Paint it Black – Buruk's Tale
The EKG beeped steadily into the heavy silence. She was breathing on her own again. That was something to be optimistic about.
Optimism. Now there was a strange mood. Buruk Kelborn had been living the past year from planet to planet with barely a hint of that feeling, especially now that his partner lay unconscious on the galley table with a mended blaster burn in her stomach. She'd wake up with a nasty scar, one to rival his own, that was certain. She'd be angry about that but it could be erased by the doctor later. Riscan was off doing whatever the glit-biter did.
Buruk would never live it down if she ever found out how he was reacting to her condition; she'd tease him and make him squirm to satisfy her own sick humor because he'd worried over her. Well to hell with his pride; she was his partner and that was all the reason he needed to care about her. He hadn't left her side for more than five minutes since the surgery had been completed, holding her hand and willing her to wake up.
I won't lose you too, Lynli, he thought, eyes tracking over her delicate violet features. She looked so serene.
A year ago Buruk had lost everything he loved. On the snowy world of Galidraan, the Jedi had taken it all away from him; his friends, his family, his people. His identity. He felt cut adrift, as though he had no place he was welcome, no home. They'd scarred him and left him on the edge of death, with only his Mandalorian armor and principles to define who he was. Any other sentient would have become a broken shell of a man, but not Buruk. Galidraan had reinvigorated him. As a Mandalorian, he'd spent his life fighting for other people's causes. Now he burned with an inner drive all his own. Any Mando'ad would know by the sand-gold armor he wore what his life's mission was.
Buruk sought revenge on the Jedi that had wiped out his people and the traitor, Goran Kex, who had allowed it. Nothing else would satisfy his honor.
Lynli made a frightened noise in her sleep and Buruk squeezed her hand. She deserved better than how he treated her, but his mission demanded he forgo outside distractions. He couldn't let himself be sidetracked, for his people's sake. They deserved justice.
Buruk sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Justice, a sacred Mandalorian principle signified by the color black, demanded a person's detachment from the task at hand. He wished he could be so noble, but his desire was something fueled by emotion, his anger and hatred. Those spoon-bending monks would call it the Dark Side. Let them think what they want, he thought bitterly; the self-righteous Jedi were all dead inside, they didn't feel the way normal people did. Revenge was something you had to take personally. It was visceral, dirty, and burned like a star. That was why the Mandalorians symbolized it with the color gold.
Buruk's armor would never be worthy of the color black. Looking back at Lynli, he thought, You know about revenge too, don't you?
###
Unbound – Lynli's Tale
Lynli huddled in the dark pantry with her knees tucked up beneath her chin. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she squeezed her eyes shut tight. Outside she could hear someone passing through the kitchen and she clamped down on her mouth, praying not to be discovered. Her master would beat her severely if she were found. She shuddered in pain at the thought of the wretched man who had just taken advantage of her.
He had been drunk when it happened. Lynli had brought him another flagon of liquor, bowing subserviently as he demanded she always do, and he'd commanded her to dance for him. Setting the serving platter aside, she began to twirl and kick as she'd been trained, leaping gracefully through the air. Enticed by her nubile display, her master rose from his seat and took hold of her arm, his fingers digging roughly into her violet flesh, and led her away to his bedchamber despite her loud protests.
The pain had been unbearable and there was so much blood; she felt so ashamed staggering through the corridors in a daze as he snored loudly into the night. She'd made her way to the kitchen where the cook had allowed her to clean up but not even that was a true act of kindness; she'd seen the way he looked at her, the way nearly every man in her master's employ looked at her, and now she knew what he really sought. She curled up in the back of the pantry so no one would see her cry. She learned that day that her beauty, as was often the case on the Outer Rim, was a curse. It was a harsh lesson to learn at fourteen.
The abuse continued but Lynli shut it all out after that first time. Eventually her master grew tired of her and she was sold to another and the cycle of pain and torment continued, and eventually she was sold again and again. She danced and served them all. They enjoyed hurting her, seeing her tears and her bruised flesh. They beat her, whipped her, and violated her, and always they paid to have the marks removed afterward. But not all scars faded so easily.
By the time she was sold to her fifth master, a slobbering Hutt Vigo, Lynli could bear the abuse no longer. Imprisoned within Zordo Desilijic Fadj's Nar Shaddaa estate's slave quarters, she plotted her escape.
Sitting atop a packing crate full of old motivators in the estate's motor pool, she watched the Quarren Terssek repair an engine pod on a Skipray Blastboat, swinging her bare legs back and forth.
"So, you wanna learn how to fix starships," Terssek grunted, cranking down on a hydrospanner with some effort.
"That's right," Lynli replied guilelessly. "It's useful to know how things work."
"Marketable skill or not, a slave can't just apply for a new job," the squid-head pointed out, wiping his three-fingered hands on a greasy rag as he stood up and faced her. "I think you've got something else up your sleeve little girl."
Lynli made herself blush as he crossed thick arms across a burly orange chest. "But Terssek, I'm not wearing any sleeves," she replied playfully. Indeed, she sported yet another in a long line of revealing dancer's outfits; whoever designed them was sure saving credits on fabric, that was for sure.
"You could use what I teach you to break out of the slave quarters and escape," Terssek said matter-of-factly. "I should tell His Exaltedness about this." He placed a sarcastic edge on the epithet.
Pursing her lips, Lynli cooed, "But if you went and did a thing like that, Lord Zordo would have me executed. You wouldn't want that, after we've gotten so well acquainted." She reached behind her back and unhooked the clasp on her dancer's top, letting the straps slide down her shoulders, smiling invitingly. "I'd do anything…"
Terssek's face tentacles spread, bearing a pair of needle-sharp fangs in an approximation of a near-human grin. His beady blue eyes darted from side to side and he approached her slowly, flicking his thin pink tongue in and out of his mouth. "In here," he said in a low voice, grasping her wrist and leading her into the Blastboat's cockpit.
Men, Lynli thought disdainfully. Always after the same thing without any thought.
Afterward, Terssek agreed to teach Lynli everything he knew, on the condition that Lynli continued to service him as he wished. Over the next several weeks, the young slave learned quickly and the Quarren mechanic admitted she was something of a prodigy. Soon she was working with him in the maintenance bay simply because he actually needed her help.
One night she returned to her cell in the slave quarters after having been assaulted by the Hutt himself. As the dingy cold water of the shower rained down on her, she curled up into a fetal ball and shut everything out. Her golden eyes stared dully at the grimy tiled wall and she shivered in the chilly air of the chamber.
At last, in a detached state, she cleaned herself up and turned off the water's flow. Drying herself, she went to her sleeping mat and tore open the unraveling seam where she'd hidden the set of tools she'd stolen from Terssek's garage. Once she'd dressed, Lynli went to the door and opened a panel on the wall, going to work on the wires. In minutes she had her cell unlocked and the door hissed open.
She slipped into the dimly lit corridor, bare feet padding silently on the duracrete floor, and pressed herself against the wall. Peering around the corner, she saw no guards patrolling and made for the heavy blast doors that sealed the slave quarters off from the rest of the estate. Prying open another panel, a bead of sweat ran down her face as she spliced more cables together. Down the hall she could hear footsteps approaching before the blast doors slid apart just enough for her to squeeze her lithe frame through. Step one of her plan was complete.
Next she made her way to the kitchen; she'd stashed a set of more practical clothing there over the weeks, ferreting each article away in boxes and cupboards the cook never opened, as evidenced by the thick coating of dust on each of them. Rounding a corner, she froze in her tracks; a Weequay stood in her path, his back to her, clutching a blaster rifle in his leathery brown hands. Cautiously, Lynli backed away from the guard, creeping back the way she'd come. That was close, she sighed inwardly, taking a different path to the kitchen.
Now that she was less conspicuously dressed, she made her way to the armory, the most dangerous part of her journey. The final phase of her plan depended on her acquiring a weapon, and no one in their right mind traveled around Nar Shaddaa's streets unarmed.
As she expected, the armory was heavily guarded. Luckily for her, it was just a contingent of Gamorreans. Standing up straight and throwing her shoulders back, Lynli sauntered confidently out into the hall toward them. Just act like you belong somewhere and everybody assumes that you do, she thought with self-satisfaction.
"Hey! Who you?" one of the pig-like guards grunted in barely recognizable Basic as she approached. "What you do here?" He and one of his fellows crossed their vibro-axes in front of her face, barring her path.
Glaring daggers at the stocky Gamorrean, she declared, "I work here, you idiot! Let me through, I need to check out my weapon to start my shift."
"Me never seen you here before…" the guards' spokesman grunted in confusion as a long string of saliva dribbled from his tusked mouth.
"Funny, I've never seen you here either," Lynli replied warningly. "Maybe I should go tell His Excellency there's an intruder in our midst and he's trying to horde the weapons stockpile."
"Ah! No!" the Gamorrean squealed. "No say that! Me no in-tru-der! You pass, you pass!" Parting their axes, the guards waddled out of Lynli's way, even obliging to open the locked door for her.
Inside, Lynli perused the fully stocked weapons lockers, wracking her lekku trying to remember the description the human mercenary she'd slept with had given her about one particular firearm. Ah, there it is, she thought, picking up the small, delicate-looking slugthrower. Slapping a loaded magazine into its grip, she stuffed the handgun into her trousers, then strapped a gun belt to her waist and holstered a heavy blaster pistol. Stocking up on spare power packs and sheathing a vibroblade in her boot, she stepped back into the corridor and headed purposefully toward the Hutt's throne room.
She had decided to kill the bloated, pus-filled worm a long time ago. He was a sadist, a vile creature who tortured his servants and executed anyone without a thought. Zordo Desilijic Fadj served the Black Sun syndicate, making billions on the suffering of countless beings across the galaxy, and had personally made Lynli's life a living hell. When it was discovered that she had escaped, he would punish the other slaves severely for her actions; many would die. There was only one way to prevent that: Zordo must be killed.
Tucked into her waistband, Lynli carried a Verpine shatter gun, a slugthrower that functioned like a miniature rail gun. Because it utilized magnetic coils instead of ballistics, it would make no sound when fired but still produce extremely large amounts of kinetic damage. One shot and the Hutt would be dead, and no one would know for several hours.
The door hissed open quietly and she could see the Hutt sprawled on his dais, bulbous eyes closed in slumber. This was it, the moment of truth. Stalking into the throne room, Lynli pulled the shatter gun from her belt and silently chambered a round, the dull click echoing through the vast chamber. Zordo never stirred as she approached, crept around his enormous frame, and placed the barrel in line with his head; he continued to snore, sleeping the untroubled sleep only experienced by the righteous or the truly wicked.
You have to do this, Lynli urged herself as the barrel of the gun shook slightly. He needs to die or he'll kill the others. Remember how he's treated you. Closing her eyes, she pulled the trigger.
A soft puff of air issued from the weapon and the Hutt's skull exploded, spewing brain matter across the dais, and the floor, and the rich tapestries hanging from the walls. Zordo's body sagged, becoming limp as a rag doll. Lynli opened her eyes and stared for several minutes, frozen in horror at what she had done.
At last she tore her gaze away from the bloody scene. He deserved worse, she told herself, returning the shatter gun to her belt and stepping up to the wall behind the dais. Running her thin hand along the smooth surface, she found the hidden panel and opened the Hutt's camouflaged escape tunnel. Making her way through the darkness, nearly bent over double, she eventually came to a hatch with a wheel set in the middle. Straining, she turned the wheel counter-clockwise and the hatch swung open into the upper streets of Nar Shaddaa, letting in blinding sunlight.
Taking a deep breath of the pungent, polluted air, she thought wonderingly, I'm free… For the first time in her twenty-four years, she was free. Gazing across the sprawling city, the light intensified, forcing her to shield her eyes against the glare. Looking to the stars, she saw Y'Toub flare into brilliance, dominating the whole sky, and gradually fade.
As the brightness ebbed and her eyes readjusted, she saw that the night sky of Nar Shaddaa had disappeared, replaced by a slate grey bulkhead ceiling with a bright white glowlamp shining down on her. Something beeped in time with her pulse and when she turned her head she saw Buruk, sound asleep in a chair next to her, arms folded across his slowly rising and falling chest.
As a warm smile spread across her face, Lynli laid her head back down and let him rest.
###
The Gambler – Ganhuff's Tale
Ganhuff found himself sitting in the grand hall of a hotel the likes of which he hadn't set foot in in over a year. A vaulted ceiling adorned with murals depicting the ancient glory of a far-flung civilization stood some thirty meters high, braced with decorative columns and buttresses. Enormous windows offered an expansive three hundred and sixty degree view of the glorious, billowing tibanna clouds drifting about the floating city while repulsor-equipped chandeliers illuminated the chamber. The hotel played host to a high stakes sabacc tournament and the grand hall now housed dozens of tables scattered about, seating hundreds of beings of all species from across the galaxy.
The doctor had left the crippled vessel down below in Port Town, determined to make himself scarce for a while. The Twi'lek girl would be fine; he'd made sure of that first, but her Mandalorian partner was still at her side. Was there something going on between those two? Ganhuff certainly hoped not, she was quite an eye-catcher. Buruk's head would droop slowly until he caught himself and snapped back to attention; he hadn't slept since their trouble in the asteroid field and was pushing himself even harder now that Lynli had been hurt.
"Where are you going?" the mercenary had demanded from his seat in the galley.
"You made it clear we'd best keep moving," Ganhuff had replied evenly, his cultured Coruscanti accent contrasting with Buruk's thick Mandalorian one. "I'm going to get us moving again."
As he stepped into the lifttube he'd heard Buruk call out, "What're you going to do? Get out and push?"
In a manner of speaking, I did just that, Ganhuff thought to himself, letting a grin spread across his face as if he hadn't a care in the world while he peered at his cards; the hand was dreadfully poor and he hoped none of the other players would call his bluff. At his table sat a small, bat-like Chadra-Fan, an Ishi Tib, a Mon Calimari, and a stocky, shaggy-furred Elom. All eyes turned to the human and he could feel their expectation roll off them in waves.
"I must say, you gentlemen look like you're about to positively burst," the doctor chided, sipping whiskey from a tin cup he'd stolen from a saloon on Nar Shaddaa.
Through luck, savvy, and the spice's telepathic boost, Ganhuff was up several thousand credits. It still wasn't enough, though. "I'll raise," he said, tossing in another five hundred credit chip; he was stalling for time, hoping the randomizer would change his hand to something better. The Mon Cal threw in his hand disgustedly, stood, and walked away; the doctor could feel his depression, was nearly swept away by it himself, it was so powerful. It wouldn't surprise Ganhuff to hear he'd decided to jump.
The little Chadra-Fan squeaked, rubbing its up-turned, triangle-shaped nose, then pushed in a stack of credits, meeting the human's bet. "Master Tokba wishes to call," translated the RH7-D CardShark droid suspended on repulsors above the table.
Ganhuff swallowed surreptitiously past a lump in his throat as the Ishi Tib turned over the Commander of Sabers, the Three of Flasks, and the Five of Coins. He's got twenty; that's nigh unbeatable. The Elom's furry shoulders sagged and he laid out the Evil One, the Ace of Coins, and the Demise card: negative thirteen. Ganhuff displayed his hand, the Idiot, the Eleven of Staves, and the Queen of Air and Darkness, totaled at nine. Luckily he'd won enough hand pots so far to stay alive in the tournament.
Everyone at the table groaned when the Chadra-Fan turned over the Endurance and Moderation cards, totaling negative twenty two, and began raking in the credits, squeaking contentedly. That was too close, Ganhuff breathed a sigh of relief. He almost got a Pure Sabacc and won it all.
Hours went by and Ganhuff won and lost with equal frequency; he was up against some of the highest of the galaxy's high-rollers and the effects of his glitterstim were beginning to wear off. He continued to win enough hand pots to stay alive in the tournament but never enough for what he and the others needed: a ship.
Have to end this quickly, he thought as a living dealer, a Bith, riffled the cards and passed them around the table. Ganhuff eyed the other players, picking up waves of anxiety from all around, and a distinct trace of disappointment from a Sullustan across the table.
The doctor looked at his cards; he held the Mistress of Sabers and the Five of Staves, giving him positive eighteen. Oh, please hold, he willed to his cards, shoving a large stack of credits into the center of the table. Intimidated, the Sullustan's large ears drooped and he folded. That's one.
As the rounds of betting continued, more players were slowly eliminated until only Ganhuff and a Zabrak remained. They eyed each other neutrally over the rims of their cards. "Hit me," the doctor barked and lifted his drink to his lips.
The dealer passed the card to him, face down, then flipped it over. "The Five of Sabers," the Bith announced and Ganhuff's heart leapt.
Twenty three! Pure Sabacc, I've won! Calmly, Ganhuff pushed his entire stake into the center of the table. "All in," he announced.
The Zabrak sighed. "I can't cover that with the credits I have on the table," he said. "But… if you would permit me to enter a marker, I have a ship I can offer up."
Ganhuff's pulse raced but he kept his composure. "A ship, you say? What kind?"
"A Firefly-class mid-bulk transport. I use it for moving cargo."
"That's an awfully old ship."
"She'll get off the ground."
Turning to Ganhuff, the Bith dealer asked, "Is this marker acceptable to you?"
A ship and all these winnings? It seemed too good to be true, but one should never look a gift nerf in the mouth. The doctor made a show of considering his decision, making the Zabrak sweat. "Very well, I'll take your marker."
The Zabrak grinned and placed a datapad displaying the ship's deed into the pot.
"Call," Ganhuff said curtly, turning over his cards to reveal his winning hand. A broad smile split his features.
His opponent revealed his cards one at a time, with excruciating slowness. First was the Idiot, and a tinge of worry touched Ganhuff's mind. Is he bluffing? The Idiot's Array is the one hand that can beat me; please let him be bluffing! Next he turned over the Two of Coins and the doctor's forced smile fell completely. All he needs is a three and I'm sunk! I can't believe I walked right into this trap! I've doomed us all! As the Zabrak touched his third and final card, Ganhuff's throat went completely dry. No, no, no… he prayed, and the Zabrak turned over the Evil One.
A shiver ran up Ganhuff's spine and he fell into a daze. Zero, he thought. He has absolutely nothing; he was trying to bluff me! Relief flooded through him and he sagged visibly in his seat.
"Congratulations, Master Riscan, you've won," said the Bith as the Zabrak stood and offered his hand to shake.
###
"I thought you said this thing would get off the ground!" Ganhuff demanded upon seeing the beat up, old Firefly.
"It will," the Zabrak called out to him, zipping away in an airspeeder. "But after that, I'm not making any promises!"
For several minutes, Ganhuff just stood on the landing pad, the wind whipping about him on Cloud City's upper levels, staring hopelessly at the rusty freighter. At least we can afford to fix it, he thought with a shrug of his narrow shoulders.
###
Buruk hadn't been happy, but then he never was. Lynli, on the other hand, had been elated to see their new ship. She'd always had a preference for the Corellian Engineering Corporation's vessels and now she got to baby one of her own. Swooping about the engine room on a hoverchair as she continued to recover, she said, "Trust me, we treat her right, take good care of her, a ship like this will keep going until she hits something."
"Comforting," Buruk grunted, watching her scoot about the large radial engine.
They sold the ruined Bes'uliik, and spent days moving their belongings to the new ship and refitting her. The Firefly had a bulbous tail like a gigantic insect's abdomen housing the main drive and a cockpit reminiscent of a ronto's head and neck. Sprouting from the midsection on either side was an additional pair of rotating Blue Harvester BV7G12 sublight engines, above which were nestled a pair of escape pods.
As the refitting neared completion, Lynli, back on her feet, found Buruk sitting perched on the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay. He looked deep in thought, staring past the durasteel deck below, swinging his legs back and forth like a kid. Taking a seat beside him, she asked, "So, what do you think of your new ship?"
"She's not exactly built for bounty hunting," he answered distantly. He sounded almost lost.
He must still be mourning the Bes'uliik. Who cares that I was shot? She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and said aloud, "Well, neither is her captain. He's sheltering two wanted fugitives." He merely nodded absently. "You have a name picked out?" she pressed.
"Jai'galaar," he replied.
"Jai'galaar?"
"It means 'shriek-hawk' in Mando'a."
"Why not something a little more personal?" she suggested.
He looked at her quizzically. "Personal?"
"Yeah, you know," she insisted, lightly punching his arm. "Something suggestive of you and what you really want… What do you really want Buruk?"
The Mandalorian turned his scarred face away and thought a moment. At last he murmured, "Cuun'yaim."
When he offered nothing further, Lynli asked, "Meaning?"
The Mandalorian released an exasperated sigh and flung himself onto his back. "When we were on Pelorum, I saw ordinary people who spent their lives settled in one place." He stared at the ceiling as though into his own past and Lynli knew she was getting a rare glimpse of the man beneath the armor. "Home's a strange concept to my people—most of us haven't even been to Mandalore.
"The Bes'uliik represented independence to me, mobility, even a means to an end, but most of all it was my home. Now, this ship is home. Our Home."
Lynli's lekku twitched appreciatively. "Our home…" she repeated, lowering her voice to a whisper.