Rodya

"So, what do you think we do first?" James asked in his most professional voice. "I think it'd be wise to begin our search where out target was last seen. That's the way I've always started my hunts, unless I had more to go on." Experience was an advantage Rodya possessed. James was young; his size, voice, and skin gave away his youth, but Rodya could tell there was more to the lad than met the eye. "I know a few people we can speak with to possibly get a little more information and hopefully set us on the right path." A heavy T-6 Thunderer Blaster Pistol clanked against the galley table as Rodya put it down, having cleaned its barrel throughly. He picked up another weapon and went to work on it. "We need to discuss our roles. I read up a little on you back at the station while you were working. From my own experience I can say I'll be more useful to you as a front man. When the time comes, I'll be the battering ram, the punching bag, whatever you wanna call it. I'll need your backup though. If you can slice any computer systems, provide covering fire, or create diversions I'd greatly appreciate it. Of course, I'd hope to get out of this hunt without facing a lot of action." Rodya paused, "Sound like a plan? Let me know any suggestions you have." ((Post then take us to Gala. We're going to meet up with WJ there.))

After making several random jumps, an unmarked Corellian Corvette exited hyperspace in an unknown system. Seconds later an identical Corvette exited and linked with the first. The crews exchanged cargo and in no time parted, both making several more jumps before making their way to their final destinations.

Aboard the Frozen Thunder Rodya worked tirelessly to repair the droid he would need to make this mission successful. He had finished greasing the droid's joints and removing significant amounts of rust from its bronzium plating. Some of the oxidation remained though, linking the droid's appearance to Rodya's armor. "My friend," said Rodya talking to himself, "you're going to be nasty when I'm finished with you." With a data cord, Rodya linked his datapad to the droid's computer system finding most of the droid's internal hardware in near perfect working condition, as he had concluded on Dantooine. With some slight tinkering and re-programming, Rodya linked the droid to his datapad and armor. Seeker, Rodya's smallest droid, floated overhead peering down at the droideka. The battle droid's radiation sensors, which were also functioning properly, drifted up meeting Seeker's single eye. Seeker would be the leader of Rodya's droid hunters, linking images to the droidekas' hard drives revealing tactical strengths and weaknesses. In the event of Seeker's destruction, each of the droids would act independently of each other, still linked wirelessly communicating about appropriate tactical manuvers, but no longer possessing the advantages of Seeker's aid. At any time Rodya could link to any or all of the droids and deliver direct orders to them via his HUD. Along with the functioning capacity of the droideka's computers, Rodya also discovered that the droid's shield generators were in working order. He had thought previously that the shield system was damaged, but the bounty hunter was stunned when he fired his pistol at the droid, only to have the bolt absorbed by a purple energy field. The final thing Rodya had to fix was the weapons systems. He tinkered and fiddled with the dual blaster armamants piecing together an operating system from weapons he found lying around in his armory. This part of the process took most of the trip, but once finished, Rodya knew he had a formidable comrade. Grabbing all of his personal weapons, Rodya ordered three of his four droids: the mark I, the grapple droid, and Seeker to follow him. The mark II would be left aboard waiting for its surprise intro.

”œGood riddance,”

The tall dashade nodded his head acknowledging Wranon's affirmation. Rodya was already aware Quintus would probably want to go along with his plan. His desire for action had come across quite clearly at the Galactic Gunshop. "Good, I'm boarding the ship. This place will lock itself up. Grab whatever else you think you'll need, and the last person aboard take us into space. You know the destination; just plug it in the nav computer." Rodya walked away triggering a program on his datapad that locked up the secret compartment in his hideout. The other two were welcome to anything else, but the treasures inside that cabinet were Rodya's personal, most prized possessions. Aboard the ship, Rodya suited up in his entire armor. It felt good to know he would soon be back in action, but the old bloodlust had not yet taken over the animal once propelled by violence and hatred. In fact, despite his show of confidence in front of Quintus and Wranon, Rodya was having second thoughts. This job had encouraged him to rid the galaxy of the Jedi's evil, but still something odd nagged at his heart. He gulped the pressure down, writing it off as nerves and excitement. Before the ship had taken off, Rodya went into his small armory and looked upon his three newest acquisitions. Of the three droideka, only one was pretty much non-operational. The two he had bought from the Gunshop were in pristine condition, but weren't exactly what he needed. They would be useful in the upcoming battle, but his prize from Dantooine was really his droid of choice. Adorned in his full set of armor, Rodya set to work on the rusted droid focusing on greasing and lubricating its joints, tweaking its weapon systems, and repairing its shields. He hoped to have the droid in some kind of working order before arriving at Gala. ((Someone take us to space, preferably with the assumption that we'd make several jumps to avoid detection. I'll post in space and then take us out of hyperspace in the Gala thread.))

WAR The bold letters floated into the air above the holo-projector, fading out and being replaced by a human, male news anchor. "Greetings viewers, my name is Spam Lan Sillips, and you're watching Holo-News, the holonet's number one news network." Spam turned towards another camera, his torso projection rotating more towards Rodya and the center of the room. "The top story this evening is war. As reported, our great Imperial Government has finally retaliated against the Jedi terrorists who wreaked havoc on Coruscant only weeks ago. With successful strikes on Sullust, Gala, and other Republic held planets, justice is sure to be swift for the years of perpetual crime committed by the Jedi and their puppet government, the Republic." Spam turned back to his original position. "There is little coverage of the battle that we can bring you at this point due to efforts to secure the battlefield for our troops, but we know from intercepted Republic distress signals that the battle above the Republic Capital of Gala has only just begun. The Jedi have amassed their strongest defense at this planet, but word from insiders is that Imperial victory is certain. There will be continuing breaking coverage of these events as new information is revealed." The holo image of Spam faded away ionly to be replaced by two, three deminsional pictures of Quintus and Rodya. "In other news, a local Coruscantian merchant's group has listed a hefty bounty of 25,000 credits a piece for the capture of these two criminals: one a human that goes by the name of Qunitus Song, and the other an unidentified alien by the name Rod-yak Val. These two criminals are wanted for the murder of a clerk at Coruscant's Galactic Gunshop. Both are considered armed and dangerous. If you have any information on the whereabouts of these two ruthless criminals please contact Coruscant authorities immediately." The holo depiction of Spam's head flickered into non-existence triggered by a command from Rodya's voice. "That's some fine, objective reporting, don't you think, Quintus?" Rodya laughed slightly, unable to believe such a large bounty was now on his head. "Look's like we've got our lead though. The way I see it, with the two powers that be focused on each other at Gala, we've got our perfect chance to sneak in under the radar, find out what we need to, and get out. Having the Empire there to draw the Republic's attention away from us would make it much easier to hack into the Republic mainframe and steal some information about the Jedi we're looking for. Wranon, do you think you're up to that kind of challenge?" Rodya stood up and walked over to the window that looked out at the base of another blackened, seedy, concrete skyscraper. "Or Quintus, if push comes to shove we can always capture whatever Jedi we can get our hands on and use them for ransom till we can get out man." Rodya turned from the window and looked at his two companions. "That was a biased news caster, but he was right about one thing. Jedi crimes have got to stop." The call to righteousness Rodya had been experiencing as of late began to rise up in him once more. He had never known a decent Jedi. Everywhere Jedi went they brought destruction, lawlessness, and suffering. Thier Sith enemies were not much better, but Rodya saw them as at least trying to help in most situations. The Jedi only seemed to cause trouble, and Rodya felt he had the perfect opprotunity to put an end to their tyrannical rampages. He pulled out his datapad and quickly typed in a few keycodes. Surprisingly to the other two men, a secret storage room opened in the wall to Rodya's right, just to the side of the holo-projector. A blue glow shown from within, projecting light into the bleak room. Rodya pulled out a weapon he had possessed for a long time. He had been saving it since before his days working for Black Sun when he knew one day he would be faced with the task of hunting down Force Users. The weapon was large and powerful, but only in a way suitable for use against a Jedi. In one way, it was over the top and inpractical, but it would work perfectly for what Rodya had in mind. Rodya lifted it from its shelf and held its barrel in his left hand. The massive gun was designed to fire a net, but not any net. This particular gun possessed a chamber that held three tightly compacted nets made from high tension monofilament wire laced with cortosis. Rodya had acquired if from a long dead weapons dealer on Nar Shadaa before he had grown tired of the smuggler's moon, and had never carried the weapon with him knowing that some day he would need it for a special occassion. It would be a cumbersome weapon that would not be easy to fire in the heat of battle, but with the cover from two others Rodya hoped he would be able to capture his prey easily with this gun's amuniton. Rodya tossed the weapon around his shoulder to hang off of his back, knowing his two comrades would think him crazy for carring such a heavy weapon into a hunt. "So, think it will work, or you two want to back out now in favor of doing something else?"

"Good, come with me," Rodya said, cutting the bindings holding Quintus. He led the two men off of his ship, grabbing some of his equipment on the way out. Stepping onto the landing platform, Rodya looked up at the towering building that stood before him. Long had it been since he had entered this place. It brought back memories of who he used to be. He lowered his head, grimaced slightly, and walked towards a large sliding blast door that was sealed shut. Walking over to a control panel, Rodya quickly input the security codes causing the doors to slide open. "This is my private place," he said. "I've not been here in a while so there's no telling what we'll find in here. Quintus, so long as you're working with me, you're welcome to any of the weapons you find lying about. I think there's a flechette launcher in here somewhere." Rodya walked first through the door into a long, wide, dark room with lights just beginning to flicker to life. In the back left corner was a counter seperating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. At the far wall from where they stood now were two more large doors, obviously leading out into one of the building's many hallways. The room was surrounded by benches, stools, and even a small couch. On the benches that lined the walls were piles of scrap materials: parts for weapons and droids, wires, tools, old datapads, rusted helmets that Rodya had collected, and just about anything else the two humans could imagine. Near the couch, which sat facing the only window to the right of where they now stood, was a holonet projector that sprung to life. A foxy young Twi'lek holo-image popped out of a central console and welcomed Rodya home, "Good evening, Lord. Welcome to your humble abode. The room's tempature is a perfect 72 degrees, there are only 780,000 foreign identifiable dust mites in the air, and power systems are fully functional. I will now switch you to holo-news, the holonet's number one news network." Rodya tossed down his bag of goodies and plopped down on the couch. Seeing the old place again was slightly overwhelming. It brought back quite a few dark memories. They were here to get supplies though, Rodya knowing the apartment contained one special key device that would guarantee this hunt's success.

A flicker of light, the stretching of space fabric, and the sudden ripple of the space-time continum pulling back into normalcy and the Frozen Thunder hovered above the smuggler's moon. The city covered landscape was known as a safe haven for criminals and thus allowed the entry of a known criminal's ship without hesitation. Thunder sounded throughout the smog filled atmosphere as the small frieghter passed through the sky lanes and pulled into a dark alley between two large, inconspicous sky scrapers. ------------------------------- It had been years since any of Rodya's craft had docked on Nar Shadaa, but amazingly enough his personal landing pad remained untouched. Dust, vermin, and garbage flew into the air as the ship's repulsers sprayed the landing pad. The ship's landing gear touched down on the durasteel platform jutting out from an abandoned apartment complex. Aboard the ship, Rodya entered the room where Quintus was being held and pulled out his knife. "We're here," he said, approaching the wounded man. "Before I remove the bindings, tell me your name and whether or not you want the job."

"Depends what kind o' work it is you're up to, fella. I'm always in the market for extra money, long as it's not something retarded like workin' in a soup kitchen or somethin'," said Quintus. Rodya thought for only a second about revealing information to the injured man. It was time to earn the man's trust. "Good, so you're at least interested." Rodya dabbed more ointment on a wound and placed the final bandage on Quintus's arm. "I've already introduced Wranon. My name is Rodya, and I'm a bounty hunter." This information, Rodya felt, was obvious, but it never hurt to be up front and honest. "The reason I attacked you back there was I figured if I killed you, I could get some kind of reward from the owner." As honest as he was being at the moment, Rodya didn't mention any other reasons he attacked the man. "That's what I do. I guess you could say I find hunting people for money fun." Rodya's twisted, inverted lips spread apart revealing a Dashade smile. It was however, not an honest smile. It merely covered his true feelings. "The job I've currently acquired is hunting for one of the most lethal, ruthless, dangerous people in the galaxy--a Jedi." Rodya left the word to hang in the air. Wranon already knew where they were headed and had seemed fine with the idea, but Rodya wondered what reaction he would get from the wounded man. Most people saw Jedi as highly dangerous, and Rodya had to admit, it was a risky mission, though nothing beyond his standards. "Obviously, such a dangerous hunt would be very rewarding, and it's far removed from any soup kitchen." Rodya stood up and asked "Are you up for hunting Jedi?" The question barely escaped his lips before alarms sounded notifying the three passengers that they had reached their destination. "Stay here and think about it. We're going to Nar Shadaa. If you don't want to work with us, I'll release you when we land." Rodya turned to leave the room. "Wranon," he said before stepping through the door, "stay here and watch him." ((Move to Nar Shadaa))

Title: Paranoia Rating: PG-13 Rated for: Violence, Sexual content, Language Critique level: [CRITIQUE ENCOURAGED] I wrote this a few years ago and still have no clue how to end it properly. I've been told I should write the whole thing over, make it a lot longer, and probably even write it in the third person, but I wanted you guys to see it in its original form before I made serious revisions. This it the first three pages. I'll post the next part in a few days. I pushed open the big oak door that read ”œPrivate Investigator W. Hayes”

Thick, creamy red blood leaked out of the fallen Rancor's head. Torin stood, wading in the warm liquid absorbing the pungent smell of a fresh kill. Pain shot through the Sith's body resonating from the many cuts and abrasions suffered during the battle. Drawing the Force towards him, Torin could feel another power flowing through the room. The Force was with him, around him and in him. It had become a part of him, and he a part of it, but the Force was not the only being present. ”œHow have you been, master?”

Rodya smiled back as he dressed one of Qunitus's wounds. "I don't know, but I saw what you did to that man at the Gunshop. I'm not going let you go till I know I can trust you." Rodya kept working, applying burn ointments and bandages to the injured man. "The man you see behind me is my partner, Wranon. We've been working together for a little while now." Rodya's thoughts trailed off into his work. He was certainly no medic, but he was doing his best. He thought he had seen an interesting medical droid at the Gunshop that would be handy now, but it was highly unlikely he'd be welcomed back to buy it any time soon. Carrying this man out, he thought, will surely implicate me in the manager's murder. "Now, let's discuss why I carried you out of there." Rodya kept working, talking all the while, "You've got some skill. That I noticed when you managed to dodge my shots." Rodya paused then began again, "I've got a job that requires some skill. Wranon and I can handle the work, but an extra hand would be useful. Are you interested in some work, or should I drop you off on some random planet?" The injured man had surely noticed Rodya's purchases at the store and had to be aware of the type of business Rodya was running. The dashade was being as straightforward as possible. The question was slightly rhetorical. Rodya wanted an answer, but not immediately. "Then again, the whole occurence back there raises some questions about our relationship. I did try to kill you." Rodya couldn't help but smile as he wondered what Wranon was thinking of this conversation. "For my own reason though, I also saved your life. The reason I've got you tied up is because what I really want to know is which of my actions are you going to remember?" Rodya had stopped working and was looking the man square in the eyes. He wanted an honest answer. If Quintus lied, or if he refused to work with Rodya he would be dumped off on a backwater world and left to fend for himself. If he agreed though, Rodya saw the makings of a profitable partnership.

Yes, I am. I'm still working on this. Hopefully I'll find some inspiration in the next few days to add a little more.

Once in space, Rodya made a quick dash to his medical supply closet. Luckily, Dunya had amassed an extreme supply of medical equipment while Rodya had been imprisoned by his droid. "Wranon, get out here. We've got a visitor," said Rodya via the ship's comm. Rodya, supplied with some burn ointments and pain relievers entered the cabin where Quintus was still tied up laying on a bed. "I'm leaving you tied up for my safety until I can be sure you will cooperate. Just know, you're on my ship now. Try anything and I will kill you." Rodya wanted to make the rules very clear, but he wasn't truly concerned. Quintus should have still been severely suffering from his wounds and would need Rodya's care. Plus, as soon as Wranon came into the room he would have back up.

**Continued from previos post** Deep in space aboard the newly constructed Double Helix space station, Ulan, a small elderly green man, sat inside one of the station's many biospheres. The room was filled with trees that brushed the ceiling of the sphere and shrubs that littered the ground making it impossible to walk straight through the room. In the heart of the sphere was a circle twenty feet in diameter and surrounded by Bafforr trees. Ulan hovered in the middle of these wise plants meditating and listening. Independently, these crystalline trees were the Plain Janes of the horticulture world, but collectively they formed a more powerful mind than many of the galaxy's most prominent sentient beings. Rooted in their past was the history of the universe, and as Ulan listened he soaked up their wisdom. Peace guided his thoughts as the Force bound him to the natural world. The great energy penetrated Ulan's soul, allowed itself to bend to his will, and then flowed outward into the world changed yet still the same. The green alien felt as if he had found a perfect balance within the Force where darkness could never creep. The harmony of his current situation remained too perfect to feel the taint of the illusive dark side. Perhaps these were vain thoughts, because as quickly as they passed through Ulan's mind a terrifying vision settled upon him: Deep in the darkness a masked figure battled ruthlessly with a massive Rancor. Blood filled the room as the two opponents hacked and clawed at one another. A swipe from a red saber managed to rip into the Rancor's flesh just above the ankle, bringing the animal to its knees. With a loud shriek and the sweep of a hand, the Rancor attempted to smash the metallic faced man into oblivion, but instantly black tendrils wrapped themselves around the darksider, pulling him into the air and out of harm's way. Two red eyes lashed out at the darkness searching for an opening to finish the crippled creature. With a pounce, the red lightsaber and its master whirled through the air. Slicing through skin, meat, and bone the red blade removed the Rancor's left hand as it unleashed a final helpless attack on the more agile opponent. The masked man landed on top of the shrieking Rancor's shoulders, and with a quick, painful attack he released his deadly lekku. The metal appendage wrapped around its master's body, entered the Rancor's ear, and silenced the beast. A twisted look of delight spread across the emotionless face of the red-eyed villain. Ulan's eyes burst open and he collapsed to the ground. The bafforr trees, feeling Ulan's pain, shook and clattered against one another, unsure, even in their infinite wisdom, of what had just happened. Ulan, an old Jedi Knight, stumbled to his feet and rubbed his aching head. ”œQuiet my friends, quiet,”