The Deserter

Chapter 3

Friend or Fake?

Hello again, readers. First, I would like to thank the few that did review. Although I was a bit discouraged by the few comments, I will continue nonetheless. Just know, that the length of your review doesn't bother me, even if it merely says something along the lines of update soon, or not bad, I feel appreciated.

I will not complain, however, about the followers and favorites I've been getting, I hope it continues ;)

A/N: The Ghosts and the Recluse aren't by any means friends it just had a nice ring to it.

Disclaimer: I think we all know that if I owned Star Wars, Starkiller would be in Star Wars Rebels instead of Darth Maul.


Aboard the Ghost….

Words couldn't describe how good Sabine felt when she laid herself on her bunk. The Mandalorian no longer fought to keep her eyelids open, and instead welcomed the relief of sleep. She removed her helmet and weapons, placing them under her bunk and next to her storage unit and rested her head on the makeshift pillow she had grown accustomed to long ago.

After lying on her back for a few minutes, Sabine shifted to sleeping on her side; maybe that would entice her brain into shutting off for at least a couple of hours.

After thirty more minutes of tossing and turning without sleep Sabine knew that she wasn't going to get any rest just by changing the way she sat.

"You have got to be kidding me." Sabine murmured under her breath.

Preferring to suffer this episode of insomnia with at least some form of relaxation the rebel reached under her bunk and retrieved a datapad along with some earbuds, which she plugged into the device and her ears, hoping some Imperial comm chatter would take her mind off of the events of this busy day.

Sabine lied back down on her bunk, started to play the imperial broadcasts, closed her eyes, and listened.

"Imperial-Mandalorian Academy has produced another set of promising young men and women who will bring the terrorist cells to justice. In related news, one of the Academy's first teams, Hornet Squad, led by Viceroy Gar Saxon has brought in three more of the academy's deserters that are currently awaiting trial, although a public execution is very likely."

"The ol' desertion penalty." Sabine yawned, "Makes me all the happier for leaving that nightmare behind."

And it was true, in fact, it was the only reason why Sabine didn't leave the Imperials behind sooner. The promise of a fair trial was Bantha dung, used only to prevent sympathy for the traitors. The penalty was - and still is -death.

"Only one deserter remains, report any sightings of…."

Without opening her eyes, Sabine changed the channel to listen to rebroadcasted news from the past month or two. All seemed to be working.

"Clone War Museum raided by pirates. Individuals in red armor have killed or wounded the security detail defending the artifacts of the era before our great Empire's birth. Raiders are suspected to have sold the stolen property if you have seen any of…."

The devices came out of Sabine's ears as she rolled onto her stomach. Sleep had finally come, but the Mando didn't get the remaining part of the broadcast.

"The following items, please report to the Imperial authorities immediately, you will receive payment for any actionable intel provided."

The staff of Poggle the Lesser from the Battle of Geonosis

Sith Lightsaber from the Scourge of Malachor

Tablet from the Ruins of Korriban

Darksaber from the Tomb of Clan Varad

"That is all the information we can disclose at this time."


Two weeks later….

"This is Sparrow to Warbeast, over." Hera's voice rang through Zeb's comlink.

Zeb pulled the macrobinoculars away from his eyes and pressed the response button on his communications device.

"This is Warbeast, I read you Sparrow, send it."Zeb had to speak up a bit to prevent the clutter of the countless passing speeders from drowning out his voice.

"The Recluse wants to know if there have been any further developments in security." Hera sighed; none of the Ghost crew liked working with the somewhat disrespectful mercenary.

"The term patience doesn't seem to exist in this guy's vocabulary, does it?" Zeb groaned, "I only got here fifteen minutes ago, give or take."

"Warbeast."

"Right right." Zeb placed the macrobinoculars back up to his eyes and turned his attention to the area of Nar Shaddaa the Empire had apparently reserved for the upcoming event.

The Empire had begun to arrive about half a week after the meeting with the Recluse. It started small, one Nebula-class Star Destroyer along with two or three Gozanti-class carriers with two AT-DPs each. Then after three days they brought IDTs loaded with riot troopers that are now patrolling the reserved sector relentlessly. Five days after that an entire Star Destroyer arrived and could be seen hovering out of the planet's orbit, from there troops were deployed to set the stage for the official's arrival and cleared the area for the audience attending the occasion.

"The only thing that is new is a load of Imperial banners," Zeb reported.

"Updating the schematics now," Hera stated before a solid minute of silence passed, "Recluse wants the updates delivered to him personally, Twister will link up with you at the Blackguard. Sparrow, out."

Zeb took out his datapad and had it survey the area and update on the new décor. Upon completing the trivial task, stored the device and made his way to the Strangers ship slash home. Zeb had delivered the surveillance to the Recluse before, and his base of operations was about as uninviting as its owner.


One hour later….

After one hour of walking and avoiding the occasional pirate who would shoot a glare or two, Zeb finally made it to the Blackguard's place of dwelling: a vast area of the slums allowed it to be seen by all; which anyone who possessed even the smallest amount of artistic acumen would deem as unfortunate.

The Blackguard was an old Crusader-class corvette that, unfortunately, was subject to the mercenary's sloppy painting. Like his armor, only the head seemed to show any actual effort or care when being customized. From what Zeb could determine, the Stranger was trying to make the head look like a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. A decent effort, however, a few too many seemed to be out of place.

The customization of the corvette's sleek midsection connecting the cockpit to the engines allegedly made Sabine shiver; not from appearance, just from the obvious lack of effort and quality. It was hard to tell what it was intended to look like as one coat of paint tried to cover another.

At first, it may have been intended to resemble a sub nautical super predator, as made evident by the faint highlights of gills and scales. But then the Recluse seemed to have had a change of heart halfway through his work and went for the appearance of an arthropod; much like his armor. He applied a green coat of paint over the would-be aquatic animal and made an attempt to make six ambulatory limbs. The results weren't pretty.

"Hey, Warbeast." A filtered female voice from behind the Lasat startled Zeb to levels of shock could give anyone a heart attack.

Zeb spun around quickly to see it was only Sabine. She was raising her arms to reassure her teammate she wasn't a hoodlum.

"Karabast, Twister!" Zeb slowed his breathing to calm himself, "You know I don't like it when Gearbox does that, you are no exception!"

"Sorry big guy." Sabine apologized.

"Glad you could make it." The all too familiar voice of the Recluse remarked.

Sabine turned her head to see he had situated himself on crate and was cleaning a Valken-38 Sniper Rifle; experimentally looking down the scope every now and again.

"If you don't mind, I would like to get on with my day," Zeb crossed his arms.

"Agreed." The Recluse nonchalantly agreed as he strapped his rifle to his back and got on his feet; stretching a bit to wake up the limbs.

The Mercenary led the Lasat and Mandalorian up to the docking ramp and punched in a code to open the blast door. Waiting there to greet them was Sabine has come to call: Protocol Chopper.

"Sir, I am pleased to inform you that the Crimson Brotherhood has the item you reques…." a silver plated droid was cut off by his master.

"Not now, Omri." The Recluse grunted.

"My apologies sir." Omri bowed apologetically; his even and emotionless voice made it hard to tell if the statement was sincere.

0-MR1, or Omri as his owner called him, was an RA-7 model Protocol Droid with silver plating and an attitude that was a bit similar to the Recluse's. Personally, Sabine had no qualms or problems with the droid; spending years around Chopper gave her a virtually endless fuse when dealing the controversial attitudes most droids seemed to possess. At least Omri tried to be polite.

"Twister, and… Warbeast, correct?" Omri pointed at the Lasat in question; who gave a simple nod, "Here to deliver the data I presume. May I offer you some refreshments?"

"I will pass, appreciate the offer, Omri." Sabine politely declined.

"I'm good." Zeb did likewise. Trust between the Recluse and the Ghost crew had a long way to go before they could even think about exchanging gifts.

The insides of the Blackguard were exactly as Sabine saw them the last time she had to deliver the data with Ezra. The walls were punctured all over from what appeared to be plasma burns, but they were all sealed, most likely by hand. The Recluse seemed to be a better mechanic than he was an artist; albeit his work was still pretty shoddy. Empty cartridges littered the hallway and, as usual, the doors were closed, sealed, and locked.

Whenever the female Mandalorian entered, the only room that wasn't sealed completely was the holoterminal room where the Recluse would review the data before letting whoever served as the courier, go. Sure enough, the briefing room was left open and only lit by the light from the holographic display terminal and the glowing controls.

Zeb wordlessly entered, but the Recluse stayed outside the door and stopped Sabine from following her friend.

"Not you." The Recluse addressed the artist, "You are the last thing I need today."

As he turned to enter the room, Sabine gave a final question.

"Is this for injuring you or for the extra five percent?"

"Both." The door sealed shut immediately after the answer left the Mercenary's mouth.

"Real mature." Sabine murmured sarcastically.

The sound of metallic footsteps made Sabine turn around to see 0-MR1 standing directly across from her.

"What is it Omri?" Sabine crossed her arms.

"My master wants me to keep you under supervision. From what I have heard you aren't the type of person who doesn't challenge authority." Omri replied.

Sabine wordlessly leaned against the wall and tried to find a way to entertain herself since Omri wasn't exactly the type of droid who was up for chit chat. The Mandalorian decided to count the number of plasma burns she could find.

While looking for burn number twenty-one, she noticed something she had seemed to have escaped her notice when she entered the Recluse's abode: an open door not too far away from the exit.

Curiosity won over Sabine's mind, who was now eager to learn the contents of this unsealed area. The only pressing concerns were how much time she had before Zeb was finished going over the data and how to lose Omri, who was watching her like a hawk.

"I feel bad for you Omri." Sabine casually stated; grateful that her helmet hid her smirk.

"On what reason do you build your sudden sympathy?" the silver droid asked inquisitively.

"Aren't you supposed to keep your master's ship in top condition?" Sabine asked.

"That is one of my function, yes." 0-MR1 responded.

"Then you might be replaced if the Recluse finds that failed to find and repair the compromised landing gear." Sabine evaluated nonchalantly.

It was more of a half truth then a lie. One of the landing gears was in pretty bad shape and bore a few marks, even so, it wouldn't tamper with its function in any way shape or form.

"A compromised landing gear?" Omri repeated and his hand up to his chin, or what a droid would consider a chin, and appeared to be contemplating whether or not to investigate the matter.

Sabine unknowingly held her breath as she began to doubt whether or not Omri fell for her ploy.

"Well that will never do," Omri decided, "I must address this problem immediately. Please come with me."

Sabine quickly came up with an excuse.

"Could you first point me towards this ship's kitchen," Sabine asked with a fake cough to imply that she was dehydrated, "I promise I'll meet you at the landing gear afterward."

Omri paused for a moment to once again contemplate what action he should take.

"Very well, just be quick about it." The protocol droid relented and pointed behind Sabine to a door that appeared to be midway between the briefing room and the corvette's cockpit.

Omri turned and wasted no time in leaving the ship and addressing the allegedly hazardous abnormality. Sabine almost felt a little bad for leading the duty-bound droid astray.

Once Omri was out of sight, the female Mandalorian made her way to the open room as quickly and quietly as she could while listening for any indication that the owner of the ship was leaving the room. The only sounds that greeted her ears came from the Mando's own beating heart and occasional tattletale sign that Omri was using a power tool.


Sabine entered, not knowing what to expect.

The room was modest in size, tidy in cleanliness, and organized in storage. A cot was set up in the corner with sheets straightened and spread and the pillow placed in the middle of the makeshift bed. A desk of sorts stood out from the wall, a rotatable seat placed in front of it. A few visibly secure ordinance lockers were lined up on the room's right wall. Across from the lockers was a sloppily painted target that had multiple knives stuck in the center.

"This is the Recluse's room." Sabine murmured to herself.

The Mandalorian seized the opportunity to find out more about the man her crew was helping.

Sabine started by collecting one of the surprisingly few empty bottles from the rooms floor and giving it a quick sniff. Just soda. She went to the target and examined it to find that the knife marks never fell outside of the target's center.

"He either planted them there himself or is a better marksman than he is a mechanic." Sabine thought to herself before moving on to the ordinance lockers.

The Mandalorian's curiosity compelled her to give the storage unit an experimental tug. True to their appearance, the lockers were locked up tight. The thought of guessing the combination to unlock the units and learn the identities of their contents crossed Sabine's mind, but the risk of an alarm being hooked into them swiftly banished the notion entirely.

The rebel finally shifted her focus to the Recluse's desk and gave it the same examination treatment she did with the lockers and litter. A bowl of still steaming Exodeenian pasta covered with sauce sat to the right of a glass of blue milk, or Bantha milk. An active datapad rested to the left of the mercenary's meal.

Sabine picked it up and saw that the Recluse was reading up on the biology of the Karkarodonian Hydroid Medusa, the very same types of monsters used by Separatist leader Riff Tamson during the Battle of Mon Cala.

"Interesting choice." Sabine murmured to herself.

She turned the datapad to find the symbol of the Empire on its back. The young artist's quick and brief sensation of surprise made the datapad slip through her fingers and plummet towards the floor. Sabine's quick reflexes and a sudden rush of adrenaline allowed her to grab the device before hitting the ground.

Sabine let out a sigh of relief and carefully returned it to its original position. The impact of the replacement, as small as it was, dislodged something attached to the underbelly of the counter, the rebel was made aware of its existence by the small clatter it made.

Sabine bent down and picked it up to get a better view of the item. It was a yellow medal of sorts, a red clip erected from the top, it was circular in shape and had the symbol of Mandalore encrusted within the Empire's symbol.

The blood in Sabine's veins ran cold. Only one type of soldiers would even get the chance to earn one of these; she, herself, would have received one if she stayed at the academy through graduation.

"Care to explain what you are doing?" the Recluse's voice startled Sabine.

She quickly put the medal back underneath the desk and turned to face the man who was becoming more and more unsettling with every fact about him she learned.

Although his helmet concealed his face, Sabine could already tell that he was not happy.

Sabine quickly formulated an excuse and some probing questions; she knew better than to call him out on being loyal to the empire immediately without any solid evidence.

"I was looking for your kitchen, needed a drink." Sabine lied.

"Why didn't Omri take you there?" the Recluse asked suspiciously; thankfully for Sabine, she already had an alibi.

"There was a damaged landing gear he needed to fix," Sabine replied, "I guess I got lost."

"That you did, Twister, that you did." The Recluse had a massive amount of frustration in his voice, "Unless there is anything else you need, get out now."

Sabine knew that the comment was a sarcastic one, but she acted like she didn't catch on.

"I would like to know why you have so much imperial gear." Sabine feigned innocence.

"Who doesn't?" The Recluse groaned, "These things have made me more money than a soldier makes in a month. Now get out before I lose my patience!"

"Okay okay." Sabine raised her hands and casually exited the Blackguard to find Zeb waiting for her, arms crossed and brow furrowed. It made Sabine feel like a teenager whose parents found she stayed out after curfew.


With no form of farewell, the Ghost rebels left for home, but Zeb wasn't going to let Sabine off easy without sharing some information first.

"I know you entered the unsealed room, Twister," Zeb stated calmly without even turning his head away from the path ahead of him.

"What can I say? I was curious." Sabine gave a light chuckle.

"What did you find in there?" Zeb asked with a serious tone in his voice.

Sabine paused for a moment, an action; or their lack of, that didn't go unnoticed by the Lasat.

"Probably what one would expect in personal quarters, discarded soda, makeshift target, a cot, and a few storage units."

"I meant anything noteworthy."

"Unless he planted the knives himself, the constant hits on the target's center suggest he is a better marksman than he is a painter. He had an entry on the biology of the Hydroid Medusa pulled up on a datapad bearing the Empire's symbol."

"So he steals from the Empire, huh?" Zeb mused, "Not too different from ourselves I suppose. Was there anything else."

Sabine was uncertain about revealing her discovery the Imperial Graduate Medal to her friend; she wasn't even sure if the Recluse earned it or simply stole it. One thing was for sure: Sabine was going to find an answer to this, regardless of how long it would take.

"I don't know." Sabine fibbed.

The response provoked a bit of disappointment from Zeb.

"Alright then, I just hope that little escapade was worth it because I can guarantee he won't leave that door open again."

Sabine merely nodded.

The remainder of the journey devoid of conversation and filled with thoughts.


And that is a wrap! Review if you've read, follow if you are eager for more, favorite if you love it!

A/N: I am aware that this may seem a little premature at first. However, I did want to give you guys an idea why this story is called The Deserter. Speaking of which, I have a little announcement to make!

Announcement: I've decided to give you guys a virtual prize for winning the contests I create at the end of most of my chapters. There need to be at least five participants for even the winner to receive a prize of getting their name featured on the Deserter Clan list. If you have won more than once, I will add an asterisk to your name for each extra win to signify you have moved up in the ranks.

This chapters contest is:

Can you guess what the Recluse's discernable talent is? He isn't a tech geek or a close quarters specialist, and he sure as heck isn't a painter. Can you try to solve who the Recluse originally served before taking up his current way of life?

*0-MR1 is NOT an OC, he is a protocol droid in the Force Awakens. I figured his stoic and somewhat sarcastic attitude would make him the perfect droid to accompany the Recluse.

Good luck!

Glory to Mandalore!