Chapter Six
Moabis gripped the loop which hung from the ceiling of the transport. The inertial dampeners in the vessel, a boxy converted ore hauler modified to serve as a dropship, did a poor job of protecting the crew from the turbulence caused by the craft entering the upper atmosphere of Formos. The claws on her canine-like digits dug into her palm, causing droplets of blood to fall upon her head.
Around her the rest of the Poualiac's elite hit squad was likewise trying to ride out the turbulence, occasionally barking at each other when they inevitably failed to gird themselves in one direction or the other, resulting in a collision with their squadmate. This made Moabis uncomfortable. As a klatooinian evolved from canine-like ancestors, she grew up in a tightly knit family pack. Even when she began service in the klatooinian military, which in reality was a mercenary army for the Hutts, she still served in units that functioned as well as perfectly organized packs. But that lifestyle had vanished once she had been 'elevated' into service for her Hutt-lord. These mercenaries fought and killed each other as much as they did their enemies. When the Nikto standing next to her nearly knocked her over she paid him no mind. In fact, she felt physical contact with one of her comrades was comforting.
"Et chu ta!" the nikto cried. He glared at Moabis angrily, seemingly turning the blame in her direction. Moabis felt the urge to reach for one of the many throwing knives she kept hidden in her military jumpsuit and jab it into the nikto's neck. Such a display would not result in repercussions from the rest of the squad or her Hutt lord. On the contrary, it would have improved her standing in terms of respect and fear. However, doing such a disloyal thing was against every behavior she had been raised to believe. Loyalty to one's pack and pack leader, which by extension applied to her Hutt-lord and his forces, was paramount.
The turbulence began to soften as the ship entered the atmosphere above the spaceport. There were no windows in the rear of the vessel, but if there were Moabis would have observed columns of smoke rising from the embattled city.
"We are over the target," the pilot announced. Moabis raised her automatic blaster rifle in preparation. The nikto next to her was armed with a flame-thrower, and many of the others in the squad were likewise armed with deadly and violent weapons. Moabis didn't know what the nikto intended to do with the flame-spewing weapon, as they had been strictly ordered to bring back the downed pirate back alive. The ship shook violently as it landed. The loading ramp descended, filling the interior of the transport with dust blown up from the dusty street.
Lomagar, a lizard-like trandoshan bounty-hunter and the overall leader of Pouliac's soldiers, was the first off the transport. He wore heavy battle armor that was scarred by numerous battles, and a cape made from the coat of a wookie he had killed in single combat. He swept his clone wars era dc-15 blaster rifle, which had a viciously serrated bayonet mounted under the barrel, across the street. He raised his hand and waved it forward, signalling the all-clear for the rest of the squad to exit the transport.
Moabis hurried out, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the relative brightness, compared to the interior of the ship, of the afternoon sun. She raised her rifle and scanned the street. An empty flight chair, with a trail of blood leading away from it, sat on its side in the center of the street, only a few meters away. There were two dead bodies lying in front of it. Slightly uphill a civilian firefighting team was attempting to subdue an inferno threatening to swallow an apartment complex. Groups of distressed families stood along the opposite side of the street, watching as their homes burned. They seemed oblivious to Moabis and the rest of the mercenaries.
The squad fanned out, each of them pointing their weapons in a different direction, covering every possible direction that an enemy might attack them from. Lomagar approached the flight chair, which was covered in blood. He kicked one of the dead bodies that lay before it with his foot. "Moabis," he called. "What do you think?"
She hurried over and smelled the air. "Much smoke, not sniffing well," she said in broken basic. "No track."
"What about the bodies?" he asked. She looked them over. They were both human, and both appeared to civilians. Each one was shot by a blaster, one in the chest and the other twice, through the leg and the back. There was an equipment locker lying open before them which contained much of the survival gear one would find in a downed fighter pilot's gear. Moabis walked around and looked at the bottom of the chair. It appeared as if the locker fit beneath it.
"She obviously went that way," said the nikto, pointing to the trail of blood and beginning to follow it without orders to do so.
"Wait!" Lomagar yelled. The nikto reluctantly delayed his pursuit.
"Pirate land, they take. Pirate shoot," Moabis announced.
Lomagar nodded in agreement at her assessment. "The target is armed. Wounded, but able to fight," he yelled loudly, in order to be heard clearly over the sound of the fire up the hill.
"She won't get far," the nikto shook his head.
"You go first then," Lomagar smiled. Although the gesture was meant to express amusement, he instead looked rather vicious, exposing his long rows of sharp teeth.
The nikto paused as he adjusted the settings on his flamethrower, and then took off down the alley. The rest of the squad followed, with Lomagar and Moabis taking up the rear.
oOoOo
Half-stock could feel something pulling at her, but she couldn't tell if the sensation was real or imagined until she heard voices.
"...she doesn't have anything…" She faintly remembered falling through the sky, tumbling uncontrollably to her certain death. The sensation of someone searching her body ceased.
"...check the trunk…" She remembered now the sudden shock she had felt as her flight chair's emergency escape system activated its thrusters, killing her descent speed and allowing her to survive the fall. She opened her eyes and found her vision blurry and indistinct. She reached up and felt her face...her fingers came away covered in the blueish blood of her species. There was an incredible pain coming from her legs, so she looked down to find pieces of shrapnel embedded in them. Seeing this almost made her pass out once again.
Instead she became angry. She had been shot down, but she was not dead. She reached into her boot and pulled out the small hold-out blaster she kept there. She sat up and focused her eyes with all her might until the two beings came into focus.
"...she has good gear, good thing she won't be needing it," one of them laughed. His laugh became a blood-filled gurgle when Half-stock's blaster shot punched through his lungs from behind.
His friend screamed and tried to run, but he clumsily tripped over the open trunk. Despite the swimming of her head and her blurry vision Half-stock was able to squint long enough to get the fleeing looter in her sights. She sighted down the barrel of her small blaster and fired. Her first shot went wide so she squeezed the trigger again, pulling her aim to the right. She heard a grunt followed by a cry of pain. She was forced to rely on that pleasing sound to satisfy her vengeance...her blurry vision rendered the looter a indistinct blob as he attempted to crawl away.
Half-stock leaned forward and shakily got to her feet, exiting her ejected flight chair. She stumbled over the dead body of the other looter and fell to her knees. It took her a moment to crawl over the corpse, which she now realized was a human, and get to the trunk. She used her free hand to rifle through the trunk until her fingers found a plasteel container. She felt the raised text on the side of the bottle, smiled, and flicked off the lid with her thumb. She dumped a half dozen of the blue pills contained within into her mouth and utilized the blood in her mouth to help swallow the medicine.
She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to resist the urge to sleep. The medicine worked quickly, and although it was only a temporary solution, it would have to suffice. She had taken over double the recommended dose in order to compensate for her sorry state. When she opened her eyes again the pain was largely gone, replaced by a numbness. Her vision quickly cleared, allowing her to see that the other looter was not dead.
"Hey…" she groaned laboriously. "I think you forgot something." She dropped the bottle onto the ground and rifled around the trunk until she pulled out a bandoleer holding four thermal detonators and three spare blaster clips. She slung the bandoleer over her shoulder and then pushed herself to her feet. With a significant limp she walked over to the human.
Her blaster shot had hit him in the back of the leg. She angrily stepped on his wound, causing him to scream in pain. His scream was cut short when she fired her blaster once again, this time burying a shot into his back. His scream stopped. Despite his apparent death she pulled the trigger again, but was forced to grimace when the tiny blaster only clicked in response. The miniature hold-out blaster packed the same punch as a full sized blaster, at the cost of only four shots per magazine.
"Lucky for you," she sighed. Suddenly she heard a sound coming from above, muffled by distance, but steadily growing louder. A transport was descending towards her and she recognized the ugly aesthetics of the blocky vessel. Only a Hutt would utilize such an affront to aerodynamics. "Unlucky for me."
She removed her foot from the dead man's leg and began to limp towards the nearest alley. She did not know where the rest of her gang was, or if they were even still on the planet. She was cut off. Alone. Hunted.
She moved as quickly as she could towards the alley and removed a grenade from the bandoleer. She made it around the corner of the building just as the loading ramp descended and a group of mercenaries stepped out. She glanced down and realized she was leaving a trail of blood. There would be no hiding from them.
"C'mon, come at me," she grimaced. She held out the bandoleer, ready to detonate the whole belt and take all of them down with her. But instead of hurrying after her they paused to discuss something.
She took the moment they gave her to limp through the alley. Up ahead there was another street. Through the dust and smoke she spotted a crowd of security personnel assisting an emergency response team outside of another burning building. She passed by an empty storage crate and paused long enough for the first of the mercenaries to enter the alleyway behind her. She thumbed the detonation trigger on one of the grenades and dropped it into the crate.
"Oops," she said with a grim smile.
oOoOo
Koravin watched as the other transport rose from the landing pad behind the security station. He knew that he would not be seeing any of them again as he coughed, his hand coming away with blood. He had lived a long life, even fought in the Clone Wars, but never had he regarded any group with which he had served as closely as he did his crew. If he was going to die he would do all he could to ensure their survival.
He slowly reached up and flicked the ignition switch on the control panel. The transport came to life, vibrating slightly due to the clumsy upkeep of the engines. He manipulated the controls, every movement deliberate and labored, and got the transport airborne. The ship slid sideways rather than gaining altitude, smashing into the side of the security station building. The second story collapsed accordingly, and Koravin managed a painful laugh. He wondered if that pathetic security chief was still alive under all that rubble.
He pulled back on the yoke, causing the ship to rise through the atmosphere. He leaned forward and peered through the transparisteel viewport at the city below. Smoke was rising throughout the city. He hadn't seen anything like it since his war days. Formos wouldn't soon forget what happened when someone had started a fight with the Blackpool Fliers.
The ship rose through the atmosphere until it reached orbit. He flicked on his scanners and stared at the holo-screen until he found the familiar signature of the Blackpool Flier. The other transport was docking with the old mon calamari corvette, a few Hutt gunships kept at bay by the Flier's laser turrets.
As he watched the scanner he noticed several small blips racing towards his friends. He grimaced when he realized that the Hutt's were sending in reinforcements. Four Dunelizard starfighters, small mandalorian-built ships were closing in on them, shaped similarly to atmospheric fighter aircraft of old. No doubt they were Poualiac's personal fighter escort. He reached over and flicked on the comm unit, switching it to an unencrypted broadcast.
"This is dread Captain Koravin of the Blackpool Flier. I'm over here, you slimy unevolved pondscum. Come and get me." He turned his transport and began flying retrograde in the opposite direction of the other ships. After a moment's hesitation the dunelizard fighters broke off and began to speed towards him. He continued to examine his scanners until he found Poualiac's command ship. Even as the Hutt's fighters closed in on him he changed his transport's orientation, aiming it directly towards the Hutt frigate and pushing his accelerators to their meager maximum.
He didn't get far before he felt the ship shake under the impact of several blasts. Blue energy raced across his flight controls and the interior of the ship went dark. They were going to try and take him alive. He painfully rose from his flight chair and stumbled towards the passenger compartment. He grabbed the frame of the doorway between the two sections of the ship, steadying himself. He reached up and punched the ceiling, causing a standard issue tool box to drop to the floor. He knelt down and opened the box, removing a plasma torch.
"Come get me Poualiac," he said, igniting the torch and allowing its purple flame to light his way as he stumbled towards the transport's small engine compartment.