a/n: i'm a little drunk and i love all of you
The next morning, Trista left Bao-Dur and T3 to retrofit the new synthesizer and headed into the plaza with the others, her eyes set on the refugee holding area. Atton trailed a step behind her, as always, and Kreia drifted silent at her side.
"You have a plan of action?" Kreia finally inquired. Trista frowned, her mind returning to the lecture from the previous day.
"We need to anger the Exchange, so we'll do just that."
"By... assisting... these creatures?"
"Breaking the Exchange's hold on the refugees will serve our purposes," she said. "And you cannot deny that the refugee by our platform kept us from all being captured by slavers — for 5 credits and a box of food. Almost as if you receive a return on investments, provided you make them."
Apart from a noncommittal hum, Kreia fell silent as they passed through the blast doors and into Exchange territory.
The doors led to a series of winding metal passages, encapsulated from the sound of traffic that permeated much of Nar Shaddaa. It also stunk, a mixture of unwashed flesh from various races, sweat, and far worse — enough that Trista just kept from covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve.
At the very first landing, four aliens stood at a disinterested guard — two Gamorreans, two Trandoshans. One of the Gamorreans looked up as they entered and squealed an alarm.
"What you do here?" he demanded, waving a broad axe at them. Trista was positive the axe was bigger than her. "You not allowed! You not refugee."
"We are passing through on our way to the refugees."
"Not! Allowed!" he repeated.
Trista jammed her hands onto her hips, reaching into the Force and thrusting it toward them. "And just who do you four think you are?"
"The Overseer pay us — big, bigger than Greesh."
"The Overseer made a toll," one of the Trandoshans explained. "Anyone coming in or out of this sector pays Overseer Saquesh's toll, except refugees. They stay in."
"You've never mentioned a toll before."
"It's... um... it's new," the Trandoshan said, struggling to cover.
"Well, why can't Lootra pay it, then?"
"Lootra?" They looked between one another.
"Who is Lootra?"
The first Gamorrean shook his head. "Lootra, human, dark skin, beard. You remember."
"Yes. Him. Overseer says we see him, we keep him out. Or take toll from corpse."
"So you'd just kill him."
"We don't ask questions. We do what we're told."
"Shitty for you, I guess. You work for this Saquesh? Where can I find him?"
The Gamorrean pointed. "Overseer is on west side of camp. Now pay toll."
"I'm not paying the toll. We're from the, um, Exchange's health and sentient services division."
The guards exchanged a look, and Trista batted Atton's hand away from her arm.
"You not Exchange."
Trista sighed and pulled out her datapad. "You see, they've alerted us to issues with Saquesh's treatment of the refugees. Plagues, diseases, inadequate supplies..." She tutted, scrolling down an imaginary list. "The refugees in this sector are of no use to, um, Goto, if they all die. You understand. I'm just trying to do my job."
"Uh... we need send to Saquesh for athor—authorization."
"This is a surprise inspection. Don't worry, Saquesh won't even know we're here, promise. And, if you cooperate, I'll mention you in my report." She opened a blank document on her datapad. "I just need your names."
She tried to hide her surprise as they provided their names, and she entered them into the datapad. "Thank you for your cooperation. We'll be in and out before you know it."
She tucked the datapad away and walked past them, turning the corner before she broke into a series of giggles. Atton slapped her arm.
"You're fucking insane." She looked over, and he joined her. "I can't believe that worked."
"Should we have lied to them?" Handmaiden whispered. Mical, while clearly conflicted, was still grinning.
"It worked, and no one got hurt — yet," Trista said. "Might on the way back through, but we're planning on taking the Exchange out anyway. But for now, we got in without an alarm being raised."
Handmaiden nodded. "I was simply led to believe that Jedi try to be honest—"
"I'm not one, remember?" She adjusted the still-unfamiliar robes. "I just play one on holovids."
"Stars, you're annoying," Atton muttered, and she punched his shoulder.
"Come on. The longer we wait, the more we risk them asking Saquesh if the Exchange even has a 'health and sentient services' division."
They traveled down the winding ramps for another few minutes, the odor growing thicker with each passing step. Finally, an archway rose ahead of them, and as they approached, large, looming shipping crates became more and more visible through it. Sounds of conversation — in various tongues, but all from human mouths — echoed into the hall, until they stepped through.
The platform was open, with hundreds of storage and shipping crates resting in various haphazard stacks across it. People milled around, some talking in clumps, some resting against the crates or the few solid walls. Trista couldn't see too far into it, because of the crates, but the atmosphere was distinguishable. Haphazard living, thousands of people packed into a tight space, the malaise of hopelessness — this was a recipe for a thousand atrocities, and even more suffering.
"This isn't good at all," Mical whispered, looking around. Trista glanced back. "The lack of sanitation alone makes this a breeding ground for disease. That the Exchange would perpetuate such conditions—"
"I don't think the Exchange is a bastion of morality," Trista said. "Oh, boy. We should stick together. And, uh, keep an eye on your belongings." She glanced at Visas and Mical as she unhooked her lightsaber and slid it into her robes, and they did the same. "We don't want anyone getting ideas."
The Miraluka nodded. Mical did as well and said, "True. They may be desperate enough."
"Okay. In we go."
Trista drew a deep breath and started into the morass of refugees. It took less than a minute for her to spot what looked like a makeshift sick area, about fifty people quarantined between two shipping crates with walls blocking off an area in front of them. A man was standing at the entrance, and she made her way through the crowd.
"Hello," she said as she approached. "I spoke to someone about a week ago up in the plaza. He said there was an illness going around?"
The man nodded. "Hobbs mentioned you, I think. Said you were asking about helping?"
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here faster. What's the problem?"
He shook his head. "It's bad, ma'am. We need a doctor something desperate."
"What are the symptoms?" Mical asked, stepping up next to her. "I'm not a doctor, but I have medical training. I may be able to help."
"Gerrel's the worst off, he's in the back there. Symptoms kinda vary between cases. If you're gonna take a look, it's at your own risk."
"We can handle it, don't worry." Trista looked back. "Mical and I will go in. You all stay out here."
Trista and Mical entered the corral, and he nodded toward the back. "Let's get this Gerrel first. If he is the worst off—"
"He may be the first infected, yes."
They made their way through the makeshift cots, and found a pale, trembling man who looked about seven centimeters from death's door. Mical pulled out his datapad, attached a scanner, and leaned over him. The man opened his eyes and coughed.
"No," he said, trying to push Mical away. "Keep back... I am ill. Contagious."
Mical set his hand back on the cot as he ran the scan. "When did you become ill?"
"A week... or so." He coughed again. "Are you a doctor?"
"I'm a medic. Are you in pain? Is it the cough?"
"I'm... so weak. The cough is terrible... the light hurts—"
Mical nodded as he continued listing his symptoms, and his datapad beeped. "Oh! I have good news. You won't die."
"I-I'm not? The others say I have the plague—"
"No, and if everyone has this, it should be easy to treat." Mical pulled out a kit of medical supplies, and Trista raised a brow.
"You came prepared."
"I thought health may be a concern down here." Mical prepared some kolto concoction at a nearby table, then turned back. "Now, the bad news. This will probably hurt. But in a day, you should be all right." He glanced at Trista. "I have medic training. This is fairly common in embattled ground troops."
"Makes sense," she said.
"G-go ahead," Gerrel said, coughing again in the middle. Mical inserted the needle into his arm and pushed the syringe down. The man winced, but otherwise didn't complain.
"Give it about 24 hours, and you should be on your feet. Take it easy until then." Mical looked up at Trista. "I will stay here to treat the others. If something happens, I'll head back to the ship."
"I'll get Handmaiden to stay and keep an eye out."
Mical nodded and headed for the next cot, datapad ready. Trista nodded to the guard as she passed and rejoined the others.
"Handmaiden, if you'll stay here and watch Mical."
"I will. Will you be safe?"
"We'll be fine."
"The rest of us – let's keep walking. I want to see who's in charge of this place so we can figure out the best way to the Exchange."
They wove through the crowds for a while, Trista stopping to ask if the refugees had a designated leader, or point person, or anyone who could give them an overview. After a while, they were directed toward a less haphazard stack of containers. As they approached, a crowd of refugees dispersed from around another older man. He sat down on the edge of the container behind him, resting his head in his hands.
"Excuse me," Trista said as they drew closer, and he went to stand. "No, no, you're good. Are you... well, not in charge, but whatever passes for it?"
He nodded tiredly, though his voice bore no hint of similar exhaustion. "Name's Hussef. I try to look out for the others here, if that's what you're asking." Trista sat down next to him with a nod. "I see you're new here. Watch your step and keep to the camp."
"Why's that?"
He motioned. "You've got the Serroco refugees over on the skyward side. They're veterans from the Serroco campaign and don't take kindly to strangers."
"From the Serroco campaign?" Trista raised a brow. "The Mandalorian Wars one?"
"Yes. And on the other side, you've got the Overseer and his Exchange. They've been pushing us refugees hard."
"How do they get along?"
"They have a truce. Neither side wants to mess with the other. The Serroco leave us alone, unless we go into their territory. It makes things a, uh, little tight here in the camp. Not much room to move." He sighed. "I think the Serroco would do more to us were they not focused on the Exchange."
"Any idea why the Exchange has been harder on you?" He shook his head. "What do they do to you?"
"Their thugs kidnap people and sell them to the Hutts. They've also stopped letting us leave. We used to have this entire area to ourselves, but they've crammed us into here now." He motioned to the surrounding shantytown.
"Any idea why, though?"
"Probably trying to break our spirit so we'll give up and become slave workers for the Hutts."
Trista frowned. "If the Exchange wanted to, they could just storm in and force it. Why do this instead?"
Hussef was quiet for a moment. "You may be right. But I can't imagine why else they'd be doing this."
Trista traded a frown with Atton, certain they were both thinking the same thing. She fished out her datapad. "I'm looking for someone. Can I show you a picture?"
"I've talked to everyone at least once. Go ahead."
She flipped to the image of Zez-Kai Ell from Atris' records and handed the datapad over. Hussef studied it for a good minute, with the occasional hem or hum, and finally shook his head and handed it back. "Can't say I have, sorry."
"It's okay. No one has yet." Trista tucked the datapad away with a sigh, and with discomfort still gnawing in her chest. Zez-Kai Ell should have been down here, at least trying to make the refugees more comfortable, more secure, more... something. Anything. "Look, I want to help you and the others however I can. I already have one of my people working in your sick area. What else can we do?"
"Don't know what you can do, but... a lot of the refugees need something. Ask around. Apart from that..." He shook his head. "If you can get the Exchange or the Serroco to give us more space, we'd appreciate it."
Trista stood. "I'll see what we can do, Hussef."
"Tread cautiously, friend," he said as she turned to leave. "I fear changing the balance of one side may cause the other to fill the gap, and trade one oppressor for another."
"Don't worry, I'll get both of them off your back." Trista raised her hand. "Don't bother asking how, I guarantee you don't want to know."
She rejoined the others, running her hand over her hair with a sigh. "Okay. Remember how I theorized that the Exchange was going after the refugees because they might know a Jedi was here and be trying to lure them out?" Atton and Visas both nodded. Kreia stayed silent, as usual. "I think that's confirmed. Hussef there has said the Exchange is coming down hard on them, but they don't know why. He thought it's to force the refugees into giving in and being slave workers, but-"
"The Exchange would force them to comply," Visas said. Trista nodded.
"Precisely. So it's more likely that they found out he's here and are trying to force his hand."
"Doesn't it bother you?" Atton asked, and she stared at him for a moment before he groaned and continued. "That you're giving them what they want! They're doing this to draw your old master out, sure, but now you're stepping right in. They won't care which one of you they get."
"If you've got another plan, Atton, I'm open to it."
He sighed. "No, I don't. I just don't like you putting yourself in the line of fire like this."
"Better be careful, it almost sounds like you care."
"Yeah, well, perish the thought."
Trista studied him for a moment, then looked away. If Atton wanted to play all hot and cold, that was his choice.
"All right. Let's see who else needs help around here. I'm sure it's everyone, but..." She cleared her throat and started away. "If we split up, regroup at the entrance. Someone let Mical and the Handmaiden know too."
Eventually they ended up being separated, partially by the crowded refugees. Trista was constantly aware of Atton's presence not too far off, just close enough if she reached out in the Force to him. If she looked, he was never more than a few meters away. Kreia eventually, and unsurprisingly, disappeared back to the entryway.
Trista had just finished another conversation with a few more desperate refugees when someone grabbed her arm. She jumped, turning and almost reaching for the lightsaber in her sleeve. A blond woman grabbed for her again, and she jerked away.
"Are you one of Saquesh's people?" she yelled as she swung again, and Trista grabbed her arm.
"No, I'm not." The woman collapsed into tears, and Trista released her arm and touched her shoulder. "It's okay. What's wrong?"
"Some of Saquesh's men took my daughter," the woman said, broken between sobs, and Trista's hand tightened on her shoulder.
"When?"
"Last night. They wanted to sell her to the Hutts, but I told them to leave, and they took her! I can't—I can't imagine what—"
Trista grabbed her other arm. "Is he keeping her nearby?"
She nodded. "They were gonna give me a few days to get the money, but I can't! They won't let me out to find work. I said I'd do anything but—"
"Hey, look at me." She did, tears retracing lines on an already streaked face. "I'll get her back, okay? If they gave you a few days, I have plenty of time."
"I don't know how you will. They demanded so many credits! And they have so many thugs working for them. It's – I don't know what to do—"
"Just don't ask me how I do it, okay? But I'll get her back."
"Okay." The woman slumped and let go of her, depressively returning to one of the containers. Trista steeled herself and headed back deeper into the crowd.
In about two hours, she returned to the entrance, finding most of the others already waiting. Atton was the only one still missing and, for a moment, her stomach sank. Had he left? Slipped off into the crowds and left her alone with—
Just as she was wondering why that hurt way more than it should, Atton appeared out of the crowds, leading a woman toward them. Trista raised a brow as he approached, and he narrowed his back.
"Don't even start," he said, holding a finger at her. "Remember that guy in the docks?"
Trista nodded. "Lootra?"
"That's my husband!" the woman exclaimed. "O—or, I hope it is. I'm Aaida, we got separated when we fled Telos. I-I thought he was dead! He must have thought I was, too."
"That's the name he gave us. He's looking for you up in the docks, but he hasn't been able to get down here."
"That's what your friend said!" Trista glanced at Atton, who rolled his eyes at her.
"How were you separated? You said you were on Telos?"
"Yes. When the Sith bombed the planet, some of us escaped on in-system shuttles. We floated in orbit for weeks before the Republic picked us up."
"Weeks?" Trista glanced at Mical, who looked as puzzled as she did. "What took so long?"
"I don't know, but it was awful. Watching our home being destroyed... then floating for weeks, not knowing if we'd be rescued... I—I don't want to talk about it."
"Why didn't the Sith destroy the shuttles?" Mical asked.
"I-I don't know. I think they wanted people to survive. To have seen it. But..." She sighed. "I ended up here. I don't have anywhere left to go. But if Lootra's here—"
Trista nodded. "I mean, as long as it's the same Lootra. You know they're working on rebuilding Telos, right? Would you have any interest in going to help?"
"I thought about it, but I don't have any credits left."
"There is a woman who had her credits stolen by an untruthful captain," Visas said. "Their destination was Telos. Perhaps she would be open to two more travelers?"
Trista nodded. "Good idea, Visas. That gives me a bit of an idea." She turned back to Aaida. "But the Exchange won't let you leave, right?"
"No." She deflated. "They're circling this sector like shyracks. If one of us slips free, they'll hunt us down and punish us."
Trista set her hand on Aaida's arm, and she almost flinched. "Do you know why they're doing this? I'm taking a survey, of sorts."
Aaida frowned. "I don't know. None of us do, even though we've asked. I think they're trying to starve us into submission, so they can sell us as slaves on the Hutt spice planets, or in the tibanna gas factories on Sleheyron."
"Popular theory," Trista said.
"There's a few people that think the Exchange is looking for someone — some even say it's a Jedi, but that's insane. No Jedi would ever come to a waste pit like Nar Shaddaa."
Trista and Atton met each other's eyes for a moment before looking away.
"Well, who can be sure?" Trista squeezed her arm and let her hand fall. "All right. You can't leave now. Give us a couple hours and let me see what I can do."
Aaida nodded. "I don't know what you think you can do, stranger, but please — don't get yourself killed."
"I've no intention of doing that, don't worry." Trista smiled, far stronger and more confidently than she felt, and waved her companions after her. They clumped just beyond the blast door, close enough to whisper.
"All right," Trista said once they'd assembled, and nearby refugees had wandered off, "what've we got?"
"The woman I spoke of booked passage with a supposed freighter captain, destination Telos," Visas offered. "It has been at least a week since. I suspect they scammed her."
"Same," Trista said. "Then there's Aaida and Lootra, and the refugee leader, Hussef, wants us to get pressure off the refugees. Anything else? Mical, Handmaiden, how'd your part go?"
"I've cleared up the disease that was plaguing them," Mical said. "A refugee here has medical training and, once I explained the situation, agreed to help. I provided him several vials of the proper treatment should it happen again. However..." He glanced back into the room. "The close quarters caused this illness more than anything else. No one is meant to live like this."
"Okay. Here's my idea." Trista folded her arms around her waist. "There's two groups squeezing the refugees, the Serocco and the Exchange. Both don't like each other, but they have a truce. Judging from what we saw on Telos, with what's his face—"
"Loppak Slusk?" Atton volunteered.
"Yeah, him. Now, correct me if I'm ever wrong, Atton—"
"Invitation or challenge?"
"Invitation. To squeeze the life out of this many people, the Exchange here has to be much larger than Slusk's branch. I don't fancy a frontal assault."
"Right so far."
"Thanks, Atton. I don't have information on the Serocco, but to withstand the Exchange, I'm assuming they're similarly sized."
"Most likely."
"Thanks. So in this case, it's easiest to reach out to the Serocco, insinuate that part of the Exchange's defenses are weak, and let them weaken the Exchange. Maybe they take the Exchange out. Who knows? Either way, we clear this entire sector for the Refugees and, hopefully, send a massive message to the Exchange that I'm the Jedi — in a loose sense — they've drawn out, and that we're not here to play this bantha-shit game."
"Solid, except for the part where we manipulate the Serocco," Atton said. Trista narrowed her eyes. "Oh, no, I don't care about that. How are you gonna do it?"
"Well, we'll have to talk to them first."
"That's your grand plan? Talk to the Serocco and have them—"
"Do you have a better plan?" Atton's face scrunched as he frowned, and Trista almost laughed. "Didn't think so. Handmaiden, can I talk to you real quick?"
She nodded, and Trista led her a little way up the ramp. "I want you to do me a favor."
"Of course."
"Find Aaida and wait at the bottom of the ramp. I'll tell the Serocco to attack this side of the Exchange base. As soon as they've made their way in, and they've cleared the entrance, get her to the docks. Remember where we found Lootra?"
"I do not want to leave you to infiltrate the Serocco alone."
"Handmaiden." Trista gripped her shoulder. "I'm asking you because I'll have everyone else with me, and I have full faith you'll get Aaida out of here by yourself and make it back."
She frowned, but nodded. "If that is what you wish—"
"It is."
"—then I will do it."
"Great." Trista turned back to the others and motioned. "Let's go talk to some thugs."
#
Despite the warnings of several refugees, Trista and the others made their way to the Serroco side of the sector through a series of containers made into makeshift halls. Finally they turned the corner and found a man in heavy armor, clearly on guard. Even though he seemed disinterested as they approached, he swung up the blaster in his hand.
"All right," he said. "This is Serroco territory. Bugger off before we space you, got it?" Almost as if accepting their retreat, he looked away. "Damn refugees."
Trista crossed her arms. "I'm not a refugee."
His head jerked back to them. "Yeah? Still, get out of here. You're not welcome in our territory."
"I'm here to speak to your leader," Trista said, not budging from the exit of the container. "I represent a consortium of independent agents looking to drive the Exchange out of this sector, and I would like to discuss allying with the Serroco to do so."
"A consorti-" The man shook his head. "You wanna talk about the Exchange?"
"Yes."
"Ugh. Fine. Let me see if he's interested." He turned back and whistled, still keeping his gun trained on them. A few minutes later, an answering whistle echoed off the steel. He looked back with a frown.
"Through there." He motioned with the gun. "Don't fuck with anything. You even look the wrong direction and we'll shoot you."
"Noted." Trista waved them after her. "Just keep your eyes forward."
Another Serroco appeared out of a container and motioned them after him, and Trista resisted the urge to make sure they were following orders as they headed deeper into Serroco territory. More stepped out of containers as they passed, mostly men with a spattering of women, and Trista tried to keep a count – just in case they had to fight their way out. Atton's hand touched her back the first time she hesitated, and she kept moving.
Finally, surrounded by at least fifty Serroco with more likely watching from the wings, their guide stepped aside and motioned them into a broad open space, cleared of containers and debris. An arc of ten more men stood around another, waiting for them. Trista stopped a respectful distance back.
"You're the leader of these fine people?" Trista asked. He nodded.
"You wanna talk?"
She straightened up. "As I told your man, we are individuals looking to drive the Exchange out of this sector, and I would like to discuss an... alliance."
He scoffed. "An' what's your angle?"
"I represent the refugees. As I'm sure you're aware, the Exchange has been ah, harsh, on them for the past several weeks. I offer you information that will give you the edge you need over the Exchange, and allow you to take their territory. I know they're encroaching on you."
"Hah. We can hold our own against them — not that it's your concern."
"Oh, I understand." Trista sighed. "Well, as you won't listen to me, it would be impious of me to mention that the Exchange has failed to secure the northern reaches of their base. Very well."
She turned to leave, taking about a half a step before the leader cleared his throat. "Uh, perhaps we could listen."
Trista turned back with a wide smile. "Great. Let's talk."
