NOVEL WEB Chapter 7: The New Brother
A Living Nightmare
Chapter 7: The New Brother
"As a hunter would train hounds, so too does our Emperor use us to sniff out the rot plaguing this great Empire."
8 BBY
Location: Nar Shaddaa - Vexcron City
My senses were overwhelmed the moment I stepped off the Imperial shuttle and onto the landing platform. The wind hit first—cold and biting—whipping through the air like an invisible blade that cut into my bones. It carried with it the overpowering scents of a thousand worlds, each one fighting for dominance with the distinct sharp, acrid smell of uncleared trash heaps so intense it seemed to sting the back of my throat. Beneath that, the scent of exotic spices wafted up from the vendors on the levels below, blending into a chaotic harmony. Every gust brought something new, shifting and unpredictable, an ever-changing tapestry of sensations.
The Smugglers Moon was a storm of shifting stimuli, overwhelming and constant. The symphonic chaos was palpable, vibrating in the air around me like the hum of a distant engine. Through the Force, I felt it even more strongly—flickers of tension, moments of instability, like static electricity crackling around me. For four months, the chaos had grown, sparked by what seemed like random violence: attacks on Imperial refueling stations, bars frequented by local officers, even a failed bombing of the regional administration. At first, the Imperial Security Bureau dismissed the incidents as mere criminal disruptions.
But it wasn't so simple. Working closely with Grakkus the Hutt and his network of informants, the ISB uncovered the truth. No known criminal syndicates had a hand in these attacks. It wasn't the usual smuggler or bounty hunter scum trying to antagonize the local Imperials. This was something else entirely—something intense, more deliberate. It had slipped under the radar for months, but now the pieces were coming together, and the true scope of the threat was starting to reveal itself.
The bombing attempt was where the insurgents had finally slipped up. Their meticulous planning had shielded them for months, but in their arrogance, they overlooked a critical detail. A section of the targeted building—an unremarkable area they must have thought was unsecured—had hidden cameras, their presence unknown even to the insurgents' slicers. Despite their skill in disabling the broader security grid, they had missed this blind spot.
The surveillance footage captured everything. As the saboteurs planted their explosives, the cameras recorded everything about them. The local network silently flagged the activity, pinging Imperial security forces. Within minutes, their identities were confirmed, and a swift operation was launched. There was no time for them to scatter or retreat into the underworld of Nar Shaddaa. The response was decisive and efficient, with stormtroopers surrounding the saboteurs' hideout. They were rounded up quickly, their resistance minimal—surprising for a group that had evaded capture for so long.
Two members of the captured group were executed on the spot once arriving at the local ISB divisions base of operations, their deaths orchestrated to instill fear in the last remaining insurgent, a sleazy Weequay named Dodrias Benzik. The others had given him up without hesitation, each being separated into different speeders on different routes on the way to the destination. Dodrias remained quiet on his trip while the others spilled everything they knew.
Benzik, now left alone, was revealed to be the ringleader, the key to unraveling the deeper layers of this conspiracy. All of this information had been laid out for us on the shuttle ride down to Nar Shaddaa, while some broader local information was learned during the studies I had in the Fortress under the tutelage of several excellent and not boring droid instructors.
Despite his reputation as a coward and a backstabber, Benzik proved to be surprisingly resilient during questioning. The ISB agents administered their most potent drugs and methods but the weequay held his ground, gritting his teeth through every wave of agony. The interrogation devices they had on hand were inadequate. Agent Farrkus, leading the investigation, admitted with frustration that their arsenal of methods was limited by the political sensitivity of their presence in this sector. Hutt Space wasn't really Imperial territory, and every action here was scrutinized by higher-ups, wary of upsetting the delicate balance of power. The budget too was scrutinized and diminished, the funds going to more important and larger issues.
Farrkus was determined, though. He knew that Benzik had valuable information, and that breaking him was the key to understanding who or what was truly behind these attacks. But with each failed attempt, the tension grew. Something was protecting Benzik—either a deeper loyalty or something far more sinister than they'd anticipated.
Hence why I stood in the stench of Nar Shaddaa, listening to the relentless roar of traffic, starships and speeders whizzing by the landing pad, filling the air with a steady hum. The sounds were as overwhelming as the smells.
Sensing my discomfort at the pungent odors surrounding us, the 7th Sister called out from across the platform. "There's a reason why I have this on." she called out, pointing to her helmet, voice modulated but still purring like a cat. "Can't stand the smell of this place."
The lime green Mirillian stood off to the side of the platform, rubbing the top of one of her probe droid's metal dome while the other two scanned the area.
"You sure it's the smell, and not just the men?" I ask, reaching to the shuttle and using the Force to bring my own helmet to my hand, and placing it onto my head. From the way it was described to me, it fit with the rest of the Inquisitorial wardrobe. Form fitting, mostly black with a bit of gray and a red line down the middle that glowed. With no way to traditionally see, there was no need for a HUD display, or a horizontal vizor. As always, the bad guys got the cool looking gear. It attached to the rest of the armor, hissing and whining as the hematic seal locked in place.
"The men you'd find here, end up dead in a week." she scoffed. "The women on the other hand…" she trailed off. Her flirtatious nature wasn't something that was born from her turn to the Dark Side, her becoming an Imperial Inquisitor.
Even as a Jedi, she'd been known for her sharp wit and her abilities as a slicer and mechanical genius—if slightly unhinged. What access I had to the old Jedi Archives, I used to discover what I could of the Inquisitors I would be working with and for. Some of the information was restricted, or severely redacted due to the level of clearance I had, but it still was better than nothing.
"Dead in an hour?" I teased, my own voice now modulated, deeper and more sinister than before. It was designed to inspire fear, but carefully crafted to ensure it didn't mimic or infringe on Lord Vader's distinct aura.
She chuckled softly. "Depends on how lucky they get." A smile and shake of the head was all she received in response.
The chatter died down as we moved away from the platform, our boots clanking against the cold, metallic ground. Ahead, the crossway split into three distinct paths, each leading to a different section of the city we had landed in. Vexcron City, sometimes just called Vexcron had been a staple of Nar Shaddaa for thousands of years, shifting and changing structures and layouts to fit the ever moody Hutt's whims. If I remember right, it was even lifted up and changed to a different side of the planet entirely several centuries ago when an illegal coaxium shipment blew up entire levels of Nar Shadda's towering buildings. Instead of repairing the damage normally, engineers devised a scheme to just move the city and put it on top of where the accident had occurred. It wasn't so simple, but it was managed to be done in less than a decade.
The first path led to Zalrio Plaza, Vexcron's heart, a bustling district filled with merchants, street vendors, and the more "respectable" side of the local underworld. Here, traders from across the galaxy set up shop, hawking everything from exotic spices to almost illegal weaponry. The noise there was relentless—haggling, shouting, and the low murmur of deals being made in shadowed corners.
To the left was Varel District, the industrial sector. Its towering structures were grimy and run-down, housing the factories and warehouses that kept the city functioning. The heavy scent of smog and fuel lingered in the air, a byproduct of its ceaseless production. Varel was dangerous, its narrow streets home to gangs that controlled the flow of spice and other illicit goods.
Finally, Iddo's Reach laid to the right, a far more dystopian area, littered with desolate, crumbling buildings and abandoned spaces. Once a prosperous neighborhood, it had fallen into disrepair, now occupied by scavengers and the desperate. It was a place where secrets were buried—and bodies disappeared.
As much as I wanted to explore Zalrio Plaza—to try the myriad of exotic foods, chat with the different vendors, and maybe even pick up a set of Pazaak cards that I could never use. I allowed the 7th Sister to lead the way, her strides filled with impatient purpose. There was a certain intensity to her that demanded attention, and it was clear she was eager to reach our destination. We had a meeting in Iddo's Reach. Agent Farrkus had deemed it unnecessary to meet us in person when we landed, choosing instead to wait at the hidden outpost where Dodrias Benzik was being held.
She navigated the flow of foot traffic with ease, reading the signs and following the holomap projected in her visor, while I relied solely on my overstimulated senses. Thankfully, the sealed helmet dulled the chaos I had experienced earlier. The rancid smells that once assaulted my nostrils were now filtered out, and the cacophony of voices and machinery was muted, allowing me to tune in more clearly to the currents of the Force around us.
Even with my helmet's enhancements, the feeling of unease was clogging the air. I could sense the tension, a shifting undercurrent of danger that lurked beneath the surface. As we ventured deeper into Iddo's Reach, I steeled myself for whatever awaited us. The Force was alive here, filled with whispers of past actions, and dark deeds. I knew with certainty that some of the future echoes here would be from my own hand, with the company I kept. A stabbing here, an attempted theft down the street. I could feel them, the emotions, the feelings, the rush of a blade, and if I were to focus, see it through cloudy silhouettes. A strange ability, but it was why I had been sent here to investigate along with the 7th Sister. It was a useful tool, that once we had learned I could do it, the Inquisitors began to train its uses. It wasn't exactly Force Psychometry, nor was it the Force Sight that I used every waking moment. I decided to call it Temporal Sensing. Psychometry dealt with an object, and the emotions tied to it. A little different, but just enough to make me interested in just how this Force ability worked. I was tempted to stray off the path that the Sister was taking, to explore and see the echoes for myself, but her abrupt stop pulled me away from such musings.
We soon arrived at the building, which was nondescript and seamlessly blended into the surrounding disorder of crumbling structures and mountains of debris. Its faded façade offered little to distinguish it from the dilapidated surroundings, and I sensed it had been carefully chosen for that very reason. A few disguised Imperials loitered around the area, their postures relaxed yet alert, keeping an eye on the building from afar. The low hum of their conversations mixed with the distant sounds of the city, but I felt their immediate interest upon seeing both me and the 7th Sister roll up on their little base of operations.
Their eyes narrowed as they assessed us, tension rippling through the air like a charged current. I could almost taste their curiosity and unease. The 7th Sister exuded an air of authority, her stance unwavering as she scanned our surroundings, seeking out any potential threats. I followed her lead, drawing on the Force to heighten my awareness of the atmosphere, feeling the subtle vibrations of energy around us.
As we approached, the disguised Imperials exchanged furtive glances, clearly debating whether to engage us or remain watchful. I sensed their hesitation, a mix of respect and uncertainty. Despite their attempts at nonchalance, I knew they were on edge.
The 7th Sister strode inside, ignoring the several pairs of eyes watching us enter. The hydraulic doors screeched with age as they slid aside, and I couldn't help but wonder why the ISB hadn't maintained them better for the ease of entry for their operatives. But this was an outpost, not a fully equipped base. Whenever we did go to the base eventually, it would be best to arrive discreetly. And not like we had just done, striding through a public area and a run down district teeming with thieves, mercenaries and killers.
Durasteel panels were uneven underfoot, each step causing a hollow echo in the dimly lit corridor. Exposed wires dangled precariously from the waterlogged ceiling, puddles formed in the corners, remnants of broken pipes that dripped incessantly, creating a rhythmic yet unsettling sound. The air was stale, not from decay, but from purifiers. Camera's watched our every move as we continued down the corridor, passing by flooded rooms or half broken open blast doors.. If we didn't know better, this building could easily be a trap. A well-placed detonite charge could bring the whole structure down, potentially causing an explosive reaction if the gas utilities were still active in this section of the hideout.
We reached the door at the end of the corridor, a solid durasteel slab with no visible handle or panel. I instinctively reached out with the Force, feeling for any hidden threats or mechanisms, but before I could focus further, a small scanner extended from the wall, whirring as it swept across us. It paused briefly, its light flickering over the 7th Sister and me, then retracted with a soft beep.
A synthetic voice crackled through an unseen speaker. "Lifeforms identified. Welcome."
The door slid open with a smooth hiss, revealing a pristine interior that came as a jarring contrast to the disrepair of the previous corridors. The walls here were spotless, gleaming in the sterile white light, and the air was noticeably fresher, filtered and purified than what was in the rundown section. We stepped into a lobby with a few simple furnishings, but its clean design hinted at the efficiency of the operation. Nearby, several offices were visible, Imperial officers, data analysts, and security personnel working diligently. Imperial insignias hung on the walls, a few scan green plants added in corners to liven up the décor.
Before we could take in much more, a pair of stormtroopers approached, their blasters held in parade rest. Alongside them was a woman in an Imperial officer's uniform, her blonde hair tied neatly into a tight bun. She was in her late forties, her face weathered by years of service, but there was a sharpness in her gaze that suggested she missed nothing.
"Officer Halli Navos," she introduced herself with a curt nod. "I'll be escorting you to the interrogation room. Agent Farrkus is waiting for you."
We followed her through the polished hallways, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the smooth floor beneath us. I glanced at the 7th Sister with a flicker of my perceptions, whose attention was focused forward, her mind already churning through what lay ahead. As we neared the interrogation room, the hum of the building's life support systems seemed to grow louder, like a distant heartbeat echoing through the walls.
Navos keyed a panel at the door, and it slid open to reveal Agent Farrkus standing near the center of the room. He was in his thirties but looked older. His dark hair streaked with gray, and his eyes hollow from long nights of interrogation and sleepless vigilance. The weequay, Dodrias Benzik, hung suspended by chains from the ceiling in the middle of the room, his arms stretched above him, his head slumped forward. Blood and bruises marked his leathery skin, though he was conscious, eyes flicking weakly toward us as we entered.
Farrkus straightened, his expression a mix of relief and formality. "Inquisitors," he greeted, stepping forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person. I appreciate your assistance in this matter. We've had… limited success in extracting information from our guest."
The 7th Sister wasted no time. "What have you learned so far?" she asked, her tone clipped as she approached Benzik, her gaze fixed on him with calculated intensity.
"Not much," Farrkus admitted, gesturing toward the weequay. "He's been resistant to all of our usual methods, even the more extreme ones. He's proven to be more stubborn than we anticipated."
The 7th Sister circled the prisoner like a predator stalking her prey, asking Farrkus more questions about the interrogation process. Her voice was smooth, but I could feel the undercurrent of impatience behind it. Meanwhile, I remained silent, focusing my attention on the weequay. His battered form radiated pain and fear, but beneath that, I sensed something else—an unexpected resilience.
Without a word, I reached out with the Force, probing his mind. It was not difficult to breach the surface thoughts—his mind was a garbled mess, swirling with disjointed images and emotions. Flashes of sabaac card games, lustful fantasies involving famous dancers, and vivid memories of brutal killings flooded into my consciousness, all of it chaotic and unfocused. But beneath that was something else, something deeper that hid itself.
As I pressed further, the 7th Sister glanced over at me, her sharp senses catching on to what I was doing. Her conversation with Farrkus faltered for just a moment, and I felt her amusement flicker through the Force.
The more I dug, the more I realized there was something unusual about the weequay's resistance. He wasn't just stubborn; he had been trained. I pulled back slightly, letting the surface thoughts swirl again, before stepping forward to address the others.
"He's not just physically resilient," I said, my voice low and firm. "He's been trained to resist mental probing. There's something more going on here."
Farrkus frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Trained?"
I let the silence linger for a moment, because I felt obligated to bring some dramatics. "There's a Jedi involved."