The weaving force: Chapter 6 (Patreon)

Chapter 6:

Hannah

Cordello was easy to find; asking the locals brought her right to it. Some answered her with curious looks, others with fear. But it became obvious that when someone was searching for people connected to Jabba, everyone knew where they were and no one tried to delay you.

Hannah tried very hard to remind herself that she should not let her worry for Dennis make her sloppy.

She should take it slow, stake out the place, make sure that Watto hadn’t sent her to a slaver ring where she’d be ambushed as soon as they knew she was a foreigner here who wouldn’t be missed.

She should try to spot the watchers, the guards, and hidden dangers.

Dennis was committed to Watto’s service for two days. Rushing this job and cutting corners wouldn’t change that.

But she wasn’t there. She couldn’t make sure he was safe. So remaining patient and keeping her head clear was difficult at best.

Nevertheless, she did it. She did her due diligence. She spied three guards along the perimeter. One human, the other the green pig-like alien - Gamorean - and the third an alien she didn’t recognize with a bulbous head and eyes.

The inside was indeed a repair shop of some kind, parts and mechanical devices she didn’t have a name or a reference for strewn about. But people came in, picked up or dropped off their orders, and left.

There were employees. Eight of them; only two were armed.

There were also slaves. Twenty of those.

Regardless, soon enough she didn’t have the means of gathering more information from the outside, so she decided to finally head on in.

Like Watto’s shop, beads marked the “front door” of this place, clinking and jostling as she walked past them.

A desert planet - doors were open to help the wind blow. It made sense, but it still made her feel exposed from behind, knowing the three armed guards could march in at any time with barely a warning. Or worse, simply take a shot from outside if they needed it.

One of the slaves approached her - a young man.

“Yes, Miss?” he asked, polite and eyes cast down to her boots. “How may I help you?”

She tried to smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes, not that he could see it with his gaze so far down.

“I’m looking for Cordero,” she answered. “He may have served two Rodians I’m looking for.”

The boy’s eyes twitched for a moment. “I will inform the master, but he might be busy.”

“Tell him…” She hesitated on what to say, pulling on her previous experience on talking to ‘first time’ snitches to find a convincing argument that might help. “It’ll be good for business.”

The boy bowed, and the action made her stomach twist uncomfortably before he scurried off.

She waited by the front entrance; pacing with an uncomfortable knot in her gut.

When the alien emerged from the back, she remembered his species was called “Dug.”

It was a strange creature. Its hind legs were small, stunted things. It ‘walked’ on its hands, with stunted legs hooked in front of it ending in small, dextrous fingers.

He  barked out something in his language. Luckily, the slave boy that had greeted her was there; seeing her confusion, he quickly translated,

“The Master kindly asks you to inform him why you’ve come.”

The Master sounded far more brusque than that but she wasn’t going to beleaguer the point.

“My name is Hannah,” she said. “I’m searching for two Rodians. They may have come through here looking for a repair job or an installation for a high end cooling unit.

The alien growled, pivoting his whole body and delivering a solid kick to the boy beside him. The youth cringed, reeling and immediately falling to the floor in a bow as the alien berated him.

Hanna’s fist clenched, itching to step forward.

“The Master says- this is a waste of his time and that I lied, saying it was good for business when it’s just worthless bounties.” The boy managed to speak between blows, hands cradling his head, face pressed to the floor.

“He didn’t lie,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. “It would be good for business to tell us where those Rodians are.”

Cordero turned, sneering at her as he spoke.

“T-the master says that once people know he gives up bounties he’ll lose half his clients. You ahh…”

A snap of something from the slave master.

“-you stupid Schutta.”

She wasn’t sure what a Schutta was, but she could infer well enough.

“Those Rodians have brought in off world attention. Jabba likes people playing in his backyard even less than he does businesses not doing well.”

The Dug glared, eyes narrowing as he spoke. The boy translated, “No one would be stupid enough to do work on Tatoine without clearing it with Jabba.”

“They have,” she bluffed with an easy shrug. “Did they tell you what those coolant parts were being used for? I doubt it,” she pressed on. Guessing. Criminals, hopefully, were the same no matter the galaxy.  “We’re here to make things… easy. Get the situation fixed. We don’t do it, guess who shows up next? It won’t be Bounty Hunters next time.”

The Dug scoffed, but he didn’t turn away.

He muttered something else, which the slave translated, face still pressed into the dirt.  “Crossing Jabba over two Rodians. You think I’m a fool?”

“They’ve pissed off a lot of people,” she insisted. “Tell us where they are, and we’ll be out of your hair. No one has to know you told me.” She offered a shrug.

A moment of heavy silence.

“Are two off-world Rodians really worth this headache?”

The Dug glared, clearly weighing his options, Before turning and walking away.

With a snapped order, the slave followed after him.

Militia watched them go, fists clenched and teeth grit. She could hardly arrest every slave master on this planet. Or, really, anyone at the moment.

She released her anger in a long, slow breath. She was just turning, ready to march out, when the slave stiffly walked back out.

He scuttled up to her, she could see the bruising under his too thin shirt.

Leaning close he whispered, “A slave knows where they might be. One of the ones who worked on the installation.”

Her eyes widened, then, understanding.

The Dug would never tell her… but he couldn’t stop his slaves from spreading rummors.

She could see the logic, thinly veiled though it might be.

“There is a home. Three sublevels, outskirts of Mos Eisley, near the junkyard,” the slave boy whispered. “Outside there is an old TX-37 speeder. That’s where they were.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

The slave boy nodded back, and with his head bowed he turned and marched back to the rear of the shop, towards his Master…

Militia reminded herself again that she could hardly arrest every slave master on this planet.

She stepped out into the blistering streets.

Dennis:

He hefted the last of the boxes with a grunt.

“Geez, what does he have in here? Bricks?” the boy wondered, groaning as he rubbed his aching lower back.

Note to self, bend knees.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair when he realized… he wasn’t sweating.

Tossing a look out the window to the blistering heat beyond the shelter of the shop he boggled at how exactly he was… ok in here.

“It’s the stone.”

Dennis turned, rounding on the new voice, finding a woman entering the little hut, another crate of parts resting over her hip and under her arm.

“Was I that obvious?” he asked.

She smiled. “You have the look- the one newcomers have when they realize it can be quite cool, even on Tatooine.

He smiled, moving to help her grab the box. “Well if I’ve got ‘the look,’ I’ve got ‘the look,’ I guess.” he said.

The woman smiled, crow’s feet crinkling the edges of her eyes.

“Hi,” he said, adjusting the box under his arm. “I’m Dennis.”

“Shmi,” she answered with a courtesy he wouldn’t have expected. “You’re helping Watto?”

“For a day or two,” he answered simply. “I take it he didn’t rope you in on a bargain deal too?”

She raised an eyebrow, and then oddly, pulled back her sleeve revealing a… tattoo?

Oh…

Oh.

“You’re a slave?” he blurted, hand snapping up to slap over his lips, shutting himself up..

Never before had he felt more stupid for running his goddamn mouth

“I’m so sorry!” he nearly screamed. “I- didn’t mean it like that! It's just that we needed help so the deal was I help him for info- a-and-”

“I understand,” she said, and though her tone didn’t change Dennis couldn’t help but feel there was a great gulf between the two of them now that hadn’t been there before. “You didn’t mean it to be cruel.”

“No! No!” He cringed. “I… I stuck my foot firmly in my mouth. We ahh, don’t have slaves where I come from.”

She smiled, wistful and longing. “I’ve heard of those worlds. Stories, really.”

“I am so sorry,” he repeated, imploring her to believe him by his voice alone.

“It is alright,” she assured, and he wasn’t sure if it was true. “But we both have duties to attend before Master Watto returns.”

He opened his mouth, shut it and nodded, turning sharply with an about face to beat a hasty retreat.

He’d been in the vicinity of a Lung rampage, once, and hadn’t run quite so fast.

(X)(X)(X)

Alexandria:

The Arena crowd roared in a clamor of voices and screaming jubilation.

The contests were simple things. Fights between two ‘contestants’ or small teams. Mostly they used melee weapons, though blasters weren’t off limits. If she were to guess, the melee users were the slaves. For ‘entertainment,’ if she were any judge.

Blood was spilled, lives were taken, and the crowd howled their approval.

Teams of three or four occasionally fought other teams of three or four.

She didn’t speak to the other combatants around her. No point. Some of the less fortunate ones milled about, searching for allies, trying to form a group to fight the other, larger aliens. Gamoreans - the piggish green ones - seemed to be the big concern to most, likely due to sheer physicality.

She took the time to watch the weaponry, analyze it. It wouldn’t do to believe she was invulnerable only to die to a stray shot of something that could, in fact, kill her.

Time went by quickly.

From what she could see down in the pits, there were three Hutts in attendance, each taking bets and laughing at the spectacle. They were fat, slovenly things. Slaves and bodyguards were arrayed around them, seeing to their every whim.

Finally, the ‘grand melee’ was called.

Fifty seven contestants. Only one could win.

It was a distasteful thing. A waste… But she’d done worse in her life. They all had.

She settled her mind, forcing herself down into that place where there was the job that needed doing, and she was the one that could do it.

From there…it was easy.

The Arena sands were already marked with blood from the other combatants, littered here and there with the other evidence of previous fights: discarded weapons, pieces of destroyed armor, even limbs.

She couldn’t lose, not with this level of weaponry against her, but neither did she want to cause a spectacle where she drew so much attention others would hear about “the invincible woman”

The Hutts spoke, and the translator droid announced the bout with ‘grand excitement’

“Let the match begin!” he cried.

The first man came at her from her left, trying to jab a jagged fork of metal into her ribs.

She sidestepped the blow, reading his intent on his face long before he moved. She grabbed the haft of his makeshift spear, yanking it out of his hands with irresistible force before turning it and driving the tip down through his foot and into the ground.

He choked on his own scream when her foot slammed into his sternum.

He folded like a chair, simply collapsing straight back and down, only held in place by the speartip in his foot.

He’d be dead soon, unable to breathe as his lungs likely collapsed.

She kicked him in the head to make it look like she’d knocked him out. She doubted there’d be much in the way of autopsies.

Someone approached from behind. She pulled free the spear, turning with a wide, telegraphed swing.

The attacker ducked. A Bith if she pegged the name to the species correctly.  She eyed the very large weapon in his hands, its barrel glowing hot. Gun, she thought, making a decision.

At the very last moment she adjusted her swing, sheer physics-defying force letting her instantly redirect the strike from a miss into a parry that smacked the gun with brutal force. The Bith’s wrists snapped as the gun went off like a shotgun, plasma shots turning the sand to glass at their feet.

She picked up the gun.

The Bith backed away with fumbling legs, broken hands held up, as if begging for mercy, or warding her off.

He couldn’t hurt her regardless.

She turned her back on him. With the scatter gun now in her hands, she walked towards the next combatants.

The fighters were already whittling down their numbers. Of the fifty seven in the opening seconds, perhaps forty were left. Backstabs, opportunity attacks, and other brutal means caused the stupid or the careless to die quickly.

When the next man spotted her, he turned, tossing a knife with impressive speed and accuracy, aimed right for her skull.

She sidestepped, pulling the trigger on the scatter gun. Its shots spread wide, but the plasma bolts dissipated after just a handful of feet.

So that’s why the Bith had gotten so close.

Her eyes scanned upwards; the Hutts were chortling.

Makes sense. Why arm your slaves with weapons that can hurt you or your guards?

The knife thrower smirked, drawing another and tossing it-

This time, she caught the knife mid flight.

She could see his eyes widen under his mask and turban. When she tossed it back, it didn’t miss.

The knife buried itself to the hilt directly in his chest, just off the heart. If he didn’t pull it out and they got a doctor to him; he’d live.

Two of the Gamoreans were fighting each other now. The big, piggish aliens were strong, but stupid. Tunnel vision, seeing only each other as enemies and not noticing her approach.

She charged the scatter shot gun.

She didn’t miss this time either.

(X)(X)(X)

By the time it was over, the crowd was screaming for her. Excited and bloodthirsty. ‘Untouchable,’ they dubbed her. She’d avoided every blow she could so as not to give away the game.

The Hutt ‘in charge’ - as it were - lumbered forward, speaking up in his own language as the translator droid… well… translated.

“The Great Gitsuna the Hutt, decrees these games over and declares the winner to be the last lady standing! Your name, Combatant?”

Shit…

She frowned realizing she should have expected this. Stupid of her. They were hardly going to just give her the money without some kind of stage name…

“Myrdin,” she declared. It shouldn’t have any connotations in this galaxy and giving her own name in association with a Hutt crime boss might close too many damn doors far too early.

“The lady Myrdin is the winner! She has our congratulations and the prize of fifteen thousand credits!”

Alexandria turned, watching as droids finally entered the arena grounds, seemingly ready to start cleaning up the dead and what few wounded were left.

She spied the Bith whose hands she’d broken being carried away on a stretcher.

So, he had survived.

Surprising. She had been sure the others would have finished off an easy target.

Then again, maybe they also thought he wasn’t a threat in his state.

She followed the droids into the undercroft of the arena grounds, where groaning, bleeding sentients were being set up in a makeshift hospital.

“Where do I collect my earnings?” she asked a droid.

The machine seemed confused for a moment before it answered in a series of squeals and chirps.

She sneered. Why can’t things just be simple?

She left the droid to its task, finding instead the nearest guard.

“Huh-” He paused at the sight of her. “You’re the winner of the grand melee.”

“I am. Now, where do I get my earnings?”

“Treasury droid,” the guard answered with a shrug. “He’ll either transfer it to your account or give you a credit chit good for the sum.

“Where is it?” she asked, watching his face carefully for any sign of lying. She was not in the mood to be made a fool out of.

“East side exit, under the yellow and green shade screens. Can’t miss it, plenty of little shops next to it.”

She remembered the place, she’d spotted it when she first arrived.

Nodding, she turned and left the guard to his task of guarding a door, making her way through the crowds.

Many recognized her, too many tried to stop and congratulate her. Even more tried to hit her up for other fights, or dates…

Never would she have ever thought she’d have missed being on Earth Bet…

(X)(X)(X)

Hannah:

The place looked like any other building.

She shouldn’t have expected anything different. Not really. The criminals never really hung up signs outside the door that said “Bad guys here, stay out” Even in Brockton Bay, unless you had information, you’d never know where one of Lung’s female traffickers hid just by looks alone.

The cooling unit Watto had specified as ‘Hutt made’ was planted atop the building like a squatting brick. Just outside there was indeed a rusted up ‘speeder’ She wasn’t sure if it was the make and model mentioned but she was sure it was the only rusted speeder on this block near the junkyard.

Good enough for a stakeout.

The image of the Rodians from the holo image remained with picture perfect clarity in her mind, meaning all she needed was a single glimpse of either of them to confirm.

She ‘staked out’ the place a handful of blocks away, eyes fixed on the front door, hood and desert cloak shielding her from the sun and hiding her features from a distance.

She took a deep breath-

And felt a gun pressed to her back.

“Hey there spacer.”

Instincts kicked in, her breathing slowing. She felt her enemies gun at her back, his breathing just under her shoulders. He was shorter than her.

Her eyes cast down, looking at his shadow. Humanoid. Not an Alien.

His gun was steady, held in a firm grip. He’s used it before, used to using it.

“What makes you think I’m a spacer?” She asked.

“You don’t look like a Tattooinian” He laughed. “Not beaten down enough. Not enough of the sun baked into your skin.”

“Hmm.” She let a sound slip from her. “You’d have shot me already if you simply wanted to kill me. So what do you want?”

He let out a sharp, piercing whistle that sent a spike through her ear.

“Got her boss.”

She heard footsteps. One. Two. Three. Four.

Five. Five enemies if she included the one behind her right now.

The group surrounded her, she spotted a weequay, and… the Rodians.

Her attacker was still behind her. The other unknown as well.

It was one of the rodians who spoke up, breaking the tense silence. “Su-leimo. Pachua penki. Anau-huagapi tinke-to-ne”

She noted someone, a local if she were any judge step onto the street, then immediately catch sight of what was happening, turn and head the other way.

No help on that front.

The attacker pressed his gun harder into her back. “Man asked you a question.”

“Sorry.” She answered blithely. “Don’t speak Rodian.”

“Fuckin smartass bi-”

When she felt him shift his weight, that’s when she moved.

His gun was low so lowering her arm mid turn to smack it away was easy.

It went off, the blast sending a flash of red and a sound like a chirp through the street.

She caught sight of him, Human, middle aged, the other one behind her was larger, reptilian; she didn’t know what species.

The Rodians and the last Weequay bodyguard shouted, startled, readying weapons.

Her hand snapped up, the heel of her palm breaking the human’s nose likecheap foam, a spurt of blood stained her sleeve and glove as her power shifted, going from a knife to a massive tower shield at her back as the blasters went off.

Plasma bolts impacted the shield of steel and wood at her back. She doubted a normal tower shield would have held, but her power became the weapon and her power didn’t break.

Even so, the sharp spikes of pain lancing through her skull told her that it didn’t agree with this particular hamfisted use, even as she grabbed the human to use him as a shield at her front.

The reptile didn’t hesitate.

The blast went off, a scattergun scoring the human’s back, killing him instantly, his full weight fell forward, onto her, as she grabbed the gun out of his slackening fingers, pointed and aimed.

The reptile went down with a bolt directly between the eyes.

She fell back, the tower shield absorbing the blow, but the human was still ontop of her.

The Weequay stepped close, taking aim at her head.

Her hand reached.

The power leapt off her back, from shield to trench knife she sliced the Weequay’s ankle wide open. The alien screamed, howling into the night, his weapon going off as he fell on one knee, the plasma bolt passing so close she felt blisters on her cheek.

Her power shifted again, now becoming the familiar weight of a pistol in her hands as she swiveled her head and aim up, over her head the rodians seemingly upside down from her perspective.

She let out two shot, quick as she could.

One knee-cap exploded, and a shoulder was punctured, the last blaster bolt going off to hit the side of a building.

The street was silent as the grave.

She breathed, panting hard as she tried to control her racing heartbeat, adrenaline making her hands shake.

She shoved the now very dead human off of her, the two rodians cowering as she stood up to her full height.

They babbled something in their language. She didn’t understand.

She cocked the gun in her hand, the sound making them go deathly quiet.

“I can take you alive… or in a box.” She breathed- in no mood for them to get ideas because she was nice. “Your choice.”

Their decision, needless to say, was the sensible one.

(X)(X)(X)

Alexandria:

By the time the twin suns of this world were dipping below the horizon Alexandria made it to the shop where their bounty information had directed them. She expected to find the shop owner and then proceed to ask him where Militia and the Ward, Clock had gone. She was, however, surprised to see Clockblocker actually working in said shop.

“Explain.” She demanded of the boy.

He looked at her, and again she could see that clear… look in his eyes. Hiding, lurking behind a veneer of the carefree joker; the one that said he was looking at her like one would look at a snake in the house.

He shrugged. “Watto had information. We had no money. So we made a deal. I work here for a day or two, he tells us where to go. Miss M.’s following up on it now.”

Militia… out there alone. Not exactly ideal.

She dared a look around the shop, droid parts, machine pieces and other junk arranged around the cabinets. Boxes of spare parts and components now neatly sorted on the side of the room, no doubt arranged by Dennis himself.

Still; this was a good time to ask, away from Militia and others.

“Tell me something.” She asked as the youth took a drink of water. “You look at me like I’m an enemy. Why?”

The boy stiffened at the question, surprised, no doubt he thought he was doing a good job of hiding it.

For a long moment he said nothing and he set the cup down like he was putting down a loaded weapon to turn and negotiate with the terrorist.

When he did look at her, there was a seriousness to his eyes his jaw working, as if chewing on the words.

She waited silently.

Soon enough, he broke it.

But his words surprised her.

“Tell me something.” He began. “When you went off to fight in that arena. You hesitate on killing any of them?”

Her eyes widened very slightly behind her mask.

“What makes you think I killed them at all?”

His smile was more like a grimace. “Because knowing what I know about you; you not killing them would have been more surprising.”

It had been a long time since she felt taken aback by much of anything.

…

“What do you think you know?” She asked carefully.

Dennis, in response stared at her, and took a deep, long drink of his water.

If her memories were tampered with… why not his? She did not wish to become paranoid but were they all Simurgh bombs now? Had she simply been holding back when it came to Alexandria herself only to flip the script on her supposed immunity to Master effects when it suited her?

The thought invited madness. But it was an insidious thing she couldn’t disregard either.

If she could be affected, why not Militia?

Or especially this boy who acted as though she was the monster in the room?

Before anything more could be said by either of them- someone entered the room.

“Hi Shmi.” Dennis smiled, turning away from Alexandria in a very obvious, if silent declaration that their conversation was over.

The woman- slave woman, she corrected, spying the markings along her wrist.

“We will be closing for the night.” She declared, then turned, looking at Alexandria. “Oh. Hello, I’m Shmi Skywalker.”

“Alexandria.” She introduced herself with a curt nod. “Where did the information send Militia? I’ll go find her.”

“No need.”

The call came from the front parlor, Dennis perked up, with Schmi offering a curious look before Militia walked in, behind her, bleeding, banged up, but very much alive- the two Rodians.

Militia herself looked somewhat worse for wear.

“They give you trouble?” She asked.

“They tried.” The woman shrugged trying to act casual, normal. But Alexandria could see it. Something had happened; if she were any guess, Militia had killed someone. Not something the woman was ever comfortable doing after she became a Ward. It felt too much like a betrayal. Like stepping back into her old life.

Alexandria felt a twinge in her insides.

How… strange- that Militia was bothered killing, what Alexandria assumed were criminals… and yet Alexandria herself felt nothing at the memory of killing slaves like chattel.

She turned, looking to Dennis out of the corner of her eye. Not that the boy noticed.

“You’re bounty Hunters?” It was Shmi who spoke.

“For now.” Militia hissed, clearly distasteful at the title.

Shmi offered a nod, but didn’t say more.

Militia turned to look at her. “You’ll be taking them back to Anchorhead then?”

That’s right. They had to be delivered to the Bounty Brokers and while she could carry more than two people easily it would still be… uncomfortable for all parties.

“I can transport them and come back for the two of you.” She offered with a shrug. It seemed the most sensible solution.

“You’d travel to Anchorhead and back in one night?” Shmi asked. “What kind of speeder is that?”

“Oh she’s a fast ol’ girl but she’s not a plus size.” Clock answered, smirking at his own joke.

Shmi, for her part, shook her head. Where will you stay in the meanwhile then?”

Alexandria felt her brows furrowing, suspicion beginning to color her thoughts as she observed the woman far more closely.

Behind her, Clockblocker shrugged. “Guess we’ll see the sights. I heard there’s like a lot of sand around here. Big tourist draw lemme tell ya.”

The slave woman seemed to mull something over in her own mind before she spoke again.

“For the night, or at least, until your friend returns with your speeder, I offer my home for you to stay.”

That… hadn’t been what she’d expected.

Her surprise, though well hidden, was very clearly shared by Militia and Dennis- it was her former Ward who rallied first.

“We wouldn’t want to impose-”

Shmi shook her head. “It is no trouble. I’m offering. If you’re truly concerned, it’s been lonely since my son left, I could use the conversation.”

They still looked uncertain, Alexandria felt uncertain, but she could detect little trace of deception in the woman. In fact, her placid calm, like the still waters of a lake seemed almost unnatural in her easy serenity.

This was not the disposition of a slave from the others she’d observed.

And yet, she clearly was one.

Militia turned, looking to her, and to Dennis, but she had no wisdom to offer and Dennis looked as poleaxed as she’d ever seen him.

“We… we can stay for a few hours.” Militia hedged, fingers rising to absently stroke a burnmark along her cheek. “It will be safer than wandering the streets.”

Alexandria offered a nod. “Very well. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Then we’ll discuss our next move… Thank you. Miss Skywalker.” She put forward, almost fumbling over the words.

Shmi smiled thinly, bowing at the waist. “As I said- it is no trouble.”

There was a sound from the front room.

“Oi! What in the Corelian hells is this!? Who’s bleeding all over my shop!”

(X)(X)(X)