The Alternate Universe Weekly Challenge Thread

While I totally understand killing Kothe, I just couldn't do it. Possibly because I'm a Pub at heart. Also, when the Sith come to take the codex from you in the end, they never make it to you because Ardun just kills them. I thought that was pretty bada**.

It took Kirsk more than a day to call back. I never know what that means. Havoc Squad and the rest of the Republic forces had managed to break through the Imperial line, and we were camping in the noxious field only a couple of hours away from where the Safecrackers were holed up, when his holo did come through.

He looked as serious as I've ever seen him. "Hey, Vierce," he said in a strained voice. "Where's Miss Dorne?"

It took an effort to keep eye contact. "She's dead, Kirsk."

He passed a hand slowly over his face, top to bottom. "Died in custody?" he said weakly.

"No." I could see where he would guess that, but no, it didn't turn out that way. "Got caught out alone by a street gang. What did you find out?"

"I can't put this on holo. Where are you?"

"Don't leave me hanging. Can you tell me if it's good or bad?"

"By your lights? I don't know. Just tell me where I'm flying."

"I'm on Quesh for now, but I don't know when I'm getting called away."

"Okay." The bravado of his smile seemed more brittle than usual. "I don't know how it is I always end up in charge of this girl's correspondence, but…I'm on my way."

*

That didn't exactly do wonders for my concentration when we made the final assault on the Safecrackers' position, but we got the unit out, and they and their leader Lieutenant Coria were appreciative. I sent them on their way back to base; the higher-ups would debrief them and make sure they were ready when the Gauntlet mission made its attack. Afterward I left the crew to rest at base while I took the shuttle back up to the orbital station.

Kirsk wasted no time after he arrived. He met me in my ship's airlock and blew right past to reach the door. "Hi," he said. "Not here."

He didn't go all business on me often. I followed him onto the ship. He paced to the far end of the holo room and ran his hands over hair, a nervous smoothing. "So what happened?" he said, his voice cracking.

"Is it real?"

"As a Devaronian's promise. Smooth, but it doesn't hold up." He turned around. "Where did you get this?"

"SIS," I said with what little of my brain could keep up with talking. I was part relieved and part stabbed through. She was in the clear after all. She was clear. Things…everything…serving with her, wasn't fake.

That meant instead of failing the Republic, I had failed her. One of my people. Vierce, please.

Kirsk was talking. "Sorry," I said. For a second it felt like that word summed everything up. "What?"

"The SIS handed you this? Did they have anything else?"

"The guy talking to them said they did. I wasn't around for the presentation."

"So how did it…her…happen?"

I went over it again. Reciting the words gave me something to do while the mix of shame and anger and…relief…ran through me. A lot of it gathered in my neck; I tried to pay it no mind.

I was never a leader until Havoc Squad. In the resistance I was young; my first four years with the Republic I was just a grunt. But I knew you look after your people. I always tried to, with Jorgan and Forex. I sometimes tried to with Dorne even if I wasn't kind about it. In the end I threw that away.

"We'll turn this in," Kirsk said when I was done. "They have to take it seriously."

"I don't even know why the SIS delayed on it. There's politics in this job, Kirsk." I made an effort to unclench my fists. "That won't stop me."

"Don't…" he took a sharp breath. "I'm sticking around for a while."

"You don't have to do that. Probably better if you don't."

He smiled weakly. "Mama's not around to keep you from suicide runs. Someone's gotta do it."

"I won't…if I were going to be that stupid I'd have done it already. Trust me, I was mad enough before you let me know." I could swear the scar on my face itched for a moment. "I'll do this right, I promise. I don't know how yet, but I'll do it right."

"Good. You get bent out of shape when you're wrong, you know. I'll hang around for a while, see what I can help with. I've got ways of bypassing politics."

"Yeah, I remember. So…" I didn't want to stop talking yet. I wasn't ready to be left thinking. Vierce, please. "Tell me about the recording."

"Amazing work, I'll say that. I couldn't reconstruct 'the original message', it's spliced together from scraps of at least six different conversations. Someone was watching her calls. She wasn't saying anything remotely anti-Republic in any of the originals. The editing was incredible."

I didn't like the tone of his voice. "There's nothing good to say about it."

"I…yeah. We better find that – Raznic? – and see where he got this, because it's well put together but an SIS slicer who gave it ten minutes should've seen it."

"Then I'll call my contact." I was thinking of my last words to her. You have no right, Imperial. Her last words: Vierce, please.

My answer had been no, and she had been innocent.

I walked past Kirsk and into the cargo bay where the punching bag was set up. "Vierce?" he called after me.

"I have to hit something."

I'd already done way too much nothing.

I smelled something good from the mess once I was finished wrecking my hands. I bandaged my bleeding knuckles and headed in to see what was what.

What was what was Kirsk managing to scavenge stuff – I don't even know where he got it – to prep some kind of soup that was hearty enough to be worthwhile. "Serve yourself," he said as I entered. He was going through the cupboards. "Do you really have nothing better than this Telosian paint thinner to drink?"

"Jorgan's call, not mine," I said. We were both more beer people anyway; we didn't keep much in the way of spirits around, and even less after…after I stopped using it to sleep. I tried to shake the thought off. I helped myself to some of the soup; it really did smell almost good enough to counter the bitterness churning in my stomach. Kirsk could be all right when it occurred to him to be. "Nice to have you around sometimes, you know that?"

"Glad to help. By the way, I should mention, if any Neimoidians happen to call, you don't know where I am and you haven't seen me for a long time."

I stopped with my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Are you serious?"

"Yep. I hate to bring it up, but, just so you know."

It was a tiny bit comforting to know that at least something in life went on. I ate in silence; Kirsk, after a little more grumbling about the available alcohol, settled across and down the table and let me alone. Vierce, please. I tried not to think.

Jorgan and Forex showed up not too long after. Forex yelled a cheerful greeting and returned to his usual haunt by the HoloNet feed in the briefing room. Jorgan slowed and came to the mess doorway when he saw Kirsk. "News?" said the Cathar.

"Evidence was faked," I said. "We're working tomorrow."

I've never seen him scowl so hard in my life. "I see, sir. We'll get that info where it needs to go."

"I can explain details later," said Kirsk, conspicuously tilting his head in my direction. Delicacy. I appreciated it in all its obviousness. Jorgan just nodded and walked off.

Tanno Vik happened by not long after, and he walked all the way into the mess to lounge against the counter and look knowingly at Kirsk. Kirsk took a second before breaking into a grin. "Vik! You price-gouging bandit!"

Malice and amusement competed on the Weequay's face. "Volheis, you bleeding-heart undercutter."

Kirsk shrugged modestly. "'Volheis' is just my business name," he said. "My friends call me Savins."

"My brother," I added, in case that needed clearing up.

Vik's blue eyes lit on me, then Kirsk, then me, then Kirsk. "Heh. That explains a lot," he said, and sauntered off.

"It does?" Kirsk asked me.

"I guess," I said. "When I met him it was to direct an arms deal he was cutting to the Republic rather than selling it on the open market."

"Oh, yeah, way to get on his bad side. He's…quite a guy."

"He seemed happy enough to sign back on when he realized we were going to pay him to use the best possible materials to blow things up."

"Watch out," Kirsk said, more quietly. "He's no psycho, but he's the wrong kind of Businessman. Balmorra was credits to him. It wasn't pretty."

"Yeah, I got that. We're paying him."

"Not to be too harsh, but him and…I've seen better trades. All things considered."

That hit hard, maybe harder than it should have, maybe somehow less hard than I deserved. Vierce, please. I pushed the remainder of my soup aside and walked away.

Balmorra is an incredible nexus of interaction for some reason. Doc, Akaavi, Zenith, Tanno Vik, and Quinn all originate there; the Agent interacts with the resistance Zenith was a part of; it all coils back on itself.

Kirsk actually ran guns to Kegled II after he hared off without a word in his late teens and procured a ship. That, plus the zone chatter on Hutta that indicates smugglers do in fact sell arms to Balmorra - in spite of there being legendary arms factories on Balmorra - made it natural for Kirsk to go pick up that rebellion's anti-Empire cause. And after that, well, sooner or later he was likely to run into the more colorful fellow contraband dealers.

"I put down Watcher X for being too smart and unpredictable to live, I have no problem putting you down, too." Then he killed Lokin. The end.

no intrinsic behavioral limitations. In fact, she's built to attempt to overcome limitations of any kind. Furthermore, the day he localized her to her chassis and she tried to attack him and physically couldn't, he realized, "Wow, last time somebody put limits like that on me, I sorted out the impossible, undid the irrevocable, and murdered the living hell out of everyone who had had anything to do with putting me under those constraints. Maybe I shouldn't do it to this AI who very nearly qualifies as sentient!" Then he disassembled her, wiped all program memory, and stored her databanks in isolated pieces in his organization's headquarters, setting a few expert slicers on the task of building a program that can usefully access and present the data without being a perpetually evolving malignance. The end.

Rixik stands 6’ even, average build, 32 (officially) at the start of the AU story. He’s not picky about dress, preferring whatever lets him blend in on whatever planet he’s on. Though, given the option, he likes simple, serviceable designs without a lot of bric-a-brac. His skin is ruddy orange and he retains the natural irregular mottling on his lekku, declining decorative as well as eyebrow tattoos. He has one obvious scar, a diagonal cut on his left cheek below the eye, what’s left of an attack that almost cost him his eyes. His favorite color is blue.

Jesp Rixik has told so many lies about his past it’s a wonder he can keep them straight, and official records are frustratingly few. He began life as Shen, property of the Cold Gold Corporation on Naos III, a frigid, remote planet in the outer rim. His earliest childhood memories are sifting usable spice from mine tailings alongside other assorted enslaved children. He has no idea who his parents were or how the company came to own him and doesn’t much care. The company, barely profitable even with cheap labor, folded when he was eight and he was liquidated along with the rest of their assets to cover the owner’s debts. He ended up in the hands of Jenks, a brutal Evocii, himself a minor minion of one of the Hutt families on Nar Shaddaa.

At twelve he stowed away on a freighter with the cargo, the first of many. Unlucky jumps resulted in getting sold again (if only temporarily), on better trips he could trade skills--or other services--for passage. The last ship’s captain signed him as crew. Not long afterward an ambitious Imperial captain impounded the ship for a variety of legal violations and sentenced the crew, minus those she spaced, to hard labor in the spice mines of Sevarcos II. Shen served roughly two years of his life sentence before a combination of Imperial corruption and a bit of luck let him escape, taking with him some very compromising holos. He bought himself a new name and a new identity record. Shen the Twi’lek slave boy was dead. Jesp Rixik, miraculously three years older, was born from his ashes.

Rixik fell back into what he knew best: grift, theft, slavery, and seduction. He eloped with a rebellious young Twi’lek, Kirya Bilali, and duped her into helping him steal a selection of slaves from her father. She was supposed to be a means to an end. She was smart. It was nice having another slicer around. Someone else handy with a blaster. Sure made Rixik’s poaching scheme easier. Because she really was sincere about slavery. She was sincere about a lot of things. Like loving him.

Rixik didn’t know how to deal with love. Or sincerity. He wasn’t even all that good at casual friendship. People were tools. Discarded when they weren’t of use anymore. Abusing her trust should have been easy. Except that he...liked her. Rather a lot. Liked being around her, liked the way she made him feel. It took months for him to acknowledge his irrational fondness for her was love. That was a problem. Because when she figured out what was really going on, it was all going to be over.

Kirya Bilali is a curvaceous female Twi’lek, 5’7, age 23 at the start of the AU story. She has cool-toned green skin and spots tracing the shape of her lekku. Her eyes are an intense violet hue. Relaxing onboard ship she likes comfortable clothing and hates shoes. But she can’t resist a flair for the dramatic. Her preferred “captain’s outfit” is complete with utterly impractical high boots and a cape in shades of black and magenta the better to contrast with her complexion. Her favorite color is red.

The youngest daughter of Adoko Bilali's fourth wife, Kirya knew from a young age she was destined for a dull life married off to some business partner or other. She had no intention of going quietly. She was smarter than her brothers; she saw no reason her father should treat her like one of the slaves. That's what it amounted to, after all. Traded for advantage was no different from being sold. And if it was wrong for her, it was wrong for them. She hated it all.

When she met Jesp Rixik she knew he was the one. He was charming, clever, treated her like an adult. Hated slavery as much as she did. They ran off to Nar Shaddaa for a quick, no-questions-asked marriage, then went about liberating slaves from various brokers. He taught her a little slicing, a little blasters, a little everything shady. Thumbing her nose at dear old Dad. She was living a holodrama. At least until Jesp confessed that everything he told her, everything he was, was a lie.

Rixik, in what could be described as either a fit of true love or temporary insanity, came clean and told Kirya everything, promising never to lie to her again. Kirya, either likewise insane or more optimistic, gave him a second chance. He determined not to waste it. Kirya wanted to end slavery. Rixik thought it was a futile effort--and was upfront about his opinion--but he helped her regardless. He’d made a promise, and for once he was going to be true to his word.

It was not to be. Despite their best efforts, they simply didn't have the resources or political pull to make a dent in the trade. After a disastrous experience with a young unrepentant gang member (that left them with, among other things, a corpse in their apartment) Kirya relented. They reconciled with Kirya’s family and with her father’s help financed a scuffy transport ship through the IGBC. They named their ship Sirocco after the swift Rylothian heat storms, the ones most sensible Twi’leks hid from until they blew over. They positioned themselves as discrete transporters-for-hire.

This was Rixik’s dream. Free on the hyperlanes, minimal obligations, no one to answer to or question him. Better than his dream, because he got to share it with Kirya. His peculiar skill set shone in this environment. He was the business end. Arranging the deals, juggling the schedules in his head, keeping track of which clients didn't need to know each other. Kirya proved the better pilot, and was no less adept at distracting customs or spaceport authorities when called on.

At least until a simple shipment of weapons to Ord Mantell turned into a bounty on Kirya’s head. A bounty that, in Rixik’s opinion, should have been on his. Despite that complication, their reputation in Republic society was on the increase. They were even collecting a rag-tag group of good-hearted people, officially a crew but more like a family. Kirya even received a privateer’s license and had the ear of the influential Senator Dodonna. Rixik preferred to be more anonymous, but Kirya was happy and that was all that mattered.

Except that said senator was as corrupt as they come. Rixik, in his unending pessimism, discovered her paramour, Darmas Pollaran, was an Imperial. At present, Kirya is continuing on to Hoth at Dodonna’s request, while he tries an end-run around their conspiracy and hopefully shuts them down before they can do more harm.

When we last left our anti-heroes, Rixik and Risha were heading to Coruscant in disguise with their damning information, and with a bit of luck, an offer certain interested parties can’t refuse.

Yeah, letting her onto the holonet just seemed like a REMARKABLY stupid moment. She's going to kill us all, I just know it.