Chasing Shadows

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Zaarek
Posts: 21
Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 3:18 pm

Chasing Shadows

Post by Zaarek »

Prologue

The personally computer situated on the office desk flashed a message. The Same message it had been flashing for over an hour.
Rerouting
Years had passed since Zarek called upon the services of the scarce surveillance system, established years ago when working as a bounty hunter. He would be surprised if the custom seekers had not each been picked apart by locals or confiscated, or simply worn down by their environments. Briefly, he imagined young ruffians finding the droids, a unique surprise to a mundane routine, and disassembling them. Or, perhaps, using them to aid in their imaginary adventures. Zarek’s attention shifted to the datapad next to the screen. He looked at the message, re-reading it for possibly the twentieth time.

Do what you must, where you must

The brief reply from Senator Ivunuvi held significant weight. And urgency. More than once, he had started to grow restless. In this instance, he thought of Fazza’s teachings.

There is no emotion, there is peace

The words would have been laughed off mere months ago. Now, however, Zarek found a new meaning to his existence. And in that, a rejuvenated sense of purpose. A series of deep breaths allowed the words to resonate within him, and a sense of calm settle to over him. His thoughts rolled away. Wherever Jacobus Finn was hiding, he had chosen to be there. Zarek was almost certain that he wasn’t on Nar Shadaa. Still, he would go. Perhaps some clues of the man’s past would lend insight to the bigger picture, and his whereabouts. Recent activity on Agathon had only added to his reluctance. Still, he would go. This was bigger than him.

Part 1: The Smuggler’s moon

Bright lights dotted the front viewport of the Reclaimer. Zarek angled the shields to a front arc. Years had passed since he had had the privilege of experiencing the Smuggler’s moon. Even from kilometers above the rock, the lights of the Red Light Sector provided a dazzling display. Perhaps the lewdest planetary sector in all the galaxy, the entertainment Sector was a trove of information. The ship neared the moon at a slow, deliberate pace. Zarek closed his eyes and the Force echoed from within. Nar Shaddaa pulsated with life. There was, however, a teeming darkness about the moon. An array of varying emotions sought to overwhelmed him.

There is no emotion, there is peace,”

Zarek recited the first line of the Jedi code, opening his mind to the depth of its meaning. His trust in the Force had been steadily increasing. In this moment, he found the resolve to overcome the tide of sentient feelings emanating from below. The Reclaimer’s comm array flashed. Zarek narrowed his eyes and centered his breaths before opening the channel.

“Lewkin to dock, eh? Got eh gewd spat, yea. Only bein five-huned creds fa two days.”

The thought of remaining here more than a few hours pinched at his thoughts.

“That’s fine,” he replied. “Guide me in.”

The voice on the other end said something in broken Basic, and the atmospheric nav-map flashed, indicating a beacon. Zarek took manual control of the VCX freighter and guided it to a series of floating docks. The platform that was large enough for his ship, and several others, was currently vacant. Zarek stood as he enabled the automatic landing protocols and snatched up the two packs that rested on the often-vacant co-pilot’s seat. Upon slinging them over his right shoulder, Zarek made his way towards the ship’s exit.

The ramp leading from the VCX faced the openness of the Nar Shaddaa sky, and away from Nal Hutta. To his right, the remnants of retired over-head lights stood at the edge of the platform, lifeless. To his left, several dozen meters away, a small building could narrowly be seen. As his eyes struggled with the area, the silhouette of a slightly-larger-than-human sentient approached. It walked with a stooped posture, and the hint of a slight limp. Dim lighting made for limited visibility, forcing Zarek to pinch his eyes to focus on the gimp. As it came into range of the Reclaimer’s exterior side exit lights, the visage of a worn down Nikto barred a toothy grin at Zarek.

“Creedits,” it growled, shoving a supinated hand in the human’s face.

“Where is the dockmaster?” Zarek retorted.

“No dookmasteer. Creedits.” The Nikto’s smile shifted rapidly to a scowl. It still barred it’s gnarled and filthy set of teeth.

Zarek inhaled, swallowing a deep breath. Slowly and carefully he reached into the inner portion of the overcoat he was wearing. It was a long, urban camouflage variety coat, often adorned by mercenaries. He nodded at the Nikto, hoping it would receive the gesture as a non-threating one. As his hand withdrew from the coat, he displayed a credit stick. “Will this suffice?” he asked calmly.

“Creedits,” the Nikto responded, snatching the stick, worth five galactic credits, from Zarek’s hand. It turned quickly, and hobbled off, into the darkness.

“Nar Shaddaa,” the human muttered. “Never the same, yet always similar.” He kept a lingering gaze on the Nikto as he keyed in the security code on the exterior panel of the VCX.

“Geet outta here, ya boom!” a voice echoed from the small building.

The sounds of hobbled footsteps shuffling off echoed from the walkway that lead away from the platform. Zarek peered in the direction of the voice, and the building. A dim light flickered from the now visible doorway. Subtle movement appeared to beckon to him. “Eh, comere,” the deep, guttural voice commanded. Devaronian. Zarek recognized the snarling articulation of the horned humanoids. He had encountered one on more than a few occasions. A moment passed before Zarek obeyed.

The human gradually paced towards the small building. It was constructed of durasteel, though time and neglect marred its surface with rust. Zarek’s deliberate steps drew him closer to the Devaronian, who appeared to wait with anticipatory patience. Five meters from the door the vague light displayed features of the horned sentient. This one was venerable, by Devaronian standards. His pale red skin and fragile, dull horns decorated an aged and wrinkled face. A single gold earring dangled from his right ear. As his face came into view, Zarek offered a calculated smile, and opened himself to the Force. As he did so, he washed away any thoughts of his own feelings. Allowing the Force to act as a guide, he sought out external emotions. The other man’s thoughts were slippery. Zarek subtly slowed his pace, focusing on the Force. Ten paces now separated the two, and Zarek could sense only one motivating emotion. Greed.

“Com in, les talk busnis,” he seemed to growl. Zarek nodded once before stepping past him, into the rusted building. The room was overly simplistic. A single metal desk paired with a single metal chair was placed near the furthest wall. The Devaronian slid past him, and into the chair. “You gon be hur long?” His pale, yellow eyes met Zarek’s. The human sensed little emotion within the horned sentient. Little more than the potential of credits. Zarek would use this to his advantage. “I don’t know how long, I’ll be here. However, I’m prepared to pay for the space, and for privacy. I’d like to rent the entire landing pad. We’ll start with three days,” he stated, forcing a sense of authority into his tone. A feint smile followed his terms, and he held out the pack. Carefully, so that the man could see, he opened it. Just as carefully, and slowly, he dumped a significant pile of credits onto the desk.

A wide smile slithered onto the Devaronian’s face. “Meh like you,” he muttered, eyeing the credits, almost lustfully. “Thre days,” he agreed. “You dock, thre days.”

“I’ll be in and out, to check on my ship, and make sure it’s still the only one here. If you hold to our terms, I’ll double that pile there.” Zarek knew he couldn’t trust the man to hold his terms. He could only hope that more than a month’s worth of dock fees for a few days of solitude would be enough to coerce him.

“You shul be caful, waven so mu creeds like dat, arun hur.”

“Your only concern should be to keep to our terms. I don’t want a reason to withhold future business from you.”

“Eh, righ. Thre days.”

Zarek wasted no more time bribing the man and was soon on his way towards the Red Light Sector. He wore his long, militant styled coat over a long, ribbed shirt, and camos that matched the trench. A bandolier ran over his chest, housing a multitude of pockets. The pockets themselves contained various tools and supplies he may or may not need. His sword was sheathed, hanging from a belt clip and concealed towards the back of his hip. A hold-out blaster was strapped to his right calf, several centimeters above the top cuff of military style boots. His long, brown and graying hair was pony-tailed. The sounds of the Red Light Sector became more and more apparent, and Zarek settled his thoughts on his current objective.
The visual and audible brilliance of the Sector amplified with each passing step. Zarek paced himself with controlled breaths. His thoughts focused on what he knew about his quarry. Jacobus had been a Jedi. Was still, as far as anyone knew, a Jedi. He had left Agathon under threat of discovery. Zarek wondered what could have inspired him to come to Nar Shaddaa. What he could hope to gain here. In this moment, the Force stirred within him. A Jedi must put the need of the community over the needs of individuals. The words echoed in his mind. He was mere blocks away from the Sector, with not so much as a starting point to begin his investigation. Still, despite the weight of uncertainty, Zarek smiled at the opportunity. For the first time in his life, he would have to rely almost solely on the Force.

Zarek approached the final somber corner of sparsely illuminated structures. The moon’s most notable sector would certainly seek to overwhelm his senses. He stopped a block short of what could be considered the first block of illicit district. Cautiously, he scanned the area with narrowed, calculating eyes. A few vagrants stumbled about here and there. Finally, his gaze caught the entrance of a dark enough alley running north and south of the busy sector. Zarek ducked into the narrow corridor and called upon the Force. He sensed no one near enough to warrant concern, for now. The former bounty hunter quickly unshouldered the remaining pack and knelt to the ground before opening it. After unbuttoning the flap, he retrieved and activated four seeker droids, one at a time. He had pre-programmed them while in hyperspace to travel in varying directions, and to constantly record. For the first time, he didn’t have a specific target for them to hunt down.

Once the seekers had been let loose, Zarek tossed the pack aside and departed from the dank alleyway. Within minutes he was facing the Red Light District. From the smell, to the screaming, to the flashing lights, everything about the area boasted ill-intent. The nearest building displayed neon signs, indicating a droid workshop. He chuckled to himself and thought of Holder. Assuredly, it wouldn’t be this easy. Zarek meandered into the shop, hoping to pass as a casual browser. Once inside, he was instantly impressed with several custom droid units on display. A few astromechs were lined up, each with a unique paint design and clearly custom modifications. His eyes wandered to the protocol droids that stood, seemingly at attention. They had undoubtedly different functions, though each had a similar gleam to it.
Zarek had just rolled his gaze over a most interesting unit, one that was small and spherical, with a half sphere atop its round body that presumably served as its ‘head’, when a voice from a back room called out.

“Khoe yachiei ní,” the voice shouted.

Zarek didn’t speak Mirialan, though he understood the dialect well enough. A moment later a green skinned humanoid emerged through the cloth that served as a doorway to whatever back room he had occupied. The man was old, though not as so as the Devaronian from the docks.

“Ruay?eit Su wich'a dih p'u,” the Mirialan asked.

It took Zarek an awkward moment to piece together the man’s question. “Oh,” he replied, eventually. “I’m just looking around. A friend of mine just picked up a customized protocol unit, so I’m looking to one up him.” The Mirialan narrowed his gaze on Zarek and leaned against the counter.

“Oh,” he said in near perfect Basic. “What kind?”

“Not too sure, to be honest. Bipedal, with exposed innards and wires. Red glass optics. Kind of…pointy face,” Zarek modeled the shape with his hands, trying to describe Holder best he could, without specifying his IG nature.

The shop owner tilted his head, his narrow-eyed gaze remained stuck hard on the human.

“All my work includes coverings. I don’t do shoddy,” he said, indignantly.

“Of course,” Zarek replied, motioning to the droids with a nod. There was a multitude of questions he wanted to ask the shop keep but resigned to discretion. “So, how much for the little ball droid there?”

“Hmm, that thing? It’s useless, to be honest. Requires some hardwiring components that I’ve never seen, and I thought I’ve seen them all. Been asking five hundred, but no one wants a non-functioning droid.”

“Hmm,” Zarek muttered his reply. “Set it aside for me,” he reached into his inner coat pocket, producing a single five-hundred credit chip. “I’ll pick it up before I leave the moon.” He offered the chip the Mirialan, whose narrowed gaze had shifted to a look of surprise.

“If you say so.”

Zarek stepped out of the droid shop while the Mirialan dragged the round droid to the back. He would spend the next several hours hopping from shop to shop, asking basic questions and hoping for astounding answers.

***
Zaarek
Posts: 21
Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 3:18 pm

Re: Chasing Shadows

Post by Zaarek »

Zarek spent the next two days in similar fashion, exploring the countless shops and businesses. Nothing had developed into a lead, or even the most ambiguous clue. A simmer of hope had surfaced when a notification buzzed his comm from the on-board computer of the Reclaimer. The scans of foreign substances he had found on Holder had finally processed. His sense of urgency to investigate the droid had been halted by the sudden need to depart on this specific expedition. From the equipment in his office, the scans would have taken hours, not days. The machinery aboard the VCX freighter was notably older, and though not less reliable, somewhat less thorough. In addition to a forensic analysis of the oily substance itself, Zarek had to cross-reference varying substrates from various planets. To make matters more convoluted, he had to download a series of new granule charts and readings, as well as update the nav logs for Hutt space. Taking everything in stride, he had settled on running the scans on the ship.

The results provided little pertinent information. The mere presence of the petroleum meant one of two things. Holder had recently spent time in a workshop, or aboard a ship. The deceitful claws of discouragement began to engage the former bounty hunter. He clenched his jaws, and struggled to quite his mind. Soon, the peaceful quite of the Reclaimer settled over him, and Zarek enjoyed the stillness of the ship. He had come to desire the quiet of the ship after tireless hours in the Red Light Sector. It was the third day of his stay on Nar Shaddaa, and would prefer to wrap up his investigation before having to deal with the Devaronian again. Feeling he had exhausted his time in the Red Light district, he pondered a different approach. The process led him to the empty cargo bay, where he had prepared a large mat in the center for meditating. Settling himself, he knelt.

A series of long, intentional breaths allowed the Force to stir within in. He felt the life-giving energy course gently through his veins, into the soft tissues that made up his muscles, and into his consciousness. His own thoughts had been washed away, and he listened. Listened for what could have been five minutes, or five hours. Time had lost relevance. The distant sounds of the Smuggler’s moon could once more be heard. Now, however, Zarek heard them as whispers. Indistinguishable conversations floated through his thoughts, and a myriad of emotions sprinkled over him like a gentle mist. Zarek allowed his subconscious to sift through them, seeking to identify specific phrase and feelings.

Time stood seemingly still as the Force stretched his new found abilities new lengths. He reached farther through the Force, to the hidden and secret places of Nar Shaddaa. A new variety of thoughts and feelings whispered. Zarek’s concentration was unwavering in this moment. He realized that any clues that were to be discovered would come from the Force, not his years of investigatory experience. He listened to the variety of subtle voices. Children playing. Conversations about escaping the moon. The further the Force led his consciousness, the more desperation could be felt. Suddenly, as if a whip had been snapped centimeters from his eardrum, a loud crack, followed by agonizing howls barged into his mind.

Zarek struggled to retain his focus. His mind outlined what he knew of Nar Shaddaa's layout. Simultaneously, he thought of his seekers. His entire body had begun to sweat from the strain. His muscles started to ache. Doubt of his ability to maintain the Force’s direction slithered into his thoughts. No, a voice inside his head whispered. Either his own will, or some manifestation of the Force (or perhaps both), would not let him lose the hold on his meditative journey though the moon. Finally, moments before he thought he might lose consciousness, an image was revealed to him. A large, gated compound could be seen, overshadowed by towering mechanical structures. Zarek’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air. Despite the controlled and calming breaths he had initially been able to maintain, the past few minutes left him exasperated and breathless. Slowly, he rose to his feet. It couldn’t take long for him to gather himself. He had to be on the move.

The speeder bike that carried Zarek towards he lower industrial sector clanked and sputtered along. It had to be thirty years old, he thought. The Force had displayed the location it had wanted him to find, and the seekers had done the rest. He hoped that the striking proximity from his seeker to the compound was some kind of cosmic affirmation from the Force. An indicator that he was on the right track. The bumpy and often smoky journey led him through several residential districts. The voices from his meditations now had faces to match. More than once he passed over neighborhoods of decayed structures that provided housing for the vastly underprivileged citizens of Nar Shaddaa. In each instance, he yearned to help them. To do something. The will of the Force had been clear, however. He knew where he had to go. If there was a time to help them, it wasn’t now.

One thousand kilometers from where the seeker had pinpointed the gated structure, Zarek slowed the speeder. The sector was loud. Deafening at times. Enormous equipment and factories dotted the landscape. Few sentients could be seen, but Zarek felt them. Most were likely workers. From this distance he reached out through the Force, listening for those that certainly were not. He tried to focus on the direction of the gated building, but his senses were not yet so keen to filter out the barrage of industrial equipment clamor. He resigned to travel closer. A hundred or so meters away, the sector’s first glimpse of sentience became apparent. Heavily armored guards patrolled the blocks adjacent to the large gate. Zarek parked the speeder in one of the intermittent alleyways, behind one of the numerous abandoned buildings scattered about.

The timing of the guard’s patrols was easy enough to calculate. The human had little trouble circumventing the guards and was soon looking at the twenty-meter high gate from across the street. Through the durasteel links, the secured edifice appeared to stretch at least five stories towards the skyline. It gave the appearance of a stronghold, unlike the other buildings that made up the sector. It was well hidden, resting in the heart of the district. What could be in there, Zarek wondered. Surely Jacobus wasn’t being held as a captive to some reclusive kingpin? Understanding the will of the Force was one of the guiding principles of learning its nature. Though he knew little of the concept at this stage of his training, he did know that it was a mysterious thing, and that always visible on the surface. Before he could ponder the circumstance any further, the sounds from a loud engine gave way to a vehicle approaching. Zarek nestled behind the row of trash compactors that had been providing him cover. As the speeder truck came into view from northwest of the compound, the Force stirred within him. Whatever he was meant to do here, the time was now. The truck stopped at the front gate, producing three armed men. While one approached the gate, the other two circled around to the rear of the truck. Zarek narrowed his eyes on the two, enabling a fleeting glance at shock-whips dangling from their belts.

Quickly he scanned the area behind him, and that visibly adjacent to the fence. Two more guards rounded the building north of him, one heading west, towards the truck, while the other went east, passing the compactors. Zarek slipped around the side hidden from the latter one’s visibility, and drew his sword. One of the guards who accompanied the speeder truck punched in a code on the exterior panel just off the double door. The other unclasped his shock-whip. After the code to unlock it had been placed, the two doors slowly rolled away from each other. The sound of crackling energy penetrated the echoes of machinery as the man sent the end of the whip screaming into the cab. From the speeder, a roaring howl seemed to suffocate the other sounds of the area. Zarek’s furrowed brows forced his eyes to narrow as he peered at the scene. The other guard drew the rifle that had been dangling from his shoulder. He yelled something inaudible, and sporadic movement could be seen from the cab of the truck. Zarek thought for certain that a beast would be dragged out. The first sentient to emerge from the hovering speeder truck was anything but. His heart sank, and a flood of emotions rolled over him as a young boy, presumably human, hopped down from the cab. Zarek instantly felt fear and dismay, though it was not his own. The boy was cuffed from his wrist and feet, where a chain stretched into the cab.

The guard armed with the rifle motioned it towards the boy. Without hesitation, the young one took a step towards the other guard. The whip-wielding guard yelled something into the truck, and snapped the whip against its bumper. The crackling sounds forced the boy to jump back, pulling the chain taut. Zarek sought out the feelings of anyone else that could be in the back of the speeder. Instantly he felt rage, fear, and sadness all at once. The guard snapped his instrument of fear hard into the back of the cab. The bloodcurdling roar that echoed as a result shook Zarek to his core. The human desperately tugged at the Force, yearning for control over his own rage. The plea settled his anger, offering a new sensation. It was as if every ounce of pure anger he felt had been transformed into something else. Determination. He knew it was time to act.
The guards focus on their prisoners left them open, and oblivious. Zarek closed the distance in seconds. The crushing sounds of the Industrial sector easily muffled his footsteps. In short time it took him to reach the men, the Jedi code echoed in his mind. He clenched his jaws, suddenly persuaded to give the guards the dismal opportunity to defend themselves.

“Enough!” he roared from ten meters away, still in full stride. The surprised men turned suddenly, bringing a smile to the padawan’s face. Anticipating the rifle’s bolts, Zarek slid underneath the first volley. His momentum carried his booted foot into his assailant’s legs, knocking him to the ground. Crackling energy sparked as the energy whip slammed into the ground next to him. The dodging roll gave him the inertia to spring to his feet. Zarek’s right foot served as an anchor as he spun his left one into the downed guards face. The resulting crunch of the man’s jaw breaking startled the standing guard, and he took a step back, instinctively bringing his arm back for another swing. Zarek planted his left foot and raised his sword as the crackling whip shot towards his face. From his peripheral point of view, the nearest patrolling compound defender closed in, pistol drawn and aimed at the human.

Zarek angled the cortosis-alloy curved blade upwards, arms outstretched and centered on his core. The whip was a third-meter from landing when he quickly stepped to his right and shifted the blade to his left. The propulsion of the energy weapon forced it to wrap around the curved blade as it made contact. Zarek forcefully pulled the sword, and consequently the guard, towards him. Letting his right hand lose grip of the hilt, he grasped the guard’s collar. A high-pitched ring filled the air as the pistol offered a bolt, just as Zarek yanked the collar and spun with the man. The bolt landed squarely in this guard’s chest, penetrating the padded armor that prevented it from piercing straight through him. From him, a dying groan echoed, and his body went limp. Zarek struggled with the weight. By now the boy had jumped back into the speeder truck. The dead guard’s body seem to triple in weight, causing Zarek’s grip in his collar to wane. He lowered himself parallel to the guard as he crumpled over, still using his body for cover. Taking his sword in his left hand made his right available to draw the holdout pistol from its holster on his leg. More blaster bolts sought him out. As he rolled the dead man off of him, one connected, piercing through the superior round of his left deltoid. Searing pain shot through his entire arm, forcing him to lose grip of his blade. Finally freeing himself from the encumbering corpse, Zarek lined up his shot and fired off three rounds in rapid succession. He didn’t wait to see how many found their mark before spinning and jetting towards the front of the truck. He heard a growl of pain, meaning at least one bolt had bade contact.

The former bounty hunter, turned New Republic operative, turned private investigator, turned Jedi padawan jumped into the driver’s seat. The truck was still running, indicating this was meant to be a quick drop. Zarek felt no remorse over altering the schedule, and hit the throttle. Operating the large vehicle proved troublesome with only one functioning arm. Fortunately, and yet, unfortunately, the truck was slow. His plan was to first rid themselves of the industrial sector. He hoped that getting to one of the residential sectors would provide less excitement than the events that preceded. Upon rounding several turns, they were on a straightaway that would lead them back to where Zarek had entered the district. As his mind settled from the engagement, he thought of the items he had left. The rented swoop could be easily paid for, but the blade would not be so easily replaced. As the thought lingered, the Force reminded him of the Seventh Tenet. He forced a smile, letting go of the regret of losing the weapon. Instead, he found peace in knowing the Force was continuing to instruct him.
Zaarek
Posts: 21
Joined: Thu Sep 20, 2018 3:18 pm

Re: Chasing Shadows

Post by Zaarek »

No signs of pursuit were apparent as the truck headed through the maze of decaying residential areas. Zarek had managed to guide the vehicle with a knee and open the small panel to the cab. He had asked if everyone was alright, but was only answered by an angry roar of what he now recognized to be a wookiee. He didn’t know if he would be able to convince it of his intentions. A primitive understanding of the dialect would be of use, but his experience with the species reminded him that the large species were easily angered, and generally not forgiving. They had entered a marginally populated area. As they passed crowds of onlookers, fear and apprehension could be read on resident's faces. The vehicle certainly carried a weight of torment with its appearance. Coupled with the inkling that it could most certainly be tracked by its owner, Zarek resigned to abandon it the first chance that presented itself.

The opportunity would come quicker than expected as he rounded a residential block and was brought face to face with a line of bystanders who had formed a line to block their progress. The mob emitted and displayed anger, and hatred. Clearly this vehicle held significance that lent to these feelings. Zarek only hoped they wouldn’t jump him before giving him an opportunity to explain. He brought the vehicle to a stop roughly ten meters ahead of the pack. After shutting it down, he reached his hands out of opened driver side view-port. The action sent new waves of burning pain throughout his arm. He winced and bit down, clenching his jaw.

“I mean no harm,” he managed through his teeth, as loud as he could muster the words. “I’m injured. Those in the cab may be too.” The emotions running from the group did not waver. Surely they had been deceived before, and he hoped to prove quickly that this was no ruse. Three of the strongest looking men circled to the back of the speeder truck. He heard metal chains clanking as the prisoners stirred, followed by soft conversation. Zarek waited for what seemed like hours before one finally crept back towards the front. Slowly, the man opened the driver side door.

“Out. Slowly,” the man commanded. Zarek obeyed, taking the opportunity to lower his arm to a less painful position.

“There is a pistol on the passenger seat,” he warned the man. “Otherwise, I am unarmed.”

As could be expected, the man wouldn’t be taking any chances, and thoroughly searched him. He combed through Zarek’s pockets, removing his coat and bandolier. Once he was satisfied that the stranger held no more weapons, he whistled to the others. One of the younger men came forward.

“Get rid of the truck,” the older one ordered. The lad wasted no time, jumping in the driver’s seat and whisking the large vehicle away. As the speeder crawled away, Zarek’s attention shifted to where the cab had been. Four chained prisoners were gathered, waiting for what appeared to be a young human woman to free them of their bindings. She used a fusion cutter, and what had to be a complex lock pick to carefully remove each of the bindings. Two of the chained refugees seemed to be in dire shape. They sat, bruised and bloodied, barely conscious. Sorrow crept into Zarek’s heart. He lowered his head and took a deep breath. The man who was guarding him wore a hooded jacket, and held a lingering gaze. Finally, he spoke directly to the padawan.

“Norsis tells me you rescued them from Jarkel’s compound. Why? What were you doing there?”

Zarek lifted his head to meet the gaze of the man. His eyes were yellow, and markings covered his face. Iridonian, he thought.

“Looking for answers. For someone. When I saw them begin to unload the boy, I couldn’t sit idly by and let them take him in,” he replied.

The Zabrak narrowed his eyes on Zarek. “How did you manage to get close enough to achieve this?”

Zarek’s arm was throbbing. Each beat of his heart sent shock-waves down his arm. He took another, centering breath.

“I have ways,” he answered shrewdly. He wouldn’t divulge too much, but he knew the man would expect something more, regarding details.

“You are a bounty hunter,” the Iridonian stated.

Zarek masked the surprise he felt at his insight with a forced smile. Before he could reply, one of the other men from the group approached. He was young, probably in his twenties. Though he resembled a human, his pale skin and frost white hair revealed him as an Arkanian. “No,” the young man said. “He is like the other.”

Zarek could hardly control the flood of emotions rolling over him. Instantly his inquisitive nature urged him to begin asking questions. He refrained, however, leaning on restraint. Instead, he turned his attention to the Arkanian, offering a warm smile. The moment was interrupted by the triumphant call of the young woman who had been working to free the prisoners of their restraints. “All done!”

The Zabrak looked her way, nodding once in approval. “Come then, let’s get off the streets.”

He then turned and escorted the entourage to a nearby building. The inside was filled with scattered counters and shelves, most of which had been turned over and disturbed in some manner, all of which were empty. They traversed the rubble to an old door in the back. A seemingly archaic keypad was revealed as the Zabrak pushed aside the toppled shelf that covered half the door. He inconspicuously entered a code, and the door slid horizontally, allowing them passage.

The door led them through a maze of corridors. Several from the group used glow rods to light their way. After what had to be several kilometers of walking, the tunnel finally split. Zarek assumed they would enter one passage or the other. To his surprise, they stopped. The Zabrak knelt down and shined the light from the rod against the floor. A two-meter wide panel could now be seen, and he proceeded to take a handhold, and lifted it up. A ladder descended into the deep, and the group went underground. What seemed to be an old sewer system made for an excellent hideout, Zarek soon discovered.

The ladder led them down into a dimly lit room, roughly thirty meters wide, and just as many long. Once they were settled, the glow rods provided enough illumination to detail two large metal double doors. Zarek sensed the presence of an abundance of lifeforms. They moved towards the furthest set of doors, and the Zabrak knocked twice, then once then three times. After a moment, the doors rolled on back on their hinges. It was here that the durasteel surface that had served as flooring came to an end. Through the room, the moon’s actual surface could be walked on. The group entered one by one, the Iridonian leading the way. Two young men served as guards to the large, open area. Through the doors, Zarek discovered what had become an entire underground city. Tents and large plasteel boxes had been converted to housing and were scattered throughout the area. A vast variety of species could be seen, participating in day to day activities. Children ran bout, frolicking as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Zarek narrowed his eyes, pondering the reason they could have for bringing him here. The process left him mildly unsettled.

The group would ultimately disperse upon reaching the underground sanctuary. The Zabrak remained, however. “Come then, I have questions,” he stated. He spoke with authority. As someone who hadn’t been an underground street urchin their entire life. Zarek simply nodded, watching as the wounded prisoners were taken to one of the larger nearby tents. The boy and the wookiee followed Zarek and the Iridonian. They walked through a series of converted plasteel containers, enticing nearby residents to stop and stare as they passed. Eventually they would come to the first metal building Zarek had witnessed while below ground. It was a large structure, presumably thirty meters in width. A single door was centralized, facing them. The Zabrak led them inside, revealing a modest technical center. The single room contained two desks, with simple, personal computers at each. The single inhabitant of the city’s technical center was a Sullustan, who immediately began to object of the human’s presence, incessantly scolding the Zabrak in Sullustese.

“It will be alright, Pien,” he assured him. The Sullustan was clearly not convinced, though he settled down. “Go and get Aruka, please. Ask her to bring her kit.

Zarek severely hoped Aruka was a medic of some kind. He felt a constant fire searing in his shoulder, and radiating down his arm, to his fingers. The Zabrak motioned for him to sit on one of the folding metal chairs, and Zarek did so. “Am I a prisoner?” he asked.

“No,” the other man replied, curtly. “However, I have questions. And I get the sense, I may be able to answer some for you.” Zarek’s right brow lifted, para-sympathetically. “My name is Koro’dur. I’ve been working to help establish and maintain this sanctuary for the better part of four years. As you can see, we reserve the notion of discretion to survive. If the crime lords, or the Empire, discovered our operation, it would be dire.”
Zarek listened intently. In his years of traveling the galaxy, never had he come across such a delicate and thoughtful project. “I understand. I have nothing to gain from exposing you, if that’s your concern.”

“It is always a concern,” Koro-dur explained. The sound of the door opening diverted both men’s attention. A young, attractive woman emerged from outside, followed closely by the young Arkanian. She smiled at Koro-dur, then set her eyes on Zarek. An expression of compassion crossed her face. She carried with her a small box that resembled a toolkit. She took a step closer to the injured man, peering thoughtfully at the scorched hole in his shoulder. The Arkanian also took several steps inside to get a better look at him. Zarek could sense the Force rolling off them.

“May I?” the woman gestured, nodding at his arm.

“Yes, please do,” Zarek replied. He wondered if he would have made it this far without passing out in his old life, before his newfound connection to the Force. She pulled a nearby chair next to his, setting her box on the floor as she sat. The young, white haired man sat on the desk across from Zarek, looking him over. A sense of curiosity was visible in his expression. He smiled gently.

“You have seen a lot,” he stated. His voice was calm, gentle, almost reassuring. “There was another like you, one filled with the Force, who visited the Smuggler’s moon not so long ago. One with an inclination to do good. I did not have the pleasure of meeting him, but tales of his deeds found their way to my ears.”

Zarek listened, thoughtfully and actively. Again, he wanted to loose a barrage of questions. He would, once more however, keep his inquisitive nature at bay, resigning instead to let the young man speak. The woman had visually inspected his arm and was now digging through the box. She motioned to him to take his coat and shirt off, to which he obliged. It was a significant task, considering the exasperation of pain with even the subtlest movement. More than once he wanted to cry out, though was able to feel the Force soothing over him. The sensation was different, however. He could feel the other two lending their own life-force to the process.

Once his torso was exposed, he couldn’t help but angle his head to look at the shoulder. For a pistol, it had done a considerable amount of damage. The woman looked softly at the injury. The hole had been cauterized by the heat from the energy bolt, leaving singed scar tissue in the shape of a ring, just above his pectoral. Certainly, part of his clavicle had been disintegrated. At the very least it felt like it had been. The young woman began by applying what looked like a cleaning agent to a soft cloth. “This will hurt,” she warned. Zarek simply nodded. It did, in fact, hurt. Considerably, as she gently applied the solution to the wound. Clenching his jaw, his head instinctively rolled back. Audibly, he expressed his discomfort. Once more, he felt the emanating energy of the Force flow through him. He re-centered his head, glancing at the Arkanian, whose eyes were now closed. He was thankfully for whatever it was he was doing. The young man’s eyes fluttered open, and he continued.

“You are searching for this man, are you not?” he asked, seeming to know the answer.

“I am,” Zarek managed. As the woman finished dressing the wound, he could hear the sizzle of the liquid disinfectants going to work. As they did, she sifted through the box.

“Regrettably,” the Arkanian continued, “I do not know where he went. For a time, his ship would come and land here, on Nar Shaddaa. I have come to learn that the last time it departed, it did so with only the man’s droid aboard.”

“How do you know all this?” Zarek asked.

“It’s my duty to learn and know things. Specifically, about the comings and goings of notable individuals on the moon.”

“Eros is our intelligence operative,” Koro-dur cut in. “He spends most of his time finding these things out.”

“A valuable asset,” Zarek replied. The pain had settled, but was still ever present.

“While he was here,” the Arkanian said, “he was involved with a notable Hutt, Mavallo, who specialized in the trade of antiques and relics. While I don’t know the specifics of their dealings, I do know the Hutt was murdered, and many suspected the man you now seek.”
Zarek’s thought took him through a series of scenarios, and options in regard to what he would do next. His first inclination was to investigate the death of Mavallo. Suddenly though, as if not on his own accord, his thoughts drifted to Holder, and Jacobus’ ship. He could have kicked himself for not thinking of this before. Holder had to have traveled to Agathon aboard the ship. All at once, things began to come together in his mind. The oil, the droid, and the ship, which was presumably still on Agathon. Eros smiled, sensing Zarek’s revelation. Zarek was about to speak, when the woman lifted a tube towards his arm. He inspected it out of the corner of his eye. It was unlabeled, and he started to question her, but refrained. He had no reason not to trust them, thus let her continue her work. A creamy, green substance poured from the tube, into the wound. It was cool, and soothing. He smiled at the woman, his heart filling with gratitude.

“I’ll pay you whatever you wish for this information,” Zarek said, shifting his gaze to Eros.

“That will not be necessary,” the young man retorted. “You delivered young Oli back to us, for which his family is most grateful. We are more than even.”

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the wookiee, who had been surprisingly quiet, roared. Zarek furrowed his brows, surprised at the context of his declaration.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked, trying to turn his head back far enough to see the large sentient. The wookiee, whose fur was almost jet black, walked towards the desk where the Arkanian sat. He replied, offering a series of grunts and subtle roars that indicated he had no desire to stay on the Smuggler’s moon, but had no other way off. He went on to explain how Zarek had saved him, and he owed it to him to help the human to find his quarry. Zarek chuckled lightly at the wookiee’s choice of words. Perhaps, however, that was the only word they had for such a thing. “What’s your name?” he asked, hoping he would be able to understand the answer. The wookie roared, pridefully, and Zarek’s concern was warranted. The Arkanian smiled and translated for the human.

“Garuk.”

Zarek sniffed a chuckle and smiled. “Alright then, Garuk, I accept your offer.” Zarek could feel the Force guiding him. There was a time, not long ago, where he would insist on declining the request, but things had finally begun to fall into place. Whatever was happening, and would happen, it was the will of the Force. The wookie let out one more, seemingly triumphant roar. Zarek would go on to spend the next few hours within the sanctuary before he was escorted back to the surface by Koro’dur and Eros. After exchanging a heartfelt farewell, Garuk led Zarek to a nearby shuttle-stop. They would arrive at the landing pad that was housing the VCX freighter within an hour. The shuttle ride was quiet, and Zarek considered many possibilities. As they neared the landing platform, Zarek’s senses indicated something wrong. The stop left them a few blocks from the platform. Once they rounded the last building before the freighter came into view, they halted. A group of armed men surrounded Zarek’s ship. “Great,” he muttered. Garuk looked at him inquisitively. Aside from the hold-out blaster, he was unarmed. The minute pistol wouldn’t be enough to deal with all the men, should it come to it. Aside from a bandoleer, and ragged coverings, Garuk appeared to be unarmed as well. He was however, a wookiee, and didn’t necessarily need weapons to be effective in a fight. As Zarek was about to decide on a course of action, the silhouette of the Devaronian emerged from the small building adjacent to the platform. He approached the men, and seemed to have an intricate conversation with them. After a few moments, the men retreated to a speeder truck that had been concealed in the shadows. It was not unlike the one Zarek had commandeered.

The human and the wookiee took cover behind the closest building as the truck whisked by them. Once he felt it was safe to do so, they emerged from their hiding place and approached the freighter. “You know anything about flying?” Zarek asked. Garuk grunted an affirmative reply. The Devaronian awaited them, as if he knew Zarek would be there. It had, afterall, been three and a half days since he made his deal with the horned man. The old, red skinned sentient offered his toothy smile as they approached. “Eh,” he muttered, “you mak a fren.” He looked over the wookiee, curiously, before shifting his gaze back to Zarek. “An,” he said, smiling once more. “You late.”

Zarek shook his head and smiled. “That I am. I’m guessing I owe you a late fee?”

The Devaronian chuckled and nodded. “Bad man wi ba back,” he offered. “Shoo huray.”

Zarek nodded, understanding now the man’s reasoning for misleading the men. Whatever the case, he was grateful, and would show it with another pile of credits. As Garuk primed the VCX for takeoff, Zarek delivered another satchel to the dock master. Within minutes, the Reclaimer soared above the Smuggler’s moon, lending one more opportunity to admire the glimmering lights.
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