air out of the cloth and tucked it into a pouch at their hip, following Mex up into the vent a moment later. They rarely found themselves on ships large enough to go crawling around through these days, but the grease was as familiar to them as it was to the Verpine. There was a different quality to the stench, though. The faint sourness of decaying organic matter.

As Mex began tinkering with and cleaning the fan that fed the kitchen area, Shamiir slipped past both, continuing deeper into the network of ducting. As they worked their way back towards the staff elevator, a massive, haphazardly constructed junction came into view in the dimming light. One route led off, toward what they assumed was the massive room at the center of this level - based on the light further down. Another continued the same arc, probably toward the utility spaces opposite the kitchen.

The last went up. To where, exactly, Shamiir couldn’t tell. Their hand fished around in their robes as they examined the upward route, producing a com link as they pondered the best way to communicate that they’d found a route further into the building.

“Should I stay on this level, or move up to the next?” They asked. They could potentially bug the vent, or vents, in the ballroom and the other end of the utility space, but weren’t sure if that was the best use of the resources Zig had imparted upon them.

“Yeah. If you put your spanner down every 15-25 meters you should be good,” Zig tried to say vaguely, while sneaking in technical details. “Definitely don’t want to miss going up.”

“Hi Mex, this is Zig,” the Zygerrian matched the Verpine’s cadence with a practice familiarity. “Feel free to proceed with placing the upgrades. They should definitely help prevent the grease build up.”

As she spoke, she made eye contact with Druzk, noting the utility closet, and the next set of ventilation. “Druzk and I will check the vent down here to see if we find similar problems. Keep up the great work, team!”

No one was paying attention, it seemed, but Zig didn’t have to try super hard to play the part of a mechanical team lead. This was more or less a day on the Voidbreaker, just in a bigger playground if you thought about it.

Mex knew that this wouldn’t do anything to keep the grease out. It must have been yet another colloquialism, maybe it was to ensure no one was sneaking in the vents… or around the base, maybe they were the grease. No matter, they had a job to do. In a moment, they attached the bug towards an onlook from the vent. It was discreet, and thanks to how they cleaned up the vents - the audio should still come through relatively clear thanks to the fan running a lot quieter.

“Ok. Upgrade installed. Will stay with Shamiir.” They conveyed over the comms.

Druzk nodded in acknowledgment as his eyes met with Zig’s. He ensured his voice stayed off of comms. “So far so good. These will be the least greasiest vents this side of Hutt Space.”

As Shamiir waited for the reply, the hum and drone of the fans slowly coming to a halt as there was a moment of serenity. The harsh metal walls of the air duct reflected sound in a particular way, one which the Echani found distantly familiar. Back onboard, effectively on any ship they’d been on, there had always been this faint background tremor of the hypermatter reactor thrumming just at the edge of perception. Now that they were planetside, there wasn’t… or rather, there shouldn’t have been. Yet there was something of a disturbance. Perking their ears, the Echani picked up a faint humming not far from their position, deeper along the vent. It sounded soft and energetic, yet foreboding.

A sense of unease washed over Shamiir, although they weren’t fully sure whether or not the instinctual off-ness of the vent was something to worry about. Zig’s voice bounced off the hard walls, faintly repeating itself as it echoed. The suggestion that they continue upwards barely registered as they focused on whatever it was drawing them deeper.

It was faint, whatever it was, so faint they couldn’t tell if they were actually hearing it or if years of ship life had hammered it into their brain to such an extent that they simply imagined hearing it anyways. Silver eyes stared into the darkness for a moment, before the Echani pulled themselves back into the present.

They glanced back out the way they came, before pushing off and propelling themselves up into the vertical portion of the vent. Hands fell softly along the wall, as they braced themselves against the vent’s corners at the apex of their leap.

A few deliberate moves later and Shamiir slipped effortlessly into an adjoining passage, likely a floor up from where they started. It was tighter than the first floor or the vertical shaft, likely thanks to the configuration of the spaces it fed. Smaller maybe? No room or need for the same amount of airflow?

“Up a level now, just a little dusty.” They said in their com link, as they peered further down the dim path they’d slipped into. “Thought I heard something down on your level, Mex. Keep an eye out.”

Shrugging off the bump from the Pantoran maid, Adem was struck once again, this time by an idea. He moved near Zig, thinking carefully of how he would word his intentions.

“Too many cooks in the kitchen here,” he said in a relaxed voice, “think I’m going to try something else, open up some new job opportunities.” This wasn’t necessarily a direct translation of “don’t wait up, I’m switching disguises and searching for access keys”, but some discretion was better than none.

He peeled off towards the kitchens and utility room. If anyone asked, he was there to double check the fire control systems.

Who has more freedom than most to come and go as they please in a Hutt palace?

Another maid pushed a cleaning cart through the double doors of the kitchen, with Adem quietly slipping in behind her. The sudden shift in atmosphere threatened to overwhelm his senses. BD-99’s sensors were similarly flooded with stimuli, and the droid quietly warbled, sorting through it all.

By the Force, the smell!

Countless aromas mixed together or sat atop one another like oil and water, everything from a rainbow of spices and seasonings to milk and cream about to go off, and especially prevalent was the scent of meat. Fresh, bloody, singed, cooked, burnt, and rotted meat. All of this food, glorious and less so, was prepared at the pleasure of the Hutt lords, and someone here would surely have the freedom and autonomy to bring it to them. Adem just had to take it.

As Shamiir spider-climbed their way up the vents to the next level, they were greeted by the wafting scent of stagnation, protocol, and a lifeless dryness that threatened to dehydrate them to the bone—the unmistakable hallmarks of bureaucracy. The Hutts weren’t particularly known for their administrative efficiency, and it showed. Stacks and stacks of flimsi were piled on dirty, unkempt cubicles with flickering datascreens paired with blocky control panels. The pen of office spaces Shamiir could glimpse through the vent grilles seemed more an open-air prison, or perhaps a battery farm for data-entry. Most of the cubicles were empty, however. Like with the kitchen staff below, most had taken this opportunity to escape the monotony of the daily grind and only the lowliest of desk clerks, or perhaps the most pathological of over-achievers, were left at their stations.

While they observed, Shamiir noticed another crew of cleaners at work. They moved from desk to desk, with vibropick and pneumo-hammer, to begin chiseling the sediment of forms off the desks and haul them into a portable incineration cart. It seemed whomever had been unlucky enough to have their request stuck at the bottom of the pile would need to send in a new form.

Despite the bleak and soul-sucking atmosphere, their eyes did catch one area of mild interest. Opposite the sea of cubicles were meeting rooms, most likely used to conduct interviews or negotiate between petty functionaries of the Wispor system and the Hutts. Getting some eyes inside might not be the gleaming prize of Pribba’s personal quarters, but underpaid and overworked staff might let slip things from time to time…

Adem let his gaze pan the kitchen, searching for anyone with the ‘credentials’ to be serving the people who actually matter, he comes up painfully short. This irks the Umbaran, not just because of his apparent failure, but the gnawing feeling like he is missing something very obvious. BD-99, perched atop his shoulder, nudged its binoculared head against the Umbaran’s smooth scalp, drawing his attention to what appeared to be a durasteel cupboard. Confused, the Umbaran exchanged a glance with his shoulder-kick who beeped a subdued explanation.

That was when it clicked. A dumb-waiter. Nobody in the kitchen staff had access to the higher-ups’ quarters, but the dumbwaiter would take it directly to them. Separation of classes on full display.

Zig nodded to Adem as he peeled off, trusting the Jedi to do his own thing. She knew that Marick had trained and trusted the Umbarran, and he had more than pulled his weight as a part of Voidbreaker’s engineering team.

As the Zygerrian and Druzk continued to search for some kind of actual terminal- anything that was connected to the local area network. Even if the firewall was kept efficiently, she’d still likely be able to gain something.

Hearing Shamiir’s warning, Mex takes a moment to listen to the vibrations inside the duct. Their antennae twitch. Yes, there is something out there. A faint, electric thrumming. A containment field? A laser barrier? An ionized high-efficiency particulate air filter, perhaps?

The sound emanates further down the duct than Shamiir went, beyond the junction they climbed up. Luckily, the noise seems stable and isn’t moving, so it should not pose an immediate danger, whatever it is.

Zig squinted as she looked around. If only she could get a terminal of some kind.

There, with a greasy film caked over with dirt, was a box with a small videscreen and keypad. Old, but it seemed to still have power. The keypad keys were faded and had smears of different foodstuff stains and powdery remains and crumbs.

“You poor thing,” she said affectionately to machine, seemingly ignoring the disgusting state of its shell. She grabbed some cleaning supplies from the closet. Druzk, again, made a good “screen” against eyes or cameras with his natural height.

She did her best to quickly clean up the terminal, enough so that she could at least work the pad.

“Any hole in a storm,” Zig said, hiding a smirk up at Druzk.

“Any port,” Druzk corrected patiently, exhaling through his nostrils alone.

Zig wiggled her eyebrows in response then started to run through some basic command line prompts to see what she could access.

The role Adem played gave him reasonable cause to inspect the dumb-waiter without drawing much attention. It was surprisingly spacious for its purpose, likely in order to pass food between floors in heavy and bulky batches. Even a quaint novelty like a dumb-waiter was made to reflect the ceaseless demands of the creatures it served. There was no question it was the ticket upstairs, and at the very least Beedee could likely ride the dumb-waiter up unnoticed. If they were noticed, making an excuse to climb inside the shaft might was conspicuous to start with, to say nothing of what the Jedi and droid might find above.

Sticking within the ducts to continue monitoring, Mex figured to relay the information they learned over comms. Using their wrist link they mentioned to the group. “Hi, I am Mex. There is an electrical anomaly within the vents. I estimate is is currently static - unmoving. Will monitor and update group should that change. Otherwise, clear. Going to investigate.”

Sometimes it was tough to keep focus on watching out when there was so much to work on literally around them. Surely Mex could just take a look at whatever was making the noise…

They began their crawl to the electrical sound, their antennae receptive to the sensation it was projecting.

The faint thrumming became louder as Mex slowly shuffled forward, knees and elbows caking up with the coagulated gunk of the air ducts. Still, it was more of a nuisance than a hindrance and soon enough they’d made their way to the junction that Shamiir had scaled. Pressing on, they soon found the source of the noise.

A chute went down.

And along that chute were placed several dissuasion measures in the form of criss-crossing laser barriers. From neglect or age, many had started to fail, discharging their beams intermittently and even when they managed a mote stable beam, it thrummed and buzzed with all the characteristic noise of misaligned focal lenses and decaying tibanna coils.

Whatever was down there, the Hutts had taken steps to ensure nobody would get there. At least not without a great deal of effort…

The connection was smooth as molasses. The data plug swerved and clicked with the elegance of an arthritic Neti, the whining of delicate servos making Zig feel an almost physical sympathetic pain. Yet the data was flowing, albeit more of a trickle.

Packet by packet, something approximating a wiremesh map of the Embassy was drip fed into her datapad, though even at a glance she could tell it was a very general level map at that. Agonizing seconds slipped past as more information seeped down the link, adding more structure to the wiremesh model…

Zig faught back the urge to passive-aggressively click the trackpad haptic button repeatedly. On her own systems, sure, but even the poor aged terminal didn’t deserve more abuse thanks to her impatience. Old droids needed just as much care and could achieve just as much as new droids, with a little bit of elbow grease and patience. She had learned growing up how easily people discarded things, and learned to build and *create*from those scraps.

“Good news eveyone,” Zig said carefully chosing her words over comms. “I just found a new patch to the software that should map out our efforts to better clean those hard-to-reach areas!”

“Hey, you guys want a beer or…? Figured since we’re all just wasting time, might as well offer.” A somewhat timid young Rodian approached Druzk, holding up a pair of lukewarm bottles of local brew in his hands. It was obvious the lad was nervous, anxious, and a whole lot bored. It was a genuine attempt at doing small talk, just to pass the time.

Yet, as he approached Druzk, the Barabel realized letting him get too close to Zig would compromise her work. He had to act fast.

While the data trickled in agonizingly slowly, Zig’s attention drifted to a folder that had managed to download a bit quicker than the rest. It was seemingly empty, which would have explained why it arrived so fast, but upon closer inspection it revealed a handful of plain text documents. The dates were from almost a decade ago, and the creative headers such as “Help” or “ReadMe” didn’t particularly entice browsing.

Still, out of boredom she gave them a whirl. The first was just a generic file outlining the use of the staff dataports, dated 27 ABY. However, the second was a more interesting piece, written by a former staff member. It outlined some tips and tricks on how to work at the Embassy, how to adjust certain equipment, how to prepare for galas, which chemicals to use for pool cleaning, but most interestingly a footnote about where the roof cameras had a blind spot, so one could go for a cheeky cigarra-break without being caught on holovid…

Confident his presence was lost in the bustle and din of the kitchens, Adem sucked in a deep breath and climbed inside the dumbwaiter. He hit the button for the next floor on the way in, and the doors clamped shut behind him, almost too quickly.

Real risk of a crush injury there, shame we’re about three star systems from the nearest regulation authority.

The small elevator groaned a bit under the Jedi’s weight, consequently slowing his ascent. If memory served regarding the building plans, next floor up was the staff break room. The ride seemed even longer than it really was when Adem considered - too late - the risk of not getting lucky twice and being seen emerging from the dumb-waiter.

He pushed the worry down by focusing on the task at hand, and produced the first of his listening devices. Adem reached under the dumb-waiter and affixed the device to the bottom. Here it was unlikely to to capture anything particularly remarkable, but also unlikely to be discovered. He pulled his hand back to safety shortly before reaching the edge of the floor above. Harsh artificial light tore through the opening doors and into the Umbaran’s squinting, light-sensitive eyes, and the dumb-waiter arrived at its destination with a whimsical ding. His vision slowly adjusting, Adem let his breathing relax as the room revealed itself to be empty for the moment, and he climbed out.

“Hop to, buddy,” he said to BD-99, who skittered up his waiting arm. “Head on a swivel, we’re not going to keep getting lucky.”

“Fwoo-oooo.”

Had this been any other mission, the poor Rodian would have found a new hole in his head created by a DL-44 blaster bolt. Without missing a beat, Druzk placed a hand on the Rodian’s shoulder and grinned, strategically positioning himself so Zig’s shenanigans wouldn’t be in clear view.

“Beer sounds fantastic! C'mon, let’s have these two together and talk a bit. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stories.”

Shamiir scouted the floor through the first vent they came to, noting the general layout and the workers’ progress, before continuing onward. The vent tightened disconcertingly for a stretch, requiring them to wriggle their way through to the far side where the vents, mercifully, expanded once more.

Free from the restrictive portion, they slipped the hydrospanner from their robes and set to work opening a vent into one of the more secluded meeting rooms, placing the grate back as they entered.

A hand slipped its way into the robes again as they moved, ducking down to plant a bug deep under the table in the middle of the conference room. As they reached the door, palms pressed together as Shamiir focused, and then blinked out of sight a moment later. The door shwicked open shortly after, and the Shadow began their slow stalk around the edge of the room.

Covered in grease, grime and some other ungodly substance Mex remained undeterred, there was something interesting emanating from the bottom of the vent. A faint sound, a light, a mystery… a chute.

Peering down and seeing the labyrinth of labouring lasers Mex’s curiosity was only piqued more. They remained still a short while in contemplation… Then an idea appeared and they got to work.

Pulling out a hydrospanner off their belt, they started by uncoupling the closest and safest laser, dismounted it, and pulled it from the chute wall exposing a power cable from the building. Feeding it out of the wall and closer to tinker, they cracked open the laser head casing to see the interior components. It looked like something had gummed and corroded the connection to the flash tube, causing the laser to flicker.

It wasn’t smart to just cut every live wire, but maybe they could find some other way to burn the other lenses out… These lasers had to be powerful if they were used as a deterrent. Plus they were garbage anyways - Mex was doing them a favour removing such dangerous hazards from the ventilation system… Using their hydrospanner, they completed the circuit, causing the laser to work more effectively. All they needed to do was point it closely at the other lenses at an angle and attempt to expand the casings and ruin the mirroring inside the other lasers. That would cause the concentrated wavelength from the focal point to widen, rendering the beams inert and overheated. If someone was tracking these, they’d just see a temperature malfunctions - but considering the state the beams were in to begin with either no one was monitoring them or this likely wouldn’t even be considered an anomaly.

They started with one laser, then the second, then the third, patiently, methodically and carefully. Using their long and limber body, they slowly made their way through the chute upside-down. Like a giant roach, they infested the ventilation, burning out every laser on their way.

Once it seemed safe enough, they finally cut the power from their equipped laser, causing a large spark and leaving the verpine in the ilumiwand’s light alone. If they could find an ample power supply, they could easily use the laser as a deterrent. A laser only needs 100 mW to begin to burn skin… so a big battery that can output a higher wattage for short bursts would be fine… that couldn’t be too hard right? After all a floor cleaner can get the job done with roughly 100 watts…

Still upside-down, they relayed their location. “Hi, I am Mex. Anomaly was lasers. I have eliminated the lasers. Unknown what was past them, maybe a breaker. Wires are still live, would be safe if I turned them off. Investigating.”

The lad, in fact, had only one story. Though it came in various flavors, enough so that he was keen on repeating it through the entire gamut.

“—and then he fired me. Just because I took out some nerf burgers to hang with my mates. I obviously was going to pay him back. And what’s a few patties anyway? It’s not like the freezer wasn’t full of ‘em. So anyway, my cousin worked at the Embassy and when they needed more hands in the kitchen, I had plenty of experience and he put in a good word for me.” The Rodian took a long sip from his pilfered beer. “Still, I don’t see this being a long-time gig. Something always comes up, you know? Maybe I should try doing what you do? How’s, uh, vent cleaning? How’d you get into it?”

The man was, for all intents and purposes, a waste of Druzk’s time and attention. But at least that meant taking any undue away from Zig. While the Barabel was being held verbally hostage outside the Embassy staff entrance, the Zygerrian was busy downloading a completed map of the same. This would make navigation a breeze, and help co-ordinate their effort.

The meeting room was plain and unadorned, though slightly less soul-sucking than the cubicle farm beyond. Owing to Hutteese architecture, no windows were present, though a sizable table dominated the room with a holoprojector nestled within it. A small access panel was visible at the table’s foot, clearly used to maintain the projector’s calibrations. A set of chairs surrounded the table, their forms massive and opulent—and rather uncomfortable to spend protracted periods of time in. Yet, their design did lend well to placing covert instruments beneath their seats. Lastly, a large light fixture hung from the ceiling, recently polished by the cleaning crew. Formed out of a trio of frosted transparisteel leaves that bathed the room in a pleasantly dim light, it was situated perfectly above the table at a commanding position.

Adem emerged out of the staff break room and into the sea of cubicles, a grey maze of identical battery pens for the production of massed data entry. The place reeked of recently applied industrial grade solvents and the acrid scent of ion discharge. A cleaning crew was just finishing up clearing out desks from bureaucratic sediment, while a low-energy standoff was taking place between one of the hired helpers and an overworked desk clerk who refused to get up from their post to let it be cleaned. Both intent on doing their job, even at the expense of the other’s.

The passive-aggressive standoff could have likely persisted for the rest of the day, had it not been for the emergence of a Tech Sweeper. The pair, one hauling the Ion Disruptor while the other tended to its portable power supply, droned a simple warning to get clear, before engaging the device. Tongues of white lightning, writhing like snakes emerged from the Disruptor’s snub nosed antenna, radiating in all directions from a probe nub at the end of a focusing dish that seemed to do little more than keep the worst of the discharge away from the operator’s face. Dressed in heavy rubber coveralls and wearing goggles dark enough to be a welder’s mask, the operator began walking slowly along the row of cubicles, forked lightning coursing in every direction before him. The white-blue bolts of ionized energy coursed like rivulets of raw power over anything metallic, hissing and spitting as they went. Bolts, screws, pens and staplers all felt the tender touch of the Ion Disruptor’s discharge.

Beyond the lightshow, however, it seemed to have little practical effect.

That was, until something exploded underneath the stubborn desk clerk’s seat. A miniature listening device, placed there by who knows whom, overloaded and ruptured catastrophically, singing the poor clerk’s seat. Knowing the Hutts, it’d probably come out of their paycheck…

It took all of Barabel’s willpower to resist clamping his hands around the Rodian’s neck so he would just shut up. Despite that dark fantasy playing out within the confines of his mind, externally, he merely nodded along, taking a few sips here and there from the bottle of pisswater, pretending that he was listening intently to the guy’s overwhelmingly tedious story.

And now, it was finally his turn to put a word in. Unfortunately for Druzk, it was about a subject of zero interest to him. He scoffed and waved the question off, taking a long swig of the mediocre brew.

“It was a job I found on the HoloNet. Pays the bills. Boring as shit, though. Never mind about my job; how ‘bout we talk about something more interesting, huh?”

What to talk about?

“Ever flown on a SoroSuub 3000?”

Zig took her queue, rising from the terminal and casually moving some cleaning supplies and a towel over it as she moved to stand up. She then placed a hand on Druzk’s side, leaned and did a reverse head-nod of acknowledgment to the Rodian.

“Yacths,” she said, picking up on Druzk’s thread. “So much maintenance, am-I-rite?”.

With the faint waft of burnt-out emitters tickling their nose, Mex began the descent deeper into the vents. Arms and legs pressed against the faint ridges of the air channel, they let gravity do the work while focusing on not losing their grip. Slowly, carefully, the Verpine scavenger descended into the bowels of the Hutt Embassy, hands and feet finding scant purchase wherever it was available—and sometimes where it wasn’t.

A mechanic with clean hands was probably not a very good mechanic, but a spelunker with greasy hands could swiflty be a dead one. Mex had no time for such introspections when their grip suddenly failed them. A slick of grease from the kitchen, pressed into the skin of their palm betrayed their purchase at the worst possible moment. An errant shift of pressure from digits to palm and a slightly adjusted angle of the wrist was all it took to see that precious point of contact vanish. Mex slammed shoulder first into the side of the duct wall, the jarring concussion stunning them for a moment. Gravity took hold and a swelling pit in Mex’s stomach told them they were falling.

Acting on instinct, Mex twisted sideways and shot out their legs, pressing their back against the duct wall while their feet scrambled against the other. Friction heat burned through the coverall fabric and the jarring impact would make for a sore shoulder tomorrow, but when the screaming of Mex’s rubber boot soles died down, all motion had come to a merciful stop. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mex looked down and felt a cold chill run down their spine. The duct ended only a short distance beneath them, and sitting square in the junction was a TRP-2 trip mine.

Whatever was down here, the Hutts had taken great pains to ensure nobody would simply happen upon it by accident…

“Uhh, r-right. Yeah. No. I mean, haven’t flown one. Just taken a liner to Nal Hutta once. Got space sick on the way back. Or maybe had food poisoning…” the Rodian replied, with all the eloquence and verbal grace of a stunned Bantha.

The deadpan looks of the suddenly multiplied speaking partners managed to cut through even his obliviousness and a faint copper hue washed beneath his pallid green skin. “Oh, I get it. Yeah, time to jet, huh? Suppose I need to head back and…do dishes. Still, nice talkin’ to ya. Strong silent type works to your advantage!” the Rodian chirped to Druzk as he vanished back inside the kitchen proper, dumping the spent bottles in a nearby bin as he went.

“It was nice talking to you too!” Zig waved and smiled until he moved out of site.

“Sorry about that, Druzk. Good job stalling though,” she patted his shoulder. Then she tapped a few buttons on her datapad and sent out a secure comm to the rest of the team.

“Good news everyone. I was able to get a basic wireframe map of the facilities. Sent to your comms. It doesn’t show active personell but hopefully it helps. Mex- status on those vent blockages?”

Shamiir froze as the door wooshed shut again behind them, watching the standoff between the cleaning crew and the worker be interrupted. These must be the sweepers mentioned earlier, although a warning about the nature of their work would have been appreciated.

The Echani diverted their gaze from the bright light, both for the sake of maintaining concentration on the cloaking, and for continuing their path along the wall. They stopped again as the device popped under the electric current, a deep breath settling their nerves.

The progress was agonizingly slow, especially as they circled around to get into position in the cubicles. A more skilled force user might have completed this as casually as walking around, but Shamiir could already feel the nausea starting to build from the exertion. They slipped into the row as the sweeper progressed, careful to not get close enough that a turn could easily catch them.

Shamiir ducked into the first clean, swept office space, retrieving a bug from their pouch. The acrid stench of ozone filled their nostrils as they ducked low and extended an arm to a underneath the work surface. The listening device adhered well, and the Echani poked their still invisible head up over the cubicle to monitor the sweeper’s progress.

Stuck between a chute and an explosive place, Mex kept composed. Not completely oblivious to their predicament, they focused their efforts on keeping still and not sliding down any further into danger. They could try to disarm or avoid the thing, but they were neither an acrobat nor a demolitions expert - this is exactly why they had backup. Friends to call upon.

As their comms rang with Zig’s status request, the verpine carefully readied their comm-link.

“Hi, I am Mex. Investigated chute. I am near the bottom. If I move I may set off trip mine. Vent unclean, I require assistance in this endeavour. Guidance?” They spoke with a calmness that betrayed their understanding. Now was not the time to panic - hopefully their team could assist from a distance or they could hold position.

“Booo-ooo-wooo.” BD-99’s wary warbling reinforced what Adem already knew.

Forget the surveillance, if I let that sweeper anywhere near us with the disruptor running, Beedee is toast.

“A brave face isn’t an ion shielding lattice, bud,” Adem said gently, patting the anxious droid, “maybe next time.” His pearlescent, light-sensitive eyes squinted to track the steadily encroaching ion bolts, like snakes of light striking at any moment, in any direction. Seconds away from his friend being reduced to a buggy calculator and his own identity getting burned, the Umbaran considered his options, his mind resting in the Force as if he were laying on his back in calm water.

Stall.

“Excuse me!” he called to the sweeper pair. He clutched at his chest for a moment and adopted a worried affect. He recalled some of the older miners back on Umbara, bleak talk of saving for cybernetics to manage the pervasive heart health issues many Umbarans struggled with as they aged. “I have a pacemaker,” he said, his vowels delivered with a subtle shakiness, “would you please turn that thing off for a moment?”

“Alright Mex, you can do this. It’s just like that time where the Shistavanen fur got so backed up and clogged in the pool filter and we needed to use a very long remote-claw to scoop it all out!” she spoke loudly.

She gestured at Druzk, indicating he should pretend to be listening and talking onto his comm about mundane cleaning things.

With that done, she quickly spoke much more quietly, but firmly to Mex. She had been learning a lot from Jax, and she knew she could help him here.

Mex fed her a few key details, which she clued in on. “Ok. Listen carefully. If the wires are configured the way you’re describing, there should be a particular way to manipulate the sensor beam so that you won’t trigger it. Try using your multi-tool or vibroblades edge. You should be able to catch some of the stray light, and reflect it back into the sensor thats there. Keep it steady for a few seconds. That should burn out the sensor and leave the mine relatively safe. You got this.”

A looming shadow soaring overhead, frightening the scurrying rodent.

Shamiir’s third eye cried a warning, their reaction instinctual as quicksilver reflexes acted before their time, shifting the Echani’s body away from the path of a scrubber with the softest soles they’d ever witnessed. The disgruntled woman, carrying a bucket half-full with office debris and a feather duster, walked past the invisible Echani’s position as they pressed themselves in between cubicles and held their breath. People were loathe to believe their eyes, but even so, running into invisible obstacles had a tendency of being rather convincing.

As the stocky woman passed, the bucket passing so close it grazed the stealthed Jedi’s pant leg, she popped her headphones off and dumped them into the bucket, sliding a metallic lid on top as she passed the hissing and spitting Ion Disruptor. Streams of energy licked and lapped at the bucket, but she didn’t seem to mind, trusting in her makeshift faraday cage to protect her electronics.

The pair looked up at Adem with a surprised look. They clearly were not used to being challenged or questioned in their duties. The lead Operator, the one holding the ion emitter in his rubber gloved hands, pointed the contraption to the side and spoke up.

“Well get tha frak away from us then! We’re on a bleedin’ skhedule!”

The other Operator, a bit more sympathetic, exchanged looks between his colleague and the Umbaran, then addressed his colleague. “Ey, we’ve made good progress so far. An’ besides, power core’s gettin’ toasty. Might as well take a break to let it cool. Think I saw some blue milk in the staff lounge fridge.”

“Hey! That’s mine!” the Overworked Clerk interjected. “Keep your mitts off my lunch!” His threats, if there were any, were as limp and ineffective as the pieces of flimsy he was paid to push.

The Operators exchanged a goggled glance—and sat off towards the staff lounge, leaving the Ion Disruptor where it stood., a faint acrid waft of heated power coils rising from its power supply.

Listening to the instructions intently, Mex didn’t begin to move until they’d heard the full set. With Zig’s encouragement, Mex replied with a curt “Ok.” over communications before carefully grabbing the vibrodagger they had stashed in their belt. Keeping as still as possible, they inspected the blade to ensure it was clean before carefully inching it towards the tripwire. With a precise twist, their keen eyesight could clearly see the light refracting off the blade. Slowly and methodically, they twisted the blade towards the correct angle to bounce the light into the sensor.

… … …

In a short time, a small pop as the casing ruptured and the smell of burnt electronics hit the verpine’s olfactory receptors. Placing the vibrodagger back into its hidden belt location, all they had to do now was carefully slide down the rest of the chute. Slowly, they released the tension from their shoulder and allowed them self to slide down until their hands could find purchase on some ground to straighten out.

Moment of truth…

Nothing

It was the longest second in Mex’s life, and at the end of it, the almost anti-climactic nothingness of their continued existence was at the same time insulting and yet the most exhilarating feeling they’d felt. The vent seemed to become parallel with the ground once more and lead back in what Mex could vaguely discern was ‘inward’, towards the core of the Embassy.

Sensing that this part of the ventilation system was probably well-defended for a reason, the Verpine proceeded cautiously until they reached the first grate to have a peek at what could be worth this level of dissuasion. Rows of screens, humming databanks, and the familiar scent of recycled cryo-coolant with a soupçon of overworked circuitry were the telltale marks of a data core. And it seemed this one was at least being used to observe the goings-on inside the Embassy. A handful of guards, including the intimidating Trandoshan they’d met earlier, were sitting by the monitors and checking on the cleaning crews’ progress.

Beyond, past a reinforced transparisteel pane, Mex could see more heavy cabling leading to what could only be the central computing core. If the amount of coolant pipes was anything to go by.

Shamiir had to take a moment to settle their nerves to avoid their force cloak dissipating as the woman quite literally brushed past. Adem provided them with a little bit of a distraction a moment later, however, as the two with the Ion device decided now was a great time to get out of the way.

The tech was a problem the Umbaran would have to deal with, if it was going to get dealt with at all. Shamiir could wrench on a ship that’s only meaningful difference from a junky speeder was a set of door seals, but that thing was different. They were as likely to make it explode in their own face as they were to break it, and neither was a truly covert solution.

Instead the Echani popped out into the row of cubicles again and moved towards the other end. They’d avoid planting any bugs in the unswept areas for now, endeavoring to get “enough” audio coverage of the work areas in the row that most things could be picked up without wasting a bug on every single one.

Hopefully Adem was a bit more skilled, either way they’d need a break from the invisibility shortly.

It seems this verpine took a wrong turn… but they were so close to solving the ventilation issues! If they could push just a bit further they could solve it once and for all. That was why they were here, right? Applying cleanliness through surveillance - like what these individuals at the terminals were doing! They’d need to be quiet as to not disturb the important work around them. Doubling back a moment to the quiet spot of the disarmed tripmine, they updated the team on their status.

“Hi, I am Mex. Trip-trap disabled. Thank you, Zig. Found databank room, lots of electronic activity. Employees actively monitoring surveillance. Going to walk by, follow heavy cabling; estimate it will lead to computing core. Going to mute communication device until safe from distracting those around me.”

With their message relayed, they muted their wrist-comm. Undaunted, they ventured forward in an attempt to nonchalantly sneak past the security station towards the heavy cabling.

Zig breathed a sigh of relief. “Nice work Mex,” she said to herself and Druzk, knowing that the Verpine had wisely muted their comm. She pulled out her datapad to try and get her bearings on where the team was at in different sections.

A moment’s datapad work later Zig had a clear-ish picture on her pad. The wiremesh model of the Embassy displayed colored tags for each of her crewmates, with her own and Druzk’s standing beside one another at the bottom floor. A level up, almost on top of them, Adem’s indicator sat in place while Shamiir’s kept moving in a meticulous row-by-row fashion.

Perturbingly, Mex’s indicator was only a placeholder, however. Both the signal to his Comms and the limitations of the mesh map left it hovering unnervingly “out of bounds”.

With the immediate danger now blissfully away on lunch break, the Umbaran Jedi shifted his focus to the harried clerk sitting near the disruptor. He’d only need a moment to… optimize a few settings on the device to ensure it would pose no threat to BD-99 or the bugs, but it wouldn’t do for his sabotage to be observed.

He let the Force reach into him like a breath of crisp, wintry air. Confident and invigorated, he approached the clerk and his equally beleaguered seat, noting the acrid smell of singed and particularly cheap falumpaset leather. Adem gently patted the corner of the chair, and the clerk shot an irritated glance over his shoulder.

“What now?” he barked. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” The Jedi sensed the clerk’s agitated mind, and Adem intended to try something Wynn had told a story about.

Just give them a… gentle nudge in the right direction. No harm done.

“You’re working too hard,” the Umbaran said, his voice calm and resonant with… authority. “You should stretch your legs, go take a walk.” He gently waved his hand in clear view of the clerk, fingers undulating slightly in a calming, hypnotic motion.

“I… should…” the clerk’s eyes squinted, his face tense for a moment, then suddenly serene. “I should stretch my legs, go take a walk.” To the office chair’s relief, the clerk suddenly stood up as if he were half asleep and dreaming, and he started shuffling down his aisle of cubicles.

Adem let slip a chuckle. That really shouldn’t have worked.

“Fwoo-oo?” Even Beedee was confused.

“Just a Jedi trick, buddy, he’ll be fine,” the Umbaran said, winking at the droid’s shifting photoreceptor. He set to work on fixing the disruptor, slightly loosening a connection to the power core and subtly adjusting the frequency a notch or two lower. It was a quick sabotage, to Adem’s mind, but he realized how he’d lost track of time upon seeing the still-bewildered clerk marching back to his desk.

“Weren’t you…” said the clerk, “just leaving?”

“Mhm,” Adem said quickly, “just ah, sanitizing the handle. Bit of a germaphobe, you know.”

“Uh…huh,” the clerk answered, now visibly wary as he was lowering himself back into place at his workstation.

“I’ll be on my way,” Adem said in a chipper tone, trying not to walk too fast. The clerk rubbed his eyes as if waking up, and slowly turned his gaze back to his screen, thinking.

As Druzk waited around for Zig to finish her datapad work, he noticed something had shifted. One of the cameras they’d presumed were so crusted over they couldn’t move, or see much, had turned ever so slowly towards them. The lens was crusty and a layer of grime covered the optics, but it was still staring at the two of them and its cold, electro-cataractic vision wasn’t giving off any good vibes. It seemed their disguise was staring to wear thin, or maybe they already had managed to attract some attention. Either way, they’d better take steps to improving their plausible deniability…

The Overworked Clerk took a look at the humming Ion Disruptor and scowled. He wasn’t that out of it to not recognize underhanded tactics. But then again, he wasn’t being paid to rat on the hired help and the sweepers had been even more annoying. As long as the thing didn’t blow up, he would just keep his head down and do his job. He was already so late as is…

Adem, making himself scarce, managed to retreat just out of sight as the Tech Sweepers returned from raiding the staff fridge. Returning to their tasks, they powered on the Ion Disruptor once more and resumed their tasks.

“Hmmh, s'weird,” the gruff operator mumbled, watching the forks of lightning jumping across the surfaces in front of him.

“What is?” The second replied, tending to the power source.

“Feels like the sound’s off. And the arcs are all skinny…”

“Skinny arcs? That blue milk must have been off. Just do the sweep and we’ll be home before nightfall.”

The Verpine was used to snug spaces, but after their run-in with the trip mine, the vents seemed even more claustrophobic than usual. The ventilation ducts ran straight across the Security Station, feeding into the central junction. As they meticulously made their way overhead, taking care not to make a sound, they inadvertently disturbed the dirt.

A fine layer of dust wafted up even with meticulously careful motions and soon enough a sufficient number of particles found their way to the Verpine’s nostrils.

On a microscopic scale the dust was coarse, and rough, and irritating, but manifested within Mex’s nose as a mighty need to sneeze.

This was not the time or place for inopportune bodily reactions. Even worse than burping at a fancy dinner party!

Clutching their face with both hands, Mex tried, tried their utmost to quell the implacable tide within their core before the dam burst.

“Przzzt!”

The vibretto sound of their sneeze echoed louder than a gunshot within Mex’s mind, ears ringing from the concussive blast. Yet outside the faint hum of the vents, it was barely noticed.

“Huh, what was that?” A Security Guard below asked his compatriot.

“Nothing. Didn’t say anything.”

“You sure? I think I heard something.”

“No. Wasn’t me. Been eyeing these two in the kitchen. Buncha slack-offs. Barabel’s just standing around being useless and the Zygerrian’s playing hologames. Where does Baaksob even find these people?”

“Quit yet yappin’, both of ya!” Krad’s voice boomed, the Trandoshan rising up from his seat to address the two chattering guards. “If you see something’s off, you go do something about it.”

“Uh, right boss. Just… What we gonna do? Baaksob’s the paymaster.”

“You got shock batons, don’t you? Try that for motivation, if they don’t shape up right quick,” Krad growled.

The pair of guards swiftly got off their seats and headed for the elevator, their Golden Keycards glinting on their belts.

Up above, Mex continued holding their breath, having observed the entire exchange. The Key Cards were important, but the comms down here were bad. If they wanted to inform Zig, they’d have to cross all the way back and risk more noise, or press on and hope they were clever.

Down below, Krad sat down to resume his snack, only to notice a faint layer of dust on his treats. Craning his neck upward, he stared at the vent grate and squinted…

When Druzk noticed the camera now looking at Zig and himself, he concealed the fact that he knew by making it unobvious that he was paying attention to it.

He turned so that the camera couldn’t see his mouth move as he spoke.

“We’re being watched,” he said hushedly to the Zygerrian. “Camera’s lookin’ straight at us.”

Shamiir poked their head above the cubicles, watching Adem provide a lucky bit of distraction. It wouldn’t be long until their time was up, at least for the moment, in regards to sneaking around. They were starting to feel their head spin ever so lightly from the exertion, and it seemed their work was safe as well.

The Echani scurried across the walkway as the techs returned, hugging the wall as they began their fidgeting before falling in line behind Adem. They slipped through the elevator door as he made his escape, snatching up the slack in their poncho to keep it from getting caught, and allowed their force cloak to dissipate.

The diminutive Echani stared for a moment, wordlessly, before producing an intercom from under the poncho and clicking the channel open. “Vents are clear on the second floor. Replaced some loose screws. Bit too tight for me to go further.”

All of this dust was awful, the stale air, the dirt, everything - it was hard to keep composed with potential danger underfoot. The small noise let out was enough to shock Mex back into utter silence. Listening to the guards bicker, the verpine remained motionless until they were certain the danger had passed.

Eventually some guards meandered away towards the elevator, presumably to deal with Druzk and Zig, leaving Mex to pause in consideration…

The others were in danger of having to deal with some flustered guards. On one hand, Zig was crafty and Druzk excelled in the art of intimidation. On the other, things could go wrong and they were now dealing with limited time to complete their tasks. Looking back, they contemplated retreating to at the very least warn the others of impending complications. But they were so close to their goal… If complications did occur, it would be best if they made it to the computing core where they could do a lot more than just plant surveillance.

Perhaps falling into the sunk cost mindset a bit, Mex dared to press on towards the computing core. Until they could do so though… they were about to be spotted. As quick as they could, they shut off their light to utilise the vent’s darkness and their own grime covered carapace as camouflage.

“Time to make some noise?” Zig asked the Barabel with a bit of a wicked smirk that showed the Zygerrian’s fanged canines.

If eyes had been drawn to them, it was probably best to try and lure that vision away to give Mex the best chance to succeed.

“MAN,” Zig said a bit more loudly than needed. “This looks all good over here, let’s go check out those elevator shafts. You’d be surprised how much build up can accumulate there!”

She walked confidently, moreso than she probably actually was, and casually dragged Druzk along with her as they made their way to the elevator.

Heading for the Staff Elevator, Druzk and Zig pressed past a few of the sparsely manned kitchen stations when a gruff call sounded behind them.

“Ey, you two! Stop!” The Disgruntled Guards, dressed in their purple jumpsuits, were shuffling in after them. “We wanna have a word.” It was clear from their tone of voice that wasn’t the only thing they wanted. The kitchen staff saw it best to make way for the lumbering pair of security, letting the pair gain on the ‘vent mechanics’. Then again, it would be an exceedingly short-lived chase as the Staff Elevator was within view and, as luck would have it, seemingly unoccupied.

Shit “Words? I love words! So many words….like, SMOKE-” Zig replied as she activated the Envoy Escape belt, which, she now understood why Marick had named it as such. Clever.

As smoke started to fill the air around them, Zig nudged Druzk and started to sprint towards the elevator, doing her best to hop over and parkour her way around any obstacles…

As the duo dashed towards the lift, Zig’s smokescreen did not do much except confuse the guards for a moment. Druzk cursed a Barabel curse under his breath; as easy it would’ve been to blast the guards into oblivion, such violence was to be avoided.

“Jab them,” he muttered to Zig, hoping she’d understand the implication as he searched for a good area off to the side to do the deed without witnesses.

“‘Ey, wait a min—Aaaagh!” the Disgruntled Guards charged after the fleeing 'techinicians’ only to be confounded by a sudden cloud of smoke enveloping one of the kitchen prep zones. “Who did that?!” one of them shouted, stumbling as he tried to keep going but tripped over an ill-placed crate of produce. “Somebody put on a damn fan!”

A Startled Souschef hurriedly did as she was told, engaging one of the extractor hood fans to suck away the billowing clouds of smoke. The smoke was swiftly sucked up into the hood, now faster than usual thanks to the deep cleaning the vents had just received, and the Disgruntled Guards managed to catch a glimpse of the fleeing technicians racing for the Staff Elevator.

“What the frak was that all about?” one of the Guards spat at the Startled Souschef. “Are you planning to burn this whole place down?!”

“Burning? I’m cutting vegetables and making stock, you buffoon! How would I be making smoke?!”

“Hrrmh,” the Disgruntled Guard grunted, feeling a distinct urge to vent his fury on the Souschef. It was his comrade, having picked himself off the floor, that stopped him.

“Come on, the slackers are getting away!”

The Guard gave the Souschef a long, murderous look, before tearing his eyes away and following his comrade—but not before ‘accidentally’ knocking over a large bowl of cut-up vegetables and spilling them all over the floor.

“E chu ta…” the Startled Souschef muttered under her breath as she began picking up the spilled veggies. They would definitely be going into the guards’ supper—next week.

Zig felt bad for the poor vegetables. An idle part of her brain wondered if there were cabbages, which would have held symbolic resonance to her childhood.

Still. They had done their best to play the game, but now, it was time for the Voidbreakers to do what they did best.

Improvise!

Zig heard Druzk’s murmur and sprung into action. She timed her strike with the device and managed to jab it into the guards exposed skin between armor.

The rebuttal strike nearly took her head off. Shock mauls were no joke. If she’d had her Zigbuster armor on, sure, but it was going to hurt unless she got clever.

The Zygerrian fell back on her Corellian Kickboxing training, activated one of her shockboxing gauntlets, and caught the maul on the back of her balled fist. She swatted it away, feeling the sting of the weight of the still, a numbing tinglyness racing up the nervers of her arm. Gritting her teeth, she retreated back, giving Druzk space and trusting him to handle himself.

She waited in the elevator for him, hand hovering over the button.

As Zig took on one of the guards, Druzk defended against the other. As the guard swung his weapon towards the Barabel, Druzk instantly reacted. His hand shot up to hold the guard’s wrist in place before they could get a strike on him. As the two struggled, Druzk’s free hand jabbed the mindwipe stuff into the side of the guard’s neck.

The guard’s will to fight seemed to disappear as Druzk shoved them away from him.

Window of opportunity opened, he rushed after Zig towards the elevator, dusting himself off as he stepped inside.

“Go,” he said flatly.

Zig slammed the button on the elevator door close button.

In relatively short order, the steady tension of the mission was exploding into chaos. Adem and BD-99 produced a combat stim and offered it to a visibly tired Shamiir. He kept the grip of his cloaked blaster within reach.

Shamiir took the stim cautiously, wary of how suddenly their companion was on edge. They would wait to see how all of this shook out on their end, but it felt a bit anti-climactic to get in a fight now. Not that the Echani was shying away, just they’d put a lot of effort into defying their prefered method of approach and it was chosen for them anyways.

For now, the relative silence of the turbo lift got under their skin. Stuck in a tube, waiting for a fight that might not come. Absolute torture.

“What does the droid do in a fight?” They asked.

“Without a lightsaber,” Adem chuckled, “probably more than me.”

“Fwoo-ooh!” BD-99 held himself high, proudly lifting above his Umbaran companion’s own head for a moment.

“High-end slicing matrix, did not come cheap, but he can breach some combat droids pretty quickly.” He gestured to some of the wiring snaking down the droid’s avian legs. “Optimizations made room for better capacitors, so he holds and dumps a lot of charge.”

He turned slightly to show a small, off-white tank affixed to the back of the droid’s core. Beedee rotated his head to continue peering at the Echani, and a small, articulated nozzle emerged from a slot in the droid’s head.

“Compact carbonite projector is his secret weapon. He gets underfoot and nobody sees him coming, not before they have a brick for a leg.”

Shamiir’s head tilted as Adem went off on a tangent about the droid, clearly not really understanding. Who wanted to slice a combat droid? Shamiir had certainly never faced a hostile example they weren’t thoroughly preoccupied with rapidly disassembling.

They were lucky the guards did the bare minimum, however. The gleaming metal of a Knight’s saber caught the light as Shamiir briefly slipped it out from under their poncho.

“I brought extra. If you would like to assist the droid.” Shamiir was more inclined to blades anyways, thanks to a much shorter downtime between breaking concealment and attacking. Plus, the flashy sabers attracted attention the Echani typically avoided unless an opponent forced their hand.

The elevators trundled upward, reaching the topmost level of the Embassy. As the doors opened, the team, suddenly reunited sans Mex, gazed upon sunlight for the first time in hours. The atrium, a lounge shielded from the sun by shaded glass, opened up in front of them as a pentouse lounge. A selection of amenities such as a mud bath, fighting pit, and bar, as well as jacuzzis and steam baths lay scattered around the glorified sun deck, ready to entertain guests. Though stylish and clearly built to lavishly show off the Besadii’s wealth, it is obvious most of the amenities were rarely used, sun bleached and yet somehow pristine.

A group of Hired Cleaners were struggling with a clogged vent in the mud bath, while a Tech Sweeper team was clearing out the bar of any bugs, the ion glow of their equipment hard to miss as it reflected off the rainbow spread of bottles.

Lounge chairs had been piled up to one side of the atrium to clear out space for a proper sweep, creating new blind spots for the already sparse camera network. However, with the aid of Zig’s electronic snooping, she has an even greater understanding of where the limits of the camera coverage were.

“Follow my lead,” Zig murmured to Druzk as she led the Barabel around the camera coverage based on what she recalled from her datapad. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear and put on a tired looking expression befitting of maintance workers. She even pulled out her multi-tool and started fidgeting with it. She idly took her comm and thumbed a text.

Adem. Shamiir. Status?

She knew that Mex was likely out of comms. She was worried about him, but had ot trust they could handle themself.

The Trandoshan peered up at the near-impenetrable darkness of the vent, perfectly still. Their nostrils flared—and closed—flared—and closed. Cogs were turning behind his reptilian eyes as he stared directly at where Mex was doing their best to not be.

Eventually, a grunt of moist air snorted out of his nostrils and he returned to his snack, idly fishing out his communicator off the table and tapping a quick message to Baaksob. Once done, he leaned back and returned his gaze to the holovids.

==

Had Verpine been able to sweat, Mex would surely have been soaking by now. The gaze, the piercing gaze of the lethal Trandoshan had seemed to skewer right through them and it was by some grace of the cosmic gods that they remained undetected. With sublime care, the Verpine backed away from the head of the Embassy security and scooted ever deeper into the vents, following the coolant trail. Smeared in grime and working in near perfect darkness, the going was slow and painful. Knees scuffing on the hard ridges of the ventilation channel segments, muscles aching from the constant tension and need to make every motion as measured and silent as they could manage, the meager distance from the Security Station to the Data Cores felt like running a marathon while enveloped in tar.

Out of breath and nerves on edge, Mex greeted the cool air of the Data Core with a buzzed blessing. The scent of overclocked processors and industrial coolant was as sweet as a Selenian summer’s breeze as it wafted past the Verpine’s antennae. The vent terminated not far ahead and through the gate Mex could see the stacks of data cores bathed in a cloud of evaporating cryo coolant, rising like obelisks of information through a mist of placating incense. A soft blue glow illuminated the space, bathing it in a supple hue through which the intermittent blinking of processor lights flashed like distant stars.

This was it. The heart of the Hutt Embassy.

They were in like sin.

The Umbaran’s quicksilver gaze swept over the text for a moment, and he considered his reply. Adem took the lightsaber from Shamiir’s waiting palm and closed his fist around its grip, nodding respectfully. The Echani didn’t seem to share his regard for the Jedi weapon, loaning one out to a stranger was virtually unthinkable to Adem, but it was likely the difference between the Jedi serving as a liability or a lifeline in the next few minutes. The hilt felt strange, like the unfamiliar contours of a new dance partner’s hand slipping lukewarmly into place. Gently rubbing his thumb over the activation stud, Adem found his reply as the elevator crept to a stop.

Ready.

Pulling a hydrospanner from their belt, Mex got to work at creating an exit from the vents. Carefully, they removed the cover from the opening, and deftly squeezed their body out onto the cold surface of the data core.

It was shiny.

Mesmerized by all of the technology they could get their appendages on, they wandered a moment looking from data stack to data stack, attempting to find an entry-point where they could snoop through the files themselves. Either way, this cleaning job was certainly turning out to be interesting. They weren’t really certain if they were supposed to be here, but that was fine - it was easy to remove those logs and make it seem like they were never here to begin with… or so the verpine hoped.

It seemed that this was all going rather a bit off the rails, the Echani had expected only stealth but it seemed like that mission was ending. Not that Shamiir cared, they’d packed for a fight as always. It did mean that being outright sneaky was probably off the table, as despite their skill, the young Shadow lacked the refinement necessary to move quickly while cloaked.

Shamiir’s hands disappeared back under the poncho, before momentarily reappearing so they could see about locking down a set of vibroclaws prior to the doors opening. They hadn’t gotten a chance to use them yet, what with all the sneaking and most of their training coming with a lightsaber.

“Shiny. Let’s go be bad guys,” Zig nudged Druzk as the duo looking to randevous with Shamir and Adem.

Finding a spare data port, Mex pulled out a small interface from their belt to work on the stacks. They had to try three times to actually get the port to connect, but it was a clean connection. Taking only a moment to look over their shoulder, they began to pour through the files…

Bribes, records, communiques… This seems like it’d be of interest to The Brotherhood. Sharing was caring, and certainly after their wonderful cleaning services it’d be rude for them not to give a little extra. With a couple taps on the interface, Mex began to download copies of the information, starting with the communiques. Waiting as the progress meter went up, the tall bug looked around at the other shiny equipment. Setting the interface down a moment while it did its work, Mex decided this was a great place to keep things tidy. Meandering over to one of the stacks, they placed a bug inside one of the racks pointing towards the hallway where the security station was. They’d have to be insane to hit their own servers with electronic disrupting equipment.

That’d be sure to give folks ease of mind. Even security could be monitored!

“Shamir, can you handle the last bunch while we work towards looking to inspect things?”

Shamiir sighed, and, with the faintest hint of dejection, flipped open a latch on the vibroclaws and put them back under their robes. If there was to be a fight, it seemed they would not get to be in the thick of it. While they offered some more range of movement, having a bunch of knives attached to your hands didn’t really line up with bug planting.

“I want real food on the way back.”

The Echani was already running on Adem’s stim, and another round of sneaking was unlikely to make them feel particularly great. They’d need a good meal. But hey, they’d been annoyed in their head that the mission had seemed to turn hot, so they supposed they got what they asked for in this case.

Shamiir was careful to stay out of sight as they focused, fading into the background a moment later. One of the bugs turned over again and again in their hand beneath the poncho as they made their way out onto the floor, doing their best to leave themselves more of an out than they had back in the cubicles as they searched for a good hiding spot.

Up in the Atrium, the team spread out to make themselves look useful. With precious few vents around needing to be unclogged, they busied themselves peeking behind pots of exotic flora and polishing up some mood lights strategically placed around the Atrium’s perimeter.

Unseen and barely heard, Shamiir’s invisible shape knelt down by a potted plant, angling the holovid bug for a view of the mud pit when a sudden image of seeing the Hutt himself taking a bath sent a cold shiver running down their spine. Perhaps it was good enough to just point it at the bar instead. Surely the microphone was sensitive enough to get the gist of things without having the entire show broadcast in graphic detail…

With Zig, Druzk, and Adem doing their best to keep in the blind spots of the camera systems, they managed to plant a few more surveillance devices by the elevator and the more secluded parts of the Atrium, the sort of spots sure to attract subtle conversation. As they worked, the Tech Sweeper team managed to clear out the bar and headed for one final perimeter sweep. What an unfortunate waste of their freshly placed gadgets if the team got to them. With a weary look on their faces, or what could be imagined from behind their heavy protective masks, the team trundled on, their ion disruptor spitting arcs of electrifying power that made Zig’s fur stand on end.

Even as her mind wandered to solve the conundrum laid before her, the Zygerrian backing up against the railing to make sure her own tech wasn’t accidentally caught in some stray arc, her ears perked with a sudden clink. Eyes darting to the side, she noticed a minute grapnel hook attached to the railing support, dangling in the breeze. A zip line was still attached, though it was almost imperceptible in its thinness. That was definitely not part of the decor. But she had not time to ponder its significance, the Tech Sweepers were almost upon them.

The hum of the data stacks and faint gurgling of cryogenic coolant circuits lulled the Verpine into a tranquil mood as they worked. The cloud of coolant fog limited visibility inside the Computer Core, but despite the sensory stimulus Mex’s antennae were sharp.

A faint vibration. A rhythmic flexing of the floor plating beneath their feet, almost imperceptible. The faint click of the door lock as it powered up to accept a pass key.

Someone was coming.

A swift glance at the progress bar showed the first set of files had been downloaded. The second were only just starting and yanking the data spike would surely corrupt what little of the second set had been transferred. But if Mex delayed departure, they’d be making closer acquaintance with whomever was about to enter, and judging by the faint tremors they’d felt, there was a high chance it was someone thrice their weight and probably of mean disposition…

Although they were doing nice things, these guards definitely seemed ornery. It was likely best to avoid what they could. Seeing as a third of the important files were downloaded it was best to play it safe - they at least had surveillance in here.

Mex gently unplugged the interface and tucked it away in their belt. Then, using the server stacks and coolant as cover made themselves low. Hopefully this person was just checking on things and would be away soon.

Zig gestured towards the group. “Let’s go get Mex. I’m sure they are slacking off somewhere,” Zig lied, as she steered the group towards the elevator and away from the scanners.

The door to the Computer Core hissed open and the source of the decking plate vibrations became immediately obvious. Three hundred pounds of irate Trandoshan entered, armed and armored for violence. Krad sniffed the air, his slitted nostrils flaring as he picked up the interloper’s scent amidst the wafting cryo coolant. “You thought you could get past me?” he mused out loud, stalking slowly between the data stacks. “Dirty little spy scum. Master Pribba will be pleased when I present your hide as a new welcome mat. Finally take me to Nal Hutta for a change…” His low, growling tone echoed inside the suddenly very claustrophobic Computer Core.

Despite the surrounding coolant and amply air conditioned environment, Mex could not help but feel a distinct elevation in body temperature. It seemed this man was not at all pleased with the cleaning services they’d been providing and seemed intent to launch a formal complaint—probably with the business end of the shock maul in his meaty hand. Shimmying around the data stacks to try and keep themselves out of line of sight, the Verpine kept up the close-range game of hide and seek until their foot caught an errant power conduit lying haphazardly on the floor, masked by the wafting cloud of coolant vapor.

Gravity pulled at the Verpine like an old friend—the kind you owed money, and the instinctive stumble was neither silent nor particularly elegant.

“Got you.” A dark voice spoke behind Mex, the Trandoshan looming large with the crackling shock-maul already descending…

“H-hey, you’re not supposed to—” the alarmed words of an Embassy Staff-member were cut off as the turbolift doors shut close and the descent began. Zig swiped the golden key card through the reader and hit the lowest button. A mild tingling in the bottom of her belly followed as the turbolift picked up speed, tension rising as she felt seconds tick by. Mex had been incommunicado for far too long. Either something had gone awry, or things had gone really awry. Either way, their disguises were wearing thin and it was time to get out.

The turbolift came to an almost violent halt at the bottom of the elevator shaft. She spared half a thought to consider whether that was due to faulty engineering or a desire to ensure speedy access to the ‘off limits’ areas of the Embassy. She never reached a conclusion to these thoughts before the doors opened to what looked like a Security Station. Monitors displayed various feeds from the security cameras around the Embassy, alongside chittering data-feeds from outside the building. It seemed ‘Embassy Security’ was being taken more seriously than they’d originally thought.

“You! What’s going on? You can’t be in here. Krad? Krad!!” A lone Security Guard rose up from his station, crumbs tumbling off his lap as he dropped the half-eaten sandwich from his meaty fist and fumbled to pull his blaster pistol. Judging by the startled, yet determined manner of his movement, he would probably not be amenable to negotiating an extended cleaning service, but rather intent on ‘cleaning house’ the old fashioned way.

“The only thing gettin’ cleaned here is your clock!” Zig blurted out in retort, her words moving faster than her wit. She activated her forearm bracer shield, the translucent energy disk spinning into place.

In the Computer Core, Krad’s cruel cudgel came close to clobbering the cornered Verpine, Mex’s adrenaline surged muscles letting them twist out of the way just before the swipe would have taken off their head. A shock maul was supposed to be a less-than-lethal weapon, often used for riot control, but when wielded by a two meter tall bundle of sinewy Trandoshan muscle, anything less-than-lethal lost its qualifiers in short order.

The sting of the baton numbed Mex’s arm, sending the Verpine reeling with chitin-jarring pain.

Comms suddenly came on. She heard it, and somehow, ever since returning from the Ethereal Realm she felt it. The Force? Maybe? The bond she shared with her favorite Verpine.

He was being hurt. Which meant whoever was responsible was about to get it double.

“Oi, scales off my apprentice!” Zig shouted, as she sprinted forward, activated the electric current on her shockboxing gloves, and launched herself down the corridor.

Shamiir’s slow creep around the small room turned into rapid, precise movement in an instant. The stealth portion of the mission was, obviously, over. Now it was a brawl, and while the Echani relished the opportunity to put their training to work, this was where they felt more at home. Where fighting felt more natural. The saber was too bulky, required too much of their focus to avoid hitting themselves, a tool for a fight they trained to avoid anyways. A hands on approach often achieved better outcomes.

A strike sought the Gamorran’s wrist, aiming to prevent his weapon from ever firing a shot. With luck, Shamiir would preventing him from holding anything else in that hand for as long as it took him to decide whether continuing to do his job was worth risking his life.

The Gamorran squealed in surprise as the cloaked Echani seemingly ‘materialized’ out of nowhere. A stinging jab cracked into the meaty green wrist, shattering something or another as an instinctive reflex squeezed the fingers shut around the pistol. The weapon barked, spewing a blaster bolt that lanced across the distance between the two sides, yet impacting harmlessly in the opposite wall. Dazed by the pain, the Gamorran clumsily flung his fist around, trying to heave a haymaker into Shamiir’s face, but the agile Echani was far too dexterous to be caught by such a wild gambit.

Now thoroughly distracted, an opening presented itself for Druzk and Adem.

With the smell of burning tibanna in the air and an opportunity in sight, the Jedi instincts engrained into Adem acted upon his body faster than his reason could. Shamiir’s lightsaber hilt flashed in his hand - subtlety a complete afterthought at this point - and its purple blade lit up, humming eagerly.

Adem focused his gaze on the body and barrel of the blaster. In his mind’s eye a perpendicular line struck through it; the sun-djem contact mark, a Jedi fundamental practically written into the Umbaran’s bones. He moved to close the gap and make the slice, the approach made safer by Shamiir’s dexterous attack.

The humming plasma blade struck out like a viper, skewering the pistol like an insect on a biologist’s display. The pistol sparked, bleeding electric embers across the purple plasma as droplets of molten durasteel dripped upon the floor plating. Followed a moment later by the snub-nosed meat of the pistol proper.

The Gamorran squeaked in horror, pulling back to witness the glowing stump of his weapon, now little more than a grip and a cascade of venting Tibanna.

Now, the Gamorran was just being annoying. His terrified noises soon grew silent as Druzk nonchalantly approached the pig. The Barabel tried to devise a one-liner as the Gamorran stared silently at him.

Eh, too much effort.

Without a word and a quick right hook to the jaw later, the guard fell limp, unconscious—or maybe dead? Druzk didn’t particularly care—on the floor.

Getting their bearings from the electrical wake-up call they received from the evidently incensed security officer, Mex scrambled back. Pressing up against a data stack, they assessed their situation as the guard towered over them. It looked like the guard was capable of doing some real damage - all for what? Some cleaned ducts and a little prying into their files? It was no wonder they had to keep rotating cleaning crews.

Ah well, thankfully the crew was equipped to deal with these scenarios.

Without escalating further, Mex whipped out an injector from their belt and quickly pricked the angry guard. Then they got up, dusted themselves off and walked nonchalantly towards Zig who’d been valiantly en route to save them.

“Hello!”

The hulking Trandoshan, not taking the puny Verpine seriously at all, was preparing for another blow when Mex’s syringe nicked him in the shin. The injector piercing the tough scaly hide, Krad roared in outrage, more insulted than injured, and was about to deliver a crushing kick to the insolent Verpine’s carapace when the world began to swim and distort before his very eyes.

“Y-you underhanded sleemo!” the Trandoshan growled, unsteady in his feet as he struggled to maintain his consciousness against the potent drug’s insidious effects.

With the cocky Verpine seemingly ignoring him, Krad cocked back his maul arm for a devastating clobbering, not noticing the fleeting Zygerrian at the edges of his greying out vision…

“Hey scales!” Zig called out, adrenaline surging as her muscles twitched in response to her movement as she leapt forward.

“If you were lookin’ for a ‘tilly, here’s a good ol’ donny brook!” she drawled defiantly as her shockboxing gloves crackled. The Zygerrian didn’t bother with a feint- just a straight forward haymaker with the full torque of her shoulder and charging momentum. She made contact, felt the satisfying crunch of glove on scale-covered flesh, and followed through fully with the punch so she could land nimbly on both feet beside him.

“This is the part where you fall down,” the Zygerrian flashed her pointed canines in a smirk.

As if on cue, the Trandoshan’s eyes went each their own direction, before the two meters of mean Hutt enforcer came crashing down like the aspirations of so many of the Besadii clan before him. The deck under the Qel-Dromans’ feet shook with the heavy thump of their fallen foe, enough to rattle some of the closest data stacks. Be it the violent vibrations, or perhaps the residual static from where the Trandoshan’s shock-maul had rolled and struck one of the stacks, something tripped an alarm. The lights flashed into a foreboding red and Hutteese klaxon began sounding. Whatever it was saying, it probably meant they had overstayed their welcome.

“Alright gang. Time to extract,” Zig called out the other Voidbreakers. “Momma needs a spa day after all this cleaning.”

Thinking that the medicine would work instantly was not to Mex’s advantage, and they almost obliviously opened themselves up to another shock-maul treatment. Thankfully Zig was there to ensure the efficacy of the medicine. With a short jump of surprise, Mex looked back as the Qel-Dromman tumbled into the data-stack. A mild pained expression was painted on the Verpine’s exoskeleton face as the brute tumbled into the beautiful data architecture.

“Hi Zig, are we taking the elevator? I can lead everyone the ventilation system. They may still purge it… They are not grateful for the cleaning we provided them. I am certain they will be grateful now that I have a copy of their records for safekeeping.” The verpine tapped the data stick on their belt for reference.

As they passed by the security room to the rest of the group, Mex paused by the security stations. Maybe there was a way to limit the trouble they’d be in, regardless of what was right and good in the galaxy these people didn’t seem interested and it was always good to cover one’s behind. Tapping away on the console, the Verpine attempted to quickly access and remove today’s logs.

“Smart thinking, Mex,” Zig nodded, and while her instinct was to help the Verpine with the slicing effort, she realized it was probably best to let them take point on it..without her input. “Are you okay though? I have some bacta patches in my kit if you need some…”

“Hi Zig, Arm is still numb from shock. But it is ok, we will leave and will get better. Exoskeleton not breached, just shocked.”

Zig frowned at that. She honestly had no idea how Verpine physiology worked. “Alright.”

She let it drop for the moment. “Shamiir, Druzk, Adem, you ready to skrrt out of here?”