Star Wars:
Of Heart and Beskar
By Kristopher Rose
Chapter IV
Dalen watched his hijacker passenger, wondering what she looked like under the armor. He had to admire a woman that could hold her own, and even with the armor, he thought she cut a very nice figure. Still, the power imbalance was not to his liking, with her basically hijacking his ship. He didn't trust her, but he could appreciate certain things.
Then there were the kids. He had tried to get them to open up, but they stuck with their story. She had rescued them from a lab, and he had miffed the bald one. Mace wasn't it? Anyway, one dour Human face aside, each one stuck to the story. Which gave him a little less harsh view of the warrior woman. In her boots, he might have done the same. Of course, he had the Thunderbird, so he wouldn't have had to hijack a ship. Details really, not worth the extra thought.
"This one would like to buy your slave," a raspy, almost hiss like voice said.
Dalen looked up, already his blaster unbuckled and his hand resting comfortably on it. The being talking to him was a very large Trandoshan, complete with unblinking and alien reptile eyes. Ones that gave the impression that they had you sized up, and you had come out as prey, instead of predator. He had dealt with some, and most seemed to have a thing about the hunt. Their Goddess awarded the points based on the skill and danger of the prey.
"This one does not wish to alarm," the Trandoshan seemingly caught Dalen's movements. "The Twi'lek will fetch a large sum. Worth a lot of credits."
"She's my fare, not my slave," Dalen said as evenly as possible. "All four, taking them to a colony on the Far Rim."
"Matters not to this one, but will not dishonor you with the Scorekeeper," the Trandoshan said. "Protect your charges, and may the Scorekeeper look upon you with favor."
It was well after the large lizard alien disappeared that Dalen began to breathe normally again. He called over the Toydarian server over. Around him the four teens seemed to catch onto his unease. Mace and Depa were looking around, wondering if there were more threats. Aayla and Ki-Adi-Mundi attempted to further meld into the booth seats.
"Tell our Mando friend that we're headed back to the ship, we're attracting the wrong kind of attention," Dalen told the flittering alien being. As if to accentuate that the message needed to be delivered, he flipped a credit to the sever.
"Will do, will do, you pay better than she does," the Toydarian said. "Hurry before she gets back."
Dalen ignored the Toydarian, instead rounded up the teens, hurrying them before anyone else would take notice. Outside he recognized station security, and made sure that he led his little group right in their view. Unlike most of his visits, he actively was trying to make sure they were on the holocams. Even with that, he had a feeling at the base of his neck, they were being watched.
They made it to within sight of the hanger bay when the ambush happened. Out of the corner of his eye, Dalen saw movement and a spark. Quickly he pushed Aayla out of the way, and pulled his blaster. The electric shock hit him hard, and he felt all the air go out of his chest. He held his weapon, but was having trouble moving his arm to aim it. Three figures rushed forward, and he saw the sniper walk from behind cover.
The sniper was a Rodian, the being's antennae and large round eyes, only less alien than its long snout/mouth. Of the three running towards them, one was a Zabrak, like Dalen. The other two were another Trandoshan, and the ugliest Mirialan he had ever seen. It wasn't till she spoke, that the Mirialan was a female, even though her people looked very much like Humans. That was if you disregarded the dark hair and green skin, the face tattoos as well.
"Grab the kids, and kill the spacer, no witnesses," The Mirialan growled.
Dalen struggled, even as his body refused to cooperate. These were obviously slavers, and he'd seen enough of what their kind could do. He couldn't let the kids be taken. Much to the attacker's surprise, he made it to his feet, and fired off two blaster shots.
Both hit absolutely nothing, and only got him a blaster aimed at him. This one wasn't the electrical weapon he had been hit with. They had only done that to take him down quietly, with his shots, there was not further use in stealth. They were going to kill him, and he couldn't even fight back.
A blast of energy passed by, and surprising Dalen himself, he was still breathing. The attacker with the blaster on him, fell to the ground struggling, before going still. The three remaining attackers turned to find a very angry Mandalorian, and her flamethrower. A jet of flame hit the Mirialan, and the woman screamed in agony, ripping off her armor.
The Rodian fired, but his shot was rushed and hit at Mesh'la's feet. She shot her grappling hook, and it wrapped around the Rodian's legs. She pulled hard, jumping as she did. Over her a blaster bolt raced, with the Rodian falling to the ground hard. She rolled up ready to fire, only to see the Zabrak fall to the ground. A look of surprise was on his face, and behind him a very angry Dalen stood shaking.
Mesh'la shrugged, and hit the fallen Rodian with her flamethrower. Unliked the Mirialan, he didn't have armor to remove, thus dying horribly. The Mirialan was cursing, but wasn't moving. All along her, massive burns pocked her body. It would take a lot of Bacta to heal all that. However, she wasn't worth the blaster bolt. Instead, the Mandalorian turned her attention to the spacer.
He fell to the floor of the station again, this time his whole-body quivering. The four teens were nearby, with Depa trying to hold him still. Something was still off to Mesh'la, so she didn't immediately go towards Dalen. Then she saw it, vaguely humanoid looking mass, with a proboscis and large insect eyes. The off white, dirty heavy fur seemed to indicate the thing liked colder environments. In this case though, it had the drop on them, and the large rifle it was holding looked more appropriate on a starfighter.
"This is unworthy of the Scorekeeper!" the Trandoshan from earlier exclaimed as it rammed a blade into the large alien. "There is no honor in taking another's kill. Let you meet the Scorekeeper with no glory."
Mesh'la looked back at Dalen, who was still shaking. She moved, keeping an eye on the Trandoshan. She pulled out an injector from her belt pouch, then stabbed it into Dalen. Almost immediately he stopped shaking and his eyes glazed over. The kids looked at her, unsure of what to make of this turn.
"He'll be fine," she explained. "This just relaxes the muscles. He'll need some rest, but that's it."
The Trandoshan made its way over to where they were, Mesh'la kept her hand near her blaster. However, he, it gave off a "he" feeling, had earned enough respect not to be met with drawn weapon. Not that she was going to let him get too close, he did outweigh her by a considerable amount.
"Well met hunter," she greeted the Trandoshan. "We appreciate your assistance."
The Trandoshan nodded his head, "This one thinks one should face their prey eye to eye, not shoot them in the back. This one was glad to correct this. May they return and earn their place at the Scorekeeper's side."
"And may the Scorekeeper look fondly on you," Mesh'la said. "I'll take my people to the ship; is there a way we repay you?"
"No, small hunter," the Trandoshan nodded it head up and down again. "You honor me. Go with the Scorekeeper's blessings."
The Mandalorian didn't wait around, knowing that even honorable people, could hide darker intentions. She half drug, half carried Dalen back to the Thunderbird. Once she got him inside, and comfortable, she checked on the kids. The ramp was up, and she hoped secure. All four looked a little shaken, but that was to be expected. Seeing how chaotic the Galaxy was, after being secluded for so long, would be a shock to anyone.
She found some blankets, having them lay down on in the crew lodging area. Then she went back to the recreation area, and removed her helmet briefly. Moving her neck around, she felt the stress from the recent events leave. Taking a deep breath, she let everything out when she released the breath. She dug around, finding some quick rations and ate them, followed by some water. Afterwards she put her helmet back on, and went over to wait.
Dalen woke, with one of the worst headaches he'd ever head, and his body felt like someone had been using it for Teras Kasi practice. He couldn't remember when he'd felt so beaten up, but what surprised him was his determination to find the kids. Painfully he waddled toward the boarding ramp, finding it closed. He remembered a vague recollection of being brought back to his ship.
"They're in the crew area," Mesh'la called out to him. "You're either trying to find them, or trying to flee. Either way, you need more blankets."
Dalen laughed, "I wasn't expecting this many overnight guests. My normal job is moderately priced goods, and the occasional retrieval of a wayward child. They normally bring their own blankets."
"You must have a different way of bringing them in," Mesh'la commented. "I normally have to worry about them kicking and screaming."
Dalen's look turned serious, "I'm sure your way is different than mine. Normally I pick them up after the Galaxy has kicked them in the teeth. How are they?"
"Little shaken, but safe," she moved over to him.
Even walking, she exuded danger, like a large predator on the prowl. He guessed this was her, "relaxed" way of moving, but Dalen still had to push down that little primal part of his brain. The one the that told him to run as far away as possible, and that this woman was very, very dangerous.
"You look fine, no ill effects?" she asked, gently touching Dalen, moving his face around.
Despite himself, he relaxed, a little, "Feels like I went ten rounds with a Gundark, but I think I'll live."
"Good, next time don't leave me behind!" she gave him a soft push. "You got lucky with those slavers."
"I have been told I am lucky, very lucky," he moaned. "Don't feel very lucky."
Mesh'la laughed, "Well those ion blasters are meant to take down droids. I'm sure they just do wonders for living beings."
"Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to save my bacon back there. Could have just saved the kids and left me."
Her reply struck him, "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have been in that position. I owed it to you, at the very least."
She walked off, still reminding Dalen of a dangerous predator. However, he no longer felt like he was prey on her list. At least for now, after this whole business with the kids was done, that could change. What really surprised him, was how much he really didn't want to fight her. For a bounty hunter, she wasn't that bad.
A lone starship entered Salvation Station's space, and started its way through the asteroid belt. It was a battered ship, repaired over and over again, that barely an original piece remained. Highly modified, its occupant had done many things to earn the credits needed for the modifications. Some were respectable, many more would earn him a lecture from a childhood friend. They had parted on good terms, but the gulf was still there. The two boys who had once been inseparable, now differed radically on how things were.
The pilot's face held three slanted, nearly vertical scars, from his left brow to below his left eye. The result of a test his teacher had given him, and the reminder still generated anger in him. His teacher had challenged him, knowing full well that he could die, and did so to teach him a very important lesson. It was kill or be killed, be the predator or the prey.
His old friend disagreed, he would. While the pilot as fighting for his life, his friend had a kind and wise teacher. The fact that his friend had become so formidable, had at first troubled him. It had taken some time, before the pilot realized the secret. One didn't nearly need to die to get stronger, but one had to push themselves beyond what they think they are capable of.
When he passed on his skills, he would teach that to his student. He wouldn't do what his old master did. If there was one thing his old friend did teach him, was that he could be better than those that had come before him. That was something he could agree with his old friend on, and the pilot felt a slight vibration in the Force. For Nyrom Mal, it piqued his interested, and what had brought him back to the station.
He had been here before, back when he worked with the Red Quasars. They were a pirate group that had caused much grief to the New Republic. They had raided all manner of ships throughout the Outer Rim and Mid Rim worlds. It was during one such attack, on the world of Terra'Den, that they had drawn the attention of his childhood friend.
Nyrom felt nothing but scorn for his home world. Shortly after the Clone Wars, they had outlawed anything and everything that even were related to the Jedi. He was born with the ability to touch the Force, and was driven from his home. That was where he had found him, his old master. It was form him, that Nyrom had been taught to harness his hatred, his rage, and his disgust, making them weapons to use. It never occurred to Nyrom that he was being turned into a weapon, till his friend had stood up to him.
Needless to say, after many battles, eventually he found himself empty. He had no more rage, no more hatred and felt hollow. His old master abandoned him, and it was a friend turned enemy, that saved him. Teaching him a new way of being, Nyrom found his power again. Even with all that though, he still couldn't follow the same path as his friend.
The ripple came again, stronger this time. Whoever was sending out these ripples didn't was untrained. Most Jedi, or those that are trained, gave off wakes, but they weren't like this. Each person gave off a different rhythm, vibration, feeling. This was more akin to a student musician, trying to string notes together. More screeching and flat notes, than actual beautiful music, they needed a teacher. It was good then, that he was looking for a student.
"Just a little bit longer, and you'll be safe," Nyrom said. "Nobody will hurt you like they did me."
