Shimsinblimp

Blimp’s complexion soured as he recognized the voice of his benefactor streaming across the airwaves. Moments later the gunship shook as Jorus’ fire pummeled his shields. Looking to his pilot, Blimp’s voice range with a sad truth, “No way the crime lord lets us out of this alive. The spice is safe. We did our job. Let us cover their escape.” He was met with a somber nod. The pilot flipped several controls on the console and pulled hard on the yoke. “All shield fore. Priming missiles and torps.” Looking back over his shoulder at Blimp, he added, “Tis been a joy comrade.” Blimp offered a half-hearted salute as he made his way to an empty chair in the cockpit and sluffed himself into it. “Only the devil and I know the whereabouts of my treasure, and the one of us who lives the lives the longest should take it all.” Blimp pointed a finger towards Nok’s ship, sure that the blind lizard was nearby; for he felt like he could taste him. As laserfire tore at The Lady Legionnaire, the swift craft bore down on the Howlrunner returning her own barrage of laserfire. As they accelerated closer and closer, the gunship’s shields wore quickly, until klaxons blared in the small cabin, deafening tones that prohibited conversation warning of critical shield failure. Then as they hurled closer, did the lithe vessel erupt in a salvo of concussion missiles and proton torpedoes angled at the cockpit of the Nemoidian’s pleasure craft. And as the shields failed and the shop began it’s final death throws, Blimp fought against the inertial forces to reach forward and clap a hand on his pilot’s shoulder. In a hushed whisper awash with sadness and a sense of completion, the half-troig hissed, “Goodbye brother. I am coming.” And then, palming the detanator, Blimp pushed the button to ignite the eighteen crates of baradium bisulfate within the hold. The inside of the ship and her occupants and cargo were instantly enveloped in a plume of ferocious hellfire. The entire ship was consumned in a mere moment as the momentum of the blast mingled with the oxygen it pushed before it in a dazzling array of wanton destruction.

The Lady Legionnaire slipped smoothly from hyperspace. Instantly, Blimp’s suspicious was aroused as his onboard nav computer spit out their location, MALACHOR V, or more accurately, the planetary remnants of that world. The single identified ship on radar brought even more concern, was this a trap? Had that wizened pirate fooled him with his talk of desires for freedom? In their flurry to jump from Naboo before being scanned or intercepted by local security forces, The Lady Legionairre had simply locked on to Jorus Jaden’s vessel and mirrored it through hyperspace. About half of Blimp’s recruited freighters had performed the same mirroring maneuver as their leader, the rest having coordinated their own jumps or having been destroyed. “Abort. Abort. Reroute to the alternate rendevouz point.” The Troig growled into his comm, a hint of concern eking in at the edges of his words. “I am going to gut that pirate if this is a trap.” And it sure was starting to feel like one. If Jaden was lucky, Blimp would only torture him until he could execute the sorry excuse for a man in front of his benefactor. If he was not so lucky? Well, Blimp had a few associates with a knack for organ and used-cybernetic harvesting that would pay a handsome fee for fresh specimens. The ragtag group of gunships and freighters pulled into a hard curve up and away from the planetary remains and any erstwhile gravitational fields it may yet be admitting. All they had to do was get clear and they would be safe. Still, with a shipload of explosives and a thirst for vengeance, Blimp was not about to take any chances. Whilst his pilot brought the ship around, Blimp limped to the back and carefully slipped a small remote detonator in one of the cracked boxes. All it would take now would be the flick of a finger and the ship and anything within 100+ meters would be melded into the remains of Melchor V. “No Chances. Sorry Shim.”

Blimp cursed, his tirade a colorful string of less than professional descriptors in a variety of languages. He and his hand picked crew reversed directions, taking off at maximum propulsion towards The Lady Legionnaire and her fragile cargo. Jorus’ orders over the comm alongside the chatter indicating the arrival of heavier defensive forces indicated it was time to go, sooner than Blimp had hoped, or paid for. Someone would have to pay; but that was an issue for another time and place. Right now, they needed to get out of there with their ill-gotten booty. clamoring aboard the blastboat, Blimp snarled at the Duros in the pilot’s seat, “Get us out of here! Follow those pirates.” Even as the hatch began to close, the ship was lifting off. Throughout the compound, last second crates of spice and other materials were thrown haphazardly aboard the freighters as they too all began to lift off, pointing their bows towards the stars. It was not a moment too soon as Naboo Security Forces began to materialize on the scanners. With a final pass of withering turbo fire, the ramshackle fleet rocketed from the moon, away from the planet, and towards the safety of the stars.

Responding Security forces from the moon’s small outposts began to swarm towards and into the area, arriving in groups of one or two security speeders. The security took cover behind their metallic green soeeders; turning their vehicle-mounted cannons on the pirate forces. Blimp’s men continued to shuffle crate after crate of spice from the breached warehouses to their ships. They moved at a break-neck pace to take advantage of the limited time they had. Each man returned fire when their hands were free or when providing cover for their comrades. Meanwhile, Blimp and his trusted entourage zigzagged back through the cacophony towards The Lady Legionnaire. Once they got to the ship, they carefully and quickly secured their cargo before exiting to return fire. Their brethren were still working, so Blimp and company began the process of laying down a heavy barrage of cover fire as they inched back towards the lone warehouse of baradium bisulfate. In the distance, security forces continued to advance towards the attackers. The few freighters that were still airborne circled to rain fire down on some security forces in an effort to slow their advance somewhat, buying precious minutes by which to allow the forces to mop up their work and get offworld.

Blimp eyed his onboard sensor questioningly before keying in a simple code to the ships under his command. It was nothing complicated; just a reworking of the strategy. As Jorus Jaden’s ships and crews slowed to begin an assault, a trio of gunships broke off from Blimp’s command and began a high speed strafing run across the rooftops of the compound. Turbolaser fire detonated the ground and tore through flimsy sheet metal roofs as the onslaught began. The Lady Legionnaire circled and came into land within the fenced confines of the compound under a hail of small arms fire from the men under Jaden’s comand. A handful of freighters crowded in to land as well, much closer than galactic safety regulations would regularly allow. Suited up in his custom dropsuit, Blimp thundered out of the ship, suit mounted rockets propelling him forward like a sand panther leaping for her prey. His suit mounted weaponry fired, adding to the din. In the distance, klaxons began to blare announcing the sudden state of emergency. They were not needed to tell the handfuls of mining crews what was happening. It was too late for them as the majority scurried for escape and cover. They did not get paid enough for this. Blimp smiled in wicked glee. It was a smile that barely twinkled in his eyes. The shimmer of light even there deep, dark and twisted and mingled with an unseen announce. The alarms were supposed to have been disabled. He keyed his comm, “Captain, begin loading as much as you can. If it ain’t nailed down, it is ours.” With a sharp whirring, Blimp’s boot mounted saw hacked through the crude lock to the warehouse nearest he and his men. Showers of sparks litup the dark against the backdrop of blasterfire and roaring engines. The door clattered to the ground in a plume of moon dust. Before the dust even began to settle, his crews of spicejackers, lowlifes, and criminals were rushing in, weapons at the ready to secure the coveted spice within. As his minions rushed past him and began their work like a well oiled machine, Blimp and a small hand picked group of eight diverted from the stores of spice. Quickly they made their way between the warehouses, their rocket packs, boosters, and other mechanical means of motion hurrying them along at supernatural speeds towards a single warehouse a short distance away. Several warning signs littered the barren area of ground between the compound of warehouses and this single warehouse. They warned of unspecified dangers, urged caution, and strongly suggested that the smoking of cigarras, spice, death sticks or otherwise was poorly planned. Ceasing their mechanized motion, Blimp and company slowed to a cautious lope. Time was still of the essence. There was bo sense dying though. Not yet. Not here. Reaching the locked blastdoor, Blimp quickly keyed in the access code. The light on the lock wavering on red for a mete second that felt like an eternity before chining to green. The heavy licks within the door and wall sliding back with a thud to allow access. Blimp breathed a silent sigh of relief as he felt his shoulders relax a fraction. If there was one thing that the spice miners of Naboo were famous for it was being disgruntled; never happy with their cut of the profits. Disgruntled and feeling underpaid had made it east enough to buy the access codes and spreadsheets of warehouse stores. It had even allowed for Blimp and his associates to ensure that resistance would be light. The klaxon wailing in the distance had proven that not all turncoats could be trusted. With a heave, Blimp’s musclebound minions threw the doors open to reveal carefully stacked crates of baradium bisulfate labelled ‘MOONGLOW’. Several sharp intakes of breath could be heard over comms as his men tensed at the sight of the stacks. “Blimey! There is enough here to blow a hole in a,” one crewman breathed before being cut off. “Two crates each. If we have time, we will come back for more. Put them aboard The Lady. Hurry.” Blimp did not need to tell his crew to use caution. Each of them knew well enough so as to not turn their immediate area into another crater on this moon. With the assistance of his mechanically enhanced dropsuit, Blimp hefted a medium-sized crate beneath each of his four arms.

The hodge-podge array of freighters and fighters dropped out of hyperspace just as planned. They slipped into the shadowy darkness of space that was the dark side of Naboo’s biggest of three moons. This mission was the same, yet totally different. Naboo was a civilized world, with decidedly coordinated defensive measures that could harass and drive off the likes of Jaden Jorus and Shimsinblimp’s irregulars. Silence was key. Drop to the moon, hit the warehouses hard and fast, load what could be grabbed, and get gone before too many reinforcements showed up. Spice mining was a legalized and regulated business for the Naboo, even if it was morally frowned upon. Some would surely rejoice at the destruction of such facilities. Others would react with malice. Spice jacking was a high risk, high reward, adrenaline inducing career choice. It was like podracing; podracing without any rules while higher than a spaceborn nerf, and guns, lots of guns. At the lead, Shimsinblimp’s Skipray held the lead. The Lady Legionnaire would lead the craft in. The bulk of Jorus’ fleet bypassing the bulkier freighters of Blimp’s. They would make the initial strafing run while Blimp and his men breached the warehouses and dealt with any initial resistance. As ships were loaded, they would swap with airborne craft until they had their fill or were driven back. Again, as soon as they were known, time would be limited and speed and skill essential. Pushing The Lady Legionnaire into a deep dive, the fleet began to accelerate rapidly towards the surface. By the time the alarm could be raised, they would be on the surface, taking their fill.

Blimp stood silently as the spacer told his tale. To an outside observer, it would have been hard to tell if the half-being had even heard a word Jorus said. He had been rolling the cigarra in his fingers as he took in it’s every detail. That is, until the pirate stopped telling his story. Pondering the story, silence fell over the hold. Regarding the cigarra, Blimp took a deep drag. Nok was even more malicious than he gave the blind lizard credit for. Had he implanted some loyalty device in him as well? Would he dare. “Yes. Yes. He would,” he whispered to himself before turning his eyes back to Jorus. Exhaling a cloud of smoke over the human, Blimp nodded. “Quiet is overrated. Especially when that worth living for has been taken away. Why not make the years count? We get you through this servitude alive, squeeze the codes out of the wand waving warlock,” he waved his hand nonchalantly, “then, just perhaps, you come in with me, as a partner.” Just then, Blimp’s comm binged, signifying that the stolen goods had been secured. Taking another long drag on the cigarra, Blimp tossed it on the floor and stamped it out with the toe of his boot. “Think on it. Spicejacker has a nice ring to it.” Blimp began to walk towards the exit, looking back over his shoulder to add, “You have the makings of more than a mere pirate or droid-slaved goon, Spicejacker Jaden Jorus. Just gotta prove you’re worth it.”

Blimp nodded slowly. This spacer was a different sort. No questions, no what ifs or but fors, all he needed was an enemy, a ship, and a star to steer her by it would seem. Taking the extended cigarra and using the cyborg’s lighter as well, Blimp took a deep draw, allowing the savorium smoke to swirl about his mouth and lungs before gently exhaling a cloud out into the empty bay. A smile crossed the Troig’s face. “Soon enough these vessels will be filled to the brim with spice and other treasures. Perhaps even some sentimental rock from the ruins outside for your benefactor’s eccentric collection,” he mused, before turning his eyes back to Jaden. “But what of you master privateer? I sense that your will is not that of your own. What is it the blind magician holds over your head? What is it that you desire of this venture?” Slaves made for good fodder Blimp knew; and while Shim may have been somewhat opposed to it, Blimp knew it was an essential part of the galactic economic beast. Blimp knew, however, that those forced into situations where death was on the line were more likely to turn tail than those who had something to gain. He would not allow himself to be left stranded by anyone, not even so-called loyalists under his benefactor. Business was business and lives were business; his life was not for sale to the highest bidder. “Nok Morliss does not own me,” he explained, foreshadowing the spacer’s thoughts on why the Troig would work with the sleazy Nemoidian. “He merely appreciates the skills I bring to the table. Skills he is willing to pay for rather than develop himself. Skills he pays for. You are clearly a skilled fringer yourself, as evidenced by our latest venture. What might it take to ensure that continued level of service without cowardice in the face of morally questionable devastation?” Nearby, the dizzying array of spacers, pirates, and criminal elements set about refurbishing and repairing their ships as they may. The stolen stores were quickly being offloaded. Once they were emptied, the stolen freighters were set on a collision course into the ruins of Ziost, shields disabled and bodies stripped of any useful parts to make repairs on any damaged raider vessels. When it happened, the ships erupted in blazing flashes of fiery destruction that dissipated in the void of space. A spare cave-cracker or two left in the vicinity of the ships’ hyperdrives ensured that any remnant of the craft were unidentifiable without deep, galactic-capital level, forensic analysis. As soon as the captains completed their conversation, they would be on their way to their next lucrative target; one with heightened security, higher stakes, and slimier comrades.

The ragtag fleet of spicejackers, pirates, and guns-for-hire slipped out of hyperspace at the edges of the space field that was once Ziost. The three slaved together freighters laden with spice, mining explosives, liquors, foodstuffs and more glided silently surveying the remnants of the world. Blimp stood at the bridge surveying the aged chaos before them. A darkness tugged at his soul here. It was somewhere he and Shim had always spoke of visiting. The darkness caused him to gasp as he felt the hinger within. It felt as if the darkness here validated his deepest desires, urging him forward to do the unspeakable; no matter what the cost. He turned with a dark smile on his face, his off centered head giving his now unarmored body an ethereal demonic visage amongst his worn leathers. “As soon as the Actions are slowed, begin transferring all the cargo over. Then send the ships into Ziost. We will have no further need for them.” He had no doubt the ships would eventually be tracked. Even now a response or recovery team may have flagged them. Hopefully amongst the planetary ruins and lingering religious energies they had bought some time and some hesitation from the paranoid and superstitious. Blimp had no doubt the crews would begin offloading the precious cargoes as soon as they were able. He desired to return to The Lady Legionnaire, but first, he had to coordinate with Nok Morliss’ henchman. “Inform Captain Jorus that I will meet him aboard the Action, bring whatever security he feels he must have.” Once the train of freighters had docked with the Actions, Blimp made his away one of the yawning vessel, nodding as he looked over the vast dark cavernous interior. His footsteps echoed off the far walls. His crews worked to load the other of the two Action VIs. Here, he could discuss with Morliss’ pirate freely. Once the grizzled soldier arrived, Blimp offered him a dark smile. “One raid is hardly anything to gloat about; but we are taking steps to our ultimate end. If we hurry, we should be able to intercept another shipment. This one will be laden to the gills with spice and other goods. Dare I say, a haul double or triple what we just made. Are you up for another little foray Captain?”

The ad hoc wall of ships was well prepared for the oncoming sorty of planetary based responders. Zigging and zagging the freighters, fighters, and gunships swarmed intercepting the bulk of enemy fire that was directed at the fleeing trio of stolen craft. Even so, aboard the ship, Blimp grimaced as some targeted fire rocketed the craft with maneuverability of a line of dewbacks. “It seems we are unappreciated, as usual.” A smile tugged at the corners of the Troig’s mouth as he found humor in his own observation. The concern about the shipment of explosives taking fire only added to the entertainment factor for the slightly-deranged spicejacker. The arrival of Black Sun craft from hyperspace was more interesting anyway. Coming in on the hyperlane they were planning on utilizing for their own jump, the Supremacy was second only to the gravitational pull of Ord Mantell in preventing their escape. Fortunately, the vessel did not appear interested in engaging the fleeing band of space pirates, choosing to make their way towards the planet instead. Like two ships passing in the proverbial night of space, they would barely remember one another once they had gone their own ways. Laser fire pinged off the ships’ shields, a stark reminder that pirating the pirates was always a risky business. The freighter groaned beneath Blimp’s feet as his pilot pushed the chain of craft to their limits in preparation for jumping to hyperspace. Several eyes rested on the gravitational sensor waiting for them to clear the planet’s pull. When they did, no warning was given, the slaved ships lurched in space for a moment before becoming vanishing streaks into the darkness between stars. It took only a moment for the remainder of Jaden Jorus’s and Shimsinblimp’s hodge lodge craft to follow suite. The few ships that were unable to make the jump stayed, fighting to the death or surface in an effort to disappear amongst the locals until such time as they could find their own ways home. ‘Those who fall behind, get left behind.’

Blimp and his team surged forward through the ship. The idea that pirates were a bunch of ill-controlled lawless vagabonds was far from the truth seen in action here. With military-like precision, the group cut their way through the ship. Security features were either disabled or outright destroyed. Doors were breached with little care of stealth as the focused explosions rattled the interiors of the ship. Their goal was the cockpit of the rough freighter chain. Blimp moved with an icy coolness. His leg did not limp with the suit’s support and he strode freely, with grim determination and purpose. Blasting open the doors to the cockpit, the half-troig stalked inward like a devil, the smoke of soot swirling about his otherworldly form as his suit-mounted computer tracked the few crewmen within and neutralized them with a single fiery salvo. Moving forward to the singed, but still functional console, Blimp surveyed the controls in a single glance. The flashing emergency beacon was more or less expected. It meant that time was limited. A twisted grin pulled at the edge’s of Blimp’s face; it was time to see if Nok’s boys were worth their salt. This close planetside, aide would be forthcoming, and rapid at that. A nod from a similarly armored being that had accompanied his crew told Blimp the ship’s controls were hacked. The three still slaved vessels were theirs. With the grinding and groaning of the ship about them, the technician pulled the ship into a hard upward loop off course and away from the planet. ____________ Outside the guns on the trio of chained vessels fell silent as the ship’s automations were overcome. Things had gone without a hitch thus far. The remaining defenses and escorts continued in their futile efforts to force back the harrying combined forces of Blimp’s henchmen and Jorus’ cronies. A rapid response style force began to appear on the fringes of sensors indicating that the convoy’s distress signal had been received. Whoever it was, Black Sun, criminals, entrepreneurs, or otherwise, Blimp had no desire to find out first hand. The trick now was extradition without complication. __________ “We have what we came for.” Blimp growled into his comm as he flipped through the manifests. Corellian Silk: ‘Spice. As expected,’ he noted by the telltale subtle smugglers mark nearby. Mining Supplies: he ran his finger along the manifest raising an eyebrow in glee, cave-cracker mining charges. A variety of foodstuff: Blimp nodded as he noted a few crates of decent liquors and higher class meals amongst the mostly common food supplies. All in all, a decent haul if they could get back to hyper now. “Leave the rest. Keep those defenders back until we get clear of the pull ((gravitational)), then meet at the rendezvous.” The troig barked into the comms. He would have loved to be back aboard The Lady Legionnaire; but the operation was not going to allow it. For now, he was stuck on the line of three heavy freighters with no way to cut weight without disconnecting the third freighter and losing it’s spice-laden cargo. He was forced to rely on the skill, hunger and loyalty of the allied vessels nearby and hope that whatever Nok Morliss had done to stir up Black Sun recently was enough of a distraction to offer escape. If anything, such a risky venture right out of the gate showed the skill, desperation, and daring he and his crew were willing to go. If Jorus did not like it, it would be good to find out sooner than later. ______________ The more-freelance-than-Sith aligned fighters and freighters recruited by Blimp turned from their harassing of the remaining convoy, to their own pilots’ relief. They moved to act as an intercepting shield to whatever response Ord Mantell could muster, moving in a dizzying screen between the stolen vessels and the world below; inching with their prize towards a safe hyperspace jump.

Blimp watched as Nok’s servant’s crews and ships barreled forward to haphazardly engage the slave-chained convoy. A few mutters of surprise from the crewman closest to him in his Skipray accompanied the eyebrow raising questioning glance of the remaining head of the Troig. “Interesting. Not exactly as planned, but,” he watched a trio of freighters spin chaotically away from the line. The front of the convoy plowing forward as their hidden anti-starfighter blaster cannons locked into sight and began to spew forth blasterfire. The rear of the convoy veered off course as the minimal crews of those ships scurried to try and regain control of what should have been a simple trip. They had not expected to have to do much. Their automated weaponry engaging without prompt from the crewman. “seemingly effective.” he noted with a slight nod. “Continue as planned. Group 1 with Jack 1. The rest of you, focus on the leads. Draw their fire.” The convoy escort had taken off after Jorus’ initial attack run. The freighters plowed forward, those that could still achieve that, putting on extra speed with the attack underway. Radio operators bellowed emergency codes as they cried for help seeing the approaching ships on scanners. Blimp and his assigned ships bellowed downward towards the three lead freighters. The rest of his crews began to did and wave, pushing their gunships and freighters to their maximum specs and beyond as they began to take advantage of the computerized targeting programs and zipping and juking to avoid shots or take them where shielding was strongest. As their ships neared, the vessels pulled up and slowed minimally, turning their loading ports towards the freighters and jettisoning their dropsuit clad spicejackers at maximum velocity towards the line of heavy freighters. Nearly a dozen jackers (10) streaked through the void of space, built in thrusters minimizing their descent so they slammed into the hull at survivable speeds, thanks to their armor; magnetized footwear did the rest. It only took a minute for the crew to plod their way towards the access hatch, weaving through the uneven surface of the vessel, disabling any weapons platforms they passed. It would only take a minute and a half to slice through the locking mechanism, then the hatch and hallways beyond would be opened to the void of space. From there, it ought to be easy enough. Blimp carried himself almost mindlessly. He had done this more times than he could count. The thrill of the hunt usually pulsing life through his veins. This time though, it was different. Without Shim, the fun was gone. This was business. Blimp knew the business well, his mind churned over every facroid and facet of the attack subconciously; his thoughts dwelling on the greater plan. He was only pulled back to the moment as the telltale click of the hatch popped open and the vacuum of space began to draw forth the air and unsecured contents in the walkways of the ship. They had only a few moments before the ship sealed itself off. Like a team of Corescanti Spec Ops the armored being slid inside, the self-sealing lock slamming shut behind them. Keying his mic, Blimp growled, “We’re in. Next contact on control. Prepare to guide us out.”

Slipping from hyper into real space, the hodgepodge fleet* of freighters and small craft led by Blimp and Jorus appeared one by one across the expanse of space. They drifted silently well beyond standard sensor range of the Black Sun controlled world. That vile orb was not their intended purpose. The Syndicate, in whatever turmoil it may be in, was not their concern. It was merely a bonus that Nok Morliss had set his competitors into a potential tailspin. Aboard the ships, steeled, hardened, and evil beings sat silently waiting, save for the few ryll addled uncontrollable twitches of some of the seedier amongst the amoral forces. Like a troop of Gundarks, they impatiently awaited their prey. It was not long, the information Blimp had paid for had been accurate thus far. Shipping manifests, diverted hyperlanes, scheduled departure and arrival times; all of it, alone it was not worth much, but when analyzed under the dark lights of greed, desperation, and an intelligent hunger pieces began to fall into place. Falling from hyperspace, like a line of lumbering pack animals, a trail of mind-chained, slaved freighters shambles forward. Their escort, nothing but a handful of aged fighters; pilots looking to make a quick buck. Shipping manifests had a variety of nondescript goods and supplies listed for the cargo. Paid sources indicated the third freighter, however, was not, in fact carrying Corellian silks, but instead was a rather large shipment of glitterstim. Others in the rumbling fleet also did not contain what they supposed, but nothing that was worth that much to our enterprising crew. The remainder of the shipments, foodstuff, mining equipment, the beginnings of a casino, etc would be of use, but were not the focus. The droid-slaved ships were less defenseless than they appeared. Shipboard automated defenses lay in wait for whatever fool hearty pirates sought them as prey. Blimp knew this. The trick was speed. Once thebslaved ships were within planetary orbit, their defenses would be immobilized so that offloading could commence. It was there, at the fringes of the fold, where the spicejackers would strike. They didn’t need everything; but whatever they could liberate alongside the spice was an added bonus. Watching the shambling column advance, Blimp keyed the comms to the rest of the ragtag posse, “Begin.”His word was simple and cold. It was all that was needed. Nok’s goons knew their job, interference. They would deal with thebplanet and any outside interference. Blimp’s chosen few would engage the freighters directly while Blimp and company extricated their prize. In the cold cold of space, engines flared to life and the ragtag posse advanced, gaining speed.

Blimp eyed the grizzled spacer with nothing less than unfiltered judgement before turning back to Nok and nodding his head curtly. “So be it. Four days and we will depart. Small freighters and personal craft only.” With that, the underlord whirled and made his way out; his every movement carrying an aura of control in spite of his noticable limp. ________________________ Making his way out of the higher class neighborhoods, Blimp’s Mon Cal-made speeder zipped towards the city’s lowest levels, descending below sealevel as the white overhead lights mingled with the blue of the world’s seas outside the viewport in an eerie glow. Pulling to a stop in front of a worn structure built into the very foundation of the descending city, Blimp and a duo of barabel enforcers made their way inside. The inside matched outside. Well worn aged wooden floors, polished to a sheen blended seamlessly with the more aquatic designs of the walls as they curved into seemingly natural nooks abd crannies, each one once designed as a booth for some matter of dining establishment; but that was long ago. The original purpose of the place forgotten to most. Now, now the once regal eatery housed a hodgepodge of different terminals scattered haphazardly about with monitors and makeshift barriers protecting their users’ privacy jammed into the booths and corners. Wires ran seemibgly without reason from terminal to terminal and out of sight into the walls, ceilings and floor. The lights inside were kept almost off, their dimness offering just enough sight so as to allow the detail-oriented patron to not trip over bundled of cord running across the floor. The blinking of soft blues, greens, and reds were overshadowed only by the glow of certain screens that blared all manner of video streams, schematics, and other feeds behind their crouched viewers and makeshift shields. Almost immediately upon entry, the trio were met by a rather oddly placed Quarren, attired in finery fit more for formal business meetings with offworld representatives than running an off the grid, non-Imperial holonet receiving cafe. The glowing eyes of two nigh invisible defels behind him spoke to the authority he carried and seriousness with which he would protect his patrons. “I was expecting you. A little late.” The fishy being rubbed his fingers together by his hip, a universe symbol for ‘show me the money’ shooting a knowing glance to Blimp. With a dark glare, Blimp elbowed the steely lizard to his left, prompting the display of a datachip being put into a handheld reader. The red digits of the display screen instantly scrolled to a rather hefty sum. “That will do,” the information broker responded with a nod, removing a data chip from the inner folds of his sleeve and holding it out, his other palm held flat to receive the payment. In a moment, the deal was done. Blimp and his entourage returned to their speeder and set off. The entire exchange having taken less than 3 minutes. ______________________ Several days later found Blimp and Nok in an undisclosed hangar, a massive warehouse populated by a little over a half dozen freighters and quick attack craft: the makeshift fleet of smugglers, pirates, and spicejackers assembled by Jorus and Blimp. For Blimp’s part, there were a spattering of former associates that had escaped the crumbling of the Hutt Cartel. Others had been recruited for their love of money, lack of morals, and willingness to undertake less than pleasant tasks. Others were drawn for their skills relating to spicejacking with the promise of a safehaven to call home, free from extradition to worlds and governments seeking their heads (or more). Desires for profit, spice, and revenge ran aplenty amongst the crews of the ships that Blimp had recruited. Glancing at the ships Nok’s henchman provided and their crews, Blimp growled, “I suppose they will have to work. Your man,” he began before biting his tongue. Sometimes discretion was wiser, and an ally was not a thing to waste. Blimp did not know, nor did he trust Jaden Jorus. He would not think twice about leaving the aged space pirate to die or gutting him if he caused issues. Blimp did have a semblance of respect for the sly blind Nemoidian. Besides, they had an arrangement; an arrangement that ought to work out well for both sides. “If we find any religious artifacts or tomes, we will ensure they make their way back to you to add to your collection.”. Turning to Jorus, he queried, “I will be aboard The Lady Legionnaire. Set your ships in line with mine and we will make Ord Mantell and be out before anyone knows we were even there. There will be a pair of Actions ((ACTION VI TRANSPORTS)) that will meet us on scene to stow any prizes. Are your boys going to spicejack with us or provide cover and run interference? I am hoping Black Sun won’t know we were there until we are gone.”

A little over a week later, the Troig that was Shimsinblimp, now known simply as Blimp, emerged not from the medical ward of Nok Morliss’ world class facilities; but from the growing darkened underworld of Mon Cal. The half Troig had walked out of the medical ward as soon as he was capable under his own power, despite the objections of the droids tending to him. One of those droids had been left a smoldering shell after Blimp had plugged the droid’s frame into the power supply of a nearby bacta tank. He then disappeared into the underworld throngs where he returned to the budding spice operations he and Shim had started to establish. His black-skinned twi’lek enforcer had seen to the growth of their business using many of the traits they had learned under servitude to the Hutts. The woman was as ruthless as Blimp and did not hesitate to cut down anyone who got in the way of progress. After ensuring that the planet-wide operations were still humming, Blimp moved to ensure his offworld contacts were aware of their places. Blimp reached out through contacts, backroom channels, secured holonet transceivers and more to offworld contacts, buyers & dealers, pirates & spice jackers ,and everyone from fences to information brokers. He made sure that all of them were still expected to hold up any agreements in place and made acutely aware of the fact that Shimsinblimp still stood at the helm of the growing drug trade of Mon Cal despite the loss of Shim’s head to the Mandalorian upstarts. After spending over an entire planetary rotational cycle contacting offworld suppliers and brokers the half-Troig set out for the industrial park where Nok’s office overlooked the world’s most lucrative business investments. With a slight limp in his right leg from where the Mandalor had ground her boot into his exposed bone, Blimp made his way through the areas of town no one of his class ought to be. He openly carried his underarm slung blasters, his usually hidden disruptor now openly carried aside an identical one on his chest. The swagger the Troig usually carried was gone. Blimp’s lips were set in a hard thin line and fire burned in his eyes as he stalked forward. Walking into the office building, Blimp did not break stride as the receptionist cried foul at his passing. He did not even look back as he growled, “I am expected.” until he came to a halt before the turbolift doors. It took only a moment of consideration from the secretary before she activated the lift doors to allow the Troig inside, simultaneously keying in the emergency code for security regarding the possible intrusion. She did not get paid enough to dir at the hands of a half-mad looming half-Troig. As the lift opened at the other end, Blimp was met by eight clean and sharp Quarren enforcers each armed to the teeth. Their weapons were pointed towards Blimp’s chest. Clearly they were expecting trouble. Blimp did not move for his weapons. He did not move at all, not even his eyes turned from their prize, the door to Nok’s office. If they shot him, he cares little. Instead, he bellowed, his voice loud, guttural, and seething with a ice-like edge that had the potential to cut duraglass. “Morlissssss, we have business arrangements to discuss. Failure is not an option.” Once Nok had called off the building guards, and some semblance of privacy was ensured, Blimp began to speak.“Kessel was an absolute failure. I now have debts to pay as I am sure you do as well. Naboo will take time and planning. Time we do not have. Fortunately for you, I have experience in more hands on approaches to acquiring the goods we need. I have a crew, some whom I have served with before I came to work with you, others scraped from the bowels of the growing galactic hub of iniquity you have cultivated here. If you have no objections, we depart in three days time.”