When the Master ordered HK to gather information on the "object," the droid assumed he was being assigned surveillance on a new target and was briefly delighted by the prospect of soon relieving yet another meatbag of its pathetic organic existence.
However, the clarification of the order shattered his hopes. The "object" turned out to be the Master himself. While his creator sometimes displayed suicidal tendencies and a complete disregard for his own safety, life, and, for that matter, sanity, the chance of him ordering HK to perform his own termination was... minimal. Besides, even if such an order were given, the assassin droid would be unable to comply. The Master Protection Protocol remained active. The metal maniac could not intentionally harm his owner.
Another aggravating factor was the news that HK would be accompanied on the mission by an irritating incompetent. This armored meatbag answered to the callsign Nomad and considered herself a representative of the Mandalorian people. The poor droid nearly short-circuited when he heard this from the Master's mouth. His memory preserved records of joint battles with genuine Mandalorians like Canderous Ordo, who ultimately became Mandalore the Preserver, reuniting the disparate clans. HK admitted to himself that he wouldn't even have called Ordo a mere "meatbag" if his programming allowed. The Mandalorian fought almost like a droid, and his disregard for other organics and his ferocity in battle evoked something akin to sympathy in the assassin. Almost, but not quite.
And the information that this meatbag with primary female sex characteristics called herself a member of a clan related to Ordo caused spikes of indignation in his processing and emotional reaction emulation block. The droid once experienced almost identical emotions when dealing with those pathetic counterfeits—the HK-50s, which he gleefully reduced to scrap.
But regardless of HK's opinion of the Mandalorian, the Master's order had to be executed.
Revan had commanded the droid to gather all available information about his current vessel. Who is he? Where is he from? Who are his parents? Why was he a test subject? Is there a connection to Sidious, his master, or the Jedi Order?
The search needed to begin with the Republic archives. After all, his fingerprints and DNA samples must have been recorded somewhere. Primary biometric data should have been automatically entered into the Republic's citizen database or archived records of newborns.
Tira (Nomad) was tasked with obtaining similar information through her own channels in Hutt Space and the Outer Rim. She was also to provide HK access to the local Coruscant criminal community, should legal traces of Revan's new body not be found in public records.
Incidentally, Nomad herself was also far from enthusiastic about another partnered assignment. She was accustomed to working solo and had no need for company, especially the company of an arrogant droid who almost openly mocked the skills the young woman was rightfully proud of.
Thus, the mercenary dropped off her partner near the Archives building with undisguised relief. Since entering the archive through the main entrance while clad head-to-toe in Mandalorian armor would be the height of stupidity, the plan was to send the droid in alone. Attitudes toward mercenaries on Coruscant were wary.
"And remember, you're a protocol droid. Act accordingly," Tira reminded him, preparing to lift the stolen airspeeder.
"Outraged: If I require advice from a clumsy meatbag who allowed herself to be cornered in the Jedi Temple, I shall inform you separately," HK sneered. "Proudly: I am capable of being both subtle and lethal. Nine thousand three hundred and forty-two successfully executed targets are proof of this."
"Try not to explode from smugness," Nomad muttered, stung by the droid's words, and slammed the airspeeder's door shut.
Any other person, droid or organic, the mercenary would have instantly made pay for such insolence. But HK didn't provoke such animosity. Irritation, yes, but not hatred. Ultimately, the young woman was forced to admit that, as an assassin, the droid was her superior. As unpleasant as it was to acknowledge, HK truly had helped her escape the Temple. With a single shot. And such professionalism could not fail to command respect. It mattered little that the object of that respect was a beskar'ad.
The droid, completely ignoring the mercenary's mild protest, moved toward the entrance of the gigantic library structure, also known as the Republic Archives. The building rose above the surrounding structures as a narrow spire, yet it remained noticeably shorter than the Senate tower, seemingly indicating its status. The walls were covered with elegant bas-reliefs, designed in the style and tradition of various Republic peoples... which conveniently distracted from the fact that the building lacked windows. The structure itself was reinforced with durasteel, for knowledge is power, and must be guarded with exceptional diligence.
In terms of the volume of information stored, though unfortunately not always the quality, the Archives surpassed even the famed Jedi Temple knowledge databases. The Holonet primarily processed queries by referencing this database. Information on any subject could be found here, with the exception of data classified by the Senate or the Judicial Department.
The building itself was divided into three sectors with corresponding access levels: Civilian, Administrative, and Governmental.
Records concerning birth registration and residency were located in the Administrative Sector on floors thirty-six through forty, which were inaccessible to the common citizen. But since when did such trifles deter HK? Especially with support from a mercenary of the Nomad clan.
Adopting the most harmless appearance he could manage, HK-47 slowly moved through the Public Sector toward the entrance of the Administrative Sector. The passage was closed off by a door that looked heavy even from a distance, guarded by two security personnel armed with blaster pistols. The assassin droid's sensors also registered the presence of four hidden security turrets, a power shield generator, and two emitters for anti-vandal fields.
"Observation: Medium security level, but effective against common citizens and not particularly skilled raiders," HK noted internally, then opened a communication channel with his temporary partner. "Query: Are you ready?"
"One second," the mercenary replied.
Sounds of a brief scuffle were heard on the other end, after which the Mandalorian came back on the line.
"I'm at the T-74 service node, opening the panel. Access to the systems within two minutes."
The plan required Nomad to hack the Administrative Sector security network and grant access to one specific droid. Without this, HK would not be able to enter quietly. Although, there was always Plan B—a bloodier, but no less effective alternative.
Streams of visitors, hurrying to get answers to their queries, flowed past the assassin droid. The interior decor was quite modest, which was uncharacteristic of Republic administrative buildings. There were no bright colors, no huge arched passageways, nor an abundance of statues and tapestries. Just straight rows of data vaults on one side and dozens of individual terminals for visitors on the other. Only the floor, a mosaic of the crests of worlds belonging to the Republic at the time of the building's founding, and the ceiling, decorated with a fresco depicting an extremely outdated and inaccurate map of the galaxy, stood out.
HK checked his system chronometer. Just as the two minutes expired, Tira signaled her readiness. The droid confidently moved toward the guards.
"Halt, droid. Access to the Administrative Sector is only granted to authorized personnel," the guard stated calmly, not even reaching for his weapon.
The assassin was offended by such a disregard for security and the obvious threat he posed. However, this played into the droid's hands, so the emotional spike was immediately suppressed by his logic circuits.
It was time for a bit of role-playing.
"Politely: Greetings, valiant guardians of order! I am N5K13, identification number T507-241HK. I serve Senator Atrik'Na Bochi. My master has ordered me to retrieve necessary information from the Archives. Entrance permission has been filed in accordance with current regulations."
The guard listened to the droid with a bored expression. It seemed such incidents occurred here quite frequently. His partner, meanwhile, checked the access lists. The terminal at the counter near the guards beeped quietly, notifying them of a match between the droid's identifier and someone on the list.
"Everything is in order," the guard said, almost yawning, as he stepped out of HK's path. "You may proceed."
"Delighted: I thank you!"
As he approached the massive door that blocked access to the Administrative Sector lift, the assassin droid felt himself being scanned. His weaponry was concealed in a shielded compartment. However, there was always a chance that his disguise as a protocol droid would be compromised by his atypical construction, which allowed for significantly greater mobility.
Just in case, HK prepared combat protocols and calculated an attack plan taking all detected defensive systems into account. The guards would have been killed in the first second, unable to reach their weapons. Next, the restraining field generators would be destroyed to prevent capture. The turrets that managed to activate and leave their masked recesses would receive several precise shots from the ion blaster he had brought specifically for such an eventuality. And the remaining power shield could be disabled from the console of the neutralized guards.
However, the plan did not need to be enacted, as the door slid open without any trouble, revealing the path to the lift.
The Administrative Sector had far fewer visitors. The interior, however, was much more lavishly decorated. Here and there, one could spot tall statues of historical figures. HK paid them little mind. He was more interested in the labels on the data vaults.
"Medical service records should be in section RMS-33RR," Tira informed him over the comms, continuing to monitor the droid's movements through the hacked security system.
"Acknowledged," HK replied curtly.
In addition to visitors, the droid noticed archive custodians dressed in identical uniforms. They assisted in locating necessary information and monitored the equipment in their assigned sector. Several security patrols were also registered by the assassin droid's sensor matrix. And none of the present personnel paid any attention to HK.
The droid proceeded to the section indicated by the Mandalorian and occupied a free terminal. While not an astromech, he was equipped with a universal port for connecting to external equipment.
"Query: Search medical facility records. Biometric parameters and DNA trace attached," HK initiated the dialogue with the Archives search system.
The result was found relatively quickly.
There was only one match: Avner Vann, human, biological age unspecified, affiliation—Jedi Order, rank—Knight.
HK copied the data. However, this was not what the Master had sent him for.
"Find anything?" the mercenary asked impatiently.
"Detachedly: The system only contains information on the fake identity registered by Qui-Gon shortly before our visit to the Temple. This is not what is required."
"Quite expected. If what Van told us is true, he was hidden somewhere for a considerable amount of time. Try broadening the search. Disable biometrics, leaving only DNA and fingerprints."
"Sarcastically: Thank you for the pointless observation," HK drawled. "Commentary: The new query is already being processed."
This time, the system took significantly longer to respond. Only three minutes later did HK receive the requested information.
Republic medical droid MD-34B2, registration number N554-785MD from the cargo vessel Prospector, hull number RTVC-8845/79-M, home port Muuunilinst, logged treating abrasions and bruises on an unregistered passenger aged four, whose DNA trace fully matched the query.
A request for the ship's route revealed that the Prospector was in its home port for scheduled maintenance at the time the medical assistance was provided to the unknown individual. This struck the droid as odd. It meant that either someone was brought onto a ship undergoing repairs in a dry dock, or the voyage itself was unregistered. The med-droid's logs clearly stated that assistance was given to a passenger. Not a dock worker, not a crew member, but a passenger.
Upon attempting to cross-check the maintenance dates for the Prospector, the assassin droid discovered that, according to records submitted to the Ministry of Commerce's Transportation Department, the ore freighter Oprichnik, RMVC-8485/79-M, was also undergoing repairs in the same dock. At the exact same time! Both ships were quite large, and it was improbable that both would fit in a single repair dock. Furthermore, the freighter should have completed repairs faster, as it had already been in the dock for nearly a month, and the declared work required at most a week.
HK decided to check the movement logs for these two suspicious ships and found another anomaly. Despite both vessels supposedly being on Muuunilinst, the Oprichnik was recorded by the Judicial Department on a hyperspace route toward the Kessel asteroids. The date of the jump roughly coincided with the date the medical assistance was logged.
The assassin droid concluded that there had been a substitution of registration codes and an identity change, allowing the cargo vessel Prospector to masquerade as the ore freighter Oprichnik. Unfortunately, the Judicial Department did not provide visual logs of the ship's hull, limiting itself only to sensor readings from the sector monitoring station. But even this was enough for HK to confirm his suspicion. According to the readings, the freighter was moving almost three times faster than its maximum speed listed in the specifications. However, such readings were entirely normal average speed for the cargo vessel Prospector.
Thus, someone with the same DNA as the Master was being transported to the Kessel Sector asteroids on a cargo ship from Muuunilinst. This meant that before this, the unknown individual had been on the Muun homeworld.
"Maybe he was born there?" Tira suggested after the droid reported the new information.
"Objection: Improbable," HK offered his opinion. "Clarification: He could have been born anywhere, then transported to Muuunilinst."
"But the search of medical records didn't yield any matches among registered births?" Nomad clarified.
"Confirmation: Affirmative," HK agreed. "Hypothesis: The birth may have occurred outside Republic space."
"Hmm…" The mercenary pondered while HK continued his search. "What about passenger registration?"
"Reminder: According to the medical droid's data, the passenger was unregistered," the assassin droid reminded her.
"Yes, I remember, but he still had to pass through a spaceport, didn't he? Every dock has a biometric scanner, whether it's a passenger terminal or cargo. The Republic likes to pretend it monitors security."
"Observation: Such scanners are easily fooled, which is often exploited by mercenaries and smugglers," HK noted.
"Yes, but traces of interference remain. The Judicial Department ignores this because they can't track the sources of the hack. But we're only interested in the fact of data substitution itself," Tira said, becoming more animated.
HK returned to the terminal and composed a new query. He was interested in the records of people who passed through repair dock SD-344 on the day the Oprichnik departed.
Several matches appeared. Information for four cases looked suspicious. The registration files were damaged, indirectly suggesting data substitution. One record featured a child registered as the Muun Zihra Kadass, which was clearly false. First, Zihra Kadass died a year prior to this incident, as recorded in the Kuat Shipyards Archives, which the Muun was visiting on the day of his death. Second, a four-year-old Muun, according to the documents, should have been a meter taller than the height specified in the biometric scanner logs. However, the parameters were perfectly acceptable for a human child.
And this provided new biometric parameters for the search! So HK did not delay. A match was quickly found, but the file was inexplicably coded
"This information block has been locked by the administration. Please enter the corresponding access code or contact the hall operator," the message from the terminal read.
"Strange," Tira remarked. "Terminals usually don't ask for additional passwords if the user has been granted access to the corresponding sector... unless the information was classified at the request of the Senate or the Jedi Temple."
"Assessment of Possibilities: Both cases are entirely plausible," the droid concluded. "Hypothesis: Access can only be obtained through the hall administrator's account. Blockade is tied to a keycard and a biometric imprint."
HK looked around and noted five employees in custodian uniform. Three humans, a Twi'lek, and a Togruta.
"Hutt…"
The Mandalorian had already guessed what the droid was planning and began hacking the surveillance systems.
"Query: Which custodian has the necessary access level?"
"Just a second," Tira replied, opening the security service database where she had recently input information about Senator Atrik'Na Bochi's protocol droid. "Alright, the administrator is a Togruta named Shila Zann. Yellow skin, blue clan tattoos."
"Confirmation: I see her," the assassin droid immediately responded. "Request: Surveillance at the terminal must be disabled."
"Working on it," Nomad grumbled, returning to the hacking process.
The droid, meanwhile, headed toward the Togruta who perfectly matched the description. He needed to get her to come with him, but in a way that no one would follow, and the custodian would not become suspicious.
HK again adopted the guise of a harmless protocol droid and, clumsily shuffling his legs like a Gizzka with broken limbs, emerged from the aisle between the tall data vault stacks.
"Panicked: Help!" HK-47 shrieked at the top of his vocabulizer, drawing the Togruta's attention. "Worried: The terminal! My Master's holodisk!"
"Oh, spirits! A hysterical protocol droid again," the Togruta grumbled, shaking her head. "Why do they make all of you so emotional?"
"Panicked: Help! Master will dismantle me! He is a Senator!"
The mention of the droid's owner's high status acted like a bucket of cold water on the custodian, instantly snapping her back into a professional demeanor. No one wanted a complaint from the Senate.
"Calm down. What happened?" she asked the scurrying HK.
"Quick Explanation: My holodisk! The one the Master gave me! He tasked me with copying the medical facility statistics for his sector. But when I connected the holodisk, the terminal suddenly issued a system error and blocked the port! The Master will be furious if I return empty-handed."
"Calm down," the Togruta said, adopting the friendliest possible expression. "Which terminal blocked your holodisk?"
"Worried: Come, I'll show you!" HK awkwardly flailed his arms, turning back toward the aisle he had just exited.
The terminal he led the custodian to was covered on three sides by a wall and stacks but was clearly visible by a surveillance camera. However, Tira was supposed to resolve this issue.
When they were about ten steps from the terminal, HK was already preparing to switch to Plan B, but the mercenary did not disappoint.
"Video looped," Nomad reported over the communication channel. "You have about seven minutes before the system starts a diagnostic due to the repeating data stream from one of the cameras."
In the next second, HK-47 took a sharp step back, letting the Togruta pass, and delivered two swift, precise strikes to the nerve clusters at the base of her lekku. Without a sound, the custodian fell face-first, instantly losing consciousness from the shock.
The assassin droid quickly searched the victim and found the required keycard for the administrator's account access. Using the card, and placing the unconscious Togruta's hand on the scanner, HK was able to remove the block from the information he needed. To his disappointment, however, this provided little help. Other than the name of the child born on Muuunilinst, he could find nothing. A holo-photo was attached. The resemblance to the Master was evident even without confirmation from the recognition protocol.
Mizar Marr, that was the boy's name. All data regarding him had been erased by someone. However, the perpetrator failed to account for the fact that a person cannot be completely erased from the Republic registration database. If there is no death certificate, during the annual check and census, a duty droid would attempt to restore the records by requesting information directly from the medical facility and the med-droids who were invariably present at the birth. And the droids, apparently, had their memories forgotten to be wiped. Therefore, a birth certificate was present in the database, though it was filed with irregularities. Specifically, information about the newborn's parents was missing.
HK performed several more cross-searches, trying to find leads. But they all terminated at the Muun homeworld.
"Observation: Data was erased from all archives several years ago, presumably by one of the custodians. They did not have access to copies outside Coruscant. Many traces of interference. The work was performed sloppily, but effectively."
"So, Muuunilinst?" Tira mused after the droid provided her with the new information. "There are a couple of organizations in the lower levels that have closely cooperated with the Muuns on various not-entirely-legal matters for many years. I think we should pay them a courtesy call."
"Confirmation…" the droid began, but was interrupted by the mercenary's exclamation.
"Hutt, a patrol is moving toward you! Ten meters from the west. They'll be at the passage in five seconds."
HK reacted immediately. Combat protocols were at the ready, but a forceful confrontation needed to be avoided. The droid disconnected from the terminal, lifted the unconscious Togruta's body, and threw her onto the terminal, shattering the external panel.
"Panic: Help!" HK-47 shrieked. "Someone! Help! She's ill!"
At that very moment, the guards appeared in the passage.
"What happened here?" one of them demanded menacingly.
"Worried: My holodisk became blocked in a malfunctioning terminal. I asked the custodian for help, but when she approached the terminal, she unexpectedly stumbled and fell onto the console. I think she was shocked, and she lost consciousness!"
A sheaf of sparks, erupting from the exposed wires as if on cue, served as obvious proof of the droid's story. Indeed, why would a harmless protocol droid lie?
"Kriff! Pike, call medics and techs!" one of the guards commanded, kneeling beside the Togruta. "She's breathing, but she took a nasty jolt! A third-degree burn on half her face!"
HK additionally scanned the victim's vitals, analyzing her condition. Craniocerebral trauma from hitting the terminal, extensive hematoma in the occipital region from the droid's attack, electrical shock, and a third-degree burn on the face. Irreversible brain damage was probable. A forty percent probability of a fatal outcome without the intervention of a qualified specialist within the next twenty minutes. Estimated recovery time with medical assistance—from six weeks to a year.
The outcome was entirely acceptable for the execution of the droid's mission. Immediate liquidation of the Togruta was senseless.
Taking advantage of the ensuing commotion, the assassin droid subtly left the scene and exited the Archives building unhindered.
Once in the airspeeder with Nomad, HK first inquired about what the Mandalorian knew concerning organizations that illegally worked with the Muuns. The hunting and information gathering protocol required copying known information to prevent its loss before the mission's completion. Therefore, the droid could not allow the mercenary to keep the data to herself.
"After reflecting on what we managed to find out, I decided we should first check those who had the necessary skills or connections to erase a child's data from the Republic registry," Tira began. "How long ago was this? Ten to fifteen years? If so, the chances are slim. Such specialists rarely live long."
"Observation: Whoever commissioned this operation must have had extensive connections, considerable wealth, and virtually unlimited personnel and technical resources," HK added. "Analysis: Both ships involved in the code substitution and the child's transport were registered to private individuals."
"Smugglers?" Nomad hypothesized.
"Agreement: Quite likely," the droid nodded. "However, according to the Ministry of Commerce data, both ships were frequently hired for irregular voyages by a company called 'MSK,' or 'Muunilinst Synthetic Crystals.' The company acts as a secondary contractor for the Techno Union shipyards and is a subsidiary of 'Dakor Industrial Plants,' which in turn is part of the 'Damask Holdings syndicate."
"What are you driving at?"
"Unnecessary Explanation: Such organizations would not turn to petty criminals but would seek out someone with a reputation who could provide guarantees," HK replied condescendingly.
Nomad pondered. The droid was right, and therefore, the scope of the search was significantly narrowed.
"Of those with the required reputation who have also lasted in that market for more than ten years, I can probably only name Dekker's gang and the Kirshaah clan."
"Query: Details are required. What is known about these meatbags?"
"Dekker is a former Judicial Department Captain. He was dishonorably discharged on corruption charges but maintained useful high-level connections. He founded the transport company Hyperstar and rapidly grew his business. He very soon gained a reputation as someone who can deliver anything anywhere without excessive questions. Smuggling and slave trade were almost openly listed on his price list," Nomad snorted. "The second is the Quarren Kirshaah Slusk. He came to Coruscant about twenty years ago with the remnants of his gang, proudly named a clan. He quickly established himself in the new location under the 'protection' of the Black Sun. However, within a year, he broke free of their influence and began confidently competing in the market for contraband, illegal trade, and various... 'commissions.'"
The Mandalorian directed the airspeeder downward, descending deeper into Coruscant's dark heart.
"I don't know how he paid off the Black Sun, but they leave him alone. Rumor has it he's somehow connected to the Hutts, and his ancestors were involved in criminal circles since the time of The Exchange."
"Remark: The Quarren Loppak Slusk was the head of The Exchange on Telos IV. They might indeed be relatives," the droid noted. "Irritatedly: And overtake that car already before I shoot out its repulsorlifts! We are wasting time. The Master allotted us only one day."
HK never failed the Master. All orders were executed precisely and within the agreed timeframe. Sixteen hours remained of the time allocated by the Master, but the assassin droid was not going to risk lingering.
"I know," Tira grumbled, maneuvering around the slow-moving transport. "Dekker and Slusk are equally likely to be involved. But it's better to start with Dekker. First, unlike Slusk, he's always stuck in his office, so he's easy to find. And second, even if he's not involved, he might at least help us track down the Quarren."
The droid agreed with the mercenary's proposal, and Nomad piloted the speeder toward the Hyperstar company office on level C-44.
"No tricks, HK," Tira warned as they exited the transport and headed for the main entrance of Dekker's building. "We're fairly close to the surface, so law enforcement could reach us quickly."
"Sarcastic Observation: The cunning meatbag," the droid drawled. "Hoping for the assistance of Judicial Department forces. Likes to feel secure. Naive dead thing."
Nomad smirked and nodded, agreeing with the experienced assassin's opinion. As someone who had executed various contracts, including capture or elimination of targets, she perfectly understood that security was an illusion. And for a professional, guards were not an obstacle. Just a minor, unpleasant detail, nothing more.
The entrance to the building, with its giant, gaudy, glowing "Hyperstar" sign, was guarded by two heavily armed Duros. Military-grade automatic carbines could pose problems even for the assassin droid's durable armor plating.
HK noted once again that the local fighters apparently considered themselves immortal, for they displayed a remarkable disregard for personal protective equipment. Only one of the two guards had a personal energy shield clipped to his belt. This was likely intended to compensate, somehow, for the lack of body armor. One could hardly count a fabric shirt and a Rancor-hide vest as protection. The second fighter seemed to be relying on dura-plastic armor, forgetting that filimentary armor undersuits were required beneath it to cover the very wide gaps between the plates of the defensive set. If HK had such a target, he would dispatch the security in less than a second and a half. They wouldn't even have time to peep.
However, the mercenary insisted on attempting a peaceful dialogue, arguing that she might still need to work with this meatbag. The droid was unconvinced. Who knew how things might turn out?
"Nomad, here to see Dekker," Tira stated confidently to the guards.
One of the fighters reached for his commlink and relayed the Mandalorian's message to his superior. A few seconds later, the answer came. The local "Boss" agreed to receive Nomad.
"Go ahead, but deposit your weapons at the post in the lobby," the Duros spoke gruffly.
"What, did Dekker soil his trousers over a single Mandalorian?" Tira inquired mockingly.
"I don't know. It's not my concern. An order is an order," the guard shrugged and turned to his partner. "Rulo, escort them."
"Uh-huh," the second fighter grumbled and, hand resting on his blaster, nodded toward the entrance, inviting the "guests" to proceed inside.
Nomad snorted but complied. This outcome was expected, and thus HK-47 maintained the appearance of a harmless, idiotic protocol droid. Essentially a Kinrath puppy; blow on him, and he'll curl into a ball. At least, that's what the guards concluded. After all, they didn't even check the droid for weapons.
"They've gotten completely complacent on Coruscant," Tira thought, surrendering her blasters, knives, and a set of mini-grenades along with her utility pouch.
After the disarmament procedure, Nomad and HK were escorted to the lift. Dekker's office was located on one of the upper floors of the not-so-tall building.
The company owner, as HK noted upon exiting the lift, did not skimp on security. A thin man, appearing to be in his thirties or forties, with paper-white skin and wheat-colored hair, sat at a desk at the far end of the room, separated from the lift by a transparisteel barrier that looked more like a starship's viewing screen, hastily ripped from some destroyer and jammed at an acute angle into the cramped room with a low ceiling. Two rapid-fire turrets hung from the ceiling, and the desk, according to sensors, was equipped with a deflector barrier, which was currently deactivated. Four security droids were positioned in the corners of the room, and two more guards, noticeably better equipped than their colleagues downstairs, stood behind Dekker. Humans, HK noted.
"Oh, what distinguished guests in my humble abode!" The office owner, dressed in an expensive suit with gold-trimmed lapels and a slanted collar, rose from his seat and greeted the mercenary warmly. "Tira Nomad herself has graced me with her presence."
Though his words and demeanor carried no threat, HK calculated that Dekker's reaction was feigned, and he was, in fact, nervous in the Mandalorian's presence. His rapid pulse and the fine beads of sweat visible on the man's temples clearly attested to this.
"Dekker," Nomad nodded in greeting and, walking around the transparisteel screen, stood opposite the desk.
HK silently followed the mercenary.
The guards reacted to this maneuver, tensing up and gripping their weapons tighter.
"You haven't stopped by in a long time," the office owner continued to smile. "Would you care for a caf? A glass of brandy? Or perhaps you'll finally agree to indulge in a Trigallian massage? I am perfectly proficient in their twelve-finger technique."
"And where do you get the extra two fingers?" Tira smirked, playing along with the strange conversation.
"A secret," the man winked.
HK noted that one of Dekker's eyes was artificial and a different color.
"Let's save your sick fantasies for later, alright?" the mercenary shook her head, leaning her hands on the desktop. "I'm here on business."
"As if it could be otherwise?" Dekker's smile vanished. "You never visit me for anything else."
"I need information about certain services that were rendered to the Muuns about ten years ago," Nomad stated directly.
The office owner raised an eyebrow.
"Ten years ago? And involving the Muuns?" he asked, surprised. "Why do you need that.
"My business doesn't concern you," the mercenary cut him off. "I need the information, and I'm ready to pay for it."
The man squinted.
"You or your employer?"
"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?"
"That may be, but you definitely have an employer."
"What difference does it make to you?" Nomad began to grow irritated.
"Essentially none, but I have a rather close relationship with the Muuns. Regular contracts, partnerships in related industries. Such prospects," Dekker began to enumerate. "So their secrets might also be my secrets. And that comes with completely different rates. Plus, who can guarantee that this employer of yours won't suddenly decide to eliminate my partners?"
Nomad was about to say something, but the assassin droid interrupted the conversation.
"Helpful Remark: In your position, you should be more concerned that the mysterious employer does not decide to burn this den to the ground along with its occupants," HK stated in a pedagogical tone.
Dekker shot a sidelong glance at the droid and sneered.
"A funny little dummy," the man scoffed. "Is he threatening me?"
"More like warning," Nomad replied, slightly displeased by HK's intervention. "But you'd be wise to listen to him."
The office owner wearily leaned back in his chair and shook his head with mock distress.
"Where is this galaxy heading?" he moaned in a feigned mournful voice. "Old friends come to my house and threaten me with execution."
The security droids moved closer to the desk, weapons ready. The fighters behind Dekker smirked and began to raise their rifles.
However, HK and Nomad were faster. The assassin droid swiftly retrieved a pair of blasters from a hidden compartment and tossed one to the mercenary. Two shots rang out simultaneously, and both bodyguards fell with holes in their heads. It all happened in a fraction of a second, and now the security droids froze in place because the barrel of a hand-blaster was pressed against their boss's forehead, and the protocol droid standing beside him was clenching a grenade in its manipulator, in addition to its firearm.
"Instructive: Now then, my dimwitted pseudo-brethren, this small sphere is none other than a military-grade M-3 thermal detonator with a guaranteed thermal destruction radius of 75 meters," HK-47 announced loudly. "Recommendation: Drop your weapons and move to the far corner of the room. Your safety protocols will, in any case, prevent you from opening fire while your master is threatened."
The security droids obediently dropped their blasters to the floor and huddled in the corner.
"Joyful: Excellent, good bags of bolts," HK said in a satisfied tone, tossing the grenade toward the droids.
"Nooo!" Dekker screamed, realizing that the entire small room was within the blast radius.
However, instead of a lethal thermal explosion, the grenade emitted an electromagnetic wave and a chain of ion discharges, instantly frying the mechanical guards' electronics.
"Contemptuous: A waste of metal and circuits," HK scoffed. "They can't even distinguish a thermal detonator from an ion grenade. Hey, meatbag, where did you acquire these imbeciles? At a junk sale in a Banthas' backside?"
"N-n-not a det-tona-tor?" Dekker stammered, scrambling out from under the desk where he had managed to dive.
"Mocking: N-no," the assassin droid mimicked the man.
The man sighed in relief.
"Clarification: This one, however, is," HK demonstrated a new sphere on the open palm of his manipulator. "Warning: It has a short fuse. You have only ten seconds to answer, meatbag."
Nomad saw no need to clarify that they, too, were in the blast zone. Ultimately, the goal was to intimidate Dekker, and HK's improvisation was perfectly achieving this.
"You'd better answer, friend," Tira suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. "This droid has been missing a few screws for a long time."
Dekker's gaze darted from the droid to the grenade, then to the mercenary, reflecting the sheer terror the cowardly former smuggler was experiencing.
HK, meanwhile, activated the detonator.
The sound of the countdown further agitated the man.
"Fine, fine! I'll talk! What do you want?!" Dekker yelled.
"About ten years ago, the Muuns transported a boy named Mizar Marr from Muuunilinst to Kessel. During this, someone swapped the registration numbers of the ore freighter Oprichnik and the transport vessel Prospector, and the information about the boy was completely erased from the Republic Archives. Do you recall?"
"What? An ore freighter? A boy?" the office owner feigned incomprehension and tried to reach for a panic button under the desk that would activate the turrets and summon a duty squad of fighters.
However, HK preempted the attempt with a powerful strike to the man's hand. The bone clearly audibly snapped, and the man screamed in pain as Nomad pulled his chair away from the desk.
"Commentary: I'll be taking this," HK-47 announced, ripping the panic button panel completely out of the desktop.
"I'll shoot your knees out right now!" Tira snarled, pressing the barrel of her blaster into Dekker's leg. "And then I'll use the heated barrel to burn out your remaining lying eye! Talk!"
"I don't remember! Ten years!" the former smuggler bleated.
The mercenary shot the interrogated man in the knee, eliciting a new shriek. The heated barrel hissed as it was pressed into the skin of his face, directly under his healthy eye.
"Am I going to have to kriffing repeat the question?!"
HK, observing the information extraction process from a safe distance, while monitoring for possible threats and reinforcement approaches, noted that he definitely appreciated the mercenary's approach.
"It wasn't me!" the man cried. "I only sourced the access codes to the Archives!"
"Mocking: Well look at that, he remembers!" HK commented on Dekker's sudden revelations.
"Who was the client?" Nomad barked, pressing the barrel this time into the former smuggler's groin.
"Don't shoot! I'll tell you everything! Everything I know!" the still-male shrieked hysterically.
"Talk!" Tira pushed.
"I… I s-sold them the codes! And explained what to do so they could handle it themselves."
"Who?"
"I don't know who the client was! I was contacted by a broker!"
"Who?"
"A Trandoshan! Grizz!"
"Grizz?" the mercenary repeated. "Grizz Zahra?"
"Yes!"
Nomad turned to HK.
"Query: Do you know him?"
"A Bounty Hunter. Frequently works for the Kirshaah clan," the Mandalorian replied.
"Mocking: Small galaxy, isn't it."
"Indeed," the mercenary nodded.
"That's everything… everything I know," Dekker groaned, cradling his broken arm and whimpering in pain.
"If you lied, we'll be back," Nomad threatened, distastefully pushing the wounded man away. "Let's go."
"Acknowledged," HK nodded and moved toward the lift.
For good measure, Tira treated Dekker to a heavy boot to the face, sending the man into blissful unconsciousness.
"Warning: There may be trouble waiting downstairs," HK reported, entering the lift car.
"Doubtful," Nomad shook her head. "That mudscupper had excellent soundproofing."
Indeed, no one stopped the Mandalorian and the droid on the way out. The guards meekly returned the mercenary's weapons and released the pair from the building.
Just as he was getting into the speeder, HK suddenly froze and turned his head toward the Hyperstar building.
"What is it?" Tira asked, her hand dropping to her blaster.
"Explanation: The sensor I left with that meatbag, just in case, registered an outgoing signal from his office."
"Decided to warn Grizz? Kriff… the Kirshaah will be waiting for us."
"With Anticipation: They will not," HK said, activating the remote detonation of the thermal detonator.
The monstrous explosion that erupted a moment later completely obliterated the upper floors of the building, and the shockwave damaged the structural integrity of the lower floors.
"Surprised: Hmm, the detonator marking was erroneous; this is an M-5, not an M-3," the droid noted with poorly concealed amusement in his voice.
"You really are insane," Nomad smirked, watching the Hyperstar building buckle and collapse.
"Explanation: Fewer witnesses means fewer problems for an assassin droid masquerading as a common servant."
Tira nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging the droid's logic.
"Now, time to visit the Kirshaah?"
"Confirmation: Affirmative."
The mercenary lifted the speeder into the air.
"Say, psycho, do you have any more of those toys left?"
"Affirmative: Nine units."
"May the ancestors protect us…"
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