The exhibition complex in spaceport district 4768 was typically noisy. The weekly used-equipment auction was about to begin, which always attracted a multitude of buyers and casual onlookers hoping to see if any "rare items" would appear in the bidding today. The social status and income level of the participants did not matter, as the lots presented varied widely in price.
Here one could find an old hyperdrive for a couple of hundred credits, or a brand-new custom-made private yacht for an astronomical sum. As a result, the hall, designed for several thousand visitors, was overcrowded.
For overpopulated Coruscant, such crowds of sentients were an ordinary occurrence, unlike on, say, desert Tatooine. Many disliked it, but no one was rushing to leave the "heart of the Republic." It was here that the Senate met and where almost all corporations known throughout the galaxy conducted their biggest deals. A wide scope for business, both legal and shadow.
A darkly-tanned, anthropomorphic droid polished to a sheen was slowly pushing its way through the crowd of sentients toward the entrance of the exhibition hall. It moved stiffly, deliberately restricting the freedom of its joints and servos to imitate the protocol droids commonly seen in society, whose designs often skimped on decent limbs.
It was genuinely grateful to its creator for having provided corresponding parts in its own body. Just as it was grateful for the pseudo-emotions included during programming and eventually developed to an almost human level. Thanks to them, it could confidently state that this planet was to its liking.
So many sentients around, crowds of aliens of various races, shoving each other, rushing somewhere, and completely failing to notice that an assassin droid was walking among them. He could, right now, discreetly eliminate any of them and disappear without a trace. After all, he was, and remains, the best at what he does. And judging by the records he found on the HoloNet, his high self-esteem was fully justified.
Modern assassin droids lacked creative thinking. And their design was quite... strange. How could one conduct covert operations with that? How could one gain the target's trust? Just breaking into a house and firing a couple of blaster shots could be done by any defective piece of metal with programming on the level of an accounting calculator.
But this red-skinned droid operated differently. He was always maximally effective and left no traces... or rather, almost always. The legendary HK-47, whose existence few even knew about during the Old Republic era, despite how many sentients he eliminated on the command of his creator—Darth Revan.
Did he enjoy killing? Undoubtedly. That's how he was created. Contempt for organics, cruelty, and cynicism formed the core programming code of his personality. Yet, at the same time, he was absolutely loyal to his Master and ready to unquestioningly execute any command.
And so, now he was confidently walking toward the pavilion to carry out the task assigned to him: to procure the YT-1930/FLP prototype for his Master. And with such a cruel restriction, too—no killing...
Well, the Master's order is the droid's law.
The updated sensor suite installed on Tatooine worked perfectly, transmitting a wealth of data about the surroundings to HK, including the number of guards and the defense systems. Almost 60% of his processor's computational power was allocated to processing the incoming information and formulating a plan.
There were several entrances to the pavilion where the bidding was to take place. The assassin quickly figured out that six different passages were meant for mere gawkers who came simply to watch. These doors were unguarded. Only two entrances were prepared for the bidders. And these were under strict control. Judging by the number of sentients at the guard posts and near the checkpoints, the passage on the left was for ordinary buyers, and the one on the right was for so-called "VIPs."
HK saw no point in such a division since the bidding hall was common to all anyway. But apparently, the very fact of having a separate entrance was important to wealthy organics, as a recognition of their status.
Less than an hour remained before the auction started, and HK also needed to inspect the potential purchase so that the Master would not be disappointed. The long queue at the entrance for "mere mortals" did not please him. At the same time, he noted that a registered participant card had to be presented to enter the hall. The same system was in place for the VIP entrance, except for the queue.
Since the assassin droid disliked wasting time, reasonably considering it inefficient, he decided to use the VIP entrance.
While one part of his computational core selected a suitable "legend" for the security detail, scouring the HoloNet via a remote connection, the other refined the plan. Fortunately, the wireless network covered every corner of Coruscant, and there were no problems obtaining information. Meanwhile, HK headed toward one of the registrars stationed slightly to the side.
"Greeting: I wish health to the esteemed representatives of the Coruscant Free Trade and Auction Commission!" HK began in an unctuous tone, approaching a tired-looking man of the Togruta race.
Casting an exhausted glance at the droid, the Togruta sighed and dropped his head onto his hands.
"Another protocol droid," he grumbled. "Why are all of you programmed with a speech as if you exclusively perform at social gatherings or work as prompters in the opera?"
The droid instantly read the man's mood and adjusted his behavior, assessing the efficiency of the chosen model. Though, his combat algorithms were brought to readiness just in case. What if he needed to quickly incapacitate this bag of meat?
"Incomprehension: I apologize, esteemed sir, but I fail to understand why my speech displeases you?"
"Use your circuits, tin can," the registrar snorted.
"Observation: Unfortunately, my computational core is physically incapable of scattering itself over the same area as the contents of an organic's skull."
If HK could have smiled, the stars themselves would have trembled at his smirk right then.
"Get out of here," the Togruta waved him off. "You wouldn't understand anyway. Better tell me what you want? Did your Master send you to the bidding?"
"Delighted: You are terribly perceptive! That is exactly the case! I am N4-K7, secretary to the Ka-Orossi family. My esteemed Master, the most illustrious Prince of the Second Ruling House of Silcura-4, Oswin Tr'kaali Falim na Coru Tatari Ka-Orossi, wishes to participate in the bidding. However, due to high engagement from an invitation to address the Senate, he cannot personally attend the auction."
This monarch was indeed currently on Coruscant and had been invited to the Senate. HK knew this for a fact thanks to the Galactic Senate news channel—the second-lowest-rated on the planet... if counting from the end of the list. So, very few watched this channel, but the information was reliable.
"Right, another one from the Senate crowd..." the man mumbled, typing something on his terminal. "Repeat the name, droid."
"Devoted: The most illustrious Prince of the Second Ruling House of Silcura-4, Oswin Tr'kaali Falim na Coru Tatari Ka-Orossi."
"Is that his entire name?" the Togruta grimaced.
"Exalted: Precisely so, and in no other way! The traditions of Silcura-4 require respectful address to any member of one of the three ruling families, including the full title."
"May they live well..." the registrar muttered discontentedly. "Hutt Kings from the backwater."
"Clarification: I assure you, my Master has no relation to the Hutts."
The man irritably waved him off, continuing to work with the terminal.
"I will require a Republic citizen identifier or a trade permit for Coruscant space, in case your planet is not part of the Republic." The Togruta squinted, reading the small font on the holographic display. "Alright, there should be no problem with that. According to this data, the Silcura system has had a representative in the Senate for three thousand years."
"Enthusiastic: That is correct. Our planet..."
"Be quiet, droid. Where is the identifier?"
HK leaned slightly toward the registrar's counter and lowered the volume of his vocoder.
"My Master would prefer his identifier not to be used in the bidding, so he gave me this." The droid handed the Togruta an infochip with a so-called "intermediary."
This was an identifier for a non-existent person, often used by black market traders when conducting deals. The bank accounts opened in this fictitious name were fully legal and actually existed. However, tracing the owner became much more difficult. The Hutt Cartel had been so kind, when concluding the deal with Revan, as to supply the former Sith with a couple of such crystals.
"This is illegal," the registrar frowned.
"My Master is prepared to generously compensate for the inconvenience." HK offered an untraceable credit chip.
Quickly scanning it, the Togruta smiled slightly.
"I see your Master does know how to conduct business in the Core Worlds after all," he approved with a hum.
Just a minute later, he handed the droid a small plastic card with an embedded infochip.
"This is the personal auction guest identifier. It will be used for bids, and you will need it for payment and receiving your winning lots," the registrar recited the standard information listlessly. "I also remind you that the lot must be paid for within one planetary day. Otherwise, I will transmit information about your Master to the Judicial Corps."
"Acknowledged, esteemed Mister Registrar," HK bowed.
The auction budget had just been reduced by 5,000 credits. However, the droid considered this an acceptable expenditure. Especially since he was already calculating ways to reduce the cost.
The auction security was top-notch, as evidenced by the weapon detectors at every entrance. Approaching them, HK was already calculating behavioral models in case the detectors managed to sense the pair of blasters and three thermal detonators hidden in shielded compartments under the armor on his waist and thighs.
There was no queue at the VIP entrance, so the droid approached the checkpoint without delay, extended the participant card, and passed through the scanner. Immediately, the detector let out an alarming beep, and the guards raised their rifles, aiming them at the iron assassin.
"What is it, Urto?" asked a tall human man in private security company armor, addressing the scanner operator.
"Something fuzzy," the operator replied. "Some indistinct readings. Doesn't look like a weapon... but something similar. The scanner classified the anomaly as a potentially-prohibited object."
HK-47 quickly assessed the situation and devised a plan of action based on the psychology of organics.
"Indignant: A weapon?!" the droid flared up. "How could you possibly think such a thing?! My circuits are practically melting with outrage! My Master is the most illustrious Prince of the Second Ruling House of Silcura-4, Oswin Tr'kaali Falim na Coru Tatari Ka-Orossi! An influential and respected citizen of the Republic! How dare you insult him with such distrust! I recommend he file a formal protest... no, a complaint! Most definitely, a complaint with the Senate. Fortunately, he is right there now."
The tirade caused the security guards to tense up and exchange glances. No one wanted trouble with the Senate. Such situations were common. Wealthy Senators often sent their own illegally modified security droids in their place, forgetting to supply them with the proper documentation or include them in the exception lists of the unified security database.
"That's all we need," the senior man with a weapon muttered. "Urto, are you sure about the readings?"
The hint in the guard's voice was so obvious that the operator was momentarily flustered.
"Uh... yes... I mean, no," he stammered, scrolling through the detector controls. "It's quite possible it's just military-model servos or a non-standard computational block."
"Meaning, nothing dangerous?"
"Well... no... probably."
"That's settled then," the senior man concluded. "On behalf of the 'Dark Gleam' Private Security Company, I apologize to your Master. You may proceed."
HK's blood-red optical sensors flashed, and he took his participant card from the guard's hand, calculating, just in case, how he would break this bag of meat's spine... in three places.
"Annoyed Farewell: Good day," the droid said as acidly as possible.
Finally breaking through to the exhibition complex, HK checked the holographic map to find the pavilion featuring small starships. All lots, with the exception of large starships and massive construction equipment, could be inspected at special exhibition grounds surrounding the main bidding building before the auction began. The pavilion, or rather hangar, was quickly located, as it was visible from afar.
Passing by the neat rows of speeders and air-cars, the droid paused briefly near a platform with deactivated security droids. However, after a quick inspection, he merely shook his head and moved on. His Master's words that this world had almost stopped developing were gradually being confirmed.
The walk to the hangar took a full five minutes, further shortening the time HK had for inspecting the prototype before the auction began. And there, in a row of five YT-1300 transports, appeared the "winged" silhouette of the YT-1930, painted in white and red. The cargo ramp was lowered, inviting potential buyers to inspect the ship.
Walking inside, HK noted that the armor, at least in the stern, was reinforced with thick durasteel plates. Although this was supposed to negatively affect the ship's weight, he surmised it would withstand damage quite well.
The right cargo hold, through which the droid entered, was empty but showed signs of a quick and somewhat rough equipment dismantling. Apparently, the engineers had taken the extra sensors and computational blocks from their "flying laboratory."
The first stop was the engineering bay with a pair of hyperdrives, installed at an acceptable distance from each other and enclosed in protective casings. This reduced the risk of hyperdrive failure in case, for example, the ship was hit by an asteroid fragment or collided with some cosmic object.
HK examined the Class One hyperdrive with interest, noting that the model was not mass-produced but had been manually modified, presumably by the manufacturer's technical team. The backup engine turned out to be Class Ten, which was quite acceptable. The droid also noticed that the engine configuration differed from the mass-produced YT-1930 model. The prototype had six sublight engines combined into a single array in the central stern, rather than four.
But these weren't all the surprises. A passage led directly from the engineering bay to the left cargo hold, which had been converted into an additional technical room. Two powerful generators were located here, which was excessive for such a small ship, but normal for a prototype testing various equipment with a wide range of power consumption. What had not been dismantled was the deflector shield, albeit a low-powered one.
Just as HK noted that the modified power supply system was perfect for installing powerful military-grade armament on the ship, he came across the shaft connecting the upper and lower defensive turrets. They were managed by two gunners, but fire could also be directed remotely from the cockpit if necessary, albeit less effectively due to microsecond data transmission delays and the need to multitask while piloting.
The living quarters were somewhat disappointing. It was clear that attempts had been made to tidy them up before the auction, but without much success. Panels peeling off the ceiling clearly attested to this. However, if one didn't nitpick the appearance, the living conditions were quite acceptable. There was even a small mess hall and a medbay. The droid desperately missed a workshop and a weapons storage area, but he decided that his Master would quickly remedy this shortcoming.
The overall condition of the ship could be assessed as satisfactory. Yes, many systems were worn, and diagnostics were unresponsive, but all of this could be easily repaired or replaced. Part of the main deck needed to be rebuilt, but those were minor details.
He was about to examine the cockpit when HK nearly collided with a group of sentients who also seemed intent on acquiring this ship. A Quarren and a pair of his security droids apparently did not expect to meet competitors on board. The unpleasant-looking alien with dangling tentacles around his mouth stared irritably at HK.
"Get out, droid! I've already set my sights on this ship," he gurgled in his native language, completely unaware that he was standing before the galaxy's best assassin.
Revan's creation had to cycle his Master's command through his processor several times to prevent the activation of the "eliminate annoying bag of meat" protocol.
"Indignant: I beg your pardon, but that will be decided at the auction!" the droid countered. "My Master is also interested in this ship."
"We'll see if your Master has enough credits," the Quarren snorted and moved towards the exit.
The droids followed him, keeping their sensors locked on HK.
"Mocking: Oh yes, foolish meatbag. We shall certainly see about that."
The plan for "purchasing" the freighter with minimal expenditure had just been finalized.
Ten minutes later, HK was seated among the bidders.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and esteemed sentients without gender affiliation!" the auctioneer's voice boomed in the main pavilion of the exhibition complex. "Welcome to our auction! My name is Darius Narr, and I am the man who will be running today's bids!"
The assassin droid paid little attention to the routine speech of the young man on the podium, who was making every effort to draw attention to himself. He allocated only 3% of his processor power to process the empty talk of this meatbag, deciding to focus on finding his potential "target."
The host ranted for a full ten minutes, irritating even the most patient guests. But he achieved his goal—he certainly got their attention.
Thus, the bidding began.
To warm things up, they started with small-scale equipment at a low starting price, so HK merely registered the completed transactions. What if the Master decided to buy a new power converter for the sublight engines? And the caring droid would immediately suggest that the necessary converter was acquired by the Sullustan Pin Kat'ann, who lives at such-and-such an address, and would willingly give up his purchase if he were "asked nicely." After all, when a polite droid asks a sentient to lend him something, who can refuse? Yes, they can't utter a word, but they nod so vigorously! It is difficult to speak with a blaster barrel in one's mouth... but those are minor details.
Like most of those present, HK was waiting for the bidding on the main lots—the ships—to begin. Meanwhile, his optical sensors kept track of the Quarren he had met on the prototype. The behavior of his security droids still followed the standard "Guardian-3" algorithm, already thoroughly studied by the iron assassin. Praise the HoloNet with its free "trial" access!
The native of the planet Dac had not yet placed a single bid. This meant he was waiting for the prototype, just as he had promised HK. This suited the droid perfectly.
In the meantime, the first starships appeared among the lots. The models came up in arbitrary order, without any sorting. A pleasure yacht in perfect condition was immediately followed by an ancient passenger transport. And right after it came an HWK series freighter in poor condition.
Finally, a hologram of the YT-1930 appeared above the podium, vividly described by the host as practically the pinnacle of scientific and technical progress, for which HK was ready to flay him alive on the spot. He couldn't have someone outbidding him and ruining the whole plan.
"And now, esteemed guests! The starting price is 55,000 credits! I remind you that this is a unique ship, embodying the boldest engineering solutions!" the host ranted.
Someone in the first row risked agreeing to the proposed sum. The Quarren immediately reacted, raising the price to 60,000. HK's optical sensors flashed, and he added another three thousand. An unknown Twi'lek raised the cost by another 2,000. The droid didn't lag behind.
Gradually, the sum kept rising. The other participants dropped out at 90,000, leaving the droid and the Quarren to settle it between themselves.
"95,000!" the native of the planet Dac shouted.
"Confident: Ninety-seven!" the droid interjected immediately.
"Ninety-seven thousand credits from the representative of the Silcura-4 ruling house!" the host confirmed the bid.
"A hundred thousand!" the Quarren yelled. "Go to a Banthas' backside, tin can!"
"Outraged: How dare you?! One hundred and two thousand!"
"One hundred and five! Rusty overgrown incinerator!"
"Angry: One hundred and seven! Tentacle-faced meatbag!"
"What?! What did you say, droid?!"
"Confident: You heard me, tentacle-face!"
"You Hutt error of imbecile engineers!"
"Going once at one hundred and seven thousand!" the host began the count impassively.
"Wait, may Needlespine devour you! One hundred and ten thousand!" the Quarren immediately gathered himself. "How about that, junk heap? Got enough credits?"
"Scoffing: Of course, offspring of a perverse union between a squid and an amphibian." HK emitted a sound resembling a laugh. "Insistent: One hundred and thirteen thousand! Warning: You may need to sell your tentacles to top that bid. If I am not mistaken, they are considered a delicacy in the restaurants of some planets."
"You bastard rattle-trap!" the Quarren exploded. "I'll take you apart! And I'll gut your Master!"
"One hundred and thirteen thousand, going once!"
"Stop! One hundred and fifteen thousand!"
"Impassive: One hundred and sixteen thousand."
"That's it! I've had enough! One hundred and fifty thousand!"
The hall gasped in astonishment. The sum exceeded the cost of a new YT-1930 series ship, even with additional equipment installed.
HK perfectly understood that it was pointless to participate further in the bidding, as he didn't need this ship for that price. And certainly not his Master. However, everything was going according to plan so far.
"Regretful: I am forced to withdraw," the droid announced dejectedly.
"Got that?!" the Quarren shouted joyfully, twitching his tentacles. "No one can top Tissex Dau's bid!"
HK barely resisted the urge to smack his own faceplate with a metallic palm. This stupid meatbag considered himself the winner after paying three times the estimated value.
Raising his hands in victory, the tentacle-faced alien moved toward the exit to make the payment and receive the bill of sale and ship documents. His guards followed him, completely failing to notice that their master's competitor had vanished from the hall just moments earlier.
The best assassin droid in the galaxy kept an unwavering eye on his "target." The Quarren, accompanied by a pair of mechanical guards, quickly reached the payment station and, with a displeased look, handed over a credit chip. The attractive Twi'lek cashier smiled, accepted the payment, and gave the client a datapad to receive all the necessary documents and confirmation of ownership for the starship.
This was what HK had been waiting for, having already studied some of the nuances of local auctions. The disk was anonymous, essentially a receipt of payment, merely confirming that its bearer had deposited the necessary sum into the seller's account. An oversight on the part of the organizers, representing a potential danger for buyers. After all, the datapad could be stolen...
However, that wasn't his style.
One could only receive their purchase after the auction concluded, meaning Tissex Dau would have to proceed to the waiting room. And thanks to the rather impressive sum of credits he had brought to the organizers, he would be allocated a private suite.
HK's calculation proved correct, and the Quarren was soon sipping the popular Kalamari Junco liquor from his homeworld, celebrating the purchase, or perhaps drowning his sorrow over the lost credits. The security droids took up positions outside, near the doors, ready to repel any threat to their Master.
The "Guardian-3" defense algorithms were a rather cheap solution for creating the illusion of security. At least, that's what HK-47 thought. Over his long "career," he had encountered various defense systems, as well as various bodyguards, allowing him to quickly assess all the advantages and disadvantages of different security solutions. And the Guardian-3 had many.
For example, they didn't react to the protocol droid slowly walking toward them down the corridor until the very last moment. Only when he offered them something clenched in his left manipulator did they bother to scan him.
"Conciliatory: A gift for your Master from mine," HK said in a saccharine voice, offering the guards an activated thermal detonator.
"Threat!!! Threat!!!" the pair of droids howled, momentarily entering a state of shock while their programming searched for options to resolve the situation.
And this time was exactly enough for the assassin to use a vibroblade to separate the head of one droid and pierce the processor of the second with two short, very precise movements.
"Disappointed: Is that all?"
Shaking his head, HK deactivated the grenade and reached a manipulator toward the door panel. The excellent soundproofing of the VIP apartments played a cruel trick on the Quarren currently occupying them. He never heard the exclamations of danger that his guards had repeatedly issued. And when the door opened, he only lazily turned his head to see who had dared to disturb him.
For a few moments, he processed what he was seeing. The severed head of one of his security droids, with its optical sensors extinguished, was staring at him, while the body below was an unfamiliar reddish-brown color. Blinking a couple of times, he realized that the red droid was holding the severed head of the bodyguard in one hand, using it as a mask.
"Mocking: Master, you have a visitor," HK drawled and tossed the head of the defeated guard at his feet. "Did I interrupt something?"
"What the..."
The Quarren didn't get to finish, as the assassin droid sent the bodyguard's head flying toward the tentacle-face with a kick, forcing him to duck sharply.
"Guards!" the native of the planet Dac screamed.
"Stern: Don't strain yourself, meatbag. Surveillance on the entire floor is currently undergoing unscheduled diagnostics," HK-47 informed him, dragging the bodies of the deactivated guards into the suite.
In desperation, the Quarren reached for the blaster that had been carelessly left on a nearby table, but HK was faster. Snatching the blaster, the droid shot the auction winner in the arm.
"Threatening: Do you truly not wish to live, meatbag?"
"What do you want?" Tissex groaned in reply.
"Scoffing: A mere trifle; the ship you purchased," the droid declared, playing with the blaster.
"Take it!" the tentacle-face instantly agreed.
"Disappointed: No, no, no. That won't do!" HK shook his head. "When will I get to use the threat of withholding the antidote to the deadly toxin you drank with your liquor?"
"What?!" the Quarren stared frantically at the empty glass.
"Jeering: You fell for it!" the droid chuckled.
"You..."
"Serious: Or did you not?"
Tissex darted his worried gaze from the glass to the droid and back. HK-47 shook his head again.
"Disappointed: How boring you are. Not like the Jedi," the assassin droid drawled. "Harsh: The datapad, quickly."
With trembling hands, the Quarren pulled the disk from his pocket and handed it to his potential killer, internally begging all gods to spare his life.
"Delighted: Excellent! My Master will be very pleased."
"You got what you wanted," Tissex stammered. "Now will you leave?"
"Sad: I would gladly just leave, but you would immediately run to the Judicial Corps. And I still have to register the ship and fly it to a safe location."
"Don't kill me! Please! I beg you!"
"Annoyed: I am a droid!" HK-47 protested, indignant. "I have no use for pleas or degradation!"
"Please!" the Quarren begged.
"Thoughtful: On the other hand, Master commanded me not to kill anyone."
"Please!" Tissex repeated, hopeful.
"Delighted: I know! I know the perfect solution!"
The droid's tone made the Quarren distinctly uneasy.
"Question: How do you feel about a coma? You don't have to answer. We don't have time for debates anyway. I still have so much to do... And a couple more meatbags deserve my visit. I shouldn't disappoint them."