The Weaving Force: Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Chapter 8:

Clockblocker

Shmi’s home was… larger than he’d expected.

Dennis studied history- well, obviously, he went to school after all- but back to the point, he’d seen a preserved southern plantation once- the ‘housing’ given to the slaves were barns at best, hovels at worst.

Shmi’s house looked and felt like a home. A living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a workshop or at least he assumed it was a workshop. There was a table, tools, spare droid parts, though they looked a bit dusty.

“Really, please don’t trouble yourself.”

Militia’s voice drew Dennis’ eyes back towards the woman who was busily setting up some bedding for them on the couch and floor. Blankets, pillows and bunched up sheets.

“It’s no trouble.” Shmi reassured. “I offered you my home. I’ll hardly allow you to sleep on the stones.”

“At least let me help-” Militia tried again, only for her hands to be lightly swatted away as they drew close.

Shmi offered Militia a small wry little smile. “It’s quite alright. You’re my guests. I’ve missed having children to dote on.”

Militia raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem much older than me, miss.”

“No I suppose not.” She said, though that small, barely there smile remained.

Militia sighed.

“You deal with a lot of kids?”

The question made both women turn to him and Dennis stared at them both for a moment before shrugging.  “Just wondering.” He said shifting a bit from foot to foot. “Was that like your job or-?”

“No-” She answered with that calm placidity, fluffing the pillows. “I’m afraid I’m not lively enough to bring up the creche younglings of the larger estates-” Dennis cringed, though Shmi didn’t see it- wondering not for the first time just how deeply embedded in this planet and society slaves had to be for them to… basically be grown communally by the sound of it. “I was speaking of my own son.”

“Where is he?” Militia asked, before she seemed to catch herself. “Ahh, I’m sorry I hope he’s not… been taken from you-”

Sold Dennis thought. She means sold.

“He was-” But Shmi’s smile only grew. “Taken offworld, by Jedi, where he can live a free life, and be good and true in a way Tattoine would not allow.”

“They didn’t take you as well?” Militia asked, settling in her seat as Shmi finished her project on crafting two beds for them.

“It’s enough that they took him.” She said and while her voice was gentle there was a firmness to it now. A true, genuine belief that her son being taken from slavery and not her was more than enough. “I will be a slave for my whole life and will be happy with that knowledge.”

“I see.” Militia said, almost whispered really, shifting where she sat.

Again, Dennis decided to cut in. “Who are the Jedi?”

Again, both women turned to him.

Again- he shrugged.

Playing the ignorant, blunt foreigner came rather easy.

Gee.

Shmi however raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought everyone would know of the Jedi order.” She said. “They’re rare. But you hear stories of the guardians of peace and order, even here on Tatooine. Men and women capable of great, impossible feats. That protect innocent people and bring justice on those who commit evil acts with their light swords.”

His eyes shifted towards Militia, and she did the same.

That sounded a bit like the ‘Protectorate’ on the surface.

“Where exactly are you from that you haven’t heard of them.”

“Far, far far away.” Dennis smiled. “Little blue planet. Mostly ocean.”

Shmi’s eyes went up to the ceiling. “I’ve heard of oceans… I can’t imagine so much water.”

And- he stuck his foot in his mouth… again.

(X)(X)(X)

Alexandria:

Transporting the two Rodians *without* letting them know she herself was their ‘transport” was tricky.

Normally she’d just knock them out, but she knew nothing about Rodian Physiology. Choking off their air could be fatal, their skuylls could be significantly softer or harder than human skulls and so her attempts to non lethally knock them out might just kill them by accident.

So she improvised.

Taking their shirts and using those shirts and jackets to wrap their heads so they couldn’t see and could barely hear, she blinded their most obvious senses, then tying their arms behind them she jammed a metal rod between their arms and their backs.

Then she grabbed the bar and lifted.

No doubt it was uncomfortable, no doubt their arms, if they were in any way similar to humans, would arrive with strained tendons or outright dislocation. But the job was done, and the secret of the flying strong woman was ‘kept’ as best as she could manage.

Reaching the Bounty broker was simple, and when she arrived the cavalcade of other bounty hunters and bar goers gave her a wide berth as she physically dragged the two beaten, disoriented Rodians behind her.

The Broker, with a look on his face she could read easily spoke with a smile, even as his micro-expressions told her a different story.

“Found em did you?”

She nodded. “I did.” She offered, focusing on reading the things he wasn’t saying as opposed to listening to what he did. “They gave my friend trouble.”

The man leaned forward, plucking his glass off the table before drinking. “So I’m guessing that’s why we’re roughing em up a bit?”

She kept looking, kept reading. Her memory going over what she remembered of her interactions with the man and coming up blank.

So, she decided to be direct.

“You disapprove.”

A twitch, surprise, then a look, more calculating, assessing; unused to being ‘read’ accurately.

The broker stood up, marching around his table. “You’re probably too young to remember-” He said and she almost huffed out a laugh “But there was a time when Bounty Hunting wasn’t the equivalent of a thug with a liscence to hurt people.”

He reached down, unfurling the makeshift facebindings she’d made for the rodians. The aliens  blinked, their eyes seemingly adjusting to the light as they began to breathe more rapidly.

Ahh… apparently Rodian’s ‘don’t enjoy’ the absence of light.

Information that could be useful la-

She caught herself, the thought sticking in her brain uncomfortably.

“Yes well-” She rallied,, even as she gave no indication of the discomfiting realization externally. “Thug or not. The job’s done. They’re alive as well. The payment?”

The broker’s lips twisted, not quite pursed, and not quite a smirk either, more exasperation, or resignation than anything else.

He reached behind his waist, pulling free some scanning device and a small device, no bigger than a USB stick.

The scanner blinked and beeped once. “Three thousand credit chit.” He said, before holding it out to her. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“No promises.” She ‘joked’ knowing she might need to use this place again before too long. Best to keep things… amicable.

The broker snorted, then turned and walked back towards his booth and his drink.

Alexandria turned and marched out.

(X)(X)(X)

Outside, the Triumvirate member allowed herself a slow, deep breath, marching through the quiet, moonlit streets of Anchorhead- her thoughts running quickly.

She was no stranger to brutality- it was true. During her long long years as Alexandria, as an agent of Cauldron, she’s become intimately familiar with the depths humanity can sink to, can be made to sink to.

She knows she is no longer a kind person, most days she could scarcely lie to herself enough to call herself good. Not like Keith is, or Duncan had been.

But always she knew it served a purpose. It was for a good reason. The salvation of humanity.

The pain the rodians had felt hadn’t been by design. She didn’t know their physiology, their biology. Hell, that was the very reason she had blinded them that way in the first place. The way she’d transported them was out of efficiency and the need for secrecy both- not cruelty.

Those things didn’t bother her. She couldn’t let them bother her.

No. What bothered her, what cut into the armor of necessity she’d grown so used to wearing had been that sharp, disquieting thought after she discovered what that sensory depravation had done to them.

The broker had looked at it like a petty torture. Unnecessary.

Her first thought had been… that it could be useful later.

Even if, objectively she knew that it could be- that they might meet other Rodian criminals, or perhaps even be asked to rescue other rodians or other species similar to them and that sensory depravation might affect them differently and that information could be useful in any number of ways- That hadn’t been why she thought it.

No. She was honest enough to admit that her first thought was that such a thing could be useful if she needed to torture a Rodian in the future.

For that to be her first thought…

“Because knowing what I know about you; you not killing them would have been more surprising.”

The Ward’s words came back, bright and clear.

She’d long grown used to the thought of necessity of the ends justifying the means but there were no ends here. There was no necessity in the thought.

Had she grown so used to it that necessity had ceased to be necessary for her? That simple expedience or worse, convenience would suffice?

It was an… uncomfortable possibility.

She didn’t need sleep. Not anymore. But she sought it out anyway.

The silence would be welcome.

(X)(X)(X)

Miss Militia

“Pssst. Miss M. You awake?”

Hannah allowed one weary eye to slide open.

She didn’t need to sleep, but after the last few days, between the stress, the worry, the fear and everything else… yes. She could admit that sleep was welcome right now, even if it brought her dreams.

“Yes Dennis.” She answered quietly from her place on the couch. “Something on your mind?”

Stupid question. Doubtless there was plenty on his mind. He’d been holding himself together remarkably well but the damn seems to just about be ready to crack.

“Just wondering if you’re ok.”

That… made her raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Are you ok?” He asked again. “I noticed you looked a little… pissed when you brought the Rodians back, figured you might want to talk.”

The gloom of the night hid the details of Shmi’s home right now, but she stared up at the ceiling regardless in blinking disbelief.

“I’m… alright.” She answered slowly. “I don’t like… this Dennis. Bounty Hunting. It feels too much like hurting people for money. Not a cause like protecting people, or being heroes it’s just… Hunt for cash.”

“Well… we gotta get home.” He whispered back. “Its the only way to get back to that place where we can protect people and be heroes.

He was right.

Didn’t change that it made her feel dirty.

She closed her eyes, and the image of the dead human, weequay and Trandoshan stared back at her, bodies bleeding and broken.

“What about you?” She sidestepped. “I can’t imagine this has been easy for you.”

“Easier than for you I think.” He whispered. “...But no. Not easy.” He finally admitted. “We’re in space. With aliens and space ships and laser guns and all this crazy stuff. A part of me is sayin “Wow… wait til I tell everyone about this back home” Then… the other part of me wonders if home is still there.”

She stiffened.

“Why would you think it’s not?”

Dennis went quiet.

She was about to ask again when.

“Just… being stupid I guess.” He mumbled. “I’m not sure what happened- or when. But… you’re right. Home has to still be there.”

Hannah swallowed. “You know you can talk to me Dennis… I’m not just your CO, I’d like to think I’m your friend too.”

“Yeah. I know Miss M.” He whispered back. “It's just… this is crazy. And every time I feel I’ve got a handle on it-” He trailed off. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

She understood.

“I know. And I understand” She nodded. “But again… if you ever need to talk… we’re in this together. Alright?”

“Yeah Miss M.” He sighed. “At the risk of sounding like a selfish ass… I’m glad you’re here too. If it was just me here, or worse- I don’t think I could handle it.

“You’re more than capable of handling anything.” She reassured.

“Thanks… anyway- I’ll stop bothering you. Let's try to get some sleep. Not sure when Shmi needs to wake up but I don’t think slaves get to sleep in.”

That… was a valid point.

“Goodnight Miss M.”

“Goodnight Dennis.”

(X)(X)(X)

The next working, Militia stirred to the sound of Shmi speaking quietly into what she could only assume was this world’s equivalent to a phone.

“Where are you?”

She received an answer from the other end, the language, or to be more accurate the sound didn’t come from a human.

“I’m on my way. Stay there.”

Any vestige of tiredness, if it was there at all, vanished, and she sat up from the couch, quietly so as not to disturb Dennis, and then stood, tip-toeing around the boy before making her way to the kitchen where Shmi was arranging a headdress to step outside.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

Shmi turned to her, negotiating some wayward strands of hair into the cloth around her head. “A friend of mine was hurt, I’m going to find him, and see if I can help.”

Militia felt her heart twinge with pity.

She did not envy the slaves on this planet.

“Let me come with you.” She insisted I’d rather whoever hurt your friend not try to hurt you as well.”

Shmi looked hesitant for a moment before she nodded.

Leaving a hastily scrawled note for Dennis with the standard “All Clear” code phrase used by Wards in their civilian identities she hastily followed after the slave woman as they left her home in search of her friend.

(X)(X)(X)

Watching how Shmi moved through the streets of the city was odd.

There was nothing particularly unique about it save how… unremarkable Shmi herself was, to the point that Militia, actively following after her, sometimes lost her in the crowd. If she didn’t know any better she’d have likened it to a stranger effect; though in truth it was more likely she was taken in (still) by the strange sights and sounds a menagerie of aliens around her.

There were so many of them. Weequays, Dugs, Trandoshans, Biths, Aqualish, and not just sentients either. Bantha’s, dewbacks and blurggs.

She couldn’t help but stare- something Shmi’s seemingly practiced art of going unnoticed took full advantage of.

In spite of her compromised attention span’s best attempts though, she didn’t get lost and soon enough they arrived.

She couldn’t read the sign at the front, but a green cross seemed a universal symbol.

She expected to walk in, but when Shmi knelt infront of what she assumed to be a beggar, she then realized the ‘beggar’ was actually an injured Bith, who’s hands were wrapped in thick, heavy cloth.

“Rugess.” Shmi breathed- “Are you alright?”

The Bith answered, his odd, dual toned language going over Militia’s head.

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down and reaching, ready to help the Bith stand.

“His master put him in the fighting pits." Militia felt her stomach drop.

Shmi didn't notice, shaking her head.  Desperate… stupid-” She whispered the last word, as if afraid she’d be overheard. “Rugess is an engineer not a fighter. He lost. And his master’s debtors came to collect” She answered, her voice low. “With his hands as hurt as they are, no other Master would take him… not worth the expense.”

Militia felt her heart sink.

Oh no.