A Wound in the Force
Chapter 2: Rotten Luck
[Peragus mining facility, Peragus II]
For the fourth time that day, Atton Rand cursed his rotten luck. He must have got up on the wrong side of the bunk, or something stupid like that, because nothing seemed to be going in his favour. First of all, he had slept in a full hour past the alarm, which meant he was missing out on pay, as he hadn't clocked in for work. None of his fellow miners had thought to wake him, and why should they? His loss was their gain, as it meant they were paid a little extra to balance the wages. That was how it worked. Just the other week, he had laughed at one of the new miners, who slept through the entire morning on account of drinking far too much the night before. He wasn't laughing now.
If that wasn't enough, he had cut his hand on a vibroblade hidden amongst his clothes when he was getting dressed. Who leaves a naked blade under a pile of clothes, anyway? One of his brainless roommates, no doubt. He had to use his favourite shirt to staunch the flow of blood, which only served to further darken his mood.
The mess hall was almost empty when he arrived, with only a few late risers sitting down, almost inhaling their food so they could get to work and not miss out on any more pay. The one benefit of his lateness was that he didn't have to socialise, and he avoided the notice of meatheads like Coorta and his crew, who went out of their way to make his life a living hell. He could handle himself in a fight, but Coorta fought even dirtier than he did, and that was saying something. Atton knew he was just jealous, maybe even threatened, by his good looks and numerous successes with women.
The remains of that morning's breakfast were close to being inedible, but he choked them down anyway, knowing the importance of eating something before work. He needed his strength for the day ahead of him, especially with such a poor start. He gulped down the last of it and quickly disposed of the tray, hastening out of the room toward the locker bay.
Now fully equipped in the safety gear of his current profession, Atton Rand set about cutting through a wall of rock, the sensor on his headgear indicating that a sizeable pocket of gas lay a few meters behind it. As he guided the mining laser in a careful clockwise motion, his thoughts drifted to Nar Shaddaa, the infamous Smuggler's Moon where he had spent countless nights in luxury - hitting the bars, dancing at clubs, spending his nights with beautiful women... before he had run out of money, of course. And ended up working in this dump. With his record, it had been almost impossible to land a decent job, until he'd heard about a mining colony on an asteroid field in the Peragus system.
:-:-:-:
"You're kidding, right?" he snorted, upon overhearing a group of miners talking amongst themselves at one of those 87-hour diners found on almost every street corner. "Mind your own business, pretty boy," one of the miners growled in Aqualish, but Atton was not so easily deterred. He was drunk and desperate for money, and experiencing a significant lapse in judgment. "No, really," he said, rising from his stool with an effort. "That's kriffing insane." He approached their table unsteadily, unaware of the hostile glares directed at him. Had he been sober, he would have felt the menace rising from their tense forms and left then and there. If there was one thing he was good at, it was running. He'd been doing it all his life.
Instead, he plunked himself down on one of the empty chairs and rested his legs on the table, ignorant to the growing hostility in the room. Several of the other tenants had already left, sensing that the confrontation could only end one way. Those who remained watched on, eager to witness the inevitable conflict. "Pretty sure the last time people mined over there... a big explosion happened..." He clasped his hands into a ball then slowly expanded his fingers outward to represent the blast, complete with sound effects. Observers of the scene craned in their seats, anticipating the imminent outbreak of violence.
The Aqualish miner took him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from his seat. "I said mind your own business!" He let go. The miners laughed as Atton tried to regain his balance. A heavy shove sent him tumbling backwards, knocking over a Twi'lek waitress carrying a tray of soup bowls. She swore at him in Ryl before pushing him away, muttering as she gathered the shattered fragments.
The other two miners seized him and dragged him outside into the cold night air. Ignoring the faces watching through the glass, they gave him a brutal beating, then left him lying on the pavement with a black eye, several fractured ribs and a broken nose. It wasn't long before he blacked out, giving into the blissful embrace of oblivion.
He woke in an unfamiliar space, unsure of how he had got there, feeling like he'd been crushed by a stampede of angry dewbacks. He touched his face tentatively, searching for any serious damage. "My nose!" he exclaimed.
"I'd be worried about more than my nose if I were you," a voice said behind him.
Startled, he sat up, hissing in pain as he moved his fractured ribs. "W-Where am I...?"
"One of those nights, eh? Well, let me fill in the blanks. You're on a starship bound for the Peragus mining facility."
Atton moaned, lying back down on the cold floor of the ship. "What the kriff did I drink last night..."
:-:-:-:
A quiet jarring noise caught his attention and he groaned. "Why me?" He tossed the defective laser into a scrap pile and left his claim to fetch another. He selected one from the wall rack and headed back to continue his work. "Where do you think you're going, Rand?"
He stopped in his tracks and turned, flashing a charming smile. "Coorta! Just what I needed. Thank you for gracing me with your stench!"
Coorta's shadow, a Zabrak with an extremely short temper, took a step forward, but Coorta held him back. "Easy, Al'kan. Not yet."
"Keeping your pet in line, I see?" Atton taunted, smiling as the Zabrak growled, clenching his fist. The tunnels were silent, now. The other miners had stopped drilling, and watched the confrontation with interest.
"No need to tease him, Rand," Coorta said, his voice calm. "The matter to settle is between us."
"Oh? And what matter is that?"
Coorta moved forward until he stood about a meter from Atton. "Your debt to me, of course."
"My debt?" Atton snarled. "I don't owe you anything."
"What of our bet?"
"That was rigged, and you know it. I don't pay cheats."
"Ah, yes. You would know, I suppose," Coorta grinned. "After all, cheating is almost second nature to scum like you. Do you think Al'kan here would like to know about the night you spent with his beloved?"
At this, the Zabrak charged, and Coorta stepped aside to let him pass. Atton dodged the first few blows, but it soon became apparent that the Zabrak had the upper hand - he was much heavier, and he was fueled by rage and humiliation. Atton took a blow to the stomach, and staggered back, winded. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, pulling his hand away when he felt blood. The Zabrak had a knife.
With this knowledge, Atton was careful to keep his distance, ducking when the Zabrak got too close. He needed to disarm him, or he was in trouble. He was cut again, this time on his forearm when he tried to block an incoming blow. The rage that had given Al'kan an advantage at the beginning was now his undoing. With each missed attack he wasted energy, and Atton bided his time until he saw an opening. The Zabrak raised his knife and left himself vulnerable to a firm kick in the chest. As he stumbled back, Atton pressed the advantage, twisting the knife from his hand and discarding it. But he was too close now. Al'kan recovered faster than expected, and seized the smaller man by the shoulders. He cracked his horned head against Atton's forehead and released him, letting him drop to the floor, semi-conscious.
In a haze, he heard footsteps and then voices, one rising above the others. "Stop gawking and get back to work, you slackers!" He recognised it as belonging to the Administration Officer, Raten Erik. "And somebody clean up this mess." He felt himself being lifted from the floor onto a stretcher. The bearers were far from gentle, and each jolt pained him, until he blacked out, feeling no more.
He woke a few days later in the med bay, his head bandaged, wounds cleaned. He sat up, gasping at the pain, but determined to leave the confines of the room. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air was too close. He needed to get out. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up slowly, leaning heavily on the table beside him. "Woah, what do you think you're doing?"
A woman in a doctor's uniform entered the room, tossing her datapad onto one of the empty beds as she approached. "You shouldn't be standing yet." She eased him back down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're a stubborn one, I'll give you that."
Atton looked up, taking in her dark complexion and short, cropped hair. He hadn't met her before, and he liked what he saw. "What's your name?" he asked, giving her his signature smile, which pulled on the cut in his lip. "Ow!" he exclaimed, and she laughed. A clear, gentle sound.
"You may call me Lynna," she said, retrieving a medical kit from the glass cabinet above his bed. "I'll need to remove your shirt."
"You don't waste any time," he said in a low voice.
She paused in what she was doing to look at him. "Ah, yes. I had heard that you were the flirtatious sort." She helped him lift the shirt over his head, careful to avoid any unnecessary strain on his injuries. Atton exhaled in dismay. "My second-favourite shirt..."
She set about examining his injuries; gently prodding bruises to see how they were healing, replacing the dressing on his wounds, guiding him through stretches to exercise his muscles. There was no desire in her touch, only firm medical ministration. Not once did she look at him with the admiration he was so used to seeing in women. When she was done, she gave him another dose of painkillers, ordering him to another day of rest before he could return to work. She left the room, and he felt the walls close in again. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the anxiety in his gut, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.
Things were back to normal when he returned to work, with everyone acting like nothing had happened. Atton glared at the wall as he cut into it with a mining laser. They probably enjoyed my absence, he thought bitterly. Their wages would have increased for the duration of his recovery period. Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't hear someone come up behind him, and was startled when they spoke. "Come with me to my office."
He turned to the person who had addressed him. It was the Administrator. He attached the laser to his belt and followed him through the facility until they arrived at the Administration Office.
Raten kept his back to Atton, facing a console flicking through security feed from each of the cameras in the facility. "Here we are again, Atton," he said, turning to face him. "Why must you cause so much trouble?"
Atton stepped forward, defensive. "The brute hit me first."
"Yes, but was he unprovoked?"
"No," he said truthfully.
"Then whose fault was it?"
"Hey, he pulled a knife on me! I was the one who spent four days in the med bay. Why are you berating me? You should be punishing the Zabrak!"
Raten regarded him, expressionless, though he was seething underneath. He wanted nothing more than to throw this man out an airlock and be done with him. However, he wouldn't let it show. He didn't want Atton to suspect.
"Al'kan has been moved to administration in Hangar Bay 3. If you're wise, you'll avoid that section entirely from now on."
He saw Atton's expression change, and he wondered if he'd pressed it too hard. Had he caught on? "Hangar Bay 3, huh? I know a girl who works there." The words were said casually, but Raten knew what they meant. He clenched his fist, remaining silent. "You saw Al'kan attack me, didn't you? On the camera feed?" When he didn't answer, Atton continued. "You watched the whole thing. And you didn't move a muscle until it was over. It all makes sense now."
Raten struggled to keep his voice level, uninterested, as he replied. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, but you do." The miner moved forward, until the desk was all that was between them. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." His mouth curved into a smirk. "You heard about me and your daughter, didn't you? And you wanted me to pay. Heck, you probably even gave Al'kan the knife!"
Raten said nothing, his fingernails biting into his skin. He was ready to throttle him, but he wouldn't risk losing his job. Not because of him.
Atton laughed, the sound empty, humourless. "I'll bet that you hoped he'd kill me. Then your precious Liza wouldn't be tempted again." His eyes were dark, darker than Raten had ever seen, and he felt the cold hand of fear clasp his heart. "But I survived, and you had to adapt. You transferred Al'kan to Hangar 3 under the pretense of punishment, so that he could be with his love, and protect her from me at the same time."
Raten trembled at the darkness in his voice. How had he figured it out? How could he have seen through it all so clearly? He had underestimated Atton. He was far more intelligent than he let on. When he spoke again, his tone was full of mockery. "If you're finished with me, I'll be going."
The Administrator could only nod, and when Atton had left, he crumpled into his chair, his head in his hands.
The next day, Atton caught whispers of an unscheduled ship landing in one of the facility's hangar bays. When he pressed one of the miners, he learned that two bodies had been recovered: one was dead, but the other was placed in a kolto tank, recovering from severe injuries, apparently inflicted during a space battle. At the end of the work day, when some of the miners gathered to play a few games of pazaak, conversation around the table was centered on the strange ship and the scarred woman.
"I have a friend working down there, and he said that half of the ship was missing when it landed. The entire hull was covered in scorch marks. It was hardly spaceworthy."
Atton listened intently, his curiosity piqued. The miner continued, "My friend says the ship's ID signature doesn't match any in our database, and he couldn't figure out where it had been because the navicomputer is locked with a voiceprint."
One of the other miners cut in, "I don't give a kathound's arse about the ship. All I'm thinkin' about is the woman they pulled from the wreckage." His comment prompted a round of laughter from his friends. "I went down there to see fer meself what all the fuss was about and I saw 'er."
The men leaned in, forgetting their card game, and the miner relished their attention. "She ain't a bad looker, asides the scars," he said, smirking. "If she weren't floatin' in a kolto tank, I'd show 'er a good time..."
"I doubt she'd want anything from you, given that your face looks like the rear end of a mynock," Atton sneered.
"Shut up, Rand. At least I've seen 'er."
Atton just shrugged, and the other seethed. Sensing the tension rising in the room, the first miner changed the subject. "Enough chitchat. Let's get back to our game."
A few days later, Raten entered the dormitories to conduct a routine inspection of the miners' living quarters. He gave no outward sign of his self-satisfaction, maintaining a calm, authoritative air as he searched each of the rooms. When he reached Atton's cabin, however, he smiled. Atton met his gaze, dark eyes burning, but this time Raten didn't feel intimidated. In fact, for the first time in his dealings with the miner, he felt that he was truly in control. He searched the other bunks in the room first, moving slowly. When he reached Atton's bunk, he couldn't help but steal a glance in his direction. He saw Atton frown, and he relished his confusion. He would understand soon enough.
He made a pretense of searching as normal, careful to give no indication of his prior knowledge. He dragged it out as long as he could, before reaching under the mattress, pulling out a blaster pistol hidden there. He held up the gun so the other occupants of the room could see it clearly. "As you know, any kind of blaster technology is strictly prohibited on this facility, according to the agreement you all signed before commencing work here." He paused, letting the moment sink in. "Atton Rand, you are hereby found guilty of possession of prohibited technology, and therefore will be detained until your sentence is decided." He turned to look Atton in the eye, grinning openly.
"I would never pick such an obvious hiding place!" Atton protested. Raten merely shook his head, and signaled for his guards to enter the room. "This is a kriffing set up!" The guards seized his arms, forcing them into a pair of stun cuffs. Atton struggled against them, and one of the guards triggered the stun mechanism, sending an electric shock through his body. He collapsed to his knees, and they lifted him roughly from the floor, dragging him out of the room. Raten watched him go with a sense of relief and satisfaction. Now that he possessed legal proof against Atton, he could finally make a legitimate claim to the higher ups. Sure, the gun was planted, but who were they going to believe? Atton, a convicted smuggler, or him, the ever-dutiful Administrator? He was sure he knew the answer.