While moving about from clan to cult in my endless pursuit of knowledge, I studied under many masters. I walked the burning sands with the Sand People to understand their connection to the land. I mediated in the freezing vacuums of space with the Gand Findsmen. But it was when I was learning under the B'omarr Order that I received an unexpected message from the Black Sun.
The B'omarr monks were a strange lot. They believed that the physical body was nothing more than a cage, a distraction from the purity of the mind. To achieve true enlightenment, they surgically removed their brains and placed them in nutrient filled jars, carried around by spider like droid walkers. It was a grotesque existence to the uninitiated, but there was a serene, silent logic to it.
I was sitting in a dimly lit chamber, meditating on the concept of detachment while staring at a brain floating in green fluid, when my datapad vibrated against my ribcage.
It was a encrypted frequency. Level five encryption. The kind that cost more than a starship to generate.
I tapped the screen. The logo of a black sun eclipsing a galaxy flared to life.
Being part of the underworld for any amount of time would mean dealing with the Black Sun eventually. There are small groups who nickel and dime the locals. Then there is the protection racket of well established weaklings. And yet, none of those are part of the Black Sun, though they are often subservient to it. You needed to be at the level of a trans galactic mafia family before you could even sit at the table with the Black Sun.
I am part of the Black Sun but not officially. I am a ghost in their machine. While I do take part in the darker side of the law and bribe my way forward when necessary, I present myself as just a businessman who makes the impossible come true. I clean credits. I make them untraceable through legitimate work. I turn the seedy, blood stained profits of drug running into a profitable, tax paying legitimate business.
I am the laundry machine of the galaxy's elite criminals. But I am not part of any family, mafia, or syndicate. I am connected to them, hand in hand, but I never wear their rings.
The Black Sun had not sent me a direct message before. Why would they? I take no cash from them directly. I help them in their deals using my empire, taking my cut from the margins. They did not make cash from me in a traditional way, but I have purposely made myself valuable so that they would not try to step on me. I was the golden goose. You do not cook the golden goose. You let it lay eggs.
They wanted a meeting.
I stared at the blinking coordinates. What answer can you give to an empire of the underworld that has been around for over two thousand years? To refuse was an insult. To accept was a risk.
I must admit that while I have done my best to make myself valuable to as many people as possible, I am not entirely confident against the Black Sun. The Sith were easy to predict; they wanted power and domination. The Jedi had their rules and moral high ground. The political galaxy loved their money and influence. But the Black Sun was unpredictable.
They had started in the Outer Rim and over time made it across the Galaxy like a cancer. The leader was always changing because of the treacherous nature of the organization, but nine Vigos were always entrusted with their territories and sectors. Nine princes of crime, each a king in their own right.
The Black Sun was known for piracy, smuggling, and the drug trade. They also dabbled in slavery and kidnapping, but only when it was immensely profitable. They had no moral compass, only a profit margin.
It was not the leader, the Underlord, that contacted me. It was one of the Vigos. They wanted a face to face meeting in Hutt space on the planet Cyrkon.
Cyrkon. A notorious hub for pirates, smugglers, and those who did not wish to be found. It was neutral ground, theoretically. I reasoned that it would be better to go than to offend the Black Sun, but that did not mean I had to go unprepared.
"Unit 5," I said, standing up and brushing the dust of the monastery from my robes. "Prepare the shuttle. And activate The Asura-class Droid."
"The Asura-class Droid, sir?" The droid paused. "That is the heavy response package."
"I have a feeling I might need to negotiate," I replied.
The meeting was something I did not expect.
Entering the atmosphere of Cyrkon, the air outside the viewport turned a sickly yellow. The planet smelled of industry and desperation even from high orbit. My shuttle was hailed not by a traffic controller, but by a private encrypted signal. A protocol droid with a voice like a scratched record directed me to a specific private port on the outskirts of Motesta.
The character of the place was one of dirt and rust. The buildings looked corroded, bleeding iron oxide down their sides, on the verge of falling apart. The streets were filled with the dregs of the galaxy. But the destination I was guided to was different.
It was a fortress disguised as a warehouse.
The exterior was grim, but the inside was a different world entirely. As the airlock cycled open, the smell of ozone and rot was replaced by the scent of expensive perfume and blooming night lilies. The walls were lined with velvet. The lighting was soft and golden. Wealthy fixtures adorned the hallway, followed by rich looking individuals dressed in fine suits and dresses who mingled with drinks in their hands.
A massive crystal statue in the form of the Black Sun's insignia was the dominant fixture in the atrium. It caught the light and fractured it, casting sharp shadows across the floor.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This felt like a setup.
I walked through the crowd, my senses extended. The people walking around seemed at ease, chatting and laughing, but there was a pattern. Most people in a social setting move with chaos; they drift, they stop, they cluster. But these people had a set pattern to their walking. They moved in wide, complex circles. They were checking vectors. They were maintaining lines of sight.
One person doing this was suspicious. Everyone doing it felt like a trap. These were not guests. They were guards in formal wear.
I reached into the pocket of my robe and found the small, smooth metal disk I kept there. I pressed my panic button once.
This was the priming signal. It sent a silent burst transmission to my ship in orbit. It told my droids to wake up. It told the engines to heat up. I was not going to use the full measure of it so soon, but I did not feel safe, and this was only the entrance to the building.
I was rushed to the meeting place by a silver plated protocol droid. It ushered me through heavy double doors into a grand ballroom.
"Master Bee," the droid announced, its voice amplified.
Instead of a boardroom meeting, it was more like a party, and I was the guest of honor. Or perhaps, the main course.
The oddities continued as the room went silent. The chatter died instantly. The clinking of glasses stopped. The people in the room, hundreds of them, turned to look at me. Then, they parted ways, creating a wide aisle leading to a raised dais at the far end.
There, in all of his splendor, stood one of the Vigos.
He was a human, young for a Vigo, perhaps in his late thirties. He wore a suit of crushed purple velvet with gold trimmings, and his fingers were heavy with rings made of gems that were illegal in twelve systems. His hair was slicked back with oil, and his smile was too wide, too full of teeth.
Everything about him told me I should kill him immediately. But I felt like that when meeting with the Hutts too, and they were my allies now. You do not kill a man just because he has poor fashion sense and a predatory aura.
The way he held himself, the way he walked down the steps of the dais, and especially the way he talked told me exactly the character of this Vigo.
"Brother!" he boomed, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace a long lost friend. "I have been waiting for you."
"I am not your brother," I thought, but I kept my face neutral. "And I do not like waiting."
"Vigo Rena Beenz," I said aloud, bowing my head slightly. Just enough to be polite, not enough to be submissive. "The honor is mine."
"Come, come," Beenz said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I suppressed the urge to break his wrist. "Drink with me. We have much to discuss."
He led me to a private booth that overlooked the ballroom. The music started again, but the tension remained. The eyes of the room were still on us.
I reached into my pocket and pressed the panic button once more. This was the second stage. Target acquisition.
What followed was twenty minutes of wasted breath. It was a cocktail of whispered hidden threats mixed with delightful promises of power. Beenz poured wine that cost more than a speeder and spoke of the future.
"You have done well, Bee," Beenz said, leaning in close. "Your network is impressive. The way you move credits... it is art. Pure art."
"I aim to please," I said blandly.
"But you are wasting your potential," Beenz continued, his eyes gleaming. "You work for everyone. The Hutts. The Pykes. Even the corrupt Senators. You spread yourself too thin."
"I find diversity is the key to stability," I countered.
"No," Beenz slammed his glass down. "Focus is the key to power. I have a proposition. You join me. You work for me. Exclusively."
I swirled my wine. "Exclusively?"
"You will become the financial arm of my sector," Beenz said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We will crush the other Vigos. We will buy out the Hutts. With my muscle and your brains, we will rule the Black Sun. And then... the galaxy."
This was no good.
I washed the galaxy's ill gotten credits. My business model relied on neutrality. To work for one Vigo of the Black Sun meant the rest of them would suffer. The other eight Vigos would not take kindly to their financial pipeline being cut off. They would view it as an act of war.
That wasn't good for me. It made me think that this Vigo didn't know the extent of my money laundering. He saw the golden eggs, but he did not understand the biology of the goose.
"And what happens to my existing contracts?" I asked. "The Hutts? The other syndicates?"
"They will adapt," Beenz waved his hand dismissively. "Or they will die. You will cut them off. You will freeze their assets. You will cripple them for me."
The problem was this Vigo of the Black Sun wanted to take advantage of me at the cost of his other Black Sun brothers. He offered nothing in return except his 'protection', which I did not need. The deal would get me killed by the other Black Sun Vigos. If I joined him, it would weaken me in every possible way and put a chain around my neck.
Rena Beenz was a newly appointed and hungry Vigo. It wasn't enough to have his very own sector of the underworld; he had to push it further. And so, when he found Bee and his empire and friendly nature with the Hutts, his logical thought was to use his sector's power to bully me into an offer I couldn't refuse.
"You are asking me to commit suicide," I said calmly. "Business suicide, and likely actual suicide when your rivals decide to retaliate."
Beenz's smile faltered. "I am offering you a seat at the high table. I am offering you power."
"I have power," I said. "I have freedom. Your offer takes that away."
My reputation was excellent, but it also hurt me. I was now a legitimate business owner and head of many stable mega corporations. It had been many years ago that I had fought the Brotherhood of Darkness and shown that I had very few limits when it came to getting my revenge. But people had forgotten. The galaxy has a short memory. The Hutts hadn't forgotten, thanks to their long lifespans, but the Vigos were human or near human. They lived fast and died young.
Rena Beenz continued his ideas, oblivious to my coldness. He spouted off the potential of having me on his side, painting a picture of a galactic empire built on blood and credits.
"Stop," I said.
The word cut through his monologue like a knife.
The whole room became stone cold quiet. The music died. The conversations stopped. Every ear was tuned to our booth.
"You have talked a lot about what I can do for you, Vigo Beenz," I said, my voice carrying across the silent room. "But you have not answered the most important question."
I stood up.
"What can you do for me?"
The crowd turned to me, completely quiet. I looked around. I saw hands drifting toward coats. I saw eyes narrowing. Everyone here was my enemy. It was a simple power move that I would laugh at if it wasn't for the other Vigos and the Black Sun as a whole.
Beenz stood up slowly. His face was no longer smiling. It was a mask of rage.
"I can let you leave this room alive," Beenz hissed.
I sighed. "Is that it? That is your bargaining chip? My life?"
"I have heard that you are a clever man, Bee," Beenz explained, his hand resting on the heavy blaster pistol at his hip. "If you don't join me as a friend, then you are my enemy. There is no middle ground here. You walk out of here as my partner, or you do not walk out at all."
I looked at him. I looked at the hundreds of armed guards masquerading as guests. I looked at the grand arrogance of a man who thought he could corner a force of nature.
I was trying to balance my actions with what might happen if I were to attack. If I killed a Vigo, the Black Sun would hunt me. It would be a war. But if I submitted, I was dead anyway.
"That was the final straw," I said.
"Bow your head," Beenz commanded, drawing his weapon. "Or lose it."
"I have a rule about binaries," I said, my voice calm, almost bored. "I do not like being given two choices when neither suits me."
I reached into my pocket. My finger found the button.
I had to bow my head or lose it. Either one wasn't going to happen and so, I offered a third choice.