Bevel is a simple man, who does simple work. The Shell pays good, and doesn't ask questions if he happens to enjoy a spice vial with the men now and then. That does not mean he's stupid, nor does he think the Hutt is stupid. Being invited into the Shell's chamber at this hour, and after already being dressed down for what happened out there earlier?
Bevel isn't sure if he's ready to die, but he knew that running now would only guarantee it, his contract notwithstanding.
Strong incense comes on thick as he steps through the door, no doubt to cover for the inescapable ichorus smell of the swamp, even this deep in the palace. The lighting was dim, though he knew that was little hindrance to the Hutt and his mechanical retainers in here.
The Shell is here, hovering a good foot off the dais thanks to his armor. Twin black glass plates turn to face him, set into the matte bronze of the Shell's helmet. Bevel stands there for a minute, the Shell in no hurry to speak.
"Chuba binggonya mi pynoo, Pateesa. Ateema, noona mwa wanta wanta uba tukuy Ootman kurukuy, foo nobata Spastika? Settah, Confeeba Droida, goola che Poonoo." The Shell's voice reverberates out from the tinny speaker on the armor, and Bevel wonders if the Shell has it low-quality on purpose, to make him seem more droid than Hutt.
It's not like he doesn't have the credits, that exoskeleton is probably worth more than some small freighters. Bevel thinks to himself.
Though the Hutt might weigh as much.
"The Honorable Reshul's patience wears thin, Bevel. How is it that a veritable fortress simply appeared overnight, with no shipments or outside contact? If the Separatists do have a foothold here, that will cause us many problems." The bug-eyed red protocol droid supplies a translation into basic.
The Separatists? He frowns internally, thinking about the past month.
Dozens of identical probe droids in a model nobody's ever seen or heard of, poking through Kos-Amul that seemed to be looking at… everything, really. And every last one of them left right at the same time, vanishing into the swamp.
That play might have been on purpose, so we couldn't tell what they were looking for.
An unknown party hits a speeder full of spice later that week, with no witnesses left behind, just a burned-out husk of a transport, caked with ruined, but not stolen, product on the inside. A few blaster burns marked the road and trees, but no bodies, no weapons or anything else worthy of attention.
Smells like a bounty hunter, but who would spend that much on taking out some sleemo punks on Nar Kaaga of all places?
Bevel eyes his boss warily, considering things.
Or maybe giggledust wasn't the only thing on that transport…
He recalls the garbled transmission, the drivers screaming about being under attack by 'things' in the bushes, and the vague, bulky figure that appeared in the feed right as the transmission cut off.
Could have been one of those new Super Battle Droids, it'd be about the right size...
But why would it have gotten so close?
And then there was the fortress. A colossal mass of dark angular metal, out in the swamp, that definitely wasn't there a few months ago. Last he saw of the place, gunmen were taking out the other scouts. The Shell of course blamed that on his incompetence, as if he had any say over where that krik Dooba decided to go...
That cold feminine voice, that he could only just barely hear through the trees...
"-irective t- -e: Clamp. C- -te. Exterminate."
He subdues a chill going down his spine at the memory, and finally opens up his mouth to speak.
"It's not them. Not the Separatists. They might have hit the transport, but that Fortress isn't theirs. I don't care how good their Droids are, no one could have built that out in the swamp without us noticing-"
Bevel can hear the Repulsorlifts in the Shell's armor straining as it lifts the slug off the dais, hovering close to him and planting a Durasteel gauntlet on his shoulder. He tries not to sweat, knowing how easily that hand could crush his arm off.
"Piia so. Coo sa, bu yaya mi Punchee, Bevel... Kay coo shuc phuuika che."
"Someone did. That is his point, Bevel. Find out who they are and who they work for." Right. The droid makes it sound so simple.
He gulps, trying to look the Shell in the eye through that mask. "Yes sir." He turns back to the door-
"Bevel."
The droid does not bother translating, and Bevel freezes.
"Chuba antu goola maya. Ichaka, chuba… stell phuuika ateema? Meendeeya kagwa Majordomo."
Bevel doesn't know much in the way of Huttese, which has probably not aided his career but…
There's no way…
"You have made some mistakes. However, you do good work here? Reshul may be in need of a new Majordomo."
Especially since you shot the last one…
He isn't sure if he should be more afraid of the Hutt behind him, or whatever it is waiting in that fortress.
(AN: The Huttese is extremely butchered, essentially just what I could cobble together with vaguely the right words, with heavily-irradiated Quechua thrown in for flavor. Also turns out Ben Burtt based Huttese on Quechua, which I found neat.)