(A/N)- First up, our resident Lasat. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own.
Chapter 2
Lasats were not known for being a particularly amiable species—not to outsiders anyway. They kept to themselves and generally minded their own affairs, even before the near-total destruction of their species. But one thing remained constant despite their dwindled numbers and lost homeworld; they were vicious defenders of their households.
It was a surprise to no one that soon after joining up with Hera and Kanan, Zeb had begun to consider the Ghost "his" home turf, Hera and Kanan and even the irate Chopper "his" new clan. The notion had only grown stronger with the addition of Sabine, a precocious human kit that Zeb took an immediate shine to, despite his normal dislike of children. It helped that Sabine was intensely brilliant beyond her years, and had come from the Mandalores, who understood a thing or two about the honor and glory of combat, the vicarious thrill that came from bashing heads.
It had tripled with their taking on Ezra, despite how immeasurably irritating the little human kit could be.
He was like an overgrown Lasat toddler, always underfoot, getting into everything, wild and unruly. Kits like him had caused endless headaches for Zeb when he was still part of the Honor Guard—hard to guard anything when you had to pull a screaming child away from somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and deposit him back with his parents.
Despite that, there was a certain look to him, a softness in his face and wide round eyes, an innocence behind the rough-edged bravado the kid put on, that reminded Zeb of a day-old downy newborn, fur not yet fully grown in, grasping with tiny paws for its mother to hold him.
Begrudgingly he found it just a little bit... endearing.
Not that he'd tell the kid that.
"Hey! Keep up!" he barked back over his shoulder at the boy. Erza started from his thoughts, peeling his eyes reluctantly from where they'd been wandering, looking with nervous interest at their surroundings. Zeb waited for Ezra to make a few trotting steps to rejoin him, then faced forward again with a grunt. "Don't want ya getting lost," he said. As they continued forward he added under his breath, "Hera'd kill me."
"Who could lose you in a crowd?" he heard the teen remark dryly.
His fur prickled with annoyance, but Zeb shrugged it off. He was here to do his job, not pick fights with Ezra. Hera really would kill him if anything happened to their youngest Spectre. Especially since he'd promised her that he'd watch out for the kid on this mission.
It wasn't anything that dangerous—Zeb would meet their undercover informant at a certain booth in a certain bar, gather some intel about the unusual movements of Imperial starships around Corellia they'd heard about, and then head straight back to the Ghost. It was a one man mission, really, one Zeb could easily carry out all on his own, but a very bored and fidgety Ezra—stir-crazy from being cooped up on the ship for so long—had insisted upon coming along.
Though he was probably regretting that now, Zeb thought, if his nervous glances around at the murky-lit bar and its seedy denizens were any indication.
Zeb couldn't blame him. The Specters were no stranger to the shady underground holes where the scum of the galaxy gathered, but this place seemed seedier than most, with broken glass littering the tables and dingy dim yellow lighting casting odd shadows over the many myriad hulking forms patronizing the place. There were many scarred and twisted faces, some with glowing eyes that glared out from the shade like burning embers at them. Dark, well-worn clothing abounded. Ezra in his bright orange jumpsuit looked small and very out of place.
Subconsciously, the boy hovered at Zeb's elbow, sticking close to his wake. "Not exactly a friendly crowd," he said, observing a heated sabaac game taking place in one of the far corners. A Klatoonian was yelling, gesturing with angry motions at his partner. It sounded like he was accusing his opponent of cheating.
Ezra flinched as, with a lazy motion, the bored-looking Devanorian pulled a blade and jabbed it into the Klatoonian's gut. There was a wet slicing sound and something that looked like blood sprayed across the table. The Klatoonian slumped in his seat, gargling and sliding off neatly to the floor and disappearing behind the many pairs of feet. No one near the table seemed to take any heed or notice, going about their normal business. The Devanorian merely pulled his drink closer and took a long sip from the glass.
Frowning, Zeb reached back and grabbed Ezra's left shoulder, pulling him closer. The teen's expression seemed to telegraph exactly what he was thinking:
Yikes.
"Stick close," Zeb growled. He took a wary look around, scanning the room for their contact. "Don't let anyone step on ya," he warned.
For once, Ezra had no smart reply, nodding mutely with a small, "Right." and following close on Zeb's heels.
They made their way towards the back left, towards a booth against the wall that had a clear view of the bar. Zeb tipped a brief salute to the booth's single occupant, a slightly hunched figure in a weather-beaten hooded cape, the hood pulled down low to shade his eyes. He was human, Corellian if Zeb had to guess, with grizzled features and dark hair, traces of stubble on his chin and keen ice blue eyes. He kept his cloak pulled tight around him as if shielding unwanted eyes from a glimpse of the clothes underneath—Zeb caught flashes of the low-rank gray Imperial uniform nonetheless, despite his caution. He was just thankful the poor lighting helped hide it.
"Tarran. Always a pleasure," he greeted briefly.
The undercover informant nodded once, in acknowledgement. "Zeb," he replied.
"Long time no see eh?" joked Zeb. "Nice to see th' Imperials haven't caught onto ya yet."
The man huffed briefly into his glass. "Not for lack of trying, let me tell you." He jerked his chin towards Ezra. "Who's the kid?" he asked.
Zeb smirked with some affection as he thumbed a finger at Ezra. "Tagalong. Picked him up on our latest mission. Kanan and Hera decided to keep him around."
"Well he's drawing too much attention," came the blunt statement, accompanied by a dismissive wave at the boy.
Zeb was faintly stunned a moment by the pronouncement, turning to look at the teen. Ezra was frowning as if he wanted to protest, but was thinking better of it, his eyes scanning the room behind them. Zeb looked as well, and his face puckered, unease settling into his chest. It was true, there were a lot of eyes on Ezra, a lot of looks being sent his way. And not all of them innocently curious.
Instinct rumbled inside Zeb's chest, prickling with a discontent growl. His wary eyes met Ezra's.
Ezra put on a nonchalant smile and shrugged. "It's okay, Zeb. I'll just find somewhere else to sit," he said, gesturing over his shoulder.
Now Zeb had to hold himself back from protesting. Ezra alone, in a smuggler's den like this? Hera would not approve. Zeb could already hear her lecture about leaving the boy unattended in his ears. He bit his lip uncertainly.
Ezra seemed confident. And it wouldn't be much longer than a few minutes or so.
His gut feelings didn't like it, but they did need to avoid attracting unwanted attention.
Zeb sighed heavily. "All right. But stay where I can see ya," he said. He poked a finger into Ezra's face. "And don't go pickin' any fights, ya hear?" he warned the boy sternly.
Ezra grinned. "Zeb, come on," he assured the Lasat, rolling his shoulders casually. "Who'd want to pick a fight with me?" he asked.
The Lasat restrained himself from making a snarky comment, as Ezra slipped off, maneuvering quietly through the crowd in search of another seat. He turned back to his business, sliding with some effort into the seat opposite Tarran.
"So what's the news?" he asked anxiously, keeping his voice just above a whisper.
Tarran scooted forward in his seat, sliding a holodisk across the table towards Zeb. "Cruisers," he said. "Big ones. Been in orbit around Selonia for three months now. Shuttles coming and going from them all the time."
"Down to the planet?" Zeb guessed.
"Where else?" the man shrugged.
Zeb scanned around to make sure there were no listening ears, and leaned in closer, resting his forearms on the table. "What d'ya think they want?" he whispered.
"My guess?" Tarran shrugged. "They're in some kind of negotiations about using Corellia's shipyards to start making new additions to the Imperial starfleet."
"What kind of new additions?" Zeb glanced out the corner of his eye as he spoke, gaze circling the room, looking for Ezra. He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn't spot the boy right away.
Karabast! Where did he—?
Oh, wait. There he was. Leaning his elbows and back up against the bar, very casually. Trying to look like he belonged there.
Zeb's fluttering nerves relaxed again. He kept one eye on Ezra and his ears attuned to Tarran.
"Not clear yet," the informant was saying. "All our C.O.s'll say is that they've got a new prototype battle cruiser that's going to be rolling off the line soon. Had some of my men check out the blueprints. Looks legit." Tarran lowered his voice again. "But I think there's something bigger they're also working on that they're trying to keep hushed up."
"Mmn," Zeb grunted, starting to tune out. Some instinct, some finely-honed danger sense inside him, was drawing his eyes towards the bar, where Ezra was.
Nothing was overtly wrong yet... but Zeb didn't like the way that one Duro a ways back was eying Ezra. Like the kid was something he wanted to hunt.
Zeb kept a watch in that direction as he gestured for Tarran to continue. "Any clues what kind of 'bigger' we're talkin' about?"
"I managed to grab some data off one of the pads they were passing around in the conference room. Fragments, really, didn't have time for better, and all heavily encrypted."
That Duro had made his move. And his move was to sidle up to the bar and casually shove Ezra from his place and onto the floor.
"Hey!" Ezra squawked indignantly, eyes flashing with irritation.
Zeb flinched inwardly, sending mental pleas the boy's way.
Let it go, kid, he thought. Don't give him any more reason to pick on ya.
"Whatever it is, it carries a lot of TIEs. Almost a starfleet's worth."
Ezra had the good sense to just pick himself up and brush off his arms, stewing silently but not paying the Duro any heed.
The man was determined to antagonize him though, it seemed. His next action was to make a grab for Ezra's backpack.
Big mistake. Zeb knew just how touchy Ezra was about people messing with his things, such as they were, so he wasn't surprised when the boy whipped around, snapping his arm down to knock away the Duro's hand.
"Don't touch that!" he snapped, glaring furiously.
Now Zeb outwardly flinched, the boy's shout too loud in the crowded space, and just a smidgen too fearful. His hands rapped the table nervously as he glanced back and forth from Tarran—still explaining his discoveries—and the rapidly devolving scene at the bar.
The one Duro had multiplied into three, all very big. The newcomers jeered at Ezra, eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Zeb strained his keen Lasat ears to catch their words under the chatter and din of the bar.
"What's so special about your sack, kid?" one of them was taunting. "What are you hiding in there?"
The anger slowly melted from Ezra's face, as he found himself suddenly boxed in. "Nothing," he muttered.
"Didn't sound like nothing, way he squealed," one of the Duros commented to another. "Don't you think?" he asked, tilting his head with an unsettlingly wide grin.
The first Duro, the ringleader, agreed with a sharp nod. "C'mon kid, whatcha got for us?" he asked, reaching out a hand lazily towards Ezra.
Ezra gave a sharp intake of breath through his teeth as he flinched back, stumbling into the bar behind. His eyes widened with alarm as he realized he was cornered.
The boy's expression brought a flash of memory to Zeb. An image appeared in his head, startlingly clear, of a young kit he'd known—and had to rescue—who'd had the misfortune of stumbling into a large Kyrash nest. The hulking, insect like predator had loomed over the terrified youngster, who was too paralyzed with fear to move.
Exactly like Ezra was now.
An instinctual growl built in Zeb's chest. Long-honed righteous anger flooded him and he could no longer hear what Tarran was saying. He put his hands flat on the table.
"—room for an entire battalion of troopers and—"
"'scuse me a moment," Zeb interrupted, standing up from the table and wheeling towards the bar, leaving Tarran blinking.
Zeb crossed the room in three long strides, just in time to catch Ezra attempting to dodge to the side and the Duro ringleader grabbing him up harshly by the collar, bringing the boy up close to his eyes.
"Going somewhere, small fry?" he hissed into Ezra's face.
Zeb cleared his throat, loudly.
The Duro's head whipped around in annoyance, which evaporated quickly as he looked up... and up... into the glaring face of the hulking Lasat warrior.
"There a problem here?" Zeb asked, casually crossing his arms over his chest.
The Duro released Ezra, setting him down at once and stepping back in an overly-casual manner.
"No. No problem at all," he dismissed, not looking at the boy.
Zeb shouldered past him, coming around to stand behind Ezra and place his hands on the boy's shoulders protectively.
"Good," he growled, hunching over the boy and fixing the trio with an icy glare.
The group shuffled nervously backwards on their feet, cowing under the angry look. Zeb's hands tightened on Ezra's shoulders and he gave the Duros a menacing low snarl. The message was received loud and clear:
Back off.
With a jerk of his head, the ringleader motioned for his fellows to go, following behind them with the look of a wounded Kyrash denied its prey.
Zeb's eyes glared after them until they disappeared into the crowd, and then he turned Ezra around to face him.
"Y'okay, kid?" he asked, subtly checking him over for any sign of injury.
Ezra, thankfully, seemed to have taken no damage from the episode, physical or otherwise, and was in fact rather offended by the whole scenario.
"What was his problem?" he snapped indignantly. His arms jabbed the air with irritable motions. "I didn't even do anything!"
Zeb gave a satisfied grunt as he let go of Ezra's shoulders. "You're small and vulnerable-looking. That's all a predator like him needs." He nudged the boy, urging him over towards the booth where Tarran sat.
Their informant leaned back in his seat with an amused look, hands still nursing his glass. Zeb glared briefly at him, his hand back on Ezra's shoulder.
"The kid stays here," he emphasized tersely, before pushing Ezra into the booth ahead of him.
Tarran chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine," he said. "Clearly he's more of a tempting target than I'd thought," he continued, and Ezra made a face at that. Tarran dropped back into business mode, gruffly. "You want the other half of the intel or what?"
Zeb grinned as he wedged himself into the seat beside Ezra. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Spill."
Tarran straightened. "As I was saying, there's room in just one of these barracks for an entire battalion of troopers and from the looks of it this thing is going to hold several..."
Ezra squirmed uncomfortably in the narrow gap left to him and fidgeted in the corner of the booth almost the whole time Tarran spoke. Zeb didn't mind though. The kid might not be all that comfortable squished against the wall by his hairy Lasat bulk, but he was shielded from unfriendly eyes, well-guarded, and safe.
No one was messing with the kid unless they got through Zeb first.
That was just fine with him.
And, he thought to himself cheekily, this way Hera won't have any room to complain.
(A/N)- Still want to see Zeb going absolutely feral to defend either Ezra or Sabine. C'mon, you know it'd be awesome.
