Coruscant, The Works, Abandoned power-grid sub-station (90 minutes later)
Standing in stark contrast to the rest of the two-story, eight hundred meter by two hundred meter rectangular station's other dust and defunct machinery filled chambers, the office which had once belonged to the station supervisor was completely pristine.
The original dry-rotted, corroded, or simply superfluous contents of the twelve meter square room having long since been dispensed with. Replaced by an entirely utilitarian square gray table large enough to seat four, four equally bland straight-backed chairs, and an equally modest seeming holo-comm unit sitting atop said table.
Only close scrutiny by an expert familiar with such devices would reveal said comm unit contained state of the art, military-grade technology designed to prevent any signals the unit sent or received from being traced, by anyone.
A single glow-fixture hung from the ceiling above the door, but it's illumination was insufficient to brighten the entirety of the room. With no windows, it gave the prepared meeting-place the air of a recently opened tomb.
It was the kind of place people paid a significant sum to rent from the underworld interest which happened to preside over the area, because it was the elements of the room which weren't readily apparent that made it such a desirable place for a clandestine meeting.
The sound-proofing, the perfectly calibrated ion disruptor cells buried in the walls to disable any recording devices without interfering with the comm, and the concealed security-shield designed to defeat any external surveillance devices capable of besting the conventional sound-proofing.
All of it exactly what one might expect in a room where secrets were traded, illicit bargains struck, and shadowy accords were reached by nefarious individuals.
Individuals like the two now occupying the austere, medium-sized room. The first of these being an exceptionally tall, whip-thin male.
Dressed in garments similar in cut to those favored by Jedi, but dyed an unrelieved black, the hood of an equally dark cloak was presently thrown back to reveal light gray skin, and a broad nose at odds with an otherwise fine but very pronounced bone structure.
Long, gleaming night-black hair had been gathered up into a tightly bound pony-tail at the nape of his neck, but it was the eyes most onlookers would find themselves returning to again and again.
A glittering glacier blue, they were eyes which possessed depths matched only by their coldly calculating glint. Two traits that seemed entirely out of place in a face appearing to belong to one no older than his early twenties.
The sort of observer who could resist the pull of those icy blue orbs would immediately notice the man's most distinctive accoutrements. A pair of straight silver lightsaber hilts hanging from a simple black belt blending into the rest of the figure's garments.
A more knowledgeable watcher would note the lightsaber clipped to the left side of that belt hung much too far back to make drawing the weapon with any kind of ease or alacrity impossible. A fact which suggested the weapon was carried for a reason other than attack or defense.
Although utterly motionless as he stared unblinking at the presently inactive comm-unit on the table before them, there was a subtle menace communicated by his complete lack of movement. Like that of a predator laying in wait for prey.
It was a sense of restrained threat obvious to the room's other occupant, because the short, bronze-skinned woman's hands never strayed far from her holstered weapons.
Particularly the sonic blaster on her right hip. Her entirely russet colored armor weave outfit, steel-toed boots, and reinforced silver helmet combining to give one the impression this was someone who was constantly expecting trouble.
The weapons both apparent and likely concealed about her person silently declaring the slim figure was quite prepared to deal with whatever trouble she anticipated.
From time to time, the woman's dark eyes flicked ever so swiftly to the currently inert comm, then to the room's single entrance and exit, but not even her well-practiced nonchalance could conceal the fact the bulk of her attention was being consumed by her continued study of the room's other occupant for any physical cues which might provide a hint as to his intentions. Whenever her dark brown eyes completed their momentary visual circuit, then returned to her "companion", however, she found those strange blue eyes turned her way.
A frustrated glower as fleeting as it was distinct crossing the man's fine-boned face. Incrementally increasing the tension in a room whose atmosphere was already filled with it like a combustible gas.
The minute shift of the tall, cloaked figure's shoulders signaled a disturbance in this tension to the vigilant woman.
Eyes so brown they seemed to be all pupil were beginning another quick scan of the room and it's contents, when the comm-unit on the table came to life.
Displaying the blue-white image of a middle-aged man whose features were as raw-boned as they were craggy. His straight hair only a few centimeters long, and so pale the holo-comm made it appear snowy white.
The man was dressed in simple robes that were deep blue or dark purple. His only ornament a single fine chain of some silver or white metal stretched across a powerfully built chest to end in a small circular pendant covered in intricate knot-work designs.
The man's elegantly understated manner of dress coupled with his broad shoulders, powerful arms, and the scarred hands clasped loosely before him to create an eye-catching dichotomy of physical form and class function.
Currently, the robed pale-haired figure's craggy, tanned, and weathered features were composed into an impassive mask. While the silence stretched to fill the room, his blue or green eyes studied both figures intently.
When the man finally spoke several long moments later, his voice was as clipped, flat, and passionless as any droid's. "Master Tyris, Mistress Wesell, a report on the evening's progress, if you would?"
Looking in the tall, almost gaunt figure's direction for a moment, the female bounty-hunter took a step back and turned so she could see both figures at once. In a quiet and matter of fact way, she began reporting "I can tell you that phases one and two were completed without incident, Intermediary."
Clearing her throat, the Changeling provided the details. "My droid deposited the nightspider as planned into one of 500 Republica's environmental control service ports.
Where ASN-121 used your spike to persuade the security system's bio-form detection protocols to consider the spider nothing more than an example of harmless vermin to be ionized by the exterminator-droids.
Once that was accomplished, I turned matters over to Tyris, so he could guide that nasty piece of work on it's convoluted path through the ducts, and into Senator Iblis's apartment. From there, I got into position to activate the "bug" I bribed Senator Robb's aircar driver to plant last night.
I was concerned his genuine distress over betraying his employer might cause him to confess his crime, but he obviously decided he preferred being free of Ziro's debt-collectors to a clear conscience and shattered kneecaps. Once he picked his employer up, and the vehicle was fully a part of the traffic pattern, I set off the ion charge.
When the repulsor lifts failed, the aircar slammed into a commercial hauler coming from the other direction in a lower lane. I confirmed there were no survivors from the "accident", then met back up with Tyris for the commencement of phase three."
Having provided her perspective on the evening's events up to the point where things began to go wrong, Zam's mask of professionalism was firmly in place when she continued flatly "If you want to know what went wrong there, you should ask Tyris."
Before the slight frown now turning down the corners of a thin-lipped mouth could become a follow-up question, Nikko Tyris chose to offer an explanation.
His smooth voice was quiet, but it possessed all the sharpness of a garotte being snatched taut, as he responded "It wasn't Kenobi protecting Senator Amidala, as your information insisted would be the case. I repeatedly made myself clear on this point.
I could only give you a third dead Senator, plus one berserk Jedi caught on camera slaughtering his charge, and guardsmen who would later turn out to be innocent victims of dark side mind-control, if you first accurately identified for me who that Jedi would be."
Intermediary's frown became a hard scowl, but before he could reply, Tyris was speaking again, his voice a cracking whip.
"You agreed to a no-fault clause in our contract. One holding me blameless in case of faulty intelligence. That clause requires you pay, in the event the failure to complete the contract is directly attributable to bad information.
That's exactly what ended up happening, just as I warned you it would, if you failed to give me the one tool required to make a success of this operation. Now, I want my credits, and my letter of introduction to the Kaminoans."
Showing more animation than he had at any time since the holo-comm had become active, the robed man's scowl melted away. Replaced by a conciliatory smile, as he spread his hands, then answered genially.
"It appears you're absolutely correct, Master Tyris. My employer will of course make good upon the terms of our agreement.
The money will be transferred to your designated account, and the introduction declaring you a trusted potential client will be transmitted to Kamino shortly thereafter."
Pausing a moment, as if for effect, Intermediary's attempt at a sympathetic smile looked alien on his hard-bitten face, as he conceded.
"You'll have everything you need to see to it your wife gets the cloned skin grafts she requires to truly recover from the terrible burns she received as a result of the callous barbarism perpetrated against your fledgling sect by the Jedi.
I can certainly understand both of you wanting to put these tragic events behind you, as you try and forget all the pain and heartache recent events have brought you. All the dead friends you've buried.
Your dream of a more enlightened path for Force-sensitives to walk guttering and on the verge of extinction. Yes, I can definitely understand, if not actually respect, your desire to put all of that behind you both. The Jedi took so much from the two of you. Why risk what remains, when the promise of your wife's restoration is about to be realized?"
Seeing the way the Dark Jedi simultaneously stiffened at hearing how much his present employer really knew, and the wary nod of agreement Tyris offered a moment later. The stocky robed figure seemed resigned, as he finished with calm composure.
"I regret this will mark the end of an otherwise productive partnership, Master Tyris. Seeing as how I recently came into possession of a recording I thought you might find extremely interesting."
It was so obviously a baited hook, even a young child could have seen as much. Despite his every instinct, not to mention the Force, telling him to quit while he was ahead. Nikko still found himself asking.
"What kind of recording, Intermediary? Tell me, what could you possibly know which would interest me, when you can't determine which Jedi is guarding which Senator?"
"I have the complete after-action report tendered by the leader of the Jedi strike-team who murdered your comrades. It contains the names of the six people responsible for your wife being burned." The enigmatic figure's answer was simple and to the point. All the false geniality draining from his face like a switch being flipped as he said as much.
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