Mon Calamari/Dac

[Shimsinblimp]

Bypassing the quarantine had been no easy task. In fact the acquisition of some unnamed second rate crew for hire and the recent take over of Mon Cal had made it all but impossible to slip by unnoticed. Throw in such a heavily armed ship as The Lady Legionnaire and there was no way the armored attack craft should have been docking at a seedy out of the way space port on the outskirts of the floating city.

 

Yet, here it was nonetheless; with a half dozen rough-looking vagabound-esque group of spaced out spacers, two-thirds human: three men, one woman; one sixth scantily clad twi’leki slave and one sixth an extra glassy eyed gammorean boar trying their darnedest to nonchalantly unload the clearly designateD Hutt Cartel owned crates onto a waiting grav sled. Amongst them stooped the strangest member of the group, like something out of the collective imaginations of a group of prepubescent boys hopped up on sugar and B-grade adventure holos: a two legged, four armed saurian with varying shades of green and red skin branching off into two distinct heads. Tucked at it’s belt were four worn heavy duty blaster pistols that poked the being’s slightly protruding gut as it expertly and roughly jammed box after box into the awaiting arms of one of the above. “Careful with that! We didn’t offload a box of spice to those Imperials just to have you drop the rest in the sea,” one head snarled at one of the humans as he almost lost his grip on the burdensome crate. “The contents of that are worth more than your ryll-addled life!”

 

“You were the one that suggested we save ourselves the funds and hire from the local buyer’s circle. We had the money for . . . professional . . . help after all.”

 

Picking up another box and jamming it into the waiting arms of the blue skinned twi’lek the red skinned head retorted, “Ah, but who was the nuna hole that suggested we beat feet off Nar Shaddaa and make way for this world sized swimming pool? Don’t worry,” he mocked, “Sources say that change is afoot on the squidface homeworld. Change where we can make our fortunes back overnight! Last time I let you listen to one of those bloody fortune telling mystics.”

 

“Trust me brother,” the calmer half of the duo responded, raising an arm to point and silently mouth the numbers as he counted the crates on the sled, “Nobody will suspect us here and with our reserve supply” a hand patted the crate just handed off, “We’ll be back in the black in no time. These fish won’t even know what hit them.” 
 

“They best not or else we are going to go find that flowy sheer wearing priestess of future sight and make sure she doesn’t read any more palms. I *predict* it.”

 

The duo continued to banter back in forth with a hostile edge as the last of the crates were offloaded from their Skipray. Once clear. The two-headed being quickly secured their ship in the ramshackle and decimated landing bay before hurrying off with their drug-addled retinue down the back streets and winding alleys of the Mon Cal city of unpronounceable origins.

 

A bombed out building that appeared to once have been a small boat and submersible repair shop was their next target. It had not taken much persuasion for the lock to give way. Once inside, the cavernous and still mostly structurally sound facility was deemed acceptable for the time being. Water and under street tunnel access with decidedly heavy locks cemented the location of the out of the way business. Chances were that the owner was dead as it did not look anyone had returned since the Sith had bombed the neighborhood.

 

Setting to work, the band of rough and tumble offworlders began sealing holes and patching over broken windows. Some simple splicing saw the facility’s power returned and a holonet connection piggy backed off a neighboring apartment complex. It was heavy work. The fact that a good five of the seven (or eight depending how you counted two heads on one body) were higher than the proverbial kite did not help speed things along. Still, for the time being, it was all the Troig had. New help had to be found and trained and in some cases broken. The freedom of being without a Hurt overlord did present a few issues; bothing Shimsinblimp weren’t prepared for though. The chaos of the city combined with the quarantine all but guaranteed their little operation would go unnoticed as they set up setting up.  Soon little black bags of yarrock wouldnbe flooding the less than Imperial markets of Mon Cal. After that, it was onky a matter of time before the rich and powerful consumers of Polstine Spice began to appear. Right now Shimsinblimp and company would ensure their products safety and discrete sales. The Troig knew just how little it took to turn the low level junky into a fanatically loyal follower.

[Shimsinblimp]

Mon Calamari Shipyards was, in a word, decent. Much cleaner than many dockside space-faring construct sites, but yet not as militaristic as nationalized military production entities. Given the recent military incursion, the shipyards still looked halfway decent. It was clear that they valued infrastructure when it could be salvaged.

 

Amongst this, across the bustling street from the Shipyards corporate office, sat a somewhat portly two-headed Troig. The species tended to draw looks wherever one went, due to their unique biology. The only thing that stopped the glances from becoming outright stares were thebfour DL-44 heavy blaster pistols hanging from the being’s waist. Ordinarily, plabetary law enforcement would have been summined at the sight of the leather clad heavily armed civilian; but since the take over, laws were a bit more lax. The Sith clearly had other matters to attend to before worrying about a being carrying about a few guns and not getting violent. The disruptor pistol tucked carefully out of sight on the other hand, well, that might still draw some unwanted attention. That was why it was hidden away, only to be used as a last ditch ploy to ensure imminent survival or to destroy any evidence should the need arise.

 

The red and green headed being sat, somewhat lounged on the sidewalk-porch area of the cafe across the street from the corporate offices. 2 minds, 4 ears, 4 eyes all taking in the surroundings; clandestinely monitoring the comings and going of people up and down the street. Shimsinblinp had been coming here daily for about a week now. Capital enterprises meant money and money usually meant a few greased palms, shady dealings, and the need for high dollar pick me ups for those late night meetings and rendezvous. It had not taken the underworld entrepreneuring duo long to realize that the servers at this particular cafe hailed from the other side of town. It had taken even less time to persuade several to undertake some off the books employment to supplement the paltry tips they made. Shimsinblimp had come today for his usual cup of coffeine and to exchange some goods and funds. Still, there was no reason to not take pleasure in the small joys of one’s work. Right now, that was sitting in the warm sun enjoying a complementary beverage to the cafe’s new favorite customer. All was at peace.

 

. . . or so it seemed. The red-headed Blimp’s eyes were narrowed as he silently took in what seemed to be an overly tense bit of commotion across the street; much more, it seemed, than usual. Some people even looked panicked. They were too far away to hear what was going on or ascertain much though. That all changed as a trio of bodies fell from the cloudless sky with sickening crunches that could be heard up and down the street. If that was not enough to draw people’s attentions, the cacophony of screams from innocent passerbys was.

 

Setting his beverage down, Shim turned his attention to the commotion as well. Not rising from their seat, Shim and Blimp both watched with suspicious concern on their faces. Crime was not good for business; at least crime that was not associated with their business. Bodies inevitably brought attention and attention brought questioning. Hopefully the local talent they had recruited could keep their yaps shut and stashed stashed, but it was inevitable, someone would be caught up in the dragnet to follow. All the Troig could hope was that their decidedly specific and grotesque threats of pain and mutilation were enough to quell any fear of the local law. That business gutting a Quarren had not been particularly pleasant a few days before, but had served the purpose, hopefully, of instilling what happened to those who cost Shimsinblimp time or money.

 

The appearance of droids at the front entrance across the way would have not raised any alarms; however, the bodies lying mangled in the street had upped the ante. One of the droids decidedly didn’t belong.

 

Standing, the Troig whispered to itself, “Assassin droids”

“Definitely a bad sign. Terf war?”
“Probably. Doesn’t seem to be Sith design or style that one.”
“Ugh. We do NOT want to get caught in that.”
“We’d leave too many bodies to enjoy your precious coffeine if we did.”

Standing the two-headed being was in unison, whatever was going down across the way was none of their business and they’d like to keep their business out of it.

 

Exiting the sidewalk cafe, they turned to hurry down the street, one of their four bare arms slipping beneath their leather vest to the bare chest beneath as if feeling one’s own heart rate due to all the excitement. Of course, it didn’t hurt things that the small disruptor pistol lay concealed within the vest in the same spot. 
 

“Think it’ll be that bad huh?”

Shooting a glance across the road at Xar, the red-headed Blimp nodded, “Rather we not find out.”

[Shimsinblimp]

Along the back wall of the dingy Knotted Keelkana, the two-headed Shimsinblimp sat alone. Spread about in front of the being were old-fashioned hand draft charts, tally marks in varying colors, lists of seemingly odd unconnected words ranging from animals and species to planets and constellations to obscure fizzled political movements and prominent historical galactic figures. Alongside many of these clearly codified indicators were scrawled numbers some smaller annotations and some quite large.

 

The two-headed Troig made no effort to hide what he was working on. He didn’t need to. Lurking amongst the uneasy shifting crowd were several well-rewarded jackbooted thugs. The kind of muscle who would like nothing less than to crush the skull of any would be junky betwixt their palms in exchange for a hit of the boss’ super special stash.

 

The approach of the solitary Nemodian, blind and ornate, might have raised a few eyebrows, but not enough to warrant anyone stepping in the way. He was harmless and the Troig was already known to handle certain situations on his own.

 

Without a sound, Blimp caught sight of the approaching individual. A telepathic-like link between the two autonomous heads alerted Shim to what Blimp saw. Without raising his head, Shim glanced up at the approaching Nemodian before three of the four arms of the being carefully overturnEs several specific pages on top of one another.

Templing his two fore-arms in front of him, elbows on the table, the green head of Shim took in the Nemodian. The red head of Blimp squinted as he scanned the room watching for any surprises, keeping an eye on the Nemodian formany sudden movements. One of the bonuses of two heads and two sets of sensory organs on one body was an acute sense of one’s surroundings. So while Shim sat, arms temples taking in the Nemodian; Blimp sat, head held high and arms carefully resting on the butts of two heavy blasters beneath the table.

 

Quote

So..." Nok said quietly as he sat down, "I understand you‘re the man to talk to about 'offworld' purchases."

 

With his eyes flicking from the out-of-place businessman in a seedy cantina to the briefcase and back, Shim offered a delightfully coy and creepy smile. Undoubtedly the man expected some lowlife monologue about his power and abilities to obtain that which may not be obtainable. Shimsinblimp was better than that. He had worked under the Hutts. He had survived. He had even survived when the Imperials and rebels had laid siege to Nar Shaddaa. So whatever it was this ornate blindman desired; whatever cash his case tempted, Shim was sure he would not be showing his hand yet.  Who knew, maybe he was a cop!

 

“Go on,” he gestured with a hand to Nok before returning his hands to their templed position. 
 

Everyone knew how hard it had become recently to get anything from anywhere that did not meet official market standard. Shimsinblimp had the beginnings of a healthy underground spice empire beginning to take shape. In addition, to supplement his cashflow, the Troig had taken to offering a few other discrete services alongside inbound shipments of his usual supply. If this Nemodian had heard of him, he would need to find out how and silence them. Spice-addicts were so unreliable sometimes.

[Shimsinblimp]

Shim’s eyes narrowed as the case was opened. This blind man was more than he let on, knew more than he should. His companion, likewise, appeared to be the bot that had accompanied the dead bodies outside the Shipyard’s corporate HQ. Trading a brief sidelong glance with Blimp was all that was needed. A physical-metaphysical-biological-telekinetic connection between the two heads and personalities of the same body made anything more superfluous really. Though the two did enjoy the tactile ability of talking things out, it was an extra and not needed here.

 

Blimp’s eyes returned to scanning the room, doors, windows and points of entry. The death dealing bot was probably not far off and it did seem to share the joy of throwing people from high places with Blimp.

 

Still . . . the offer was intriguing. If it was a trap, it was an expensive one. A case like that was enough to set up the Troig for life on some far-flung world without ever having to worry about making another sale again. If this kind of wealth was the opening offer though, there was surely more to be had. Who was Shimsinblimp to pass on such a thing? In a matter of a year, he could be living as kings.
 

If it truly was not bugged. It seemed an odd guarantee to make. Shimsinblimp knew a fellow who’d be able to ensure that was true and if it wasn’t to make it so. Until then, dropping the case in a lead-lined box inside a stasis field ought to be enough to ensure that this slick blind lizard was not pulling a fast one on him. If he was, Shinsinblimp could take the wealth, liquidate it, and vanish into the cosmos.

Reaching one of his four arms across the table, Shimsinblimp clicked the case shut and pulled it towards himself. Standing, Shim offer Nok and Vizier a suspiciously coy smile. “Looks like you’ve hired yourself a Troig. Provided these check out, my people will be in touch.”

 

With two hands loosely resting on the handles of his DL-44s, Shimsinblimp slid out from the table and walked out.

 

It took the better part of a week to confirm that the nova was real, pure, and untainted. As soon as Shimsinblimp had the confirmation in hand, he set about making several drastic changes. Not just working, but thriving, under the oppressive thumb of the Hutts had taught him quite a bit.
 

So when Shimsinblimp arrived at the recently deceased suite of the once-head-of-Mon Cal Shipyards, it was with a retinue of some of the most menacing looking thugs money could buy, aboard a LuxurPort Zisparanza. Regaled in a custom shellspider silk suit, Shimsinblimp’s weapons hung openly about his waist, the guns swaying gently back and forth with each swaggered step. 

 

Walking in, the sunglasses wearing, suit clad thugs toting high powered weapons, split to create a pathway for the aspiring drug kingpin.

 

Stopping before the doorman, Blimp offered the nervous Mon Cal a cool smile. “Tell Mister Meer or Morliss that I am here to discuss our business arrangements.”

 

The Mon Cal bellhop nodded nervously as he reached for the intercom, “And who should I tell him you are exactly?

 

“How many two-headed aliens does he know?” Shim continued, seemingly anxiously and loudly tapping a finger against the leather holster of one of his four visible weapons. “He should be expecting us.”

 

The doorman nodded rapidly, keying up the comms, “Uhhh... please tell the boss that there is a, um, two-headed alien and company here to discuss a business deal?” Blimp nodded slowly never taking his narrowed eyes off the young Mon Cal; offering a reassuringly dark smile as the boy spoke. “Well done,” he whispered.

 

As the elevator doors opened, Shimsinblimp waived his retinue off to wait back at the speeder. Shim tossed a small bag of spice on the desk in front of the doorman with a warmer smile and a wink as the two-headed Troig made his way to the elevator.

 

As the lift doors closed, Shim and Blimp shared a knowing glance before the red headed Blimp turned to stare directly into the security camera. They were not share what would be waiting for them when the doors opened, but of the blind Nemodian wanted to do business, there were certain aspects of the job that needed discussed; certain off-world ventures that, if not handled delicately, could draw unwanted ire. In the galaxy they lived in, doing business face to face was a luxury; but it afforded a level of security that holofeeds and communique could not.

 

As the doors slid open, Shim plastered the warmest smile he could muster on his face. Taking a page out of the Nemodian’s own playbook, the spicejacker turned dealer was visiting Nok in his place of power. No fear. No respect. Like the Hutts of yore, Shimsinblimp carried himself as the inevitable overlord of an underground empire. “I believe that we have business to discuss Mister Morliss. Unless we want to keep jacking spice off incoming shipments, we need to find a better supply line. I suspect that your master would not be pleased if things went awry and brought unneeded attention on your little fiefdom.”

[Shimsinblimp]

Watching the neimodian eat was revolting. Still, Shimsinblimp took it in and the room about them. Blimp’s eyes scanning the room while Shim focused on the bussinessman. ‘Poultry? Such a strange fascination.’ Blimp noted silently with slight amusement. The obscenely rich always seemed to have idiosyncrasies.

 

Still, when Nok mentioned a take over of Kessel, it caught the spicejacker’s attention. Hitching his wagon to someone like Morliss was almost a surefire bet to shoot upwards in power and fortune. Power and fortune begat more power and fortune. But even shrewd minds like this needed honed and nurtured. If that nurturing hand was to be be Shim and Blimp, then fate had aligned it so. All he had to do was bow to the megalomaniac’s desires and temper those against his own so as to ensure this house of cards was transformed into a durasteel fortress.

 

Both heads turned to look at Nok, their eyebrows raising in unison, surprised by the suggestion.  The two heads looked to each other momentarily; the unspoken volumes that passed between them in an instant confirming their course of conduct.

 

Turning back at Nok the troig’s gaze focused on the blind nemodian. The shock and surprise was gone. It was replaced by grim determination and a wicked smile on both faces. “I have no doubt that my time could be split between Kessel and Mon Cal. Such an acquisition would send shockwaves through the underworld that would allow us to emerge a master amongst the chaos.”

“The presence of an Imperial warfleet and jackbooted enforcers would put a dent in our income.”

“It sounds like the start of a conspiracy theory fed by bad batches of ryll. Even, if we know it is true,”

“Nobody outside this room must ever know that.” The words dripped with venom as Blimp menacingly fingered the weapon at his waist.

“We need a less overt method of taking over the needed supplies. Unneeded attention and all . . . “ Shim’s voice trailed off, the consequences of the unfinished thought clearly conveyed. “What of your body-flinging bot that I saw exiting the offices last week before your name became synonymous with starship manufacturing?” 

[Shimsinblimp]

A cut for the goons that helped them take over. That seemed fair. Shimsinblimp pondered as he listened to Nok speak. It would not be hard to ensure that some of the ill gotten gains were unaccounted for when it came time to draw a percentage. A contract to supply slaves to mine the ryll in exchange for a small price or cut. This was sounding pretty good. Besides, if the hired thugs were in it for the pay, they could eat the first few salvos of incoming fire. It’d keep his spicejackers safer. Then they could get down to the more precise bits of pirating the criminal world.

 

“You have a deal Mister . . . Is it Meer or Morliss these days?”

 

“We’ll make sure our gunships are prepped and ready when your men are. Just keep them out of our way. Don’t you worry about us Mister whoever you are. We’ll have those mines controlled in no time.”

 

“And while we are away, steps have already been put in place to ensure that growth continues here on Mon Cal. Even these fishheads seem to find the allure of twi’leks blinding to their senses.”

[Shimsinblimp]

Quote

"Excellent. It'll be a few days at the least until I can set my end in motion. Besides, I have some of my own projects I'd like to work in the meantime. Leave a way for me to contact you, and I'll let you know when things are ready on my end and we can plan the operation."

"Oh," Nok said standing and bowing his head to the Troig, "and it's Nok Morliss." He smiled.
 

Sensing the conversation was over, Shimsinblimp stood, the chair scraping the floor beneath him. “It has been an honor Mister Morliss. A few days time will allow me to ensure that things are prepared.” Removing a single computer chip from a pocket in his sleeve, the Troig places it on Nok’s desk. “Just plug it in when you are ready.” Shim smiled secretively as he turned towards the door.

 

“Then we’ll find you.” Blimp added, his voice low and cold.

 

With that they made their way out the door, summoning the vanguard to pick him up and whisk him away as soon as the two-headed saurian stepped outside. 
 

___________________________________________
 

Returning to the abandoned shop where he had started his rebirth of a life of crime, Shimsinblimp quickly descended the hidden stairway down to the lower levels. There it was hotter, the sweet smell of spice barely tangible over the odors of numerous offworld servants, workers and slaves carefully cutting, crafting, weighing, and packing the spice; all under the careful eyes of the pit-boss, a lithe black-skinned female twi’lek. The glint in her emerald eyes was cold and she barked orders at any that hesitated or fell behind. The energy lash at her belt testified to her brutal methods. Having come into money, Shimsinblimp had been able to track down Elsiene and convince her to join his little enterprise. Cold, cruel, and conniving, the woman was few beings that Shimsinblimp trusted at all. Thankfully, she had been willing to assist in overseeing the day to day tasks of the Mon Cal operation. After all, it was a far cry better than hiding from the Imperial Remnant and their blasted wanted posters.

 

With a knowing nod from Blimp, Shimsinblimp passed Elsiene without a word. The eyes of every servant and slave diverted to their work. In the midst of the spice and sweat, fear tinged the hot air. Making his way to the end of a hall in the labyrinthing underground lair.

Painstakingly it had been pieced out from the shop, ensuring dead ends were sealed and new avenues and escapes opened. Flickering lights and the buzz of low-grade electrical wires completed the seedy feel of the place. If one did not know any better, it would have seemed every bit a Hutt’s setup, save for the stairs  and carefully nailed down thick rugs and carpets. One could never be too careful. Shimsinblimp had even seen a Hutt with a caved in skull recover from what seemed like certain death.
 

At the end of the hall, Shimsinblimp quickly and methodically keyed in a mutlidigit passcode and then completed a palm scan before a vault hissed open to reveal hundreds of pounds of unprocessed ryll. Several shelves were already empty. It was amazing how quickly the Mon Cal and Quarren people took to this new form of pleasure; especially when everything else was looking so bleak.

 

Using his fingers, Shim whispered to himself, taking tally of the remaining spice. “We gotta get the crew. This won’t last us the month.” 

“We really do not have a choice if we are to keep this up. I shudder to think what may happen if we fail Mister Morliss.”

“That is simple. You worry too much.”
“You’re right. Even with his metallic murderer we can end him. Then what though?”

“We keep on making money and buying whatever and whoever we want. More powerful than . . .”

“The Hutts. More powerful than the Hutts. We will be like a god.”

“Lets call the men.”
 

Stepping out of the vault, Shimsinblimp sealed the door back shut with a hiss. Making his way back through the labyrinth, he found Elsiene, “Going for another shipment.”

 

The midnight hued woman smiled, her white pointed teeth an unsettling visage against her skin. “Bring me back something that smells better than this place.”

 

Blimp winked, “Anything for you deary.”

[Shimsinblimp]

In the bowels of the basement of the sprawling tower that now made up the headquarters of Mon Cal’s new de facto ruler; the private medical bays of the elite rulers of the planet’s shipyards churned. The finest medicine money could buy. It still could not erase the pain.

 

There, drifting motionlessly in the green-hued bacta tank with a dozen lines arching upwards like reversed tentacles was the Troig formerly known as Shimsinblimp; although it was now sans Shim. Like an inverted Arkanian Jellyfish, Blimp drifted, his mind awash in a chemical cocktail of healing  and mind numbing medications. Numbed against the anguish that seethed within, Blimp healed having undergone the surgeon’s blade to reshape the jagged stump of Shim’s neck and reform his shattered leg.

 

He drifted in this nothingness for almost two weeks. But now, as gauges registered a return to semi-normalcy; the sentinel medical droids that stood watch over the Troig began to ween their patient off of his medications. It would take hours for Blimp to come to; but his mind slowly began to emerge from the depths of chemical nothingness.

 

Even if his body did not feel the pain anymore, there was something more. It was a base instinct; one deeper than that which could be detected by medical equipment. For a Troig, to lose a head quite literally made it half a being. Shimsinblimp had lost half his soul, half his persona, half his everything. Without Shim, he was just Blimp. A blimp adrift in the skies without an anchor. The loss of Shim, even as he came out of anesthesia, radiated in waves if psychological pain. 
 

As he was hefted from his tank and lowered atop a gurney, Blimp’s face twisted in the pain of loss; a fact not lost on the attending droids as they scurried to double check their connections and readings; but they could find no injury from which the pain radiated. Instead, it seemed to pulsate from every cell. With haste, a gangly medical droid pushed a button to alert the upper levels that their patient had begun to regain consciousness.

With the medications wearing off, Blimp began to writhe on the table. He twisted and began to roll to the point that the droids had to scurry to secure the large being to the table or risk him tumbling to the ground. His eyes were clenched shut in pain, still lost within the churning darkness of colors and chaos that the receding medications induced. The pain was still present. Even if he was not fully conscious, the pain existed.

 

As the lift doors open and the security measured recognized Nok Morliss and disengaged, a single medical droid scurried over to their master. “The half-Troig is in pain. All readings indicate it should be healed. It will need to be brought to full consciousness to ensure that the remaining head has not suffered irreparable cognitive damage. Damage that may make living untenable. On the other side, inducing intentional pain goes against our primary programming.”

 

In the background, a low gutteral snarl escaped the  tortured half-creature, twinges of anger vibrating upon the waves of pain.

[Shimsinblimp]

The pain of loss flooded through Blimp’s mind as consciousness took hold of the furtherest reaches of his persona. At the same time, his body ceased thrashing as he ascertained the foley that fighting against the restraints was proving to be. Instead, he lay there, his eyes clenched shut as if he refused to see what his body already knew that it would not be real.

 

He lay there, feeling, consciousness and life refilling his being. At the same time, his subcellular pain radiated from him causing the air to ripple with such subtlety as to be unconceivable to any but an attuned force user. In addition, as the single remaining mind of the Troig came back to full control, so did a burning ember of frigid vengeful desire.

 

The Troig’s chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. About him machines whirred softly interrupted by the occasional mechanized beep or boop.

 

Blimp’s mind churned in the pain and anger of his loss as it tried to come to terms with it. It was a nigh impossible task, but after a drawn out period of time in the relative silence, his mind had processed enough. Shim was gone, though he still existed within the Troig’s being. It was now up to Blimp to carry Shim’s legacy forward. A Mandalorian had taken Shim from him. The spice mines of Kessel, had they won? There were finances to be made and revenge to be wrought. All of these swirled together in a cacophony of direction within Blimp’s mind.

He could tell there was someone there; even if he did not know who. Finally, the power of desire overcame his denial and desire for the embrace of death and he opened a single golden-hued eye to see the Nemodian, Nok Morliss, standing across the room as if the blind lizard was silently watching him with his sightless sockets. 
 

“We had a deal Morliss. That deal still stands.”

[Shimsinblimp]

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.”

[Shimsinblimp]

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.”