Sugar, spice and everything nice. These are the ingredients used to make a perfect addict overnight and supply a Pyke with credits left and right. This Pyke shifted his spice in several different directions day and night, to a handful of individuals, and to groups too.
One of them, a criminal element, an organized crime ring, a syndicate kind of thing, if not quite one of the Five Syndicates. Rather, Cul Laaster had learned who made it; that the Daggers originated as the Six Daggers with six members from all five of the Five Syndicates—Black Sun, Crimson Dawn, Crymorah Family, Hutt Clan, Pyke Syndicate—finally with member number six remaining a bit of a mystery.
They were headquartered nowhere and everywhere, communicated to one another and others via viewscreens and holograms, cloak-and-dagger plans—so they go unknown by most. Cul was one of their top suppliers, but the Pyke was not in their inner circle anymore than that poor Badger was.
For that Pyke’s spice to be experimented with in a private research facility, someone had to first get a hold of it from the Daggers. Afterwards it gets experimented with in a place built for scientists instead of crime business magnates. What gives? Using my spice. Was it because it was the Pyke’s kind of high of spice? Or because whoever operated this place wanted no legal trace? Or both.
Cul considered further in the elevator beside his contemporaries, deducing that any shady affiliation with Spero Station, Daggers or otherwise, explained why you had to be as good as a Jedi or a Sith to convince your way in if empty-handed and without badges.
We did it. We’re in. In the lift, his eyes are not on her, not on Cheriss, but on the doors before the group of four. He does not have the Force, but a Pyke is his own force, and his eyes might burn into hers without even looking at her. Question is…what does the Sith want out of all this?
“There is a tool for every task and a task for every tool.”
Thinks a lone Pyke amid the quiet hum of their elevator.
Yet, he is not whistling in the dark, neither is it a whisper.
Eyes upon metal, on cold steel. “Holding back is for fools.”
Whatever the power of their false names and the nature of their fake identities, they served as keys to opening the front door. There were more locks, of course, beyond the elevator doors as it stopped; where a lone corridor leads to a laboratory floor.
The room that was once in his imagination was now before his very vision. The son of Kar Laaster offered no hesitation as he entered. Whatever his temporary partner’s intentions were, a Pyke knows what he wants as he gazes upon spice. Mine.
A lab within a lab: table, desk, test tubes and chemistry sets; a capable setup to blend deadly elements besides spice too. Just by scanning the room with the naked eye the Pyke could deduce that researchers had been attempting to fuse this and that to conduct experiments with his product. My. Spice.
A Pyke can spy with his two violet eyes.
Through a microscope, the lens didn’t lie.
Results of rat, so docile, by his own spice.
Stolen, though, way back on that Black Kite.
"They tweaked it, made some changes, but my spice doesn't lie. There it is."
The Pyke motions for the Sith to read the same readings—amalgamations.
"Between my ingredients and those 'crystallized lattices', you get, well, this."
Spice meant compliant, the researchers, Tweedle Dee and Dum, mentioned.
“On the surface,” Cul begins, breaking his vision, around the room glancing.
“This Spero Station appears to be your average restricted research facility.
Main level dedicated to the study of domestic and foreign life, even rocks.
Beneath it, things get different.” Laaster spies a computer. “Deeper. A lot.”
The technicians had mentioned the restrictions between the station’s levels.
That was natural, needing clearance to get between A and Z, and just as well.
Their false identities got them this far, as the Pyke watches two rats gaze back.
Rats in a maze, with a display showing spiked levels of spice, injections. It’s fact.
It didn’t take a scientist to see science before one’s very eyes. But, really, no surprise.
It wasn’t a mystery why drugged rats would become so dumb. It was the possibility.
“Aquarium, the idiots mentioned, but likely more of the same to see as on this side.”
Cul turns to his right, another computer, but this Pyke can’t slice. “Care to help me?”
Technometry, a sorcerer’s ability to tap into technology, and surely this Cheriss knew of it.
In that computer would be answers, even skeleton information on levels deeper than this.
Than the floor beneath where Gravenell Aquarium research was being done. But what is it?
What were they using Cul Laaster’s spice for? They need to open that door. Show us…Sith...
@Sicadorito
One of them, a criminal element, an organized crime ring, a syndicate kind of thing, if not quite one of the Five Syndicates. Rather, Cul Laaster had learned who made it; that the Daggers originated as the Six Daggers with six members from all five of the Five Syndicates—Black Sun, Crimson Dawn, Crymorah Family, Hutt Clan, Pyke Syndicate—finally with member number six remaining a bit of a mystery.
They were headquartered nowhere and everywhere, communicated to one another and others via viewscreens and holograms, cloak-and-dagger plans—so they go unknown by most. Cul was one of their top suppliers, but the Pyke was not in their inner circle anymore than that poor Badger was.
For that Pyke’s spice to be experimented with in a private research facility, someone had to first get a hold of it from the Daggers. Afterwards it gets experimented with in a place built for scientists instead of crime business magnates. What gives? Using my spice. Was it because it was the Pyke’s kind of high of spice? Or because whoever operated this place wanted no legal trace? Or both.
Cul considered further in the elevator beside his contemporaries, deducing that any shady affiliation with Spero Station, Daggers or otherwise, explained why you had to be as good as a Jedi or a Sith to convince your way in if empty-handed and without badges.
We did it. We’re in. In the lift, his eyes are not on her, not on Cheriss, but on the doors before the group of four. He does not have the Force, but a Pyke is his own force, and his eyes might burn into hers without even looking at her. Question is…what does the Sith want out of all this?
“There is a tool for every task and a task for every tool.”
Thinks a lone Pyke amid the quiet hum of their elevator.
Yet, he is not whistling in the dark, neither is it a whisper.
Eyes upon metal, on cold steel. “Holding back is for fools.”
Whatever the power of their false names and the nature of their fake identities, they served as keys to opening the front door. There were more locks, of course, beyond the elevator doors as it stopped; where a lone corridor leads to a laboratory floor.
The room that was once in his imagination was now before his very vision. The son of Kar Laaster offered no hesitation as he entered. Whatever his temporary partner’s intentions were, a Pyke knows what he wants as he gazes upon spice. Mine.
A lab within a lab: table, desk, test tubes and chemistry sets; a capable setup to blend deadly elements besides spice too. Just by scanning the room with the naked eye the Pyke could deduce that researchers had been attempting to fuse this and that to conduct experiments with his product. My. Spice.
A Pyke can spy with his two violet eyes.
Through a microscope, the lens didn’t lie.
Results of rat, so docile, by his own spice.
Stolen, though, way back on that Black Kite.
"They tweaked it, made some changes, but my spice doesn't lie. There it is."
The Pyke motions for the Sith to read the same readings—amalgamations.
"Between my ingredients and those 'crystallized lattices', you get, well, this."
Spice meant compliant, the researchers, Tweedle Dee and Dum, mentioned.
“On the surface,” Cul begins, breaking his vision, around the room glancing.
“This Spero Station appears to be your average restricted research facility.
Main level dedicated to the study of domestic and foreign life, even rocks.
Beneath it, things get different.” Laaster spies a computer. “Deeper. A lot.”
The technicians had mentioned the restrictions between the station’s levels.
That was natural, needing clearance to get between A and Z, and just as well.
Their false identities got them this far, as the Pyke watches two rats gaze back.
Rats in a maze, with a display showing spiked levels of spice, injections. It’s fact.
It didn’t take a scientist to see science before one’s very eyes. But, really, no surprise.
It wasn’t a mystery why drugged rats would become so dumb. It was the possibility.
“Aquarium, the idiots mentioned, but likely more of the same to see as on this side.”
Cul turns to his right, another computer, but this Pyke can’t slice. “Care to help me?”
Technometry, a sorcerer’s ability to tap into technology, and surely this Cheriss knew of it.
In that computer would be answers, even skeleton information on levels deeper than this.
Than the floor beneath where Gravenell Aquarium research was being done. But what is it?
What were they using Cul Laaster’s spice for? They need to open that door. Show us…Sith...
@Sicadorito
