Another six months passed since Verena joined him. During this time, she became an excellent employee—she regularly flew to Coruscant and several other worlds, transporting antiques and components. She didn't leave the ship on Nar Shaddaa; Alex forbade it—Gorga shouldn't know she was here. Too many painful memories, but she worked reliably and professionally.
Alex had been planning all this time. Even during his first meeting with Gorga, when he was fixing his droids, he left several loopholes in their program code. Back then, it was just a precaution—just in case. If he had known he would decide to kill the Hutt, he would have made the system more sophisticated. But what he had was enough.
The problem was that if he used these loopholes directly, they would immediately trace him. Hutts were very organized when it came to revenge for the murder of one of their own. They destroyed not only the killer but also all his relatives, friends, acquaintances. That's why few people dealt with them.
But Alex had already made his decision, and in recent years, he had seen things through to the end. He understood a simple truth: when you set a goal, you must discard everything else that hinders it to achieve it. The most important thing in life is Will, the ability to stick to your guns. Those who have it always rule over those who don't. Will is primary; everything else is just attributes, even money and power. Nar Shaddaa constantly taught him life lessons, made him tougher, more cynical. But it was necessary for survival.
The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Gorga's droids would "accidentally" leak information about the palace's weak defenses to a rival clan. They would leak it in such a way that it wouldn't even be considered a mistake. It would more likely look like the merit of Jabba the Hutt's intelligence, who had long coveted Gorga's territory for his young relative. All that was needed was to give him a reason and an opportunity.
In the evening, when everything was ready, Alex knocked on Verena's cabin.
"Get dressed," he said. "Come with me."
"Where?" she asked, surprised.
"You'll see."
He took two expensive cloaking field devices from the safe—military-grade, worth a fortune.
"What's happening?" Verena asked, but her voice already held understanding.
"What we agreed on."
They left the ship at the moment when it began to drizzle over Nar Shaddaa. The first drops were barely noticeable, more felt like damp dust in the air. Alex activated the cloaking field, and the world around him shimmered slightly, as if he were looking through ripples on water. Verena followed suit, and her silhouette became blurred, almost transparent.
"Where are we going?" she whispered as they descended from the landing pad to one of the city's mid-levels.
"Revenge," Alex replied curtly, and his voice held such cold determination that Verena stopped asking questions.
The rain intensified with every minute. At first, it was a light drizzle that mixed with industrial fumes and created an acrid haze in the air. Then the drops became larger, heavier, and soon a real downpour hit the city. Water streamed down the skyscraper walls in black torrents, washing away dirt and soot, only to be immediately stained by new dirt. On Nar Shaddaa, even the rain was dirty.
The cloaking fields interacted strangely with the raindrops. When the rain hit an activated field, it created strange optical effects—the drops seemed to hang in the air for a moment before rolling down. That's how it seemed from the inside. From the outside, the camouflage was perfect. The field distorted their trajectories, making the water flow along the invisible contours of their bodies.
Alex walked ahead, confidently navigating the labyrinth of passages and platforms. In all the years of living on Nar Shaddaa, he had never ventured so far from his dock on foot. He usually used speeders, but today it was important not to leave any traces. The cloaking field not only made them invisible but also muffled the sounds of their steps, turning each step into a barely audible whisper.
It was strange to walk—the sensation was as if you were moving in a cocoon of silence, cut off from the surrounding world. Even breathing sounded muffled, and the voices of passersby seemed to come from afar. Verena looked around several times, checking if they were visible, but the field worked flawlessly.
As they delved deeper into the city, Alex was increasingly amazed at how little he knew about Nar Shaddaa beyond his usual route. Here, in the depths of the mid-level, the city showed its true face—and it was disgusting.
They passed a den where drug addicts huddled in a dilapidated building. Through the broken windows, a picture of ruin was visible—emaciated bodies, wild eyes, dirt, and poverty. The slanting rain flooded the premises through holes in the wall, but the inhabitants of the den seemed not to notice. They were too far gone in their chemical dreams.
A little further was an underground organ market. Alex knew of its existence but saw it for the first time. Traders in dirty robes offered their wares to a few buyers. In large glass containers floated human organs—hearts, kidneys, livers. They were still pulsating, supported by life-support systems. Prices were written on signs next to each container.
"God," Verena whispered, seeing this scene. "Why did they choose to live like this?"
"Anything is possible on Nar Shaddaa," Alex replied. "There are no laws here, except the law of strength and money. If you have credits, you can buy anything. If not—you can sell anything, including your own body in parts."
The rain continued to pour, turning the passages between skyscrapers into rivers of murky water. The streams washed away garbage, waste, and sometimes corpses from the passages. No one was surprised—death was a common occurrence in this part of the city.
They passed a brothel where representatives of the galaxy's most exotic races stood in the windows. Their eyes were empty, devoid of hope. Many bore traces of beatings or drug addiction.
The cloaking field continued to shimmer around them, creating a hypnotic effect. This was especially noticeable in the light of neon signs, which reflected in the field in bizarre patterns. The red light of the brothel turned into dancing sparks, the blue glow of drug advertisements spread out in rainbow spots. The field seemed to live its own life, reacting to every light source.
"Where are we going?" Verena asked again when they stopped at an intersection, choosing their further path.
"To see Gorga's death," Alex repeated, pointing towards the elite sector, whose lights were visible in the distance.
They turned into a narrow alley between two skyscrapers. It was especially dark here—streetlights barely penetrated, and the rain poured even harder, streaming down from the roofs in powerful torrents. Alex turned on a small flashlight, but its light, refracting through the cloaking field, created strange glares.
In the alley, they stumbled upon a group of homeless people sheltering from the rain under a makeshift canopy of scrap metal. They were representatives of different races—humans, Rodians, a few Duros. All of them looked exhausted, hungry, sick. Children huddled close to adults, trying to keep warm. One of the toddlers was coughing—a deep, racking cough that boded no good.
The cloaking field made Alex and Verena invisible, but not insensitive. Verena slowed her pace, looking at the children.
"Maybe we could..."
"No," Alex cut her off harshly. "Today, we must leave no trace."
He was right, and Verena understood it, but it didn't make it any easier. The city devoured sentient beings, grinding them in its mills of poverty and despair. Those at the top lived in luxury, while those at the bottom slowly died in dirt and oblivion.
They emerged from a narrow parapet onto a wider walkway where traffic was more intense. Speeders whizzed by, drenching pedestrians with wind mixed with drops of dirty rain. Their headlights illuminated raindrops, creating cones of light in the air. Alex and Verena's cloaking fields slightly distorted these beams, but not enough to attract attention.
Gradually, the character of the district began to change. Buildings became taller and cleaner, neon signs brighter and more expensive. They were approaching the elite sector, where the rich and criminal bosses lived. Even the rain seemed cleaner here—air purification systems worked better, and the sewage system coped with its duties.
But here too, there was a dark side. In one of the alleys, they saw a group of mercenaries beating up some man. The victim was no longer resisting, only moaning softly.
The cloaking field allowed them to observe this scene while remaining unnoticed, but Alex hurried Verena along. They had their own objective, and interfering in other people's affairs could ruin everything.
They went up several levels, using external stairs and elevators. The rain was not as heavy here—the weather control systems of the elite sector partially protected it from the elements. But still, water streamed down the building walls, creating intricate patterns on the glass.
The cloaking fields worked properly. Alex checked the battery charge—there was still enough power left.
"Not far now," he told Verena, pointing to a grim skyscraper ahead.
The building towered over the surrounding structures, its upper floors lost in the rain clouds. Signal lights flashed on the roof, warning air traffic. It was one of the most expensive residential complexes in the sector, where apartments cost a fortune.
Alex had studied the building's layout in advance and knew how to get to the roof unnoticed. The service entrance was guarded only by an electronic lock, which he easily bypassed with his multi-tool. The cloaking fields made them virtually invisible to surveillance cameras.
They ascended in a service turbolift, and with each floor, the city below became more impressive. The lights of Nar Shaddaa stretched to the horizon—millions of light sources, each telling its own story. Somewhere, the windows of luxurious penthouses glowed, somewhere, neon signs of dens flickered, somewhere, torches burned in the slums of the lower levels.
The rain drummed on the metal of the turbolift, creating a rhythmic melody. The sound of their steps was still muffled by the cloaking fields, but the echo still bounced off the walls of the narrow shaft. Verena was breathing heavily—the ascent was not easy, especially in high humidity.
"How much longer?" she asked, stopping to catch her breath.
"Two floors," Alex replied, checking his navigator's readings.
Finally, they reached the roof. The door was locked, but the lock yielded to the same tool as the one below. They emerged onto a flat roof, covered with various technical equipment—antennas, ventilation shafts, air conditioning systems.
The rain poured down with full force here, unimpeded by any obstacles. The wind at such a height was stronger, and the drops lashed against the protective field. The cloaking fields flickered even more intensely, reacting to the electrical discharges in the atmosphere. From time to time, lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the city with an eerie light.
The roof offered an excellent view of Gorg's palace, located in the neighboring block. The massive building towered above the other structures, its towers and spires lost in the rain clouds. The windows glowed with a warm yellow light—life was bustling inside, unsuspecting inhabitants going about their business.
Alex took out his binoculars and adjusted the frequency on his communicator. The rain hindered observation, drops constantly hitting the lenses, but the military optics were designed for such conditions.
"I've arranged everything," he told Verena, wiping water from his face. "Enjoy. Gorg dies today. It doesn't matter that you're not doing it yourself. But there will be no consequences. It's good when the enemy is killed and trampled, and you are safe and sound, and no one even knows it was you."
Verena nodded silently. A cold fire burned in her eyes, which neither the rain nor the wind could extinguish. She looked at Gorg's palace with such hatred that Alex involuntarily shivered. Revenge was a powerful force, capable of changing a sentient being beyond recognition.
The cloaking field continued to flicker around them, creating a sense of unreality. They stood on the roof of a skyscraper in the pouring rain, invisible and inaudible, preparing to witness a death.
The assault began exactly at midnight. Jabba's fleet of ships appeared above the palace as if from nowhere—the early warning systems had been disabled thanks to leaked information. Jabba's intelligence had managed to hack the security systems. The palace's protective shields flickered and died—the power nodes were malfunctioning. He remembered Tolcho's advice that droids don't betray and chuckled. They don't betray when you personally control everything.
"It's started," Alex whispered, his words drowned out by the sound of the rain.
The first explosions illuminated the night sky brighter than lightning. The turbo-laser cannons of Jabba's ships methodically destroyed the palace's defensive structures. The return fire was weak and disorganized—Gorg's guards clearly did not expect an attack.
The rain turned the battlefield into a surreal picture. The flashes of explosions reflected in millions of drops, creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. Smoke from fires mixed with rain clouds, painting the sky in ominous shades of red and orange.
Gorg's guards tried to organize a defense, but without a functioning security system, it was difficult. And the droids had disappeared somewhere. However, the defenders had no time for contemplation. Chaos grew with every minute. Alex watched through his binoculars as his carefully planned sabotage bore fruit. Every loophole in the code worked flawlessly.
Jabba's landing craft touched down in the palace's inner courtyard, disembarking mercenary squads. They moved professionally and in unison, methodically clearing room after room. Resistance was minimal—the unexpected attack demoralized the defenders.
Alex activated his communicator, tuned to the frequency of one of his spy droids. The combat droid he had repaired in his time was still in the palace. Most of the other droids had been destroyed in the fighting, but the transmitter in the old assassin droid had miraculously survived.
Through the crackle of interference and the sound of rain, the sounds of battle could be heard—gunshots, screams, explosions. Then a relative silence fell, broken only by the drumming of drops on the metal roof.
"Bring him here!" Jabba's hoarse voice boomed in Huttese. "Alive!"
Alex translated for Verena: "They've got Gorg."
Then Jabba ordered Gorg to be skinned. The next half-hour was filled with sounds best left unheard. The rain couldn't drown out the screams of pain and the sadistic laughter of the victors. Alex and Verena stood on the roof, soaked to the bone, listening as "justice" was served according to Huttese law.
The cloaking fields continued to work.
"Sick race," Alex commented, wincing with disgust at the sounds coming from the palace.
He was glad he only heard the sounds and didn't see what was happening. Jabba laughed with amusement and pleasure—it was entertainment for him. The rain washed blood from the streets below, but it couldn't wash away the cruelty from the hearts of those who ruled this city.
Alex looked at Verena. She was crying quietly, covering her face with her hands. Raindrops mixed with her tears, streaming down her cheeks like cold rivulets. He thought he shouldn't have organized all this—perhaps revenge wasn't worth such suffering.
But suddenly, her crying turned into laughter. Verena raised her head, and mad sparks danced in her eyes, reflecting the flashes of lightning.
"Die, you creature!" she whispered, and her voice held such malicious glee that even Alex felt awkward.
Gorg's screams grew weaker until they finally died out. Jabba grunted something in Huttese—apparently expressing satisfaction with the work done. The rain continued to pour, hiding the traces of the endless war for power and territory.
"It's over," Alex said. "Gorg is dead."
Verena nodded, wiping tears and rainwater from her face. Her face held a strange mixture of relief, satisfaction, and emptiness. Revenge had been achieved, but it left a void behind.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome. I wanted it too."
They began their descent from the roof. The cloaking fields were still working, but the battery charge was running out. They needed to get to the ship before they became visible. The rain didn't let up, turning the stairs into waterfalls and the streets into rivers.
The journey back seemed even longer and more arduous. They were soaked, tired, emotionally drained. The city around them continued its life—somewhere music played, somewhere people screamed in pain, somewhere deals were made that decided the fates of sentient beings.
Passing the same places as before, Alex noticed details that had changed. The drug den was now flooded with rainwater, but its inhabitants still lay in their chemical dreams, indifferent to the discomfort. The organ market had closed—the traders had covered their goods from the rain.
In an alley where they had seen a beating, a motionless body now lay. The rain had washed away the blood, but it couldn't bring back life. Another victim of the cruel city, another story that ended in death in the mud and oblivion.
"Where are we going?" Verena asked as they turned into a familiar alley.
"Home," Alex replied, and the word sounded strange when applied to the ship docked on Nar Shaddaa.
But it was truly their home—the only place in this cruel world where they could feel relatively safe. The ship was their fortress, their refuge from the chaos and violence that reigned around them.
The cloaking fields finally discharged as they reached the dock. Alex and Verena became visible again, but at this late hour and in such rain, there was no one on the streets. They quickly boarded the ship, leaving wet footprints behind.
From where they came, Gorg's palace was ablaze—Jabba had ordered everything burned to the ground to leave no trace. Smoke rose into the sky, mixing with the rain clouds. By morning, only a charred skeleton would remain of the palace—a monument to another victory of the strong over the weak.
The next day, news of Gorg's murder spread throughout Nar Shaddaa. The official version stated that the young Hutt had fallen victim to internal clan disputes. Jabba publicly expressed his "deep sorrow" over the death of his relative and promised to find the culprits.
The rain continued for several more days, turning the city into one large puddle. Water flowed from the skyscrapers like waterfalls, flooded the lower levels, washed away garbage and dirt. But as soon as the downpour ended, Nar Shaddaa quickly returned to its usual state—dirty, cruel, but full of life.
Alex worked in his dock as usual, feigning complete indifference to what was happening. Several clients asked his opinion about the incident, but he just shrugged.
"That's life on Nar Shaddaa," he'd say. "Today you're on top, tomorrow you're gone."
Verena spent the whole day on the ship, not leaving her cabin. When Alex went to see her in the evening, she was sitting by the porthole, looking at the city lights. The rain had stopped, but moisture still hung in the air, creating rainbow halos around the light sources.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Strange," she replied after a long pause. "I thought I would be happy. But I'm just... empty."
"Revenge rarely brings the satisfaction you expect."
"But I don't regret it. He got what he deserved."
Alex nodded. He didn't regret what they had done either. Gorg was a monster, and the world was a little better without him. But the price of this justice was high—a piece of his own humanity had died with the Hutt.
Nar Shaddaa truly changed people. It turned them into what they never wanted to become. But sometimes, a sentient being had no choice—either change or perish.
"What now?" Verena asked.
"Now we live on. We work. We earn money. We forget what happened."
"And if we can't forget?"
"Then we learn to live with it."
They had one less problem. And that was the main thing.