Cleaner One: Saga of a Reluctant Agent

[Striges]

Thank you!

 

I figured any anarchist worth the name would have or be able to construct a low-tech comm to keep in touch with other cell members. A telegraph in a smartphone world. I'm glad you liked it.

[Magdalane]

I am finally rolling a sniper, and I can so see Kaliyo doing this! Great job, as usual !

[Adwynyth]

I am finally rolling a sniper, and I can so see Kaliyo doing this! Great job, as usual !

Ohhhh...wait till about level 40. You will feel like a god observing the world from afar, deciding who lives and who dies. Unless they nerf snipers before then.

[Striges]

Discrete Observer

 

 

A lone figure focused high powered electrobinoculars on the ship diving in toward the Imperial base. He took a dozen or so stills then lowered the binocs. He was well hidden and half a kilometer outside patrol or sensor range, but it payed to be cautious around Imperials.

 

The images downloaded to a minicomp and it went to work on identifying the craft. His comm whirred silently and he pressed the stem. "I picked up a craft coming in. What have you got?" a male voice said through the link.

 

"Sec," the figure replied. The minicomp said the ship was a Core Galaxy Systems Opulence-class. Budget civilian pleasure craft, popular ever since it's introduction close on fifty years ago. CGS made millions of them. This particular frame discontinued shortly before the Treaty of Coruscant, so it was twelve years old at least. The comp declined to identify it further. He scowled and examined the composite picture, sharp and clear now that the comp's onboard interferometer corrected for motion blur. She could do with a new paint job, but overall decent enough. Beings who flew these vehicles usually kept them in reasonable repair until they broke down completely. This one looked a few years away from parting out. The frown deepened. No registry marks. Granted, ships and ground alike relied on computerized i.f.f. but it was a rare owner who didn't emblazon a name on his ship. Which begged the question: whose ship was it?

 

Anywhere else he'd write it off as yet another low-rent salesperson, purveyor of any one of a thousand somewhat necessary goods or services. Not in the Imperial controlled part of Taris. The Republic encouraged civilian traffic but their counterparts were military only. Any Sith could afford better or at least newer. The vast majority of Imperial aligned bounty hunters were Mandalorians. While they might demand and receive landing permission, they'd never fly something so pretentious. So. It didn’t fit the profile. Whose ship was it?

 

Black marketeer? Corrupt commanders on both sides imported luxuries of all kinds but usually concealed the contraband in official deliveries. Standard Imperial practice logged all arrivals and departures and erasing that sort of thing was expensive. Not to mention leaving the offender open to blackmail. Possible, but unlikely.

 

"Checking," he said. He risked a second look, putting the electrobinocs to his eyes and focusing on the ship. It rested neat on the landing pad, clouds of vapor pouring out of the heat exchangers from its rapid descent. He scanned for the main airlock. As if on cue, it opened and a pair of beings stepped out, waving hands in obvious disgust at Taris’ distinct aroma. Male Twi’lek, female Rattataki. The Twi'lek was as nondescript as the ship. The Rattataki was heavily armored. Could be his bodyguard. Something nagged at the back of his mind as though he ought to recognize them. He triggered the image capture and let it grab several shots while he tracked them then swung back to the ship. No Humans followed. No Sith.

 

He reacquired the two aliens. The Twi'lek lit up a cigarra. He had to be Intelligence. No other branch employed aliens to any degree and he was too comfortable to be a slave. The secret minicomp, the one disguised as a wrist-mounted chrono, chirped softly. He checked the readout. It identified the Twi'lek as the agent codenamed "Cleaner One." 95% probable match. The Rattataki registered as Kaliyo Djannis, among other aliases. 100% certainty. Most recent known associate: Cleaner One. His pulse quickened and he swung around to catch the pair in the binocs but they were already entering the Imperial bunker.

 

He watched them disappear into the shadows, then lowered the electrobinoculars and glanced at the display. He watched his official minicomp chug through the data, willing it to come to the same conclusion. It finally spat out an agreeing identification. A Cleaner agent for the Twi'lek, 68% probability. 80% chance Cleaner One when in the company of the Rattataki identified as Kaliyo Djannis. He smiled at the inaccuracy, though there was no one to see. "Trouble," he said over the link.

 

"What kind?" the voice on the other end asked.

 

"Cleaner agent," he replied.

 

"We're made," the voice said, "pull out."

 

A rumbling voice joined the conversation, "Don’t jump to conclusions. Can you identify which one? "

 

"80% likely it's Cleaner One," he replied, reporting the percentage his confederates would check.

 

"I thought he was dead." A female voice said.

 

"No,” the authoritative voice said, “no, he’s not dead. Haven’t crossed paths with him since the aftermath of Firebreak.”

 

"I don’t remember that one,” the female voice said.

 

“Before your time,” the rolling male voice replied, “it was Undertow on their side. Quite the bloodbath.” The link went quiet. Then he spoke again, “Upload the ID shot on the narrow beam.”

 

The scout did as asked, sending the composite photo of both the ship and the pair of aliens. He checked the information on his false chrono, and waited.

 

The link clicked back on, “That’s him,” said the rumbling voice.

 

“We have to pull out, sir,” the first speaker said, “there’s only one reason the Imps would send a Cleaner. There’s only one reason they’d send this Cleaner. We're compromised. We have to pull out.”

 

“The mission is too important,” the second voice said, “we will not get another opportunity. Hunter, you’re sure he came in on his own private transport?”

 

“Yes,” the observer codenamed Hunter replied, scanning the information scrolling on his chrono.

 

“Then something’s changed. Public sources show a shuffling in the Intelligence branch. He may have moved with the Minister,” said the rolling voice.

 

“I realize that, sir,” argued the initial voice, “but if he’s here for Legate, the entire operation is a bust, not just Taris.”

 

“We don’t know what he’s here for, Chance,” the rumbling voice said, “The Intelligence operation on Taris is long over. There’s no one left for him to liquidate and nothing else active we're aware of. He’s here for other reasons."

 

"But sir--"

 

"I understand your concern, but I won't abort the mission on nothing more than apprehension. Chance, continue the operation with Legate. It is imperative we retrieve that data. Do not break off unless you absolutely have to. Hunter, I want you to monitor Cleaner One's activities. Keep Chance informed.”

 

“I could get rid of him,” Hunter said.

 

A gravelly chuckle tumbled through the link, “Much as I’d like to see you try, keep your distance. Do not engage him. We are much better off if Legate completes the assignment and Cleaner never knows we were here.”

 

“If that’s what you want,” Hunter said.

 

“All right,” Chance acquiesced.

 

“Very well. You have your missions. Breaking orbit in an hour. May the Force be with you all. Kothe out.”

 

Hunter cut the link. He scrolled back up to the important part of his real brief. The summary and desired action.

 

Cleaner One, male Twi’lek. Eyes: violet (Twi’leki: tyri). Skin pigment rosy orange (Twi’leki: tol-medreth). Lekku pattern: erratic blotches (Twi’leki: tarkona). No eyebrows. Short visible scar, left cheek below eye. Affiliation: Sith Empire.

 

Notes: Most data files regarding this operative are sliced, planted, corrupted, or otherwise unreliable. Observed behavior suggests no real loyalty to the Empire, they merely tolerate and channel his destructive tendencies. May be open to better offers. Highly desirable recruit. See section 2 for approach recommendations.

 

Hunter advanced the brief to section 2.

[Adwynyth]

This is the part I've been waiting for.

 

SQUEE!

[bright_ephemera]

Ahh, familiar faces! Or voices, as the case may be. I like Chance's nerves, that fits him very well. And Hunter, always riding both sides of his assignment. You brought that out really well.

[Striges]

Thank you!

[Striges]

Checking In

 

 

The smell assaulted Cleaner as soon as he disembarked his ship. He snorted it out of his nose but it crept in anyway. Jungle vegetation underneath a burning chemical dump. He doublechecked the atmospheric conditions while Kaliyo exited behind him. She waved one hand in the air, "Pfaugh. Smells worse than Hutta."

 

He closed the minicomp, "Readouts are all in the low yellow, so no breather required."

 

"Yeah, well, required and wanted are two different things," Kaliyo said, falling into step beside him, "Reminds me of the time we caught the river on fire behind Fa'athra's chem plant. What a stench."

 

"My eyes burn just thinking of it," Cleaner agreed, stuffing the minicomp into a pocket and lighting another cigarra. Plain old smoke was preferable to Taris's aroma. "Though that might just be Taris. Let's hope they got filters on in the bunker," he said. He headed for the obvious entrance. Ground crew passed him on the way, hauling fuel pods and a maintenance car toward his ship. He paused, debating tossing a threat at the techs to make sure they were careful. Then he went on. If he said anything they'd mess with his stuff just for spite.

 

The pair marched into the base. It was one of those pre-fab jobs, the kind the grunts called 'base in a box'. Pulp your enemy with excavation charges then move into the hole, easy-peasy. A squad following the sappers could plant the shell in a standard day with nothing more than hydrospanners. Usual layout put security and main barracks up front, with comms and everything else protected behind the more expendable units.

 

A chunky corporal challenged them immediately, "You can't come in here, boy," he snapped, "this is a restricted area. Aliens belong on the upper level."

 

Shen halted. Phosphorus ignited, burned, white hot rage such as a Sith might envy. The corporal closed with him, one hand closed in a fist. Shen let him. His uniform and insignia said army.

 

The corporal reached for the cigarra, “I said--”

 

Shen popped him on the bridge of his nose. The corporal yelped in surprise. His hands flew to cover his face and staunch the sudden flow of blood. Shen seized the man’s left ear with sharp-nailed fingers. “I heard you, son,” Shen said, twisting the cartilage, eliciting another howl, “I think you ought to look at your arrival schedule.”

 

“What’s going on here?” the duty sergeant demanded, emerging from the security office. Her round Dromund Kaas vowels matched Shen’s current accent. Hers were less likely faked.

 

“Security check,” Shen replied. He yanked his captive’s ear the other way, “Kaliyo, show the nice lady our ID.” Kaliyo stepped forward with a grin.

 

The sergeant’s hand hovered near her sidearm, “Let my man go first,” she barked.

 

“Is he yours?” Shen asked, “I hope you didn't pay too much for him. Don’t worry, he’s not ruined.” He let go and wiped his fingers clean on the corporal’s sleeve. Point proven. Nearly.

 

The Human stumbled back, the front of his uniform a red wreck, sputtering in fury. His sergeant took Kaliyo’s proffered identification with her left hand, the other still hanging near her weapon. Her eyes never left Cleaner. He yawned. Pulled a long drag on the cigarra. Exhaled the smoke. Finally her gaze flicked down at the datacard. Nothing special, a plain grey datacard, scratched with use. She handed it off to the corporal, “Run it,” she ordered.

 

Bloodied fingers slipped the card into a reader. The corporal went pale behind his blackening eyes, "This ain't right," he muttered under his breath.

 

"Report, corporal," the sergeant ordered.

 

He angled the readout so his sergeant could see. She immediately snapped to attention and kicked the corporal into doing the same, "Apologies, sir," she said, “Command requires security verification, given the nearby Republic presence here. We don't get non-military visitors, and no one of your status, sir."

 

"I bet," Cleaner said. Kaliyo snickered in the background.

 

“Would you like an escort, sir," she asked, "to avoid other incidents, sir?"

 

Cleaner blew smoke in her direction, "Why? The rest of your people as stupid as Corporal Clueless here?"

 

"No, sir," she barked.

 

Cleaner tapped cigarra ash on the floor, daring her to remind him smoking was prohibited in Imperial bases. She remained silent. Smart woman. "So C&C in the standard location or somewhere else?"

 

“Straight back 200 meters, on the left directly after the turn, sir," she replied.

 

Which was, in fact, the standard location. Redundant, but if he hadn’t known she spared him the embarrassment of having to ask. And likewise deprived him another opportunity for an insult. Very smart woman. Fine. "Great," he said, peering at the name badge pinned on the corporal’s bloody uniform, "might want to get cleaned up before you attract the local wildlife," he advised.

 

"Y-yes, sir," the man stammered, popping a messy salute.

 

Cleaner advanced past his position with a smirk. That 'sir' had to hurt. Of course, all the false respect in the galaxy wouldn't help him now. As they continued into the base he pulled out the minicomp he consulted earlier. "Hey Kaliyo, aurek, besh or cresh?" he asked, switching to Huttese.

 

A heavily armored combat droid trundled by, its tripod feet clicking on the durasteel floor plates. "Why?" she replied in kind.

 

He keyed in his passcode and pulled up the corporal's record. Born on a backwater Imperial colony, some living family, mediocre evaluations..."Humor me. Aurek, besh or cresh?"

 

“Cresh,” she answered, “Better be code for some sweet explosives.”

 

“Far more damaging than explosives, mesh’la-mesh’la. You chose defaming the Emperor," Cleaner said, tapping the screen. A few more taps and he restricted the corporal's communication privileges. "Good pick. Everyone's cursed the Emperor at least once," he said, flipping through a few more options.

 

"You're reporting him for that?" Kaliyo asked with a snort, “Should have just punched him a few more times.”

 

Cleaner debated changing his service assignment from cushy admittance clerk to something more active. Like minesweeper. Or a forward patrol. "Not him. His brother." No, no, leave him here where he'd notice the comm block.

 

“Exciting,” Kaliyo intoned, “Still think you should have punched him a few more times.”

 

“I figured I’d give him something more long-lasting than a broken nose.”

 

"So you unleash the power of bureaucracy on him instead," Kaliyo jibed, "Seems a little unsatisfying to me."

 

The unpleasant aroma of Taris’ atmosphere faded as they proceeded into the base. A vague hint of something verdant hung in the background, still alive after fighting its way through the industrial air scrubbers. Cleaner drew deep on the cigarra, “You have no appreciation for the fine points of playing the system. Imperial bureaucracy is amazing. I love watching it work," Cleaner said. He found his mood improving with the ponderous weight of said bureaucracy bearing down upon his chosen victim. "Hell, I love the Empire. It always works. I put in my codes and it grinds up whoever I tell it to. The perfect machine,” Cleaner said.

 

Kaliyo snorted in derision, “And you’re a happy cog, huh?”

 

Cleaner tapped ash on the floor, “I think of myself as those sharp bits on the inside that rip your fingers off if you’re not careful,” he said.

 

She barked a laugh, “That’s you alright,” she said, “What am I?”

 

Cleaner wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, “You. my lovely mesh’la-mesh’la, are the one removing all the cover panels when no one’s looking.”

 

“Actually,” she countered, resisting his grasp, “I hit the emergency stops and ruin it and whatever it was making.”

 

“You only get to do that once,” Cleaner said.

 

“I’ll find a new machine to break.”

 

He released her, “Well, this machine pays pretty damn well so don’t break it yet.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Cleaner let it slide. Kaliyo's destructive streak often overruled self preservation, something he didn't quite understand. He let out an aggrieved sigh, "How about don't break it today? I want to pick up the doc and get out of this hole as soon as possible."

 

She grinned, “I’ll think about it,” she reiterated.

 

Cleaner snarled, showing Kaliyo the frustration she wanted. Her low giggle suggested she accepted it. Appeased. For now. Pain in the *ss.

 

The corridor opened onto a large central space. He glanced left and the security detail outside C&C snapped to attention with quick salutes as soon as he spotted them. Word traveled fast. About damn time.

 

The officer on duty emerged almost immediately, "You are the cleaner agent, I presume? " he asked.

 

“Yeah," Cleaner replied. He noticed the commander's quick, disapproving appraisal, especially of the smoke. Too bad.

 

"It seems Taris is rather popular with Intelligence these days. Your Fixer took a squad with him though his associate declined aid," he said, leading the way into the control center, "I will, of course, provide what assistance I can. We are stretched a bit thin at the moment with the recent losses. I assume you are closing their operation?"

 

Leverage. Excellent. Lokin was claiming Intelligence credentials again, which meant he was sniffing around some classified project or other. Stars alone knew what it was; with the doc it might be current research or something abandoned three decades ago. Having been caught, he’d be pleased to get his clearance back since Cleaner could backdate it and make the violation disappear. Incentive enough given the penalties involved. It also sounded like he wasn't working alone. Might be trouble if liked his partner too much. "Yeah," Cleaner repeated.

 

The commander managed a pained look, "I'm afraid I'm not altogether surprised. From the sound of the last transmission we received, the rakghouls did most of your job for you.”

 

Warning bells went off in Cleaner's mind. A dead doc was a complication he didn't need, “Play it,” Cleaner ordered.

 

The commander nodded to comms and the recording began playback, audio only and scratchy with static. In the background Cleaner heard what might be music. Too faint for him to recognize the tune. Then a young man's voice whispered into the transmitter, "Base? Toxic Lake? Damn. Fixer, I can't tell if I'm getting through." Panic tinted his words, "Fixer?" the soldier continued, "Sir? Sir, I think you should turn that off, I think they know where we OH EMPEROR'S BLOOD--" Coherent words cut off in a high-pitched squeal punctuated with staccato blaster fire. Feral crunching and feeding noises joined the human sounds. Blaster fire ceased. As did the screaming. The chomping and smacking did not. The comm officer clicked off the audio.

 

Mechanical and sensor reports from the monitors were the only sounds remaining in C&C. No doubt they’d all heard it before. If not this recording then others like it. An unpleasant reminder of the delights of Taris. Hell of a complication. Cleaner lit another cigarra off the remains of the first and dropped the butt on the floor, "Well, that doesn't sound good,” he said, breaking the silence.

 

“No kidding,” Kaliyo agreed, her earlier jollity gone.

 

"Yes, well, rakghouls are a known menace. Your colleagues knew the dangers," the commander said. His words came out bitter and hostile.

 

Cleaner let this slide as well. The commander directed his ire at Intelligence in general. So long as he continued providing assistance Cleaner couldn’t care less. "You got coordinates for this transmission?" he asked.

 

"Odd you should ask," the commander replied, “The Fixer claimed he was investigating a ruined laboratory some ten kilometers south of this garrison. But the triangulation on this signal leads to a point to the northeast," he paused for effect, "The Republic claim they discovered the leaders of Old Taris in the same general area. The Imperium disputes this, naturally. Strange coincidence, don’t you think?"

 

Another pain in the *ss. Why couldn’t Lokin be assigned to the garrison as a medic like a normal doctor? "I want the coordinates for both locations," Cleaner demanded. The commander's attempt to cast suspicion on Lokin didn't much matter. The doc's first loyalty was to himself and Cleaner knew it. But best keep up appearances and at least pretend his visit was official and he was here to liquidate whatever the doc was working on. Maybe the doc, too.

 

“Of course, sir,” the commander said. He reached over the communication console and extracted a datacard. “I prepared a summary of our records. The Fixer's original contact with the garrison, his requisitions, listed itinerary, and all subsequent communications. I do recommend visiting the infirmary for inoculations before setting out, sir."

 

"Oh?" Cleaner asked, receiving the card from the commander’s gloved hand.

 

“Our vaccine against the rakghoul plague is only thirty percent effective," the commander said, "but since there is no cure, it's better than nothing. I'd hate to order security to shoot you and your companion as plague carriers."

 

His tone said he'd enjoy it quite a bit. "That a threat, commander?” he asked.

 

“Not at all,” the commander denied, “but as you’ll be exploring a known rakghoul lair and the transmission rate for the plague is near one hundred percent, I must give appropriate instructions to the sentries. A single case of the plague inside these fortifications would do more damage than a battalion of the Republic’s finest. Standard instructions are to cluster bomb nest sites. The best I can offer you is aerial support.”

 

“Might take it,” Cleaner said. Like anyone would know if a site had rakghouls in it or not after he called in a strike. Might be fun to watch from a distance. He wasn't fool enough to stay anywhere near coordinates he flagged for destruction, not with this crowd dropping the bombs. “You list your priority frequency on this thing?"

 

“Of course, sir."

 

Of course. Because we wouldn't want to piss off the cleaner agent too much. He wasn't the only one who knew how to work the system. "Great," he said, stuffing the card in his pocket, "I want four weeks worth of complete field supplies prepared within half an hour and waiting for me. Make sure your medic is ready. I wanna burn the lab and get the hell off this planet."

 

"Understood, sir," the commander replied, “It will be taken care of."

 

Cleaner tapped ash off the cigarra, "Where’s the infirmary? Standard location?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

No further explanation. Let him look like a fool if he didn’t know. Yes, he did love Imperial bureaucracy, where one aided one’s friends and torpedoed one’s enemies in the most untraceable way possible. "Good to have your help."

 

"My pleasure, sir,” said the commander.

 

Cleaner turned on his heel and departed the control room with Kaliyo in tow. The sentries repeated their snappy salutes as he exited. He hung a left without acknowledging their presence. Standard location for the infirmary was farther forward; injured troops still serve as meatwalls, all the better if diseased. He likely passed it on the way in.

 

Kaliyo stepped up to walk beside him, “A rakghoul nest, huh? You take me to the best places.”

 

“Nothing but, mesh’la-mesh’la.”

 

 

 

"...the Republic continues pressing on our eastern perimeter, as evidenced by these overlay--are you paying any attention at all, or am I speaking to myself again?"

 

Thana Vesh turned away from the door with a scowl, "Zhorrid sent her pet here. Why would she do that?"

 

"That's Darth Zhorrid to you, my dear apprentice, and it is no business of yours," Darth Gravus rebuked.

 

Smoldering eyes narrowed, "Maybe Jadus is here, too," she suggested.

 

Darth Gravus clicked his tongue, "Do kindly keep on task. Your skills are admirable, but you're no match for either of them."

 

Thana's smoldering stare flared to bright flame, "You think me inferior to a Force-blind? An alien at that?"

 

Darth Gravus gave her a patronizing look, "Thana, Thana, Thana. Reaching above your station is what got you sent here in the first place. Leave Darth Zhorrid and her plots alone. Our task is aiding that military in ousting the Republic presence from this world. A task, I might add, that suits you well. How many militia fell to your blade? Twenty? Thirty?" he asked.

 

Thana turned back to the open passageway, "Thirty-seven," she grumbled.

 

"Just so," he said, "A shame your captive proved less than resilient. Now I have better challenge. The Junction."

 

"What of it?" Thana said, one hand gripping the doorjamb.

 

“The most recent dispatches say a Republic commander holed up there. Along with the bulk of his forces,” Darth Gravus said.

 

“And this interests me why?” Thana complained.

 

“Well, removing such an obstacle to Imperial progress would be quite the coup,” Darth Gravus said.

 

“I’d rather remove Zhorrid’s plaything,” she muttered, “or Jadus.”

 

“One thing’s certain,” Darth Gravus said, “you’ll do none of that waiting here.”

 

Thana whirled on her master in a fury, “I don’t need your permission,” she snarled.

 

“You don't have it,” Darth Gravus said.

 

Thana Vesh spun out into the corridor in a clatter of bootheels and saber hilts. Darth Gravus sighed as she went. His apprentice was as subtle as a bantha in musth. Properly channeled, she retained some usefulness. He pulled up a map of the Junction and it’s environs. No. Darth Jadus was not on this world. He would know. Jadus was a wailing void in the Force, impossible to miss in as near proximity as a planet. Zhorrid’s Hand was here on other purposes.

 

And if his wayward apprentice interfered with those purposes, well, he had warned her off. Specifically told her to leave him alone, in fact. Thana Vesh acted all on her own.

[frauzet]

A very happy reader reporting in, Sir!

 

Love it

[AKHadeed]

I'm binging on these to catch up. Your writing's fabulously addictive.

[Striges]

Thanks so much for the compliment and I'm glad you're enjoying it. Taris for me is always a black hole where I drag words out one by one with painful slowness. I ought to quit setting things there. I really want to get back to regular updating on this story.

[AKHadeed]

I may be a noob, but I've figured out Taris is where fun goes to get rakghoul rabies and die.

 

I'm also about halfway through your thread! I do love how your characters bounce from partially self-inflicted crisis to crisis.

[Striges]

Cleaner is on Tumblr! Episodes previously published here are being serialized in their own blog: Cleaner One: A Reluctant Agent. The chronology contains links to all the posts in the proper order. Background stories and artwork are available through the menu. It updates every Wednesday.

 

I've made a few minor changes. The Cleaner/Shen naming convention should be more distinct. Cleaner's journey to Tatooine on the Firedancer has been edited and rearranged for better flow and clarity. Keeper's recollection of the events on Alderaan while he was an agent are more complete.

 

To preserve my sanity, I'm holding further updates in the thread until cleanerone catches up, after which it will resume regular updates on the same day as the blog.

 

I wanted to say thanks to all my readers. I received such positive feedback and encouragement here. So, as a way of thanks (and something of an apology for not updating in forever) here’s the next episode. There’s more coming! Really! Thanks again for reading.

 

 

 

Catching Up

 

 

Rakghouls, Cleaner discovered, were afraid of heights. Thirty meters or better above the ground, no sign of rakghouls. Spending the night more than three-ish levels up inside one of the crumbling buildings meant he could eat, sleep, and piss in relative safety. Of course, with nothing but Imperial military ration bars for food and taking shelter in a building even Hutta housing authorities would condemn, only one of the aforementioned activities was safe. Stepping back from the rusty edge of the floor as it crumbled away in front of his feet, he wasn't so sure about the last one, either.

 

And now the ground floor was flooded.

 

Kaliyo snorted, "Great plan. Stash the speeders down here"

 

"The speeders won't fit through the hallways," Cleaner said, "rather leave ‘em outside where anyone could steal ‘em? Or worse, notice and come looking for us?” he turned to her, "Taris isn't completely deserted."

 

"Does your official Imperial wilderness survival kit come with a boat?" Kaliyo quipped.

 

"No," he droned. The ends of his lekku curled in frustration as he contemplated the fetid pond. The ration bar episode put Kaliyo in an explosive temper. More than usual. He was in no mood for another argument right now. He rubbed his eyes, "Look, we've both been up all night because this place sounds like it's coming apart. The kit didn’t include anything heat-n-eat for the same reason I can't light up. Might have rained on the other side of the damn planet and some obscure system funneled it all here. I'd ****** at the landlord but we probably shot him on the stairs last night." He held his breath, hoping that last defused the Kaliyo-bomb.

 

Her snicker said he succeeded. "Yeah, probably. The big red one. Evicted all the little ones. Or ate them."

 

With a grimace he waded into the water. Warm. Ish. Somehow that was worse than the freezing cold he expected. "I just want to get a fix on a locator beacon and find my doc."

 

Behind him, Kaliyo slogged her way through slimy water almost up to her knees, "What’s the big deal about this fixer or doctor or whoever he is?"

 

Cleaner stumbled into a hidden hole with a curse. Filth splashed and he turned his head to avoid taking it in the face. He pulled his legs free of the sucking mud, struggling to keep his balance. Damn rakghouls. Damn Taris. Damn Lokin for picking this lousy planet. He waded across the space, "Going after Jadus like this, I can't rely on being within easy reach of Imperial medical facilities," he said after reaching the dubious safety of mere shin-deep gunk, "and as familiar as you are with my anatomy, your surgical techniques leave a bit to be desired." His trousers were covered with authentic Tarisian poodoo. Another thrilling day in the life of a Cleaner agent.

 

Kaliyo waited for him at the water's edge, her boots slowly sinking into goo, "So assign you one. Why'd the Minister make you come all the way out here? Or is he one of Zhorrid's people?"

 

"Minister's," Cleaner said. Outside, with durasteel no longer messing with the signal, he checked their progress against the locations indicated on his map. Still a ways off, lovely. Cleaner slipped the datapad into a jacket pocket, "Remember the chem filters? Doc installed 'em. He's not going to accidentally forget which painkillers work." Nothing with Lokin was an accident.

 

"You trust him?" Kaliyo asked, disconnecting the portable charger and wrestling a speeder free of its camouflage.

 

Cleaner debated how to respond, an answer in itself. "So long as our interests align," he said at last. He engaged the speeder's repulsors and began checking its systems. It seemed none the worse for wear. Probably more recharged than he was.

 

Kaliyo retrieved the second speeder and stashed the charger in the rear, "He cute?" she asked.

 

"E-chu-ta, getting bored?" Cleaner asked. He shoved their supplies into his vehicle's cargo space.

 

"Maybe," Kaliyo replied, “Never know when I might need a cute doctor.”

 

Cleaner shrugged, "Depends on your taste I guess. He wasn't bad looking for a human when I knew him but he's over sixty now at least,” he said. He shut the compartment with a firm click and mounted the speeder, “Why, you into necrophilia now?”

 

“Ha ha,” Kaliyo said following his lead, “very funny.”

 

Cleaner revved the engine, “Break my doctor and I will be very annoyed with you.”

 

"Killjoy."

 

 

 

 

Cleaner cut the thrusters and his speeder coasted to a halt. Now that speed no longer provided a breeze Taris’ atmosphere wrapped around him like a warm, unwashed blanket. “Hungry?” he asked as Kaliyo drew up beside him.

 

“For ration bars?” she asked, “define ‘hungry’.”

 

Ignoring her, he extracted a pair from the storage area, “There’s standard and blue-code.”

 

“They’re all awful,” she complained, “what’s the difference?”

 

“Blue-code are nutritionally balanced for Chiss,” he said, displaying them like a pair of cards, “different vitamins or minerals I guess.”

 

She snatched the blue-coded one and ripped it open, “So technically this one is the least healthy for me?”

 

Cleaner tore open the shiny wrapper on the remaining bar, “Doubt it matters for either of us. I don’t plan on being out here long enough to worry about it.”

 

“You could have picked up something else,” Kaliyo said.

 

“If I’d known we’d be camping I would have.”

 

Kaliyo glared at the ration bar before ripping off and tossing the packaging. She grimaced and crammed a third of it in her mouth. “Get some. These things taste like @ss.”

 

Cleaner nibbled his bar, “Whose, specifically?”

 

Kaliyo upended a fluid pack and washed it down, “Yours.”

 

“I should get some royalties from the manufacturer,” he said without missing a beat. Personally, he imagined the flavor reminiscent of a k’lor’slug grubling that gorged itself to death on wood shavings--explaining the texture--but she did have a point. On the off chance they ran out of everything, standard Imperial rations weren’t balanced for either of their species and no way in hell was he laying in a supply of the appropriate slave-alien supplement packs. Being responsible for consumables was a new problem. “After here we hit a neutral supply station and get better stuff. Deal?”

 

"Deal. Some new booze, too," she said, choking down the last of her ration bar, "and by new I mean different. We're low anyway.”

 

"Booze requires someplace civilized," Cleaner grumbled, “with actual trade with other places. Assuming you want something not on the Official Wine and Spirits List.”

 

"Doesn't the Imperial base count as civilized?" Kaliyo countered, “you found booze and spice on Tatooine."

 

"The Exchange operates on Tatooine," he replied, clamping the end of his ration bar in his teeth and checking the map again. "No place is completely booze- and spice-free but I doubt there's much here beyond homebrew or the local rocket fuel. Betch find stuff even on Korriban or the Jedi Temple." He looked up from the datapad, "Well, on Korriban they probably have vending machines."

 

"You've never been?" she asked.

 

He shook his head, "Korriban is invite-only unless you're Sith." He stuffed the remainder of the ration bar in his mouth, "Not really looking for an invite," he mumbled. Crumbs stuck to his lips and he licked them away out of habit.

 

Kaliyo giggled, “I bet Jedi kids sneak in extra strong stimcaf and think they're big time rulebrea-" A cable snapped somewhere in the distance with a sharp twang. She went silent. The sound reflected off ruined buildings. A low bass moan followed. Then a far-off rumble and crump. Cleaner tried not to cringe as the vibration passed through his feet. It sounded too close to be last night's shelter. Not much comfort in that. Taris was all kinds of bad.

 

"That's only a fun sound when you did it," Kaliyo said quietly, as if reading his thoughts.

 

“No *****," Cleaner agreed. He took in their surroundings. Moldering buildings with walls sloped every which way but true, furred over with fungus and rogue vegetation. Long-blind security cams protruded from every corner. Cleaner's hand strayed to the reassuring grip of his blaster. Live eyes lurked in the shadows, too. He was sure of it. Not just rakghouls. And not just thugs waiting to shoot you for your credsticks and your blaster and maybe your liver. Something else. Cleaner flexed his fingers. Damn planet had him jumpier than usual. He wanted off this corpse of a world, the sooner the better. He remounted his speeder, “Hell of a way to go out. Eaten by monsters or buried under ruins," he said after a minute.

 

"Lots of people be disappointed," Kaliyo said, “you got enemies.”

 

"You and me both," he agreed. There was a time when he took pride in the number of beings who'd like to see him dead. Somewhere along the line he lost count. Then quit caring. "Come on, we've got four more kilometers to go. I don't want to spend another night out here."

 

The sun was going down behind snaggletoothed buildings when they reached Doctor Lokin's lair. Ahead of them lay a broken tube, wide and open to the sky. Ancient rails lolled out of the opening, bent metal tentacles seeking to twist ankles and break legs. Sharp piles of junk poked through the scree. But no intact structure, no camp, no vehicles. Nothing but the entrance to an ancient subterranean structure. Ominous noises echoed in the depths.

 

Cleaner checked the location against the map again. This was the place, alright. “Must be under," he said, scowling against the sun.

 

Kaliyo turned back to Cleaner, "You've got to be joking,'' she said.

 

"Afraid not. Map ping puts him smack in the middle of that crap," he said, waving at the wreck, "Only one place he could be, under the circumstances." Probably found himself some abandoned top secret lab. Cleaner didn't like to think about what Lokin might be doing down there. The nanobots didn't work so well on the stuff he played around with. Or the worst of Taris' dangers, for that matter.

 

Kaliyo put her hands on her hips, "You know what? Let's call in an air strike on a known rakghoul nest.” she said, hooking one thumb over her shoulder, “Your Doc was dead already. Have to assign another," she continued with a conspiratorial wink.

 

Tempting. Oh so very tempting. Lokin’s commands to protect himself from Shen’s potential retaliation were old. Quite. Not ingrained as much anymore. Cleaner peered into the darkened entrance. He might get away with it. The location was vague. No guarantee Doc was even down there. Rakghouls were for certain. Logical call.

 

Except that Lokin wasn’t likely to forget what esoteric pain medications worked before starting surgery. Or what things worked period. That part of what he told Kaliyo was true. Not to mention he was the only one who knew how to program the bugs.

 

Cleaner glared again into the dark shadows past the opening and grimaced at the menacing noises from within. Somehow he knew Lokin was alive. And that he was, in fact, holed up in there. Probably having the time of his life. Bringing his party to a sudden, fiery end was only a holocall away. Cleaner felt the bare beginnings of a headache, a soft insistent pressure behind his eyes, and sighed in resignation, "Gotta at least check. Get a confirming bioscan on something resembling a corpse."

 

"Great. Want me to scan every pile of rakghoul poodoo on the way in?" Kaliyo grumbled.

 

An irritated shiver rippled down his lekku, "Sure, knock yourself out. We might get lucky." Cleaner said. He wasn't quite sure whether finding a dead doc was good luck or bad, and loosened his blaster in its holster. Trouble, either way. Cleaner tromped off toward the bunker's entrance. He heard Kaliyo's footsteps following behind him.

 

Taris' ruins were no more pleasant underground. He just couldn't see as much of them. And the air acquired a fungal taint he tasted in the back of his throat. Lovely. Cleaner dug an illumination globe out of his pack and tossed it in the air, starting forward before its miniscule repulsorlifts kicked in. “C’mon, stragglers get eaten.”

 

“Ha ha.”

 

 

 

Kaliyo waved her scanner at the still-warm rakghoul corpses. It completed its analysis and chimed. "Negative," she said, "again."

 

''How many is that now?" Cleaner asked, consulting his datapad.

 

She reattached the cover plate, "Hell if I know. Hit twenty before the rails straightened. I quit counting."

 

His map called it a transport station. The upper levels at least. If he squinted he could almost see boarding platforms. Whatever ran on the rails was long gone, decayed or dismantled. That was well before they hit the lifts and the crumbling caverns beneath the structure. Cleaner overlaid the official Imperial survey map with Lokin's last known location coordinates. The further from the surface, the less his map corresponded to the tunnels he saw. Wonderful.

 

"So we close yet?" Kaliyo asked, interrupting his train of thought.

 

Cleaner didn't care to admit how crummy his data was. "Yeah," he lied. He closed the projector, “Couple hundred meters."

 

Kaliyo glanced at the debris piled against the walls, "Check for cameras?"

 

''If he's there, he knows we're coming," Cleaner said.

 

"Might have mentioned that sooner ," Kaliyo snorted, "I'd have been looking for more than rakghouls."

 

"Wouldn't matter," Cleaner said, "trust me."

 

Several hundred meters later-- and several more packs of rakghouls-- a pressure door blocked their path. A code panel flanked it on the right. It was the only thing not covered in filth and powdered rakghoul dust. Neither were on the map. Cleaner didn't bother to check.

 

“Slice it?” Kaliyo prompted.

 

Cleaner glared at the panel. Slicing Lokin’s stuff was risky. Odds were this wasn’t the control for the door anyway. However, as of a week or two ago, he’d had a handful of soldiers with him. Paranoia versus inconvenience. Which did Lokin choose? Cleaner ground his teeth, then input his security clearance.

 

The miniscreen flashed red. Rejected his code. Cleaner jumped back with a curse, drawing his blaster. Slammed into Kaliyo who drew as well, covering the rear. Stupid, really. Lokin probably laced the keypad with bioactive compounds or rigged the cavern to collapse. Either way, weapons were useless. Cleaner’s reaction was automatic if ineffective.

 

Dust sifted down from angled baffles above the panel and static buzzed from a hidden speaker. “Hello, Cleaner.” Music played softly in the background, “Do come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

 

Lokin.

 

Bastard.

 

 

...............................................

 

 

From his vantage point high in a nearby ruin, Hunter observed the decrepit transport station through his electrobinoculars. A whisper came in through his earbud, "What's happening?" Chance asked.

 

"Nothing but rakghouls." Hunter replied.

 

"And the Cleaner?"

 

"Haven't seen him," he lied. Cleaner entered the old transport station late in the day, missing Legate by more than a week. He bypassed Legate’s first stop completely, suggesting his goal was something else.

 

Hunter heard Chance's sigh of relief, "Guess I was worried for nothing. Look, you've got your own mission to prep. I'll finish here."

 

"I think you want to spend some quality time with the pretty Chiss."

 

"What? No!" Chance sputtered, "Stars, Hunter. Get your mind out of the sewer. She's an unproven asset. Nothing more. I don't need backup."

 

“Kothe said to observe for you,” Hunter objected. Kothe’s order gave him a very convenient cover.

 

''Yeah," Chance said, "I got this."

 

"The big bad Cleaner could come back, you know,” Hunter prodded.

 

“I’ll deal with it. I have a cipher.”

 

''Oh yes. That's so much better," Hunter said. Chance was too soft. Any half-decent agent, let alone a cipher, would eat him for lunch. On the other hand, he’d be free to observe just Cleaner One and Kaliyo. What Chance didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

 

“I can control her if it comes to that,” Chance said.

 

“Sure you can.”

 

"I got this, Hunter," Chance repeated.

 

"If you insist," Hunter said. Couldn't give up too easily. "See you back at base, then."

 

"Later, Hunter," Chance replied. The connection went to static before cutting out completely.

 

Hunter took one more glance through the electrobinoculars. Still no activity at the rakghoul den. He settled back against the ruined wall and brought up an image on his datapad. Chance set up monitoring stations for Legate, modern minicams hidden in Taris' mouldering security cameras, repurposed for Hunter's other masters. He now had a perfect picture of Cleaner One.

 

The final cable stay on one of the nearby towers popped earlier during the day and the Twi'lek looked right at one of Hunter’s cameras. Then toward Hunter's hide. A shiver of panic flew down his spine at the time, sure Cleaner One spotted him. Impossible, of course. He wasn't in line-of-sight and the agent had no reason to scan for transmissions. He heard the building go down, that was all. As expected, the Twi’lek turned away with no sign he knew he was observed. None that Hunter could see, at least.

 

Just looking at it gave him a rush. He added the pic to the file--it would update to the Codex when he reestablished communications--and read the contact recommendations again:

 

Despite unreliable official records, observations confirm the agent designated as “Cleaner One” has been closely associated with the head of Imperial Intelligence (designated “Keeper”) for his entire career. For this reason, the value of this operative lies more in what he may reveal about Intelligence’s inner workings, goals, and relationships with other branches than in any services or skills he might provide. The primary goal of any encounter is capture, not subversion.

 

Psychological profile indicates excessive paranoia even for an Imperial citizen or slave. Subject demonstrates a high level of high degree of volatility and unpredictability and is unlikely to be swayed by ideological arguments.

 

Important: Do not approach this operative directly! Observers report violent reactions to unknown or non-routine situations. Predicted best chance for success is enticing the subject into a situation where capture is possible. Appeals to hedonistic tendencies may be exploited. All operatives are cautioned to clear potential recruitment scenarios with division cell leaders before proceeding with contact.

 

Hunter grinned. Planning a sting for a trigger happy Imperial. A challenge. So much more entertaining than playing advisor to a has-been Jedi or chaperoning the rest of the kids. Hunter skipped around through the background brief, wondering which of the contradictory stories was the real one. Which of the many weaknesses he could exploit.

 

....................................

 

Rage burned. Seethed. Chafed. Rankled. Thana lost count of the beings that fell to her blade. Every one of them wore the face of Zhorrid's pet.

 

It was not enough.

[Caernos]

So excited to see another Cleaner post!

[Lunafox]

It's been a while since I've been on Taris. I was starting to forget the ghouls and ooze and general gross. You do a fine job reminding me lol. Nice stuff! Glad to know there'll be more coming!

[Striges]

Almost back!

 

Tumblr Cleaner One catches up this week. Regular updates to this thread resume next Wednesday. Thanks for reading!

 

(check out the link. There's artwork and a couple new episodes that wouldn't fit into the thread chronology. Click here for the revised episodes in order)

[De-mu-noki]

Wow... I nearly had a heart attack when I saw one of my favourite threads on the front page, and you having commented! YYAAAYYYY! Finally.... WE have returned

I have to admit that I thought Tumblr was already up to date and you just quit writing this story... what a shame it would have been,this is GREAT!

Edited July 24, 2016 by De-mu-noki

[Striges]

He's back!

 

@De-mu-noki: Thanks so much for waiting and for commenting. I was running the story weekly and honestly didn't realize just how many episodes there were, even with combining a couple because of length.

 

And now on to the episode!

 

Longtime readers know there are Agent spoilers; there are also Trooper and Jedi Knight Taris spoilers this time around.

 

The Laboratory of Doctor Dorant

 

Cleaner climbed the stairs from the lower level and approached Doctor Lokin. Smug son of a Hutt didn't bother turning around as he approached. "The Sons of Muur? Really?" he asked.

 

"I thought it suited the venue," Lokin replied. Still had his back to Cleaner.

 

"Thought you said it was--and I quote--’completely devoid of merit, artistically or musically,’" Cleaner said.

 

Doctor Lokin chuckled. He finally straightened and turned around, “I’m flattered you remember.”

 

“Don't be,” Cleaner said. He glanced around the lab. He didn’t need to. He took its measure on the way up to Lokin’s perch. Too clean by half. A herd of mouse droids and cleaning mechs swept through the rooms with obsessive thoroughness, their numbers now slightly reduced. The survivors collected the parts of the fallen without sympathy, to be recycled or rebuilt. Filtered air, clean as ship air, with an antiseptic perfume he remembered well. But the glance told Doctor Lokin he suspected what he was up to, “You’re being naughty again, aren’t you?”

 

An eyebrow raised, but Lokin’s smile never slipped, “By whose standards? You’ll need to be more specific.”

 

Kaliyo elbowed him, “What the hell?” she whispered.

 

“And your friend,” Lokin said, “Come now, you should introduce us. You’ve forgotten your manners.”

 

Bastard. “Kaliyo Djannis, Doctor Eckard Lokin,” Cleaner recited.

 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lokin said.

 

“You’re old friends.” Kaliyo said. A statement, not a question.

 

“Oh yes,” Lokin agreed, “We go way back, Cleaner and I.”

 

“Yeah,” Cleaner agreed. “Thought you retired. To some outer rim planet. Nice and quiet.”

 

“Ah, well, I do maintain a residence,” Doctor Lokin said.

 

Even imagining violence against Doctor Lokin was enough to set off a headache. So he didn't imagine strangling Lokin. He thought very, very hard about not strangling Lokin, which was nowhere near as satisfying. Cleaner fiddled for a cigarette. By the smell--or lack of it--Doc’s scrubbers could handle anything. He fished out a cheesy pressure lighter and pressed it to the end of the cigarette. It activated with a sharp snap. A thin wisp of light spice smoke drifted up. Cleaner clamped the cigarette between his lips and drew in a deep breath. Sweet. Held it for a moment before exhaling the smoke, now depleted of its minuscule narcotic properties. Another drag, the beginning of euphoria, then nothing.

 

Bastard.

 

Lokin watched. Cleaner watched back. That's right. Remember why it doesn't matter. He tapped ash on the floor, “What, like I missed you? Didn't come to catch up on old times. Or for the scenery."

 

“So why are you here?” Lokin asked. His generic Imperial accent gave no hints to his thoughts.

 

"Come on, Doc, you know you can't use Intelligence clearances for your private projects. That’s a big no-no.”

 

“Intelligence did not send you all the way out here to close or seize my research. Not you,” Lokin said. He resumed work on the data station, "Nor the Minister. I do still follow politics."

 

Cleaner advanced to the data console Lokin was studying and leaned his hip on the adjoining station, “Wouldn’t be me. There are penalties. All I have to do is make a call. I know the base can receive from here. Speaking of which, what happened to the troops they loaned you? Where's your friend?"

 

Doctor Lokin stiffened beneath his textbook coat. Finally. Finally, Cleaner caught him off balance. "Elsewhere," Lokin admitted at last, "doing reconnaissance, as I recall."

 

Cleaner fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll bite. What's she doing?"

 

''I'm so glad you asked," Doctor Lokin said, settling down, his moment of nervousness gone. "I first encountered her while examining the databases of Doctor Godera--you’re familiar?”

 

"By reputation," Cleaner said.

 

“Crazy ‘Pub weapons guy,” Kaliyo broke in, “Big stuff. Always thought he was on the wrong side.”

 

“A brilliant scientist," Doctor Lokin continued in agreement, "Intelligence procured a near complete record of his work. Which was why I thought it odd that an agent would come all the way out to Taris when she could access the files anywhere."

 

"Watcher One cashed in on that op, didn't he?" Cleaner asked. Got himself caught in the crossfire between a Jedi and a Sith, as he heard it. For an organization that ran on need-to-know, Intelligence was lousy about keeping certain secrets. KIA agents, for example.

 

"I did hear that, yes," Lokin admitted, “but my sources are less informed than yours, I imagine."

 

Cleaner kept his face a mask, "I'll bet."

 

"In any case, she claimed she was in pursuit of a Jedi," Lokin said.

 

''A Jedi?" he asked. This better be good. Casting aspersions on another agent was a time-honored tradition. Invoking Jedi was bad form.

 

"Just so," Lokin confirmed, “A Jedi searching for one of Godera’s projects. Likewise strange. Doctor Godera was entrenched with the Republic Military and the Jedi at last note. An odd coincidence. Why would either bother with the journey to Taris?”

 

Cleaner drew a breath on the cigarette, “Might ask you the same question. What were you doing in the crazy ‘Pub scientist workshop?”

 

“Ah. Some time ago I engaged in a lively correspondence with a military scientist stationed here, Ryler Dorant. Quite the creative mind. I’ve not heard from him in some time, unfortunately, and the military rebuffed all my inquiries.” Lokin settled back, “I knew of Godera’s monitoring stations from the Intelligence files, of course. So I took matters into my own hands. This is Dorant’s lab, but his data is long gone. As is the man himself.”

 

“Defected?” Cleaner asked. Military would cover that up, especially if he had connections. Defection fell under Intelligence’s purview. Swapping sides was bad for your health.

 

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lokin said, “he was quite happy in the Empire. More likely a simple casualty of Taris’ many dangers. Of more concern is the loss of his research. In the wrong hands it could be quite devastating.”

 

Cleaner tapped ash on the floor. One of the roaming mouse droids scooted over and vacuumed it up, then stood station waiting for more. “You think this Jedi’s got it?” he asked.

 

“Or the agent,” Lokin said, “The laboratory itself is in decent condition, all things considered. No evidence of a formal purge beyond the empty databanks. His experimental apparatus is intact."

 

Cleaner blew another burst of smoke. What the hell did he walk in to? Lokin's buddy was working off the record as well. The Minister would have warned him otherwise. A pity shooting everyone involved was out of the question. At least right now. "You realize I don't care," he said

 

"Oh, I am well aware of your attitude toward the Empire," Lokin concurred. “I thought you might be interested in odd coincidences.”

 

“Not particularly,” Cleaner said, “Unless it’s the ridiculous number of beings showing up on this Hutt’s *** of a planet.”

 

“I require Dorant’s data for my project,” Lokin insisted, “and there’s no replacement for experiments in the field.”

 

Ha. Gotcha. “What kind of experiments?” Cleaner asked.

 

"Nothing that concerns you," Lokin replied.

 

Bastard. "It does when you're claiming Intelligence credentials," Cleaner said.

 

"Am I, now?"

 

“Base said you were,” Cleaner said, “You still haven’t said where their troops went.”

 

“They seemed surprisingly unprepared for rakghouls,” Lokin said, “I was most disappointed.”

 

"Check," he said to Kaliyo, his gaze flicking to her before returning to Lokin’s. Kaliyo bounced back down the stairs, blaster drawn, grinning wide enough Cleaner could hear it.

 

Lokin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, “I know your games well. Tell me, Cleaner, how much does your friend know?” he asked, his tone pleasant and conversational but his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Shen kept his lekku still through will alone. Verbal sparring with Lokin was always a losing proposition. Shen didn't understand whatever it was made him tick. Never had. The usual stuff didn’t work. What had the Minister told him? Doctor Lokin will come out of curiosity or not at all. “Alright. Let’s both acknowledge the fact that we could make each other’s lives miserable. How’s that for leverage?” Shen asked, equally softly.

 

Doctor Lokin straightened and faced Cleaner, “Not quite what I had in mind.”

 

“Hutt Diplomacy,” Shen said flatly.

 

“I was thinking of something else, but the principle is the same,” Lokin said, “I’m listening.”

 

“Minister wants you back with me,” Shen said, “Big mission. Gave me a ship and everything. Verify it if you want. I’ll wait.” One thing about being a known liar. When he challenged beings to check his story, they usually believed him.

 

“I may,” Lokin said, “But he could assign you any Imperial physician. Why me?” He started to turn back to his research.

 

Shen stopped him with a word, “Jadus.”

 

Doctor Lokin halted, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. “He’s your demon, not mine. And I believe he's dead,” he said. His tone said otherwise.

 

Shen said, “He’s not. But he will be. I got Intelligence and Dark Council sanction. He’s got my keyword.”

 

“You have a problem,” Lokin added.

 

“Yeah,” Cleaner agreed. Doc was intrigued, but not enough. He had to sweeten the deal, somehow. What the hell did Doc like enough to quit whatever project he was on in favor of playing ship's medic? A new project, that's what. What kind? Maybe...maybe an old one. Poodoo. He was actually going to suggest it. Lokin was the only one who could program his nanobots. And the only one with a chance of altering his programming. The one chip Lokin might accept. "You’ve always wondered, haven’t you? Since you went over to the science division? No one else followed up on me. You’d know."

 

Doctor Lokin appeared lost in thought. Given it was his default expression, Cleaner still had no clue what was going on inside his head. Lokin always seemed to be laughing at a private joke, one he kept to himself. “The fact you’re still attached to the Minister argues for long-term success,” Lokin said.

 

“Sure it does,” Cleaner acknowledged, “But you don’t know, do you? How much a success it really was. For all you know the Minister and I got it on once you bailed and you’re nowhere near as safe as you think,” Cleaner leaned toward him and spoke in a conspiratory whisper, “I can get you access to all those records, easy-peasy. Plus the original subject. Can you make effective changes after so long? Subtle adjustments? How good is your control, anyway? We got about thirty seconds before Kaliyo gets back.”

 

“Tempting,” he said at last, stroking his beard.

 

He’d planted a seed of doubt. Lokin hated nothing so much as not knowing. Nerves, now. Lokin kept stroking his beard and Cleaner almost saw the wheels turning in his brain. Cleaner returned to a neutral stance. “What better challenge, yeah? Outsmarting yourself?”

 

Doctor Lokin shifted his weight and clasped his hands in front of himself, “I see. I am amenable to some aspects of your proposal. At present, however, I am in the midst of some sensitive experiments that cannot be interrupted.”

 

Lokin had a bare handful of tells. His current posture was one of them. He was hiding something. Not lying outright, but definitely not honest either. Time to find out which one. "You can do your experiments on the ship," Cleaner said. In the airlock, maybe.

 

Doctor Lokin leaned over and detached the data transfer cable and let it retract back into the console, "As tempted as I am to take you up on that offer, I really must refuse," he said, "These aren't the kinds of experiments I can conduct in such a restricted environment."

 

Cleaner blinked. Twice. Doc grew some scruples? Since when? "This a new thing with you?" He lit another cigarette from the butt of the first.

 

Lokin's enigmatic smile reappeared, "In a manner of speaking," he said.

 

Cleaner’s well-tuned danger sensors ratcheted up their warning. As usual, Doc came with baggage. Was his experiment really dangerous, or did he just want privacy? At least the Minister wouldn't have to send him anywhere for the mop-up if it exploded.

 

Why couldn't he have a regular doctor like normal people?

 

He heard Kaliyo's footsteps on the pristine floor below. “Last chance for private discussions. You in?” Cleaner asked.

 

Kaliyo climbed back up the stair, blaster at ready, “He’s alone. There’s some creepy cages at the back. Empty now, but whatever was in 'em wasn't happy when they were." She glared at the Doctor, "Don't think I want to meet what you kept in there."

 

Lokin tipped his head, ''Alas, they were vacant when I arrived. We will both have to wonder."

 

"Yeah," Kaliyo said, a note of hesitation in her voice. She turned her attention back to Cleaner, "So, he coming with or what?"

 

''Don't know yet," Cleaner replied.

 

“You make a compelling argument,” Lokin admitted. “I suppose you’ll do your best to bring the wrath of Intelligence down on me if I refuse.”

 

“He is the wrath of Intelligence,” Kaliyo interjected.

 

“True that,” he agreed.

 

A chime on Doctor Lokin’s communicator interrupted their conversation. He checked the instrument, “Ah. As I expected,” he replaced the communicator in his pocket, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now. I expect to conclude this phase of my investigation within the next fifty-two hours. You’re welcome to wait here, of course.”

 

Not a chance. “How about we come with?” Cleaner said. Kaliyo gave him a questioning look. He kept her quiet with a tight shake of his head. At least this way he’d know what he was in for.

 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Doctor Lokin said, passing Cleaner on his way down the stairs.

 

Cleaner followed, Kaliyo in his wake, “Not your call,” he said. Now that he had him, he wasn’t about to let him go.

 

Doctor Lokin paused at the landing, “While I appreciate your concern for my safety, it is misplaced.”

 

Cleaner took another drag on his cigarette, “Ain’t worried about your safety.” Safety, no. Doc planned his poodoo frontways, backwards, and sideways. Running off and leaving Cleaner holding the bag for whatever he had going on? And without a doctor? Much more likely.

 

Lokin gave an exasperated sigh, “My colleague has information I require. However, as her objective is otherwise unrelated to mine, a cleaner agent will undoubtedly send her off-planet immediately. That would be unfortunate. Regardless, I have no intention of leaving Taris without Dorant’s records. This agent is my best chance to acquire them. Despite your charming personality, your presence with me guarantees failure."

 

Kaliyo snickered. Cleaner ignored her. He heard the slight hesitation in Lokin's speech right before the word unfortunate. Lokin’s brand of humor was inscrutable as his current expression. “Funny.”

 

Lokin’s odd smile returned, “No less true.” He withdrew a datacard from an inner pocket and extended it toward Cleaner, “I suggest a compromise. I already arranged a meeting with the agent. You may observe the entire exchange from these coordinates.”

 

Cleaner clamped the cigarette in his lips and took the proffered datacard with some trepidation. He glanced down at it, wishing he could discern its contents without a reader. His gaze flicked back to Doctor Lokin, “Safe distance, huh?” he mumbled.

 

“In a manner of speaking," Lokin concurred.

 

Which meant he still hadn't figured out Doc's plan. Not good. Not a lot of other options, either. "When?" He asked.

 

"A standard day," Doctor Lokin said, "slightly more than a local day. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and continued his way down the stairs, disappearing beneath them.

 

They heard Lokin’s footsteps on the durasteel grating, growing faint with distance. Kaliyo nudged him, “You sure about this?”

 

Cleaner’s lip twitched. He dropped the dead cigarette at his feet and scrubbed it out, “No.” he said.

 

"Should have called in an airstrike when you had the chance."

 

"Probably," he agreed. The twinge in his temple had other opinions.

[frauzet]

My favorite Twi'lek ist back!

 

I am looking forward to more interaction between Cleaner and Lokin. This was a very promising start, at least for me as a reader

[Magdalane]

I've pretty much left these forums, but when I got the email that this thread had been updated, I couldn't click over fast enough!! So glad to see Cleaner up to his usual

[bright_ephemera]

I don't write Dr. Lokin because he is smarter than I am. I like what you're doing with the place. He deserves someone as cunning as Cleaner on his case.

[Striges]

Thanks so much for the replies!

 

Lokin and Cleaner are fun to write together because their personalities are almost polar opposites, in particular when their goals are nearly congruent. Lokin, planning for contingencies of contingencies, and Cleaner flying by the seat of his pants. I hope you enjoy where the story goes. Thanks again for reading and especially for commenting!

[Striges]

So sorry! I forgot I can't queue posts on the forums. sorry sorry sorry *sets even more reminders*

 

Other Threads

 

 

Chance's signal was dark. Had been for hours now. Hunter checked back through his monitoring records without much luck. Scavengers. Rakghouls. Cathar and Nikto, their settlement finally caving in to Imperial pressure and rakghouls. A glimpse of Legate heading for Olaris. No Chance. Hunter grinned at the turn of phrase. Chance knew where he placed his monitoring stations and stayed clear. Why he did so was an interesting question.

 

He might investigate. Might. Technically he wasn't supposed to be here. So technically he didn’t know. Hunter debated whether it was worth the bother. Getting in better with the unit had its points. Keeping tabs on Cleaner One and Kaliyo Djannis was more important at the moment.

 

The two of them stayed in the old transport station through the night, emerging the following afternoon. Hunter wasn't sure what they wanted in there or whether they found it. No cameras. Too many rakghouls, not nearly enough explosives. Or pay, for that matter, from either employer.

 

Outside, he watched them have a conversation. An animated one. Argument, maybe, Hunter couldn't tell. Ended with blasters out and then some serious...he'd call it foreplay if they kept up. They broke off and dug out their speeders instead. Pity, things were just getting interesting. Cleaner One checked a datapad and the pair headed off southish.

 

A patrol track in that direction ran roughly east-west. Cleaner might want anything that way. A couple Imperial forward bases- their purpose largely to harass the Republic. Some notable ruins. An old research hospital. The actual remains of the Endar Spire, if he believed Republic propaganda. Of course, if every genuine relic of the Endar Spire was genuine, the wreck itself would be the size of three dreadnoughts.

 

Olaris.

 

A shame the monitoring stations didn't pick up audio.

 

Hunter began packing up his equipment. Time to move to a better location.

 

 

 

 

Thana Vesh paced back and forth behind Darth Gravus' holoimage, arms crossed over her chest. The visual pickups faced the other way. Gravus saw only the fawning Colonel, reciting his 'yes, my Lords,' and 'no, my Lords' at proper intervals. Boring, boring, boring, dull, boring, boring. Gravus wanted to hire mercenaries. Gravus wanted the Republic anti-aircraft guns taken out. Gravus wanted her to waste more time. Gravus wanted, Gravus wanted, Gravus wanted.

 

She wanted Zhorrid's pet. Wanted him screaming. Begging. Bleeding. Maybe she wouldn’t kill him after all. Maybe she'd send him back to Zhorrid broken. Maybe she'd break him and make him hers. Thana shivered in excitement at the thought. Stealing a thing from a member of the Dark Council. Quite the coup. Embarrass Old Man Gravus, embarrass Zhorrid the Freak. Show them--

 

"I know you're there, Thana. I feel you sulking even if I can't see you through the link," Darth Gravus said, his attention still on the Colonel.

 

She made a big show of stretching and yawning. "Nothing here is a challenge to me, Master," she said, her emphasis on the last word making it bold rather than respectful. "The brave Cathar colonists are running back home with their tails between their legs. The lizards are vanquished, and I've routed the pathetic Republic troops. There's nothing left for me here," she complained, leaving the Force-blind colonel to contradict her if he dared.

 

Gravus clucked his tongue at her. Rage flared; she hated it when he treated her like a misbehaving girl. "Then you've not been paying attention, " he said, "the Jedi. The Republic’s commander. You do remember, don't you? The one whose troops you've harried halfway across Taris? The one making your victories costly and their defeats palatable?"

 

''I remember," she snapped. "He's a coward. He won't face me." He didn't come when she tortured his soldiers, didn't come when she killed them. Ran from her taunts and demands. Probably fled off-planet by now, back to the cuddly arms of the Republic, out of reach.

 

''He is at the Olaris Spaceport, covering the evacuation of the colonists and the remaining Republic forces," Darth Gravus said, "and you will defeat him. I have seen it."

 

"What?" Thana pushed past the colonel blocking the visual capture and leaned forward on the terminal, "Olaris? When did you learn this!" She demanded, her earlier nonchalance forgotten in a storm of unresolved frustration, "I want his heart!"

 

Gravus gave her one of his patronizing smiles, "Take a squad of the colonel's finest-"

 

"I don’t need help!" Thana snarled, "I am perfectly capable of defeating a Jedi."

 

"Only with aid." Gravus insisted, "he is a battlemaster and his troops are profoundly loyal."

 

Thana pushed off in disgust, "I am more than a match for any Jedi," she said, "and his trained minions, however loyal." Thana spun and stomped toward the conference room's exit, "Keep your soldiers. I do not need them."

 

Behind her, Gravus continued with the colonel, "And with that, my apprentice slips her leash. As I was saying, Colonel..."

 

The door slid closed behind her, cutting off the old man's rasp. Hatred churned within her. Leash, was it? She'd show him. Gravus thought she was weak, foolish. The Jedi was her prize. Hers alone.

 

A rude laugh erupted from the corridor ahead. Zhorrid’s toy gripped his alien partner by the waist and they gurgled at each other in some hideous foreign speech. Hutt probably. Sounded like gargling phlegm.

 

Thana's eyes narrowed. First, perhaps, the real prize.

[Striges]

Taris in the Moonlight

 

 

Cleaner didn't bother waiting for Lokin’s appointed time. After a brief stop at what passed for civilization on this lousy planet he pushed on to Lokin’s coordinates. Thus it was the middle of the night when he and Kaliyo crested a hill overlooking the Republic base and coasted to a stop. According to Imperial recon data, their defenses included surface-to-low-orbit pulse cannons, high walls, charged fences, artillery emplacements, armed patrols, and even the occasional Jedi.

 

At the moment, it looked like an angry Killik nest.

 

Alarms blared into the night. Personnel swarmed everywhere. Some of them armored, most of them not or only haphazard. Roused out of bed, no doubt. The regular lights made the grounds as bright as daylight and yet searchlights panned the ground as though they needed more illumination. Hand-held blaster fire beat a staccato background rhythm. The big guns remained silent.

 

This was a ground assault. All the commotion was inside the walls. A little too frenzied for the rumored Imperial strike. One guess what it really was.

 

Kaliyo squinted against the glare, "I think we missed the party."

 

Cleaner reached for a smoke then stopped himself. Damn rakghouls. "Not like Doc to start without me." That wasn’t quite true. Lokin did whatever the hell he wanted, but he was usually less noisy about it. This mess was more Cleaner’s own style than Lokin’s.

 

"Ha," Kaliyo laughed, "You're not planning on going in there, are you?"

 

While he might not be able to harm Lokin directly, Cleaner had no compulsion to come to his rescue. The Minister never managed to get that one to stick. He could watch the show with impunity if he wished. Joining in? Completely optional. He raised an eyebrow ridge at Kaliyo, "Thought you wanted to mess with the Pubs," he teased.

 

"Strafe the base from orbit? Sure," Kaliyo said, ''stroll in while they're on high alert and shooting shadows? Kark that. Don't mind watching the fireworks from here, though. Might even munch some official Imperial issue junk food."

 

"Doubt you're that desperate, " Cleaner said.

 

''Na," Kaliyo agreed, "Lucky you found something worth eating. Something else," she said with a wink.

 

They hit the base's cafeteria before setting out and discovered someone trucked an amazing pastry chef all the way out here. Who might not survive the morning when his Sith master--and it had to be a Sith, regular army didn't have that kind of pull--discovered all the jelly-filled leishii rolls were gone. Kaliyo was quite appreciative.

 

Good food, sex, and explosions. Damn fine day so far.

 

A brilliant fireball erupted farther back in Olaris bathing them in soft orange light. For a moment their skin colors matched. The low crump of the explosion hit a second later. One of the distant cannon going up in style. Cleaner felt it in his lungs and gut as much as heard it. "Haven't seen anything that beautiful since the Dominator went down," he said.

 

"Yeah," Kaliyo agreed. The pressure magazine on a second gun failed in the intense heat. Compressed shvash gas expanded and ignited, propelling its twin barrels into the night sky like a pair of interlocked missiles. ''Too bad we didn't run off with a rocket or grenade launcher while we were in the armory. Lob a few in there just to mess with 'em," Kaliyo said when the glow faded.

 

Cleaner snorted, "Just as soon not give 'em a clear target."

 

"Killjoy."

 

Behind the walls, behind the cannons, something else caught fire, so far back he saw nothing more than a vague glow,. The underside of billowing smoke shone blue with reflected light. Starship engine blue. Had to be the primary fuel depot. Stars, it was glorious. Too bad it wasn't Imperial.

 

A low rumble filled the air. Like the shockwave earlier it was almost inaudible, just an insistent vibration deep in soft tissues, along with a low thrum coming up through the soles of his boots. Adrenaline kicked Cleaner's heartbeat into overdrive, sweeping away his good mood. It wouldn't take much to send Olaris and the surrounding countryside into Taris's rakghoul infested depths. Republic wasn’t known for planting scuttling charges in resettlement colonies, but Taris wasn't a typical colony. Not like they'd be so polite as to put up warning signs if they did. "Think I'd rather enjoy the show from the back seats, yeah?" he said.

 

Kaliyo pulled her speeder upright, "Yeah," she agreed, "Yeah, let's find some solid ground."

 

Her voice held the same uncertain note his had. Perhaps Lisha Techt had been too close to one of her own bombs before. Cleaner kicked on the repulsorlifts on his speeder and turned it around. "Kilometer or so should do it," he said, flicking the propulsion engine on to standby idle, "head back once the smoke clears."

 

Kaliyo started her speeder and reversed its direction like a swoop-racing star, "Good idea," she said.

 

"Leaving so soon?" asked an haughty alto, cruel and full of Sith-issue arrogance, "We've not even started yet."

 

Cleaner’s gut clenched. He didn't want to turn. Didn't want to see. A Sith owned that voice, that's all he needed to know. Armor no good, blasters no good, no planning, no plan, nothing.

 

He turned around anyway. No sense letting her stab him in the back. Human--he expected that--a bit too pale for his taste even though she had the kind of curvy athletic build he liked and body armor that accentuated it. Hair dyed that funky dark red Sith favored. One of those silly tattoos in a matching color.

 

Beneath it, her eyes. Even in this crummy light he saw them. None of Jadus' quiet menace or Zhorrid's mercurial insanity. This Sith was full of small cruelty. The kind who hurt beings because she could, because she liked it, because it was fun. He had plenty of experience with beings like her. Two options, really. Either beat 'em down until they knew who was really king of the sh*theap, or suck it up and endure it until they were done or got bored and moved on.

 

As Sith she outranked him, making her king of the sh*theap. As Zhorrid's Hand, she was supposed to leave him alone. Without Zhorrid here to back him up it didn't much matter. She could do as she liked provided no one found out. The Minister was right. Sith politics sucked. Well, if he played it wrong he'd end up dead or in a kolto tank that much faster. Probably the latter; Lokin took a perverse pleasure in keeping him alive. Assuming Lokin himself was alive, given the mess in Olaris.

 

He opened his mouth to speak and the defiant words died in his throat. Pulling rank on this Sith was suicide. He knew that. His traitor brain calculated the odds faster than a Nar Shaddaa bookie. He couldn't mouth off to her any more than put a blaster to his head.

 

"Nexu got your tongue? " The Sith taunted. She whipped out her lightsaber hilt. For a moment he thought she held a sex toy before his brain made the correction. Made a few practice passes through the air before igniting it. An angry red blade emerged.

 

Red Blade. The noob's cover identity.

 

Dammit. Panic nibbled at the fringes, chewing on mental flotsam. Useless.

 

How long frozen? How many seconds? How many heartbeats?

 

Kark all, he was going to die if he said nothing.

 

The logic flaw broke the impasse. What was less lethal? Sidestep maybe. "I'm the Hand of Darth Zhorrid," he said. Stars, Kaliyo was going to give him hell for that.

 

"I know who you are," the Sith snapped, "I can smell your fear, Twi'lek. Your lord isn't here. I am." A few more lightsaber flourishes. Her blade buzzed like angry bees. "She can't protect you."

 

She didn't know him well. She missed the subtleties of his emotional state. Why didn't she just attack? He wasn't a challenge, not like this. She wanted something else. What part? What role did she think he played for Zhorrid? "My lord Zhorrid will be displeased," he said. Oh yeah, Kaliyo will have a field day with this poodoo.

 

A wicked grin split the Sith's lips, "I'm counting on it," she said.

[Lunafox]

Slowly but surely, I am getting caught up! Another great chapter, I do love Cleaner. And the innuendoes flying between him and Kaliyo. They're fun.

 

I'm curious to see what will become of Zhorrid's Hand...and yeah, I expect Kaliyo will have some fun with that