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Coruscant, the Queen of the Core, Galactic City, Notron (in ancient times); the planet which occupied hyperspace coordinates 0, 0, 0 went by many names, but since time immemorial it had been the de facto center of Galactic civilization, and had served as the center of several Galaxy-spanning Empires and Republics. Its surface, sheathed entirely in a kilometers-deep layer of duracrete and metal after tens of millennia worth of industrialization and urban expansion, was home to uncounted trillions of sentients.
In the upper levels, it was indeed what the view from orbit promised; an endless expanse of glittering towers housing the rich and powerful, poking their crystalline spires up above the wispy clouds in an atmosphere purified by advanced technology.
But this urban utopia was only the surface.
Past the first few hundred levels, the story changed.
Between the monolithic cloudcutters and massive apartment towers sank deep, dark canyons. Lit only by the glow from sparse street-lights, holographic signs and grimy windows, the sun never reached the warren-like streets of the underworld.
This was the second city, the part of Coruscant that most who lived in the upper levels never saw, or indeed, paid any attention to.
Populated by the poor and desperate, it was a world where crime ran rampant, with its own rules, its own landscape, its own ecosystem. It was a world which toughened the strong, and consumed the weak.
It was as deadly a place as any in the Galaxy, and indeed, perhaps more so. It was not a place visited lightly...
Frex Calix grumbled to himself, his fingers drumming on the worn bronzium railing on the inside of the old turbolift.
Minions of Xendor, why had he agreed to a job like this?
In principle, it was a simple thing; Frex had been contacted by a party who wished to remain anonymous. In exchange for a dramatic number of credits, paid in advance, he had been contracted to accompany a group of other hired beings to travel into Coruscant's deepest under-levels, go to a location there, and retrieve some specified computer data and a handful of technological artifacts. He was then to bring them to the surface, leave the planet and deliver them to a drop point at one of the orbital stations.
In theory, Frex was quite qualified for the job; after all, he had grown up in the under-levels, in fact his species had likely evolved there. He was a slicer and smuggler by trade, and so the mission goal should not be difficult.
The reality was somewhat more complicated.
For starters, Frex had no wish to return to the under-levels of Coruscant; he had left years before, and did not bear fond memories of his childhood environs. Only the exorbitant amount of money he had been given had been able to change his mind, and only just.
Having grown up in the under-city, Frex also knew of its dangers. It was a hazardous place for the unwary; if the criminals didn't get you, the badly maintained streets, vigilantes, rogue droids, wild creatures and even freak weather pockets probably would.
Despite having a general idea of what to expect (enough to fear it), Frex was also headed to a part of the ecumenopolis he had never visited, even when he had lived on-planet. Coruscant was big, and even a native could easily become lost.
Besides that, the party who had hired Frex and his temporary associates had been frustratingly vague on just what - besides the specified data and items - the group would find once they got to their destination, if they made it that far through terrain that - at best - was poorly mapped.
Yes, easy!
The young rodent looked around the turbolift.
It was fairly easy to recognize a lift that went all the way to the under-levels; at one time, this one had been bright and clean, but a century or more of service had seen to stripping that away.
The railing Frex held was dented and scarred, etched - along with the walls - with graffiti in a dozen languages and hundreds of styles. The curved transparisteel windows were cracked and scratched, offering a panorama of the walls of the buildings outside, which grew progressively darker as they descended.
It was a long drop to the under-levels, and a ring of seats offered a place for passengers to relax. They weren't much help; their once plush cushions had largely been stripped away. Now mostly bare metal, they offered comfort which Frex was not inclined to take; he was too nervous about his destination to relax.
I ought to get my head examined... maybe these implants are affecting my judgement!
Turning away from the increasingly depressing view out the window, Frex looked to the other occupants of the turbolift, visible under the flickering glowpanel in the ceiling. Save for the battered attendant droid standing next to the controls, they were all people Frex would be working with during the odyssey ahead.
"So... anyone else ever been down this far before?" Frex asked in a weak attempt to start a conversation...
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