"Space Bound"
Chapter Ten: The Lady and the Tramp
"He's a tramp, he's a scoundrel
He's a rounder, he's a cad
He's a tramp but I love him
Yes, and even I have got it pretty bad
You can never tell when he'll show up
He gives you plenty of trouble"
-Disney's The Lady and the Tramp, "He's a Tramp"
Nal Hutta. A dump that festered with decay and old memories.
Cad Bane preferred not to have much of anything to do with Nal Hutta, save for when he had business with the Hutt clan, who were regular and well-paying customers of his. Otherwise, he tried to avoid the place whenever another possible alternative for a pit-stop or resupply was available to him. And one scarcely needed so much as a glance at the planet's surface to realize his reasons for such distaste.
Nal Hutta, in essence, was its own form of scum and unlawfulness. Rather than the blend of aggression and subtle vindictiveness as was present in the majority of galactic urban sectors or black market slums, Nal Hutta bred a lethargic malevolence. It was the pit where escaped convicts and fugitives sank into the shadows, a harbor for violent sports, whether by engine or fist or trapdoor, invited in scores of gamblers and arrogant contenders whose first match would also be their last. It was not a place for those who took the game seriously, and the few who were serious were the worst kind, and unfit for any other galactic location. In short, bounty hunters knee-deep in the business did not fare for long on the Nal Hutta system.
As Sleight of Hand touched down within walking distance of the flat, rotting city surrounded by swamp which harbored the Hutt palace, Blythe began to stir from her short-lived nap. Deciding rest was a healthy and reasonable option for her, Bane had let her doze off once she had started expressing exhaustion. She was awake just as the ship landed, and Bane ejected the ramp. By then, it was late afternoon on Nal Hutta, and the heat of midday had seeped away for the most part.
Pulling on his coat, Bane exited the cockpit and descended the ramp. The strong odor of decay and mold hung in the air like a poisonous gas fume, soaking up the dry plants into the lethal moisture. Down the street a ways was a motel, and farther ahead, the Hutt's palace. It stood like a sickly-green block against a putrid horizon. Even tasting the stink of the surrounding swamps made sickness tingle in the pit of his stomach. But, as he had done every time business with the Hutts came up, he was able to choke it down without too much effort.
I've come this far. Kept a clean trail. No setbacks, he thought. There was always a chance a Corrino or an ally of the family would be on Nal Hutta doing backdoor deals with the locals, and thus he had to tread lightly during their brief stay here. And of course, there was Blythe to be concerned about. He certainly could not have her seen with him in the Hutt palace or any other public place. His only other options were to have her stay with the ship or find them a place to stay for the night.
Blythe stood at the top of the ramp, playing with one of her lekku.
"You want me to do something, Bane Cad?"
"Yeah. I do. Get down."
"I get to come with you?" she asked.
She's acting like a little child.
She was a little child. In all the wrong ways.
"I don't want any unnecessary trouble. You keep yourself here until I get back."
"What, what is that mean? You don't want no work done on the side, no getting them right off work shifts? Orett said it's waste of time and...expenses."
"I thought I said I don't care what he thinks. Are you listening to me? Now stay and hold tight until nightfall."
She looked ready to say something, but held her tongue at the last second. Before he could wonder as to what her words might have been, he left her behind. Inside, he made a mental note to, as soon as possible, come up with a better alternate arrangement for these type of situations. In fact, it could hardly be that difficult, for he could easily come up with a list of associates in the same situation who had found their way around the setbacks, and were able to continue their work with all the benefits of their object, or objects, of pleasure.
Alone, and trying to put Blythe out of his train of thought, Bane made his quiet way down the wide street. His first rule on Nal Hutta was to avoid eye contact—and of course, the second rule was that if eye contact was made, it must be done with great intent. Both, he had learned the hard way years ago just prior to his very first hiring by the Hutts. The Duros bounty hunter walked past the small individuals huddled in tight circles from which emitted multicolored smoke of terrible herbal scents, past the sweatshops with the neon pulse lights flashing at the front, past the drunk half-dead forms lined up alongside their empty bottles. He knew he would have to watch his every move as long as he was on Nal Hutta, just in case some Corrino's or Dio's happened to stumble by. On the corner of the street stood a cantina that stuck out as something from a memory, and he realized he must have met there once before with a handful of other mercenaries. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad place to catch up on the latest happenings during their stay on Nal Hutta. After all, it was a sin to be misinformed.
As could be expected, Gamorrean guards blocked the entrance to the Hutt palace. Inside, Bane picked up a disorderly assemble of alien laughter drowning out a familiar pop song in the background. It took but seconds for Bane to show them the proper identification and the terms of agreement signed by the Hutts, and they allowed him inside. By instinct, he lowered the brim of his hat to avoid unwanted attention, in case anyone would happen to recognize him. And he knew for a fact, anybody he knew by name who was hanging out on Nal Hutta was not someone he was in the mood to mingle with today. A group of four female dancers were twirling about in the center, waving around long scarves that seemed to dance with them. The crowd cluttered around the edges. The lights were dimmed, leaving the entire room but pitch-dark were it not for the dance lights. Bane shuffled through the crowd making his way to where the Hutts were gathered. Bane slipped around the corner and under the tattered curtain that separated the rest of the palace from the Hutts' personal quarters. The protocol droid at the entrance, standing next to a second guard, intercepted the term of agreement in Bane's hand and quickly announced his presence to the Hutts.
"The Almighty Jabba and the Hutt family shall pay you as you so have requested for eradicating their opponent Orett Solarin." The droid gestured down to a black case sitting on a small rug on the floor.
Bane knelt down and opened the lid for one split second. Years ago, his heart may have skipped a beat to see so many credits contained in one place, and it was almost delightful to think of it. Just as had been guaranteed, he was a professional who did not miss, and they were a wealthy clan who did not disappoint in revenues.
"You need anything else?" he asked. He picked up the case and looked up, unafraid to look the young Hutt right in the eye. It was a simple but useful tactic almost guaranteed to leave a healthy impression on the employer, which practically set its own reservation for future hirings, and thus, a more secure income most of one's peers would quietly envy.
The protocol droid translated from Jabba, then said,
"You will be notified when we requite your assistance again, bounty hunter."
"Hutts," he tipped his hat, "I'll look forward to when we meet again."
No matter how many times it happened, or how many opportunities given that made one accustomed to it, nothing felt quite as good as carrying the next big payday in one's own hands. Numbers on a screen just couldn't measure up to money you could see and touch and smell. Such sensations were the preserver of many memories. Good memories.
It was late in the day by that time. He was tired. At least, tired enough that ravenous thoughts of a hot meal and a clean bed—neither of which he had had in many months—were seeping in and distracting his mind from more important, delicate matters. Worse, the headache that had bothered him on his way to the Ryloth system was coming back. It was about the time that Bane was walking by the familiar cantina again that the thought of a drink began to sound rather appealing. He tried glancing away but it was too late. The last drink he had had, Bane suddenly recalled, was a Thuris Stout in Hawke Noth Cantina over a game of sabaac.
Fuck, he wanted one now.
Bane considered the other possible options. All that was left to do for the day was collect Blythe and find a place to sleep for the night—or just bunk down in the ship for the twentieth time in a row. No. He could not see any reason why she shouldn't wait for him a little while longer. Perhaps she was resting again, which was certainly not a bad thing for her as of now. It would be just one or two drinks, after all.
As he approached the cantina, Bane caught a glimpse of a metallic, tortilla-shaped hat from inside. The figure turned its head slightly toward the front entrance from where it sat at a small table in the corner, revealing pale amber eyes as it did so.
Bane felt a small hint of delight. The figure was none other than Embo, the bounty hunter who had come second place to Bane the previous year. They had done three jobs together since the start of the Clone Wars, but for the past year Embo had refused much of Bane's company. Childish of him, but it was not without reason.
This was too much—finding a fellow like Embo in a place like this. No way he could pass up a drink now.
Bane did not hesitate to step inside the cantina. In a flurry, surrounding him was a swarm of the chattering, bickering, creaking, and clinking of the half drunken assembly, the soundtrack of the walking dead of Nal Hutta. It was all regular noise to Bane, but at the moment it was not helping his headache. It took but seconds for Bane to recognize a few faces, some he knew and some he wished he didn't know—like the retired dancer and her two, no three boyfriends, and an old partner from a pre-war heist, and a huddled group of smugglers he would have to settle an old score with one of these days when he was up for some entertainment. And then there was Embo sitting at that table in the corner with his back to the Duros bounty hunter. Bane should have been surprised to see a Weequay bounty hunter named Shahan Alama and, who else but Aurra Sing, seated with Embo as well. An onslaught of memories flashed in front of Bane's consciousness. He quickly ringed up a few questions to ask them in case they had an answer. It is a sin to be misinformed.
In the back of his head, the headache lingered on. In fact, it was getting worse.
He approached the group steadily. They might be in on a new hiring and discussing imperative matters, and wouldn't want another bounty hunter to overhear too much. But what with how they had decided to meet in a place that was crawling with said breed of mercenary, and Embo had just lost a round of pazaak to a cackling Alama, Bane highly doubted it.
Bane forced back a small grin as he approached an unsuspecting Embo before the others could notice him.
"Thanks for busting me out of prison just like you agreed you would," he said.
Embo jumped up and spun around. His amber eyes glowed as he immediately looked up at Bane right in the eye. But, as Bane had anticipated from Embo, the fellow did not appear startled or frightened. It was almost Force-like the way nothing could Embo's round, unwavering stare or the steady composure that always came before extreme or sudden emotions.
Aurra Sing looked up from her pazaak winnings. A deceptively simple smile was smeared across her face. Her skeletal fingers tapped the edge of the table in rhythm.
"Bane. What brings you on Nal Hutta?" Sing drawled.
"Most likely the same that's reeling in everyone else, that is unless you actually intend to stick around," he replied coolly.
Sing. Of all people to run into. The day is getting more interesting every minute.
"Looks like you caught us at a good time. There's a story going around that most bounty hunters are running short on work, and, I'd be curious as to your take on the story." Sing fingered her credit chips as the Duros bounty hunter sat down the vacant seat next to hers.
Bane had no need nor intention of hiding his reaction to Sing's comment.
"Sounds like you're trying to tell me something I already know." Bane leaned back and propped one foot up on the table, and while waiting for Sing's reply, ordered a shot of whiskey.
"I heard rumor you had a killing job recently," she slipped.
"Let me guess. You're dying of curiosity. Course, in case you're interested to know, I almost forgot to give you my thanks for slipping me that little tool."
"So it did come in handy." Sing perked up, grinning. "And all you do in return is say 'thank you'? Come on. Have another drink." She turned her seat towards him and smiled as she leaned forward. Bane set his foot back down on the floor. The moment was short-lived. He relaxed and let her graze her lips over his for a few slow seconds. He could still recall the last time Sing had demanded a big thank-you from him, and the position in which he had woken up the following morning. She was dynamite, a woman not to be bridled in bed, and to disappoint her was to wrap a noose around one's own neck. Aurra Sing, the half-human hybrid. "Fuck you or kill you" must be her mentality.
Then, Bane remembered that Sing was playing with the collar of his coat, and his hands were teasingly beginning to reach for her breasts in reminiscence. He forced the moment to end and pulled back. Sing got the idea quickly and sat back down, licking her lower lip in satisfaction.
"That's better," she cooed. "Now, can I buy you a drink?"
"You should know me better than that. I prefer treating out myself." He finished off his shot of whiskey and addressed the whole group, "So when did any of you last have the bolts to get hired?"
"Two months, fifteen days," Shahan Alama answered without hesitation.
"My last one was for a crime lord on Glee Ansom," said Sing, still licking her lips, "but it's Lord Sidious who ripped me off. We had our negotiations, a guarantee for me to make big bucks. And then out of nowhere I get the rug pulled out from under me. Now the only employers that won't stab me in the back are on the neutral systems, and that's a decreasing number. Hell. You'd think he was about to go bankrupt."
"That so? A tad interesting to hear that from someone else," said Bane.
"Why do you say that?" asked Embo, the first time he had spoken up since Bane arrived.
"A handful of weeks ago, I took out three Corrino brothers and three Dio's, and what do you think he pays me?" Shrugs were passed around the table. "Thirty-five thousand muja fruits. I lost nearly half of what we agreed on with no explanation other than some bullshit about the war effort."
"Odd behavior," Embo said quietly, staring down at the tabletop.
"Same happened to me not too long ago," added Alama. "I put a laser bolt through this Jedi Knight's skull on Dantooine and I only get a quarter million credits. The war's either more in the Republic's favor than the HoloNet's letting on, or it's some sort of...random test, I guess."
"You know it can't be random," Aurra Sing said. All at once, her voice had gone dark, to black ice. "Something different is going on. Or something different is about to happen."
"He's saving up? A reward so big we can all retire by next year?" Alama suggested hopefully.
"Not a chance," the Duros bounty hunter snarled at him. "I know his type. The old man wants us to find work elsewhere. If he kept hiring us, it would hurt him. I don't rightly know how."
"So you think he's warning us about something? Trying to move us away so he doesn't lose assets? That's a pretty long shot," asked Sing.
Bane took his second shot of whiskey, drank it down, and ordered another. He wanted to push himself. Let his guard down and get a little drunk, even. Anything to numb down the headache. The worse it got, the more irritated he became, and wishing it would go away. And right here, right now, on Nal Hutta with Blythe and Aurra Sing to keep him company nonetheless, would be a great and terrible waste to spend feeling simply irritated.
"If that's your word of choice, call it a warning, then. I'd like to know what it was for," he answered.
Out of the corner of his eye Bane intentionally avoided Embo's curious glance at the three, now four empty shot glasses in front of him.
"We'd make a fortune on that kind of knowledge. Everyone's been having to eat this shit," Sing snapped, crossing her legs.
Cad Bane gulped down yet a fifth shot of the drink with satisfaction. As he had been anticipating, a swell of lights and color seemed to swarm around the room in that next instant, as if the brightness and saturation of the world had suddenly tripled in intensity. The headache was still existent but, to Bane, had retreated to the past-tense or the back-burner of his thoughts. Now, his thoughts had been jumbled in the soup of whiskey swirling in his brain, and they were no longer of blasters and starship mechanics but of fiery red skin and a back against the wall. Not of names and numbers but of fruit-flavored lipstick on his collarbone, and...and why Aurra Sing had to pose her long, long legs out like that. Because dammit, he knew what those legs could do wrapped around a man's waist. He looked up at her with a wide, sly grin, which she did not return.
"You think you'll pull through...or are you asking for assistance through this most recent trauma?" Bane asked. He did not stop his body weight from leaning slightly towards her.
"Even if I was going through hell, I wouldn't ask you for help," Sing said, not missing a beat.
"I can be a gentleman if it pays well enough, and not necessarily in cold cash." A sixth shot.
"Don't drink yourself to death," Embo muttered. Funny how he really sounded like he cared about Bane's level of intoxication.
The Duros bounty hunter's crimson eyes were burning, on fire. On fire. Cutting. Cold. Who ever told him to slow down his drinking? Couldn't he have as many as he wanted? Who cared? Everything got a little more fun with some alcohol on the side. He wasn't perfectly aware of how many of his thoughts had spilled out into words, but he was aware that, dammit, if he wanted to get drunk, he damn well could and nobody had the right to tell him otherwise when they were not one step higher in the party. And besides this was fucking Nal Hutta; if there were one place in the galaxy a professional could get as drunk as the next half-dead hoodlum and show nothing for it the following morning, it was here.
"I can't hang around much longer, boys. I'll go see if I can convince Hondo's gang they owe me one." Aurra Sing was standing up, stretching her back.
"It was nice to catch up with you," said Embo. He never even glanced up as she began walking away.
Bane quickly pushed away his chair and jumped to his feet. Sing glanced behind and noticed he was following her, but did not slow down or stop. Instead, she pretended as if she hadn't seen him. Rather than taking the main way out of the cantina, Sing cut back through the back down a darkened hallway only occupied by a few passed out individuals. Once there, she spun around with flames in her eyes. Bane's smile only widened.
"I know what you have on your mind, Bane. You haven't seen me in a while and you miss a few things, don't you?"
"Are you teasing, or making an offer?" he asked.
"Watch it." She slapped his hand off her chest. "Ain't touching you when you're drunk. I know you enough to know better than that."
"Come now, I only had eight. It ain't anything like...our first time."
She slapped him again.
"Don't test me. Don't you dare test me." She took a few steps back further into the darkness as Bane glared on after her. "Come around again when I'm in a better mood and you're in a cleaner state of mind."
"I'm clean right now," he grumbled.
Sing smirked, dipping her chin.
"Sure, you are. Once you have your hunger set on it, you just can't stop, can you? Besides, didn't you once say you had more fun when I was the one making all the rules?" Then as soon as it had come, the smirk was gone. "If you want to fuck someone up after all those drinks, why don't you take it out on your little slut? I heard she must have some high-quality services after the price you laid down for her."
Had Bane only had two or three shots of the drink instead of the supposed eight, he would have been furious at Aurra Sing's last comment, not to mention her cold refusal of his affections. Even in that case, he would have been able to do little, as she was gone and out of the cantina before he could so much as utter a response. His thoughts were slow, marinated in the intoxication. Chasing after her and demanding her to apologize or give in or both was out of the question; even in his state he knew it would be a foolish and pointless endeavor. But he had to wonder how Sing found out about Blythe at all. Had it been from someone in Happyface she was connected to, or worse yet, loose lips from Orett Solarin or his partner Garr Broxin before the former took the hit?
Either way, Bane finally arrived to the logical conclusion that he should be getting back to the ship before excitement from another source commenced.
As he made his way down the dark hall, stepping over a few empty bottles here and there, he was stopped by a loud noise. From outside the cantina, Bane heard a male shout, followed by a second that was greater in gleeful rage. There was the sound of someone colliding into a solid, inanimate object, as if thrown against it. Then came high-pitched giggles—female Twi'lek giggles. Strained, shallow, and terrified.
He knew that voice. It was Blythe's.
Oh, shit...!
Bane heard her giggle again, and he could already see the scene playing out before him; he could see her letting it happen. Blythe thought he had been gone too long, and maybe she started to panic and of course had to assume she should go and find him. She must have gotten out, left the ship, and went looking for him or some other fucking mistake. Now it was unmistakable; someone had seen her and thought they could have some fun. The shouts continued, and there was the sound of someone being slapped. A few heads in the cantina turned towards the noise outside, but no one else was paying attention, much less interested in finding out what it was.
A strange cold sweat formed on his skin as Bane bit down on his tongue.
It took merely a second to survey the scene. Outside, a gang of three Weequay's were gathered in the back alley behind the cantina. They had surrounded a small, red-skinned figure pinned helplessly against the garbage bin. The figure lay face-up, bare chest exposed, as her legs were pressed against the wall. One arm was held down as the others pressed their hands around her neck, along her thighs, and between her breasts. She was saying something to them.
"Better stop. Said, better stop..." Above the chorus of dark chuckles came a small whimper, calm but timid. "Gonna hear from him if don't stop."
It was most certainly Blythe. Her large dark eyes were wide with excitement and her hands trembled as she was held down by the wrists. There was no sign of open resistance or struggle, not even a cry for help.
Even a girl with a fraction of Ael's resolve and ferocity would have kicked and screamed.
Why wasn't she fighting back?
"Shut up. Nobody wants to save you."
As the small, scrawny, skin-and-bones figure made a sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a pitiful cry, the three Weequay's began to laugh between themselves. The tallest and biggest of the three pinched the sides of her mouth, forcing her to open up, an act which only provoked more laughter.
"Now, you little slut, you'll swallow when I tell you to."
That was enough. Bane, without thinking twice about it, drew out his blaster and stepped forward. In his eyes, the three hoodlums were far weaker and smaller than in actuality, as Blythe's cries began to grow in desperation.
Why did she have to go and do that? Why couldn't she have just stayed and followed his orders? Was it so...difficult?
"Stop, hurting me..." she said again.
In reply, one of the Weequay's slapped her across the face, leaving a mark the shape of his hand.
"Getchyer hands off her."
The three looked up with less surprise on their faces than had been expected by the intruder, puzzled at this sudden demand from a Duros bounty hunter.
"What?"
"I said, getchyer fucking hands off her. And if there's one thing I hate it's saying something twice, all right?"
The ground felt wobbly, like quicksand. Their faces were cold, gray, and dancing under the swamp's humidity. He refused to look down at her and see, what must have been shown clearly on her face, what she was thinking. If she had been thinking at all. He stepped forward and raised his blaster.
It was then that the three, or at the very least two of them, suddenly recognized just who was approaching them and that he was no ordinary Nal Hutta resident. The tallest one's eyes widened as he began to back away.
"What the fuck do you want with her? She's a—" His sentence was cut off by a loud shout of pain. The shot from Bane's blaster echoed down the back alley. The Weequay winced, holding his bicep where a burning hole had cut through the fabric.
"Next time I shoot it'll be the last sound you hear. And just from my experience your fucking Weequay corpses always leave quite the mess behind, and we don't want to go through all that trouble, do we?"
As their comrade limped back, moaning in pain, the two remaining Weequay grabbed Blythe by the arms and tossed her to the filthy ground. She landed in a curled-up heap. Bane glanced down and immediately noticed bruises on the top of her head and on her shoulders.
Why didn't she fight back?
Anger surged through him. That these scumbag nobodies thought they could touch what belonged to him and get away with it. That Blythe would make such a foolish move as to run out all on her own. That of all times to get drunk and think he could have a pleasant evening for once it had to be right now. Bane looked back up, aiming with his blaster.
"Look, we thought she was just a street girl, honest. We didn't know. Now get out of here," one of them snapped.
Bane shook his head, trying to smile, although he knew they were probably right. Even if Blythe had told them who she was, they would not have believed her.
Once again, had Bane been sober, he might have done something very differently.
"Give you to the count of three to depart from the premises." He waved his blaster, pretending to lose his aim for a moment.
Blythe, meanwhile, hugged her knees to cover up her chest.
"One." With a smirk, Bane quickly aimed and shot one of them in the lower leg. As the Weequay screamed and backed away, running as fast as he could, the remaining fellow raised his hands in surrender.
"Two."
But before Bane could think of counting to three, the last Weequay turned and ran out of the alley after his companions. They could still be heard not too far off as they rushed to the nearest aid station or place of shelter. Bane kicked a piece of trash on the ground as he dropped his arm. Then he turned around and looked down at Blythe. He muttered something inaudible to her, sticking his blaster back into its holster.
"Blythe, come on. You gotta get up."
She wiped the sides of her face. The front of her tunic had been torn, exposing more than would have been appropriate even for the urban backstreets of Nal Hutta. As she pressed her palms to the ground to steady herself, she made no effort to cover up what she could. It was as if she either did not notice, which was nearly impossible, or she did not even care.
She was taking too long to stand up. Bane frowned, grabbed her, and pulled her up by the arm.
"Why didn't you fight back?" He paused. "They drug you?"
"No drugs."
"Then why the hell didn't you fight back?"
Instead of answering, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and grabbed the edge of his duster, trying to smile.
"Sorry, okay? Won't do it again."
And before they were out of the back alley and Bane was making his somewhat steady way back to the ship, he found the answer to his own question, and it made him feel disgusted.
She didn't fight back because she was not supposed to. Orett Solarin and years of what the man would call training had made the concept of 'fighting back' a long forgotten one, an action that was out of the question. More specifically, perhaps she had not been allowed to fight back, and had faced punishment when she did.
The final reasonable thought in his head was that if he was going to bring Blythe with him on his off-job travels, he would have a lot of work to do. A lot had to be undone.
There was a knock on Ael's door.
"Come in, please," she croaked. She flicked away the last of her deathstick with her thumb and index finger. As if by instinct, she lit another one and yanked her skirt down over her thighs as far as it would go.
The door opened and there he was. The Jedi Master.
"You came after all. I was starting to think you wouldn't," the Duros woman said simply. Her gaze hardened, deep creases forming across her forehead. "I'm closed for now. I'm fighting off some awful cold in the chest again. There's no need to be passing it on or nothing."
"Maybe you should smoke less of those deathsticks. Those things demolish the immune system and shave years off the life of even the occasional smoker."
"Don't be the judge of me," she was quick to reply. "You got your life, and I got mine. Lightsabers are a lot more fucking dangerous, anyway."
"Whatever you say...my lady."
She smirked in personal triumph as she ran a finger around the rim of her beer glass, picking up specks of dried foam. Once the circumference was complete, she licked the foam off her finger with a loud, obnoxious smack. Then she gestured towards the black case in front of her on the table.
"There's what the Corrino brothers paid me," she said.
"For what, my lady?"
"Telling them," she sniffed, "telling them where the bounty hunter is. Soon as I do, they're stuffing their sorry carcasses in a ship to go and finish him off for killing Gasta Corrino. Once they drag what will be left of the body to Broxin's doorstep and see their mistake..." She pounded her fist on the table as a demonstration. Meanwhile, the Jedi Master nodded.
"I see. So as the Corrino's, and now the Dio's, go in for some revenge killing spree, they're doing Garr Broxin a big favor."
"As long as any common enemies between them and Broxin are still breathing, they stand a chance. And now the slightest mistake is going to end them."
"I imagine they share more than just one common enemy. Once those are dead, Broxin is cutting off all ties to the family since he'll have no reason to continue negotiations with them. It seems the Corrino's have chosen to die with dignity rather than letting their enemies roam free."
"One of the dilemma's with having a big public image, isn't it? Sooner or later you're backed into a corner. Death by fire or ice. And they chose fire," Ael finished.
"You just got lucky because you happen to know one specific enemy's whereabouts. That would be Gasta Corrino's killer, am I correct?"
"Sure, sure that's correct. You keep on the Dio's tail, you'll find the bounty hunter you want. Isn't that what you came to see me about?"
"Ael, my lady..." the Jedi Master planted one foot on the stool in front of him and rested an elbow on his knee, "didn't you realize that if I followed the Dio's, the Jedi Council would find out about my agreement with Garr Broxin? I'd be doing it off-duty and without orders; it would only be a matter of time before they uncovered our connections while they were questioning me. No, no, I can't risk the indignation of it."
"So why don't you call off the agreement with him?" she proposed.
"Because then all I would get is old, half-dead lesbians like you who demand high payment."
"That's correct. Broxin has a lot of the younger ones. They're much cheaper, since they don't eat as much, and they don't get pregnant." The woman sucked long and hard on her deathstick. "So what do you want from me, then?"
"A favor."
"What favor?"
"To me, Ael, it seems you're the only one not doing anyone any favors. The Dio's are, Solarin did, Broxin did, even I am. Not you. I need a favor from you now."
"What do you want?"
"Tell me where Bane is headed."
"Pay me and I'll give it to you just like I did to them."
"This information will have to be free, Ael."
She laughed heartily, choking on the cold in her chest.
"Nothings free, Jedi. Everything costs you. Every time I smoke one of these, it means I die a day sooner. Bane steals the Lethan whore from Solarin, takes out three Corrino's, and now everybody's chipping in for the hunt. You come here to get big discounts on Broxin's girls, but every time you risk getting caught by the Jedi Council. Everything wears a price tag and the only ones who say otherwise are the ones doing the selling."
The Jedi Master took a long pause, staring down at the aging, self-owned prostitute he only knew because of her bond to Garr Broxin. He nodded slowly. As he did so, he drew back his leg and stood up straight once again, humming a soft tune behind his lips.
"How about you give me the information before I pay you?" he asked simply.
The joke was so childish it made the Duros woman hesitate. She had but a second to see his right hand poised over his lightsaber.
"What are you saying, Jedi? Do you really expect me to—"
A blue beam of light flashed in front of her. She jumped out of her chair, but it was too late. Something strong and invisible, like a leather hand, seized her by the throat.
She gasped. She clutched at her neck, but the squeezing and the twisting of muscles made it impossible to break. Trying to scream, she collapsed on the floor as her legs turned to jelly. Her eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were collapsing in on her chest.
"Ael, my lady dear...if I were to pay you before you told me, I couldn't get what I wanted, could I?" the Jedi cooed, standing over her body as she thrashed and writhed on the hard damp floor. His lightsaber was inches above her cheekbone. He released her throat through the Force, and her nicotine-soaked lungs gulped for air.
In a weak, hoarse voice, she asked,
"What payment?"
Ignoring her question, he reached out into the Force again, this time to find her mind. When he sensed it, he murmured,
"Tell me where Cad Bane is headed, Ael."
"No—no, please don't this..."
She was one of the stronger ones, but not by much. The Jedi Master searched deeper and deeper into her subconscious, breaking past her barriers of ego, focus, and concentration. Like thousands of dark, dusty closets within one another and down long hallways, he filtered through visual, auditory, and olfactory senses alike, and as the doors broke down they fell to the floor to hide from the intruder rummaging through to the center of the mind. It was a giant, crumbling mansion of a subconscious—some, he recalled, were small elegant homes, others were colorless hospitals or courtrooms, and a rare few had roofs for floors and mirrors that bled water—and at its core was the familiar pale waterfall that gushed white waves of thought, emotion, command, and ultimately the personality. The intruder stabbed into the water with that Force power. His victim screamed as she felt the water freeze into ice and then chop into pieces as it was divided and sorted as if in an assembly line. Dream became object, color became thought, and emotion became sole reality. And suddenly he could see all of them; he could feel all of the men who had paid for her body crawling over her broken soul like little black leeches sucking at the blood that made her soul keep beating. It felt disgusting to sense strangers' hands covering him as their voices whispered in his ears, but he pressed on. Under a tattered rug he uncovered the fact that the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, had been among those men, too, at one time at least.
"Few horrors equal to feeling someone sort through all your memories, your emotions, who you really are, like I'm sticking my hand into a broken machine? Isn't it, dearest, the worst sensation of all?" He dug deeper into the Force. "Isn't it, love...?"
"N—No..." she stuttered, shaking uncontrollably. And for the first time in many years, she cried like a little girl. "Stop! Please, stop! Get out! Out, please!"
"Say it, my lady."
A door hidden beneath the rug was yanked open, and flooded with the pale water.
"N—N-Nal...Nal Hutta. Hutt palace."
Smiling to himself, he finally did what he had come here to do. As he allowed the waterfall to melt, he ran his hand through it. In seconds it had turned from ivory white to a deep, inky black, and as he breached the mansion's walls it flooded into every closet and bedroom until the last speck of dust had been washed away. Consciousness into dark matter, he listened as her mind was consumed, and collapsed in on itself.
The Duros woman's eyes went pale, and her limbs went limp. With a final gasp, she trembled and was silent. He rose to his feet and put away his now deactivated lightsaber. A grimace crossed his face as he brushed at his coat, a bit repulsed that he had come into such close physical contact with horrendous scum as her. Ael, the old prostitute, had died with her eyes hung open and her tongue dangling out of the side of her mouth.
That was her payment. Being free of the rotten, corrupted soul she was. Just filtering through her memories and the story of how she became what she was had been repulsing enough as it was. His only relief was that he would not have to do business with such scum as hers for much longer. If there was one thing he hated it was creatures like her who descended to such low states of morality and sophistication they violated their own bodies in the process. It was all, in essence, disgusting to so much as be in the presence of such animals.
Within the hour, he had prepared his starship to leave for the Nal Hutta system.
Revision Note:
Jeezums! That was a long chapter! Sorry, not sorry.
Bane and Aurra Sing had some "alone time" in the revision, albeit not exactly the kind of alone time Bane was hoping for, ha-ha. Went a little more in-depth into their relationship as well as the supposed "history" between them, which by the way is my headcanon and not canon (yet!) in the SW universe. Blythe's role in this chapter was also tweaked a bit. The scene with Ael and the Jedi Master (deliberately unnamed here BTW...I don't want to pick on any canon Jedi and just making an OC would not be enough to symbolize all the Jedi as a whole) was added to as well; more specifics as to what they're discussing as it relates to what is going on in the story. I also added a lot more description with the Jedi entering her mind. I've always wondered what it's like both for the intruder and the victim to use the Force on someone's mind and I think I went overboard with the poetic side, but it was fun. Also, the way he kills her is using the Force to consume her entire consciousness leaving her basically brain-dead; thought that would be cool and definitely capable of a Jedi.
For the record, Bane is quite fun to write when he is intoxicated, and I went more into how that affects him in the revision. I like to imagine he has a hard time shutting up. Naturally someone with his occupation rarely finds a place when it's safe to actually get drunk, so when opportunity strikes, I can bet they take it to their advantage. Hmm.
Thanks for sticking through this insanely-long chapter. I'll try to trim them down more next time. (But come on, Nal Hutta is such a juicy place!)