Montegue: Origins - Revelations

[Hugo Montegue]

Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
-- Revelations 1: 3

- - -

This post is recycled from Devil's Trap.

Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa - 2.5 AE

0630, local time. Hugo crunched his neck from side to side, trying to will away a little of the stiffness that had been plaguing him. Another night in that damn flea-trap motel had done wonders for his spinal alignment; assuming, of course, you considered having a spine that perfectly mimicked the contours of the Perlemian Trade Route. With walking being the occupying activity of the moment however, he was of a somewhat different opinion on the matter: something more akin to the notion that, if he spent another night in that Hutt's asshole room, his bones would probably lose all structure and he'd melt into a puddle that, well, probably looked like a Hutt's asshole.

He needed off this planet, and therein lay the problem. He had a ship - a nice, reliable, fast ship, stocked with weapons, gear, and liquor. At least, it had been when he'd left; he doubted the mechanics would have left much of the latter, knowing how sticky their fingers could get on this gods-aweful planet. The problem was that he couldn't find it. He knew that it was here, somewhere. He knew he'd left it in the charge of one of the vessel storage companies that littered vertical city. But no amount of intensive scrutiny of the planet's docking records revealed the presence of a Class 720 anywhere on the planet; no other Ghtroc Industries craft either, for that matter.

Nar Shaddaa was a shadowed place; things went missing from time to time. But there was going missing, and there was disappearing as if it had never existed. There was no record of a Coromon Headhunter ever having rested its skids on the moon - at least, not in the right time frame. There were no logged flight plans into or out of the system. There were no docking permits issued in that name. Damn strange, given how Hugo was sure as hell he should have had both. The paper trail was cold; dead. Well, almost. One tiny little clue led him in the right direction.

The midget Rodian flailed his legs frantically, heels thudding against the brickwork a good two feet above the floor. Hugo's eyes narrowed, staring into those black, souless eyes. "Where the hell is my ship, Zuri?"

The Rodian blinked, frantically. "I don't - ah - I - don't - ... aaahh!"

The barrel of Hugo's finger dug a little deeper into the bastard's forehead. Sure, it had been built from scraps and calibrated by someone with the IQ of a Rancor, conjouring a lack of accuracy that even Imperial Stormtroopers couldn't match. But at this range, it didn't matter whether the sights lined up with the angle the bolt would leave the emitter. It was still going straight through Zuri's skull, and blasting his brain back to the hell-hole he'd crawled out of.

Hugo's stare was cold; icy. His hand gripped tighter around the Rodian's neck. "Try again."

Zuri squealed; squeezed his eyes closed; tried to shut out the surroundings. He squirmed, wriggled, trying to break free, but Hugo's chokehold had him pinned, and those fat, muscle-fatigued legs from spending so much time sat on his fat lazy ass were hardly strong enough to kick with more than mildly annoying force. The Rodian coughed, struggling to speak; Hugo lessened the pressure on his larynx ever so slightly. "Hutts," Zuri managed to choke out. Hugo dropped him; the body hit the ground like a wet sack. Zuri lay still, gasping for breath. His voice was almost a whisper. "The Hutts took it."

The human lowered his gun; the Rodian was too far away to guarentee a hit now anyway. Hugo cursed himself for not having spent time repairing the pistol he'd bought off that homeless kid; he'd been under the foolish dellusion that his precious ship would be ready and waiting, its armoury crammed with more blasters, slugthrowers and virbroblades than he could ever hope to need. But his brain had been slow lately; his instincts dulled. The face of his captor formed in his mind; a snarl formed on his face. That ice-eyed bitch was to blame. His boot released some frustration on his behalf, smacking into the Rodian's gut.

Hugo kicked the grunting Zuri onto his back. Hell: he wouldn't need a blaster to kill this thing. "Why, Zuri?" he asked, his voice low, eyes drilling into the Rodian's. "Why would you go and let something stupid like that happen?"

"Debts," Zuri wheezed, trying to suck back in some of the wind that had been knocked out of him. "Couldn't pay ... they came ... thought you were dead ..."

A sick smile formed on Hugo's face. "Bad news for you," he muttered, landing a boot in the Rodian's side this time. Something cracked, audibly. "I'm not dead."

His leg recoiled, ready for another strike, but the shaking, trembling, sobbing figure at his feet made him halt. Zuri was pitiful; hardly worth the effort. Killing him would be a service; put him out of his misery. It wouldn't - despite how good it felt beating the crap out of the guy - get his ship back, either. He snarled, boots clacking against the floor as he paced back and forwards. "You got greedy, Zuri," he accused. "And that made you sloppy. You kept charging my account for berthing, even though you didn't have my ship. I wouldn't have found you again if you hadn't been so stupid."

Hugo crouched beside his victim, plucking a vibroblade from his belt. The knife sang as it hummed into life. Zuri let out another sob as Hugo pressed the flat of the blade against his cheek. "Please don't -"

"-kill you?" Hugo actually laughed. "Don't be stupid, Zuri: I don't want to kill you. I want my ship." He pressed the cold blade against the skin a little harder, the vibrating edge finding purchase against the Rodian's scales, a shallow cut coming into being, oozing viscous dark blood. "But since you went and lost mine, you're going to get me another."

Zuri was shaking; only the vice-grip on his jaw stopped him shivvering so much that the vibroblade sliced his entire face off. "Don't have the credits..." he muttered, voice weak and cracking.

Hugo threw a shrug that didn't extend beyond his face. "But you do have a Baudo in that hanger of yours; I saw it on the way in."

"But the owner -"

"Report it stolen," Hugo said simply. "Tell them that I took it, for all I care. A guy with a ship that fancy is bound to have insurance he can claim on."

He backed away and rose; the Rodian form went limp with relief and exhaustion. "I'll need new transponder codes, and enough fuel, supplies and paperwork to get me from here to Tatooine." Glancing down at the vibroblade in disgust, he wiped the remnants of Rodian blood from the steel. "A pleasure doing business with you, Zuri, as always." He almost smiled. "You have two days."

Without another word, Hugo turned, striding out of the dingy, duracrete hole that Zuri called an office without a second thought or the slightest glance back. Two days wasn't much time; he had calls to make.