Chapter 10 : The Syndicate's Shadow - Part 2
The gambling den reeks of spice and broken dreams. Red lighting casts everything in the color of dried blood. Sabacc tables line one wall, populated by desperate fools throwing away credits they don't have. The back rooms are where real business happens—debt collection, enforcement, the mathematics of violence.
I'm meeting Vex in one of those back rooms. Zygerrian debt collector, mid-forties, with the dead eyes of someone who's broken too many fingers to count. R4 hovers beside me, photoreceptor scanning exits, calculating escape routes I'll never be fast enough to use.
"You have information on Qorzo," Vex says. Not a question. His accent carries the musical lilt that makes every word sound like a threat. "My associate said you wanted to sell."
The intermediary—a nervous Rodian who owes me for a weapons sale—is already gone. Smart. Nobody wants to be in the room when Zygerrians discuss business.
I pull up my datapad, showing the forged intelligence R4 crafted. "Qorzo's planning to flee Coruscant. Defaulting on the fifteen thousand he owes you. Already transferred Syndicate funds to offshore accounts. Leaving tomorrow on a transport to Tatooine."
Vex studies the data with professional interest. His fingers tap the table—counting, calculating. "How reliable is this?"
"Came from inside his network. Someone who knows his movements."
The Appraisal function triggers automatically:
[ VEX - ZYGERRIAN DEBT COLLECTOR ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: HIGH ]
[ INTEREST SPIKE DETECTED ]
[ EMOTIONAL STATE: CONTROLLED ANGER ]
[ ASSESSMENT: BELIEVES INFORMATION. PLANNING IMMEDIATE ACTION. ]
He transfers three thousand credits without haggling. "If this is accurate, you've done us a service. Zygerrians remember those who help collect debts."
"That sounded like a threat and a promise simultaneously."
"Just business," I say.
"Indeed." He stands, already pulling out a comm device. "We'll verify this personally. Tonight."
They leave. The room feels colder somehow. R4 emits a warning beep.
"Master's information warfare executed successfully. However, prediction: Zygerrian response will exceed master's expectations. Cultural analysis suggests physical punishment highly probable."
"They'll just pressure him. Maybe rough him up a little."
"Negative. Zygerrian debt collection protocols include dismemberment in 89.4% of cases involving flight risk. Master has sentenced Qorzo to probable torture."
My stomach drops. "I thought they'd just... negotiate harder. Threaten his assets."
"Master's corporate background from previous life inadequate for predicting underworld violence. Recommendation: research cultural norms before manipulating criminal enterprises."
The three thousand credits sit in my account like weights. I'd assumed diplomacy. Political pressure. The kind of white-collar enforcement I understood from my old world. But this isn't corporate politics. This is Coruscant's underworld, where debts get paid in blood.
"Can we warn him?"
"Negative. Warning Qorzo reveals master as source. Creates new enemy. Also: probable Zygerrian retaliation for interfering with collection. Master's survival probability if Zygerrians turn hostile: 2.3%."
So I go back to my hab-unit and wait for news.
It arrives six hours later through Thax—a short message: "Qorzo's in medical. Zygerrians got to him. Need to talk."
The underworld news network fills in details. Zygerrians grabbed Qorzo outside his safehouse. Dragged him to their territory. Tortured him for information about hidden assets. He lost three fingers before revealing his Syndicate accounts—which the Zygerrians promptly emptied as "partial payment." They dumped him at a medical facility with a bill for 8,000 credits he doesn't have.
I make it to the bathroom before vomiting. R4 follows, photoreceptor fixed on me.
"Master experiencing expected guilt response. Prediction accuracy: 91.3%. However, guilt does not alter outcome. Qorzo remains mutilated. Master's strategic goal achieved—Syndicate leadership destabilized."
"I didn't want him tortured."
"Master's intentions irrelevant to outcome. Actions have consequences independent of desired results. This is fundamental lesson of operating in violent environments."
I rinse my mouth and stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror. The face looking back is mine but not mine—worn down by three weeks of moral compromise, hollowed out by accumulated guilt. I'd meant to play information warfare. Corporate espionage translated to criminal context. Instead I'd sentenced a man to torture.
"Someone else would have destroyed him eventually. He chose this life."
The rationalization feels weaker than usual.
Thax arrives at my hab-unit three hours later. No escort this time. No muscle. Just him, looking tired in a way enforcers shouldn't look.
"We need to talk about Qorzo."
My hand drifts toward the blaster I keep under my mattress. "I heard what happened."
"Everyone heard. Zygerrians made it loud." He sits without being invited—dominance play that R4 flags immediately. "Syndicate's not happy. Qorzo was one of ours. Someone fed the Zygerrians information."
"Lots of people knew about his debts."
"Sure. But the timing's interesting. Zygerrians got specific details—amounts, payment history, his exact plans. That's internal information." His eyes lock onto mine. "You wouldn't know anything about that."
The Appraisal function shows his stress levels spiking. He's fishing. Doesn't have proof, just suspicion. I can lie my way through this if I'm careful.
"I supply weapons. Not intelligence."
"Right. Weapons." He leans back. "Here's the situation. Qorzo's done—crippled, broke, useless. Mora promoted me to his position. My position now. Which means I handle collections on this territory."
Here it comes. The revenge play. The demand for blood or credits or both.
"Thing is," Thax continues, "Qorzo's disaster drew Coruscant Security attention. Three precincts are sniffing around, asking questions about Syndicate operations. That's bad for business. My business now. So I need to show I can manage territory without bloodshed."
I blink. "What?"
"You owe Syndicate for operating here. Original deal was twenty percent. But I'm thinking... maybe we approach this differently." He pulls out a datapad. "Five thousand credits. One-time apology fee for the trouble you may or may not have caused. In exchange, Syndicate leaves you alone. Clean slate."
It's too easy. Has to be a trap.
R4 calculates probabilities in real-time, projecting data only I can see: "Thax's stress indicates genuine offer. Promotion gives him authority to negotiate. Syndicate's attention on Security pressure, not revenge. Probability of legitimate deal: 67.4%."
"Five thousand seems steep for a clean slate," I say carefully.
"Could be worse. Could be your fingers." He's not joking. "But I'm thinking long-term. You've got access to off-world weapons. Quality stuff. My new position means I handle Syndicate armory procurement. Maybe we do business together—I refer clients, you give me ten percent finder's fee."
Now it makes sense. He sees profit opportunity. My exotic weapons plus his criminal network equals mutual benefit. It's mercenary and practical and exactly the kind of deal that makes sense in this world.
"Twenty-five hundred credits," I counter. "Plus the finder's fee arrangement. But I get to vet clients—no cops, no Jedi, nobody who brings heat."
Thax considers, tapping his datapad. "Thirty-five hundred. Final."
"Three thousand. And I want intel on who's buying in Republic and Separatist circles. Information has value."
"Deal."
We transfer credits. He leaves. The transaction took six minutes.
R4's photoreceptor brightens. "Master successfully negotiated with criminal syndicate. Survival probability increasing to 22.7%. However, master now has formal business relationship with organized crime. Probability of future moral compromise: 97.8%."
"Already knew that."
"Confirmation unnecessary but provided for psychological completeness."
I sit on my mattress and count the cost. Three thousand credits to the Syndicate. Three thousand earned from the Zygerrians. Net zero financially. But Qorzo lost three fingers and his livelihood. That's on me, regardless of intention.
The door opens—Jassi, without knocking. Her lekku are coiled tight with anger.
"You destroyed him."
"I didn't—"
"Don't." She cuts me off. "I heard what happened. Zygerrians don't just grab people randomly. Someone fed them information. Someone who knew details. That's you."
My silence confirms it.
She paces the tiny hab-unit, agitation making her movements sharp. "I knew you were adapting fast. Too fast. But I thought you had limits. Turns out you're just like every other predator down here."
"I didn't want him tortured. Just wanted the Syndicate off my back."
"Ignorance isn't innocence." She stops, faces me directly. "You play in the underworld, you own the consequences. All of them. The fingers Qorzo lost? Those are yours. The fact he can't hold a weapon anymore? That's you. You destroyed him physically, not just politically."
The words hit harder than Thax's threats. Because she's right. I'd researched the leverage, planned the manipulation, executed the forgery—but I hadn't researched what Zygerrians actually do to defaulters. Corporate thinking in a criminal context. The disconnect nearly killed a man.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing. Words are cheap." She pulls out her datapad. "But if you want me to keep quiet about this—if you want me to not mention to certain interested parties that you're playing information games—that costs."
"How much?"
"Five hundred credits. For my silence and my disappointment."
I transfer it without argument. She leaves without another word.
R4 rotates its dome. "Master purchased silence regarding criminal activity from witness. Standard corruption protocol. Master's integration into underworld ecosystem: 94% complete."
"Stop giving me percentages on my moral decay."
"Negative. Quantification assists master in recognizing pattern acceleration. Current trajectory suggests complete moral boundary dissolution within three weeks."
I don't argue. Just pour a drink and watch the credits balance update.
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 28570 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 5 ]
[ CRIMINAL RELATIONSHIPS: RED SPIRE SYNDICATE (ACTIVE), ZYGERRIAN CARTEL (POSITIVE) ]
[ CASUALTIES ATTRIBUTED TO MASTER'S ACTIONS: 27 DEAD, 49 INJURED ]
The System's casualty tracker has updated. Twenty-three from the Senate bombing, now four Rodian raiders killed defending against Mira's camp. Every sale ripples outward, creating violence I'll never directly see but am responsible for nonetheless.
That night, sleep comes easier than it should. My dreams aren't haunted by Qorzo's missing fingers or the Senate casualty list. Just numbers, scrolling endlessly, quantifying exactly how much each compromise costs.
The price keeps getting cheaper.
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