(That's right: yet again I forgot to switch accounts. This is Jarvis Ragnar)

Abek's Station, Sisar Run

Two Rendili StarDrive Light Corvettes, one Marauder-class Corvette, and one CR90 Corellian Corvette exited hyperspace at the sight of their recent loss. There were no warnings issued, there were no demands made; they just started shooting. No distinction was made between random passerby, Hutt servants, or Abek's workers.

Ships were crippled or destroyed seemingly at random. A few volleys from the Marauder brought down the station's meager defenses and then pairs of shuttles began launching from the assaulting vessels. As the shuttles disgorged teams of raiders, the corvettes fanned out to chase down fleeing vessels or board those already disabled. The few starfighters the assailants seemed to have were unchallenged, and chased those freighters and transports that were beyond the range of the corvettes.

Nim Abek was found holed up in his quarters with dozens of guards. One of the Light Corvettes burned off the lower deck of the station, killing them all instantly. The assault teams pushed the station's inhabitants into confined spaces on the edge of the station, where the ships outside were able to deal precision strikes that exposed them to hard vacuum while preserving the station's structural integrity.

The shadowport was stripped of every accessible component, from shield generators to cargo loaders. Loaded onto newly captured transports and tugs, the materials were ready to be shipped off to destinations unknown. As the quartet of corvettes formed up and recalled their fighters, one final volley of laser fire tore the station apart, reducing it to so much wreckage.

A single object was jettisoned from one of the Light Corvettes, and then the small formation and their new loot jumped into hyperspace.

Floating amongst the wreckage of Abek's Station and its former clients, the single signal beacon drifted idly, transmitting its short text message throughout nearby space:

“This is the face of Vengeance.”





One day earlier

“I need to make myself abundantly clear to you all:

“Your lives no longer hold value except in the extent to which they can do harm to my enemies. I will not hesitate to sacrifice you if doing so causes more damage to my foe than your continued existence could. Make sure that I have reason to keep you alive.

“Our goal is singular and simple: to kill, as many of those who would see us dead as possible. I don't care about infrastructure; I don't care about ships; I don't care about wealth or power. All I want to do is bleed them dry. They have left me with nothing but vengeance, and I will heap upon them that one thing which they could not take from us.

“I have considered my options carefully. I am content with the fact that this quest will inevitably lead to my death, but I have been torn as to how long I should try to fight in it. I could begin planning today for an endeavor that would guarantee our deaths, and in doing so strike at the heart of the Hutt Empire, but that's not my goal. I want to shed blood . . . as much as possible.

“And so I will preserve The Wandering Ones for as long as possible, that we may continue to take lives in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. I once dared to believe myself invincible; this is no longer the case. So, to increase the survivability of this organization for as long as possible, the leadership of The Wandering Ones will never again meet collectively. If I am to die, I expect you all to continue to carry out my will, as I will continue to do should you fall.

“Go now; we have fallen friends to avenge.”




Three hours after the destruction of Abek's Station

“Jump.”

This is ridiculous. They had just jumped . . . away from their new destination.

They emerged four seconds later at the exact same point from which they had departed from the attack on Abek's Station. Seven Hutt vessels had arrived in the three hours Jarvis and his men had been gone.

“Don't be shy, boys. Hit 'em with everything we've got! Burn 'em down!”

“Burn 'em down” was apparently Jarvis' official authorization for the use of ordnance. They hammered relentlessly on the Hutt vessels, focusing their attention on the three corvettes and one frigate which made up the majority of their target's combat capacity. Caught off guard, one of the corvettes took severe damage from the initial salvo before it was able to activate its shields.

“Focus fire on the frigate and bring us in for a strafing run,” Captain Lejo ordered. “Prep ventral launchers.”

“Captain Eronos is offering support fire, sir.”

The Twi'lek captain nodded at his comm officer. “Send Kaana our thanks, and then burn that Huttslime to hell.” The nearest of the two Rendili corvettes turned the full force of its weapons against the target frigate, drawing its attention as the Corellian Corvette made its strafing run, diving to a dangerously close range.

Enemy starfighters streaked by, hammering at the CR90's shields. “Hold course,” Lejo ordered, silently cursing the enemy fighter screens. “Now!”

The corvette's small ventral bay opened and launched a short string of proton bombs, most of which hit their target, engulfing the forward section. Its engines fell silent and the vessel drifted unpowered, dead.

But the enemy fighters were everywhere, and they were taking their toll on the vessel's shields. “Get them off of us!” The Twi'lek yelled, slamming the comm activator on his chair. “We could use some help over here!”

“Make for hostile three,” Jarvis' voice came coldly, drawing a mutinous rage from the Twi'lek captain. He's just going to let us die?

“Boss! We need―”

“Our assault freighters will render assistance,” The Ryn leader added, cutting off the Twi'lek captain. Lejo breathed a sigh of relief as the sensor operator nodded to confirm the freighters were on approach.

He cut the line and nodded back to the sensor station. “Take us in,” He said hesitantly, and the corvette turned slightly starboard, bringing the enemy target into view. A trio of freighters flashed by, streams of light stretching out to deter and eventually destroy the pervasive fighter swarm.

A bright flash of light appeared on the edge of the viewport, where the force's Marauder corvette had just scored a devastating hit on its target with proton torpedoes.

“Sir, it's the Boss,” Comm reported. “He wants us to make a run on target three, and then swing outward and hit those lighter targets. Apparently they've caught on to the fact that we're winning, and are running for their lives.”

“Alright. Let's make it happen.”

“He wants them intact,” Comm added.

The ship shook violently from an unexpected impact. What the . . .

“Concussion missiles!” The tactical officer shouted, working frantically to distribute new targeting data to the corvette's gunners.

Lejo slammed the comm override on his command chair. “Boss, we need these fighters off us, now!”

“I've got nothing left to send, Lejo. Stay on target and do the best you can.”

The Twi'lek drew a breath to start complaining about the concussion missiles, then flipped the comm off as he realized it was pointless.





Jarvis stared at the array of viewscreens, trying to read each face in turn. “Say what you have to say.”

“We need fighters,” Lejo said firmly. “My ship got tore apart out there; I don't want to run into a squadron that knows what it's doing, or we're going to get slaughtered.”

“We still need a base of operations,” The human sitting next to Jarvis turned and said.

“I don't have a job,” The diminutive Squib piped up, scratching her cheek nervously.

“I want blood,” The Barabel demanded angrily.

Jarvis nodded, considering his options. He began shaking his head. “I don't have the time to waste trying to find a reliable place to get fighters or pilots. We're going to have to make do with freighters. They worked out alright at the last hit, we just didn't have enough. If we do it right, we should be fine.”

“Where are we going to get freighters from?” Lejo asked.

Jarvis just laughed. “Look around: where do you think we are? Why do you think we're in the middle of Hutt Space? It's not for the picnics.

“We can't afford a base of operations,” He continued, turning to the human. “We'll string the captured transports together with docking bridges for now. We can't allow ourselves to become stationary.”

He looked at the persistently-angry Barabel. “Sheish, I've got some work planned for you, don't worry. I want you to find a Klatooinian named Hojim on my ship. Make it abundantly clear to him that you're in charge, and then I want the two of you to put together a strike team of about forty. Plan for another twenty or so noncoms to go with you. Take whatever weapons you need.” The Barabel hissed excitedly, barring her teeth.

He pointed to the blue Squib. “Slippy, put together a full inventory of everything we have. Start with ship components and the stuff in the cargo bays, but I want lists of everything eventually. I need you to figure out how we can patch our ships up and keep them supplied. Congratulations, you're now head of logistics.”

The Squib smiled broadly, but Jarvis was done with her. “I understand some of the crew has been concerned about our identification. They apparently would like me to rig up some decent counterfeit transponders to help shield our identity. I want you all to make it perfectly clear to your crews that I'm not dropping data pods at our hits for fun. I want them to know who is doing this to them. I prefer my enemies to have faces on their fears.” He smiled crookedly.

“They're right, though: we need transponder changes. From now on my ship will take its rightful name: The Wandering One; I expect you all to rename your vessels in accordance with our newfound purpose.

“Our priority for the moment is in making repairs and assembling the strike team, so let's get to it. We've got a mission in two days; be ready by then. That's all for now.”

It was time to set The Wandering Ones on track. It was time to make the Hutts hurt. It was time to give “the face of Vengeance” true meaning.

The planet Vontor loomed ahead. The three ships were approaching with their transponders deactivated, a practice commonplace for vessels throughout Hutt Space. They came in with their shields powered down and their weapons off-line, dropping into high orbit without checking for a planetary traffic control. A mismatched handful of freighters and transports launched from the vessels, following one another into the planet below.

They landed on the dusty outskirts of a rotting settlement, what looked like successive layers of prefab temporary housing units that had been in use for entirely too long, growing increasingly ancient as one neared the city's center. Access hatches and offloading ramps opened randomly, and a few individuals stepped out of each craft, the small groups of beings roaming into the town, leaving their vessels open.

Once everyone had passed out of sight of the landing craft, lines of smoke shot out from the opened hatches, striking nearby buildings which immediately burst into flame. The shuttles disgorged dozens of well-armed beings who quickly spread throughout the nearby area, firing into windows and blasting locals.

The shuttles lifted off immediately, and their former occupants quickly dispersed, fading into the growing chaos. More explosions sounded as the first teams made themselves known, throwing assorted explosives into buildings and groundcars.

The attackers soon found cover, hiding in structures or running down narrow alleyways. But the fighting didn't stop.

The Hutt-controlled outlaw settlement was up in arms, its grim and rugged inhabitants instinctively attacking anyone they perceived as a threat, which only painted them as targets to others who were equally disoriented. Many who ran for their ships were perceived as attackers trying to flee, and shot down as they crossed the open field between the dense city and the landing area beyond.

They were killing each other.

Meanwhile, the true attackers hunkered down, content to wait out the chaos they had initiated.

But what were peons killing one another to a Hutt, really . . .

Seventy kilometers away, the stone fortress of Raddi the Hutt had erupted into another kind of chaos. The Hutt ruler's ragtag band of guards and enforcers were trying to get themselves into good enough shape to run out and reinforce order in the nearby outlaw town.

They departed in one large drove, riding skiffs and open-air speeders mounted with repeating blasters and high-power slugthrowers. As they crossed the wasteland between the Hutt fortress and the decaying slavers' hole, a CR90 corvette appeared from behind a nearby ridge, its turbolasers disintegrating the unshielded and lightly armored craft in only seconds, turning their inhabitants to vapor.

The Shattered Soul turned to approach the monolithic Hutt construct, and the vessel's crew watched silently as beams of coherent energy tore through the atmosphere from above, rending the stone complex asunder and sending clouds of dust, rock, and molten slag flying into the air. The bombardment ceased as the corvette approached, and Jarvis gave the command to land. The Barabel Sheish charged from the opened docking bay, heading up the column of fifty “troops,” plaited in assorted forms of makeshift armor and carrying the heaviest personal weapons The Wandering Ones possessed.

They were followed by teams of pilots, technicians, and engineers, who were present to rob the Hutt of his valuable equipment. But lastly, Jarvis Ragnar and a trio of individuals stepped from the vessel, walking calmly into the remnants of the still-glowing stone fortress.

The heart of the complex had been reinforced with heavy durasteel plates, more than sufficient to withstand the brief bombardment from the ships in orbit. A heavy blast door had been torn out of the wall, and a few bodies lay beyond. The Ryn leader stepped onto and then over the massive door, leading his followers down the broad, tall, forcibly abandoned hallways.

They wound leisurely through the hardened complex, giving their assault team adequate time to clear the complex ahead of them, eventually crossing into narrower, human-sized passages. They soon gave way to the massive Hutt-accommodating corridors, however, and finally Jarvis found what he was looking for. One of the team members moved forward and plugged his datapad into the access panel, tapping away at the screen while the other two took up positions to defend against potential Hutt henchmen wandering the halls.

Finally the door began sliding open and Jarvis tossed a pair of grenades through the widening crack. He stepped into the smoldering room to find himself face-to-face with a massive, bellowing Hutt. The faint shimmer of an energy shield could be seen around his hoversled, and the four bodyguards inside it had their weapons pointed directly at the Ryn intruder.

Jarvis flashed a challenging smile. He withdrew two objects from beneath his jacket, one ubiquitous throughout the galaxy and the other utterly unidentifiable. He armed the thermal detonator and then strapped it to the other device. The Hutt was still laughing; he roared something in his native language, and Jarvis chuckled, shaking his head. “Bye now.”

He flipped the activator and hurled the device at the Hutt, a brief flash of light sufficient for him to dive back through the massive doorway and around a corner. As the ionically-encased thermal detonator passed through the Hutt's overly expensive but underly effective personal defense shield, one last roar was heard echoing through the corridors of the shattered and overrun base.

Jarvis and his men were running for their lives. The thermal detonator's blast radius vaporized the center of the complex, collapsing the ceiling in at the center and crushing surrounding areas. As the dust began to settle, Jarvis and his team came to a stop and turned back to survey the wreckage that had nearly become their tomb: they had made it.

Twenty minutes later Jarvis was once more stepping over the felled blast door, over a dozen freighters belonging to the Hutt crimelord rising behind him. He paused to withdraw a short metal rod from his jacket, grabbing it at one end and twisting his wrist quickly. It doubled and then tripled in length, and Jarvis stabbed it into the stone floor, into which small spikes deployed, anchoring the staff in place. He withdrew a round disk from a pocket and inserted it on a slit at the top of the staff.

Walking away, the device activated and the disk projected a small hologram above itself. The blue glow was accented by black letters, which read plainly: “This is the face of Vengeance.”

He tapped his ear to silence the incessant beeping. “Go.”

“Team two is clear, Sir. Cargo is in hand.”

“Vape it.”

Streams of light poured from the sky in the distance, and the prefab nexus of slavery and spice smuggling was turned into so much dust.

That'll get somebody's attention.





The Cargo Empress-class super freighter was threatening to fall apart under the strain of so many warm bodies within it. Ships came and went, taking on their fare share of the former slaves, but to no apparent effect. Three or four dead bodies had already been found, and there was no telling how many others didn't make it.

This was only one of several slave ships that had been seized with live cargo on board. Fortunately, none of the others were carrying such densely packed cargo.

“I've got that list you wanted, Boss.”

Jarvis turned his stare down and to the side, meeting the Squib's gaze before taking the datapad she was holding out to him. “Yeah? Well you get to do it all over again. I need these new ships and their supplies cataloged.”

The Squib looked nervous. “We aren't gonna . . . keep . . . any of those people are we?”

Jarvis had turned back to the small viewport. “Only the ones who want to hurt their former masters as much as we do.”

Slippy stepped next to the bulkhead and pulled herself up by the viewport's rim, putting her feet on a small protrusion running the length of the wall. She stared out at the slave ship for a long moment, before finally losing her balance and falling flat on her back. “What are you gonna do with them?” She asked, shamelessly climbing back onto her previous perch.

“We could always vent them into space,” He said in the same dull, emotionless tone that his voice had come to inhabit. Even when he shouted orders . . .

“We could send them out on some of the worse-off ships,” Slippy suggested, nearly falling again.

“A Squib giving up good salvage,” He asked, casting her a dubious look.

“Even Squibs have their limit, Boss.”

“But my crew doesn't,” He countered immediately. He turned and walked away, leaving Slippy stuck, unable to get down comfortably and unable to hold on much longer. “We'll give them some of the worse-off ships and send them on their way. They can take our wounded with them.”

Slippy grinned happily, then lost her balance and fell again.





The cantina air smelled of sweat and vomit, even in the secluded back room at which a dozen or so individuals sat. Lejo felt right at home.

The human across the table drew his blaster in one swift motion, resting it on the table and pointing it straight at the Twi'lek. “I've got a better idea: hows about I vape you now and claim the . . . half-dozen bounties on your head?”

Lejo smiled maliciously, flashing his pointed teeth. He brought his own hand up from beneath the table, a loud thud sounding as something in his hand hit the duraplast table top. “I am prepared to die for my goals. Are you?” A quiet beeping issued from his hand, and Lejo shifted his grip enough for the human to see the grenade.

“Don't!” Lejo shouted, pounding the small bomb on the table for emphasis, “move!”

The various smugglers and pirates froze where they were, half-standing from their attempt to flee.

“You all have to choose one of two options, and you will make this choice together. I'm here to offer you all sanctuary, from the wrath of The Wandering Ones. All you have to do is deliver some . . . cargo for us.”

“What sort of cargo?” One of them demanded.

Lejo twisted his wrist and brought the grenade fully into view, moving his thumb to the very edge of the dead-man's switch. “The kind that's none of your business.”

“And our other option?” The human asked, his blaster still trained on Lejo.

“We all get scraped off the walls.” He began moving his thumb in small, concentric circles, rubbing the switch idly. “Do this one thing for us, and go about your lives. We have no interest in you; we have bigger Hutts to fry.”

Lejo abruptly stood to his feet, disarming the grenade and sliding it into a pocked as he walked to the back door. “We'll be in touch.”





Kaana Eronos' blue skin shown darkly in the dim light. The small lamp on the nearby table cast an elongated arc of bright light, in which the face of a hunched human and his two hands could be seen clearly.

“This stuff's good. High quality. Where'd you get it?”

“Don't ask. I don't like lying to you.”

The Corellian nodded, standing upright. “I never pictured you a spice smuggler, Kaana.”

“Can you move it or not?”

The Corellian man nodded. “How are we working out this trade?”

“I need you to have some . . . special cargo delivered for me.”

“Where to?”

“All around.”

“No questions asked?”

“Never.”

The Corellian looked back at the pile of spice on the table, considering how much more was in nearby cargo pods. He finally nodded. “I can arrange it.”

The Duros turned and walked out of the dim meeting room. “We'll be in touch.”





Zyras Lunewell was convinced that he had been assigned as captain of The Wandering One for one of two reasons. Either he really was as unbelievably awesome as he thought, or Jarvis Ragnar wanted to keep an eye on him. Of course the latter of the two options held a number of possible meanings in and of itself, but he'd have time to ponder that later. Right now, he had to get to business.

“That blaster wouldn't be pointed at me would it, old friend?”

The human behind him spoke with a tone of amusement and sarcasm. “You can't really expect me to pass up a chance like this, can you? I could bring you to the Hutts in a tube of scorched biomatter and they'd pay up.”

“It's hard to take anything anywhere, when you've been exploded.” Zyras turned around slowly and pulled his jacket open, revealing the strips of explosives coating its inside. “I live to kill. I die to do the same.”

“What are you doing here, Zyras?”

The human smirked, straightening his jacket as the other man lowered his blaster. “I sure hope you haven't told anyone I'm here, or I'm here to blow myself up and take you with me.”

The other man laughed at the comment, but Zyras could see right through him, straight into his terrified soul. He just held the smirk and kept his stare fixed on the smuggler.

“Flint,” The man barked, pulling at the commlink clipped to his collar. “Flint!”

“Yeah boss?”

“Don't call Burga.”

“What?”

“The Hutt! The giant worm! Don't call him.”

“Uhh, okay boss. You sure?”

“Don't!”

Zyras walked leisurely over and patted the other man on the shoulder, flashing an unnaturally friendly smile. “How close can you get a cargo canister to Burga the Hutt?”





There was one integral component to the whole endeavor. A single exchange that would turn this ugly puzzle into a true masterpiece. Jarvis Ragnar was intent upon seizing it.

“That's a hefty order,” The fellow Ryn remarked, looking over the datapad one more time. “Seriously, hefty.”

“You have four days,” Jarvis declared.

The would-be supplier turned disbelievingly to Jarvis. “You know, if I wasn't sure that you would pull out a bomb, or a grenade, or some kind of atmosphere-igniting magic button, I would shoot you in the face right now and turn your corpse over to the Hutts. That being said: there's no way I can get this stuff to you in four days from outside Hutt Space.”

“I don't care where it comes from,” Jarvis commented, pacing over to a small crate and pulling off its lid.

“What?”

“I'm in this for the blood-letting,” Jarvis expounded, pulling out the homemade explosive and showing it to the fellow Ryn. “I'll do business with the Hutts day and night, if it helps me kill them.” He pulled back the corner of his jacket and tapped the small datapad hidden there.

"You really are insane, you know?" The Ryn contact said, taking a closer look at the bomb. “What, you rigged the whole warehouse to blow?”

“And the docking bay your ship landed in,” Jarvis confirmed.

“How am I supposed to move this stuff? You stole it from Hutts.”

Jarvis shrugged. “You'll figure it out. I have faith in you.”

“Four days?”

Jarvis nodded, repacking the bomb.

“I'll see you then. Have my payment ready.”

As Jarvis walked away from the clandestine meeting, his mind returned to the two words which had undeniably led to the development of this plan:

Everything Burns.

Local space was littered with debris: clouds of vaporized metal interspersed with the burnt out hulks of less-successful predecessors. The small automated station showed signs of damage as well, and coupled with the pervasively run-down look of all Hutt equipment, one might think it nothing more than some kind of abandoned sensor array at first glance.

But Jarvis knew better.

“We're running out of time boys,” He spoke into his commlink. “Hurry up.”

“Almost there boss,” A voice responded.

“Timer's at two minutes, thirteen seconds. Don't let me down.”

“Got it! We're on our way out. One last present to set.”

Two minutes later, a small shuttle launched from the Hutt-controlled hyperwave transceiver. It docked between The Wandering One's forward prongs, and the team of three Lasat and two humans emerged onto the deck of the larger vessel.

The small force of corvettes and freighters jumped to hyperspace, their course set.





Nar Shaddaa, Corellian Sector Spaceport

The six cubic crates had been sitting in the corner of Docking bay 47 for less than thirty minutes, though the ship that had left them was long gone and no one had yet come to claim them. The only reason they hadn't been carried off yet was because of the unusually decent security in that particular section of the spaceport. Still, a few more minutes and that group of Rodians in the corner would surely find themselves unable to resist the opportunity before them . . .

They wouldn't get the chance, however. The center of the Corellian Sector Spaceport on the Smuggler's Moon vanished in a flash of light and a roar of ominous rage. The Rodian would-be thieves, the hard-faced security guards, the neighboring starships, and an untold number of outlaws and Hutt servants were reduced to vapor as the tons of concealed explosives detonated in unison.

Waves of superheated dust rolled through the connecting corridors and passages, flowing outward and into the streets and alleys beyond, boiling alive the wretched denizens in its path.

Hutt Pacification Group Gore, holding orbit over Klatooine

The Klatooinians had been stirring up trouble again, and the local Hutt crimelord decided it was time to put them back in line. And so he had found himself on the expanded bridge of his flagship, the run-down Dreadnaught Gore, orbiting the stinking little world. A few craters marked the first volley of turbolasers from the Hutt boss's formation of ships, but the Klatooinians were still holding out. He was going to have to do something about that.

Unfortunately for him, a Ryn named Jarvis Ragnar had other plans. The three canisters of starfighter fuel still sitting in the docking bay would see them fulfilled. The proton bomb-equivalent explosion released from each of them was more than sufficient to tear through the unprotected center of the aged craft, overloading power relays and generating secondary explosions which chained through the interior of the vessel, tearing it apart from the inside out.

Three other vessels in the formation suffered similar fates, whereas several more suffered less substantial damage. Crates, canisters, and cargo pods marked as everything from blaster cartridges to hyperdrive parts had detonated in unison, killing thousands and wounding many more. It was safe to assume that the Hutt pacification of Toydaria was on hold.

Nar Kreeta, Grand Chamber of Burga the Hutt

Several months ago, that filthy Ryn and his retarded companions had killed Burga's brother, Kerlin, and in doing so had drawn the wrath of the kajidic. And so it was that Burga now sat upon his dead brother's throne, where he would oversee the fall of The Wandering Ones and the avenging of his family.

Or so he thought.

Unfortunately for Burga and his attendants, the large cargo pod being brought in through the back entrance wasn't carrying the new blasters they were supposed to be getting. Unfortunately, the timer inside that cargo pod had just struck zero.

The shock wave disintegrated the wall separating Burga's new throne from the work area behind it, and the fireball melted off the skin of his back. He could feel his tail shrinking as it was carbonized from the tip forward, the skin peeling off of his back, and the massive Hutt collapsed to the ground, writhing in untold agony. His subjects had been swept away, their weak bodies vaporized and turned to ash.

But not Burga.

Not the Hutt.

He would survive this attempted assassination, maimed and scorched. His end had not yet come.





A new countdown appeared on the main viewscreen. The comm officer turned to Jarvis, smiling broadly. “Want to see it, boss?”

Jarvis nodded, and the small holoprojector sprang to life. His own face stared back at him, as calm and impassive as ever. “This is the face of Vengeance,” The face said, blinking once and taking a shallow breath as it finished. “This is the face of Vengeance,” It said again, the same bile and venom coating every word, the face blinking and breathing again. “This is the face of Vengeance.”

“It'll run until someone breaks that transceiver,” The human next to him said, smirking. “The automated repeaters on the other transceivers in the region are propagating the message as we had hoped, but that'll end soon, once the Hutts figure out what's going on.”

Jarvis nodded again, content that his Lasat friends had rigged the transceiver with enough traps and explosives to make salvaging the station into a bloody and horrific ordeal. “Jump at zero.”

They sat in near-total silence for over an hour, waiting for their true target to ripen. Finally, the clock struck zero, and the formation jumped once again into hyperspace.

It emerged less than a minute later into a maelstrom of chaos and fear. More than two dozen independent attacks, all bombings, all within Hutt Space, all occurring at precisely the same time had yielded this perfect scene. The Wandering Ones had stripped down every explosive device they could get their hands on, from fragmentation grenades to proton bombs. The fifteen Lasat rescued from one of the Hutt slave ships had volunteered their services, constructing additional bombs from unorthodox combinations of rather commonplace chemicals and several shipboard materials such as blaster gas and hyperdrive fuel.

If it hadn't been for Jarvis' Ryn contact, though, this would have just been a “terrorist” attack. As it stood, however, The Wandering Ones had been reequipped with everything they needed to make this particular dream a reality.

“They haven't noticed us yet, sir.”

“Take us in slow,” Jarvis ordered, taking in the sight around them. “Try to figure out which one they're using as a hospital ship. And locate our primary targets.”

“Captain,” The tactical officer called, eyes fixed on his consoles, “the stage is set. The pieces are in play.”

“Understood,” Captain Lunewell responded, looking to Jarvis for the order.

“Break into attack groups and move to diversionary locations. Wait for the Go order.”

Jarvis watched patiently as his four corvettes and their escorts broke from one another and moved forward, interspersing with the chaotic Hutt vessels.

To understand the genius of this plan one must understand both the psyche of the Hutt species, and the state of their alleged empire. The Ko Vari scrpyard had become more than a waste dump for dead starships; it had become one of the Hutts' last viable repair facilities for its overtaxed and under-maintained fleet. As such, those damaged and nearly-crippled vessels which had served as the targets of Jarvis' attack would invariably find their way here.

However, a ship is infinitely more valuable to a Hutt than even the entirety of its crew, and so the repair of a ship would take precedence over the tending of the wounded. As evidenced by the torrent of horrendously damaged corvettes, frigates, and freighters which had poured into the space around Ko Vari in barely an hour's time, Jarvis' calculations had been absolutely right.

“Shattered Soul reporting in,” The Twi'lek captain Lejo reported over comms. “Target acquired. We are in position.”

“Anathema reporting in,” The Duros captain Kaana Eronos reported. “Target acquired. Position achieved.”

“This is Downfall,” The Gand captain reported. “We are ready.”

Jarvis exchanged nods with his human captain, and then he tapped the commlink clipped to his ear. “Light them up.”

It's hard to describe the kind of warm feeling that overtakes an individual when he proves through action a theory which he himself has devised. Jarvis wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely the closest thing to contentment he had achieved in quite some time.

Because everything does indeed burn.

Missiles and torpedoes―newly stocked thanks to a massive shipment from Jarvis' shady friend―were being launched from everywhere, tearing into the damaged and unshielded hulls of the already scarred Hutt ships. The freighters coming to and fro, bringing medical supplies to the wounded crews were not spared. The tugs pulling refuse out of the way or dragging crippled ships into stable orbits were not spared. The cries for mercy fell upon deaf ears.

Jarvis smiled a joyless, cruel smile.

And then the defense forces of Ko Vari came into play. After several minutes of wreaking unimpeded havoc, finally the ships which defended this treasure trove of Hutt resources pushed through their wrecked allies, and brought their vastly superior firepower to bear on the four pathetic ships and their handful of freighters.

If only their commanders understood.

“Distribute the targeting table,” Jarvis ordered, his jaw set.

“Already done.”

He nodded once, gravely. “Let's do this.”

“Two minutes,” Tactical reported.

“All ships, this Jarvis Ragnar. Execute evasive maneuvers. Hold target locks. Wait for the inevitable.”

The various corvettes and converted freighters broke from their attack postures, fleeing into the wreckage of the Hutt ships, fighting to avoid the incoming hail of fire. The seconds ticked by, and Jarvis watched as Ko Vari's defenders fired into the largely disabled mass of its allied vessels, pounding away for just the chance to score a hit on their targets. An irrepressible smirk cracked on Jarvis' face as he considered what he had just achieved.

“Ready!”

Jarvis chuckled, ignoring the notification.

“Boss! We're ready!”

He just kept laughing. “Savor this moment,” He said, his hand once more on his ear, activating his commlink so the whole fleet could hear. He waited a few more seconds, watching, smiling. “Let's do this.”

There were approximately fifteen ships which had engaged The Wandering Ones. Fifteen enemy vessels as large or larger than Jarvis' corvettes. In an outright fight, their firepower would be overwhelming. There was no way that the four corvettes and maybe twenty light freighters of The Wandering Ones could achieve victory against this foe.

Four hundred proton torpedoes, on the other hand . . .

The four clusters of freighters had faded silently into the backdrop of the battle, infiltrating the Hutt convoys and scattering as if they, too, feared for their lives. They had regathered slowly as the attack progressed, remaining well out of the turbolaser exchanges, content to wait for the opportune moment. Content to appear as nothing more than bystanders.

Slaved to the targeting sensors of The Wandering Ones' main attack group, their newly equipped missile banks fired when ordered, turning the threat of a couple dozen torpedoes into the reality of several hundred.

Cheers rang out as the first of the Ko Vari defense ships exploded under the surprise attack. Another followed immediately, and then another, and another. As Jarvis slid into his seat, he couldn't help but recall the Battle of Thyferra, when a dozen individuals who were just plain tired of waiting for justice had decided to exact revenge.

And then the moment of elation was over, and it was back to business. “Sheish? Report.”

“Target has been pacified,” The Barabel reported.

“Slippy?”

“The prize is in hand, boss.”

“Hojim?”

“We've seized the medical frigate's docking bay. What do we do with these wounded?”

“I don't recall issuing any orders regarding the treatment of prisoners, Hojim.”

“Understood” The Klatooinian replied. “Vent them into space,” He added, though slightly muffled.

“Hojim, it helps to turn the commlink off when you're done with it.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

Jarvis clicked his commlink off and returned to his crew. “Alright, we don't have much time. There's an Assassin corvette from the defense fleet that's trying to get away. I want it, intact.”

“Aye aye, Boss.”

“Why have we stopped firing? Blood, people! I want blood!” The tubolasers roared back to life immediately.

Jarvis watched calmly and quietly as the Hutt medical frigate pulled away from Ko Vari and jumped to hyperspace, followed soon by the pair of Consular-class Space Cruisers Sheish had been responsible for liberating from the dockyard they had been stationed at, soon to be stripped down for spare parts.

Jarvis permitted the crew of the Assassin-class corvette to abandon ship, leaving the heavily damaged vessel free for his crew to claim. As a transport moved into position to claim the damaged vessel, Jarvis considered the escape pods drifting away, and the offer he had extended. "Kill them."

"What!?" One of the bridge crew exclaimed, even as the tactical officer marked the escape pods as hostile.

Jarvis drew his blaster and pointed it at the dissenter. "I don't make deals with Hutts. Are you a Hutt? Anyone who serves them deserves to be named with them. Do you serve the Hutts? Do you want to die? I've got no problem granting that wish.

"I'm here to shed blood. Everything else is secondary."

The life pods vanished in a flash of light, the crewman retook his position, and Jarvis holstered his blaster.

The captured ship's crippled sublight drives required it to be towed out of Ko Vari's gravity field, slowing Jarvis' escape considerably. It allowed Slippy to pass up Jarvis and his crew, making it to her jump point before they did, her modified GR-75 medium transport carrying a ship of the same type in its overextended salvage arms.

More Hutt warships were arriving in-system, aching for battle, and finally it was time to leave. The various vessels of The Wandering Ones fired one last volley of projectiles, burying the dozens of message pods deep within the hearts of the wreckage which had come to litter Ko Vari space. They broadcast a single, repeating message in unison, inundating local comm channels.

“This is the face of Vengeance.”

Jarvis wondered briefly to what lengths the Hutts would go in order to silence those messages, considering the souls still trapped onboard many of the targets, considering the proximity bombs concealed within the message pods. One way or another, those few ships Jarvis and his men didn't manage to destroy outright would meet the same fate as their companions.

The Wandering Ones vanished back into hyperspace, their message delivered, their price exacted.





One Week Later

“Of course I told the Hutts that it was you who supplied us and moved our packages,” Jarvis admitted casually, drumming the tips of his fingers on the top of a cargo crate.

This admission only elicited another outburst of rage from the small crowd of individuals. They were pirates, smugglers, mercenaries, and semi-legitimate tramp freighter captains, all huddled around an undersized table, crammed into an overpacked cargo bay. “You do realize that I almost decided to kill you, right?”

“You said we'd be free to go.”

“I lied. I'm a liar, you know? No? Didn't know that?” Jarvis turned to either side, glancing at his companions. “Which of you forgot to tell them I'm a liar?”

Shrugging, he turned back to the band of outlaws, his hand sliding to rest on his blaster. “It's like this: I own you now. There's nowhere in the galaxy that you're safe. I've made sure that I'm your only chance for life, and your lives are only as valuable to me as the services that they can fulfill. You need to start making sure that you're worth keeping around.

“Until two days ago, you all worked for the Hutts, and as such I hold you personally responsible for the recent misfortunes which have befallen me and my friends. You have killed some very good people, and spoiled many more. Be thankful that I don't return the favor.

“I'm offering you a chance to start fresh, at least with me. Play by my rules, and I'll keep treating you like people. Don't, and you're my new best enemy. Now you all need to start running, because the Hutt Empire wants you as dead as they want me, and unfortunately you aren't as good at staying alive as I am.

“Bye now; we'll be in touch.”

And Jarvis left, his mind already setting to work on the next job. “Jarvis! Jarvis!” The Ryn turned slowly, recognizing the voice. Sure enough, the fellow Ryn was chasing after him, waving his arms both for attention, and to reassure the bodyguards chasing him that he was unarmed. “We need to talk!”

Jarvis nodded, and the guards slowed to a walk as they gave up the chase. “What do you want Kallari?”

The Ryn smiled. “Now Jarvis, we both know that's not my name.”

“I'm trying to consider you as the friend I once thought I knew, because I would have to shoot the stranger who disrupted my calm.”

Kallari was smiling, but Jarvis appeared totally serious. “You didn't have to turn me in with them, you know?”

“Every soul I deprive the Hutt Empire of is a win for me,” Jarvis responded, turning and continuing on his way.

“Ever heard of inside men? Spies? Double-agents? That sort of thing?” Kallari was chasing him down the corridor, refusing to be ignored.

“I'm here to kill people. That's all. I have no need for 'spies' and 'double-agents.' I'm not fighting a war or toppling a nation; I'm just killing people. Like they've done to me. Like they will continue to do.”

“So what: this is all just some sort of . . . revenge?”

Jarvis continued walking in silence, trying to ignore the Ryn. Finally, inevitably, he stopped and turned to his friend from another lifetime, fixing his cold stare on the nearly forgotten face, saying:

“All I have left is vengeance.”