Chapter 2: Parts
A vaguely bluish-green planet snapped into view as the Journey's End dropped out of hyperspace with a final, unhealthy wheeze of the hyperdrive. Marina Serla did what work she could to patch it back up again as they made their gradual decent towards the planet's surface, but most of her attention was turned to the primary engines. The captain knew the questionable state of the drive and he elected to take it easy, for which Marina was grateful. It was going to take more than a little luck to get them down in one piece. Everyone else assumed that the very presence of a mechanic ensured that everything would work when, where, and how it should, but that sad assumption was far from the truth. She needed a real overhaul on these engines before she would be anywhere close to comfortable lighting them up for anything more than keeping the gravity on.
A few uneasy hours later they'd done the song and dance for the port authorities and finally settled down on a landing pad. Only when the main engines shut down did Marina finally collapse back into her little corner. Sweat streamed down her face, heat glowed off her skin, and the tank top she'd stripped down to was drenched, but she was happy. She sat there for a moment, basking in the success of having worked hard at something difficult and completing it, before rising wearily to her feet once again and wiping a forearm across her face. She might be safely down, but she needed a whole slew of parts if she wanted this engine really up to speed, and the only place to get those was out on the surface of whatever planet they'd landed on.
Marina grabbed her bag and stepped into the corridor. She walked past the captain on her way to the refresher, who gave her a silent nod of acknowledgment for a job well done.
The refresher was small, but thankfully the ship was big enough to merit a separate men's and women's. That left some species out in the cold, so to speak; only the big passenger liners or warships held accommodations for everyone. Just one more of the little conveniences of being human in a human-dominated galaxy. The refresher was small but clean, and Marina nodded in approval. The state of the refresher was one of the quickest ways to judge a ship's captain and crew.
Marina stepped into the stall, doffed her clothes, and dumped them into the auto-washer before turning on the sonic shower. It's low hum was accompanied by gentle tingle as waves of sound hit her and the sweat and dust of the engine room dropped through the grate at her feet until she was clean again. The sonic showers were certainly more efficient, but there was something relaxing about standing there with her eyes closed as the water of an old-fashioned shower flowed over her, gently massaging her back. Maybe she was crazy, but she just felt cleaner after getting wet.
She retrieved her clothes from the washer and unzipped her duffel bag to consider her limited wardrobe. Over her underwear she put on a tight undergarment, a fusion of unitard and shorts that would keep her from chafing if she had to run or fight. Over that she put on pants, heavy knee-high boots, a white shirt, and over the top her surprisingly heavy black flight-jacket. She placed her blaster pistol's plastic case on the refresher floor, then unzipped the hidden scan-shielded compartment at the bottom of her duffel she'd spent a small fortune installing. Most custom's officials were so occupied with the pistol in plain view they didn't even think to check. From here she pulled out her utility belt and strapped it to her waist. It held the necessities for any excursion; emergency supply of credits, basic tools, a handful of military-issue cardboard that was supposedly edible, and spare gas canisters and power packs for the blaster. The blaster itself slid home into the holster as smooth as could be, and the vibroblade fit neatly on the opposite side. She'd really have preferred a vibro-sword, but they weren't exactly easy to conceal.
Finally she pulled out the serrated and razor sharp survival knife from its case and slid it into disguised sheath in her left boot. She didn't expect trouble, and in fact put a great deal of effort into avoiding it, but if trouble found her she would be ready.
That left a single item in the bottom of her bag. She zipped the compartment closed quickly without looking at it. It was the work of a moment to pack the rest of her clothes back into her duffel, sling it over her shoulder, and head out. She never left her bag on the ship when heading out. You never knew what would happen in any given port, especially with luck as bad as hers. And maybe she was a little paranoid, what of it?
Marina set off for the boarding ramp between the twin cargo bays. The three crewmen were down there, busily unloading crates of supplies that were eagerly snapped up by a small crowd of buyers at the foot of the ramp. The captain stood a few feet back from the ramp's edge, taking money from the winning buyers, while the first mate covered him with a heavy repeater. Not a very safe world, then, if there was no spaceport security worth relying on. Not that she'd expected anything like that this far out on the rim.
There was some sort of commotion among the buyers, some pushing and shoving and raised voices in a language Marina couldn't understand. Marina's hand was on her blaster in an instant, but the Captain's voice cut through the din with harsh words whose meaning was clear enough they didn't need to be translated. He yelled some more and waved furiously towards the side of the cargo bay. The buyers' eyes followed his wave, and instantly the crowd settled back down again, and the belligerent ones walked away from the crowd.
Marina let her hand slide away from the blaster and glanced curiously at what the Captain had pointed at. Her eyebrows raised in surprise – it was a full complement of battle droids. This was a legit ex-Republic Military light assault craft, not one of those surplus mock-ups zooming around the rim. What surprised Marina was that their eyes were lit up an ominous red. Normally, their eyes were colorless. And, come to think of it, normally they either fully activated and unfolded into assault stance or were turned off; they didn't have this sort of semi-on state. Unless they'd been jury-rigged . . . but that required a degree of competence and familiarity with this type of military hardware that would have let them keep the engine in decent shape.
She took a closer look and it all clicked into place. The droids were folded up into their charging racks, but there was no power in the racks themselves – it had been disabled to save the power drain from the ship. That was probably in part because the engines were in such bad shape they couldn't spare the power, but to give up that much firepower was almost certainly because they didn't have the activation codes. Instead, someone had run a power cord to the droids themselves, just a little trickle, and painted the eyes so you could see them light up a little bit. Clever, but it could come back to haunt you if you got overconfident thinking that just having those things around would scare off all comers.
Marina dodged passed the working crewman and headed towards the ramp, but was held up by the first mate's wave. The man spoke to her but knew his business – he didn't take his eyes off the ramp. "You heading out there?"
"Yes. I need a couple of tools if I'm going to get this engine running properly again."
"Alright then, but be careful. This planet hasn't seen a Republic patrol in years and it's pretty much every man for himself, so watch your back. We should finish up here in the next hour or so, then refueling will be another hour. After that we take on supplies and we're out of here. The Captain doesn't want to stick around any longer than he has to, and neither do I."
Marina nodded and headed down the ramp. The Captain gave her a worried glance, but let her go. A half-dozen hands tried to pickpocket her as she made her way through the crowd, but her utility belt resisted their best efforts and she had nothing in her pockets to steal. At last she broke through to the planet's surface.
The world had been beautiful once. The sky was the sharp blue of a planet that had not known heavy industry, it's sun shining down intensely, but the surface itself had been decimated. Most of the spaceport was in ruins, its landing pads cracked and broken where they had not been demolished altogether. The pad she stood on was the best in sight, which meant that it looked like there was a better than even chance it wouldn't collapse out from under them. Beyond the spaceport brought more of the same. To her right was what had once been the city proper. Now it was a wasteland of shattered buildings, creaking ruins, and destroyed goods. To her left, nature had not fared much better. There had once been a forest there, but it had been decimated by an orbital bombardment that left the land covered with craters. And what the turbolasers hadn't gotten, the fires they'd started had. The entire hillside was covered in the charred remains of trees. Anything smaller had been completely disintegrated. Beyond the forest rose the beginnings of hills that were black and devoid of life.
Ahead of her was the only sign of life. It was a shanty town, mostly cobbled together shelters clustered around the handful of almost legitimate structures that were almost certainly cantinas. Life was hard out here. Those tools would not come cheap.
Marina stepped out into the muddy stretches that served for streets looking for a mechanic. The streets were crowded, but there was none of the press, none of the rush she'd come to associate with the city. Instead there was an air of waste, of hopelessness. The locals took a glance at her pistol and moved aside, but there was no haste, no fear. Weapons were no strangers to them. Nor death.
She avoided the cantinas; hopeless and desperate did not mix well with alcohol, nor with anyone who happened to be caught in the vicinity. At last she stepped around a corner and found a mechanic. He'd set up shop under a big blue tarp she'd seen on emergency aid pallets dropped into disaster zones on a dozen worlds. Various droid parts were scattered about around an anvil, of all things. The owner, a harassed looking Devaronian, turned at her approach.
"What do you want, human?"
"I need forceps, needle nose pliers, an adjustable socket wrench, a soldering kit, and a blowtorch."
The Devaronian gave her an incredulous look. "Don't want much, do you? Look, I mightbe able to get you one or two of those, though only if . . ." His voice trailed off and his eyes shifted to something behind her, pupils dilating with fear.
Marina let her hand slide down to her blaster pistol again.
"Out of the way!" a voice demanded close behind her as she was shoved aside. Marina went down but turned the momentum into a roll for a little more distance and came up with her blaster pistol aimed and ready. On the other end of her gun were three humanoids in the heavy, full-body plating of the Mandalorians looking at her in amusement. "Oh ho, boys, look what we got here. A little girl with some fight in her! What about it, you don't think we should go to the front of the line, girly?"
Marina bristled and fought the urge to snarl as her emotions jangled on edge. Her hand itched to draw a weapon that was long gone. Relax Marina, calm down. She breathed in a deep breath and slowly clicked on the safety and sheathed her pistol. It wasn't worth it. Not here. Not now. And besides, there were three of them. At her best, she could have taken them, but it had been a long time since she'd been her best in a fight. She rose to her feet and waited, grimly crushing her anger as they turned their backs on her dismissively. Once they would not have dared, they—but not now. Let it go.
She tried to take her own advice, but it was hard. It seemed an eternity before they had made their purchases, loudly complaining about the inferiority of non-Mandalorian armorsmiths, and went on their way. By the time they'd gone both she and the devaronian were in no mood to banter or haggle, so they hammered out a deal in record time and she cleared out, stamping through the muddy streets on her way back to the ship in a petty display, but it still made her feel better. A little. At least, until she was approaching the foot of the landing pad.
"Look, the little girly's going to go on a trip! She's going to be a little late, though. We're not finished with her yet."
Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them. She kept walking to the landing pad.
A gauntleted fist smashed into the side of her head, knocking her down and sending her tools splattering into the mud. The anger at her core lashed out. Okay, enough's enough.
She hauled herself to her feet and spun to face the trio. "You bastards are cowards who deserted during battle, so get the hell out of my face."
The mandalorians stiffened visibly, their attitude shifting from amused to enraged in a moment. The two goons on the outside drew their own weapons, though the center man kept his arms folded in front of him. His words were deadly quiet. "You've got guts, woman, but nobody insults a mandalorian and lives. You better back up your words, or—"
Marina thumbed her vibroblade to the maximum setting and threw it in a single motion, the weapon cutting through the tough composites of the mandalorian's face plate like a blaster bolt through paper. Her right hand had her blaster up before either of the others had finished aiming, and she pumped the rightmost mandalorian with two, three, four point blank shots before she punched through his armor.
The third soldier should have killed her then and there, but surprise could slow even the most experienced of troops, and he was slow enough that Marina was already sliding left when he fired. The heavy mandalorian carbine burned like fire and spun her around, but it hit her jacket at an angle and was mostly deflected from the armor plating she'd sewn in. It wasn't as good as armor, but it looked nothing at all like the heavy durasteel plates the mandalorians wore and could almost pass for casual wear.
Marina closed the distance between them, discarding her blaster pistol and drawing the survival blade from her boot. The mandalorian had no time to draw the vibrosword on his back; he, too, cast aside his weapon and slid into an unarmed fighting stance Marina knew all too well. Marina rode her advantage for all she could get and rushed him. He sent a punch scything towards her kidneys, but she ignored it and shoved her knife towards the weak point in his neck armor that his attack had exposed. The punch felt like an assault skimmer as it smashed into her, but she held onto the knife and drove it home.
The mandalorian dropped bonelessly to the ground, as dead as his companions, while Marina dropped to her knees and threw up. Her stomach heaved and she struggled to take in air, choking on her own vomit as she fought the panic of having the wind knocked out of her. There was commotion around her, but she couldn't look up, couldn't see; for several long moments her whole world was the deepening ache of her abdomen. When she could look up again, there was a crowd fighting over the mandalorians' remains, stripping them of weapons and armor. The shouting grew louder, punches were being thrown, and it was definitely time to get out of there.
She paused just long enough to snatch her blaster and tools from the mud between the stampede of boots before crawling to her feet and staggering away. Her knives were long gone. Chaos was breaking out as Marina stumbled back up the loading ramp on the ship. What had started as a small fight was quickly escalating into a full scale riot, and the first mate was grim as he watched over it with his heavy repeater. Just as worried was the captain, who paced frantically back and forth at the top of the loading ramp. "Come on, come on! Up loading rump, let's get out here!"
The engines burst to life with a rumble of power that sent the captain running for the bridge and Marina running for the engine room, wincing with each pounding step.
Just another day on the outer rim.