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“Revenant, this is Evtoa ground control, we’re tracking you. Make for berth 6036, eastern quadrant.”
“Message received, Evtoa. Making for 6036, eastern quadrant.” Paz said, lazily reaching up to flick several switches as he took manual control. The old Kom’rk-class fighter shuddered slightly as they came into atmo over the small, grey planet.
Evtoa was a typical Outer Rim moon, marked only by its ability to attract anything and anyone selling something. The moment credits came out, no one on Evtoa spared a second look, which was precisely the reason Paz and Vir were there. When it was more uncommon to see one’s face than it was to see a mask of some sort, Mandalorians were just another faceless customer.
As the Tribe settled into the new Covert location, both the benefits and the deficiencies of the Nevarro location had made themselves known. Hot water, something they’d all come to take for granted on the volcanic reaches of Nevarro, was sadly in short supply on Doniphon. On the other hand, Doniphon had next to no Imperial presence, and the native population kept largely to themselves. It was a good location to rebuild their numbers and catch a few breaths. Along those same lines of give and take, while the former rebel base Ghex had come across in his scouting mission was well-fortified, it had been stripped of supplies long before they found it.
As a result, the Armorer had sent Paz and Vir for a supply run shortly after Din, his Foundling, and the jetii’ika with them had left the Covert. Vir scrolled through the list of supplies for the second time as they came in for a landing at the dilapidated eastern berths of the market settlement.
Paz flipped the port-droid the requisite credits to cover their short stay, and verified that ground protocols were set for the Revenant. He let Vir direct their pace through the list, serving mostly as looming backup when needed and otherwise keeping watch as the older Mandalorian bargained with one vendor after another for medical supplies, food, spices, bedding, and the other basics the Tribe needed to settle in.
As Vir paid the last vendor to have a generator delivered to the ship, motion drew Paz's attention.
Several armed men escorted a group of mixed-species adults down the side street past them. The faces of the captives who looked up were fearful, and the majority kept their eyes on the duracrete surface of the street. Paz saw the tell-tale angry red scar denoting a tracking chip on the necks of the shorter-haired individuals, and the grip one of the men had on the arm of a woman was too rough to be considered anything less than threatening.
“I want my chain code chip.” A male togruta reached a hand out to grab the shoulder of one of the armed men escorting the group. “Hey, I want my damn chip.”
The man turned sharply, shoving the togruta to the dusty ground. He leaned down, drawing his blaster. “What did you say to me, trash?”
The togruta shrank back from the weapon in his face but tried again. “I said I--I want my chain code chip.”
“‘I want my chain code chip’,” the man mocked, and kicked the togruta in the ribs. The blue-skinned man grunted in pain, curling onto his side. “Shouldn’t have lost it then, should you? We’re holding onto ‘em for you, keepin’ ‘em safe til you get to your new home.” The man kicked him again as he spoke, and the togruta groaned.
“Veth! What’d I tell you about roughing up the merchandise?” Another man had turned to look, his face irritated. The first man, Veth, holstered his blaster and stepped back from the togruta, grinning.
“Sure thing, boss. Just keepin’ this one in his place.” Veth called back. “Get up, filth,” he hissed, spitting on the togruta, who was still curled painfully around his side.
Two of the others silently helped the downed togruta to his feet, and he limped back into line with the rest of them.
Vir hesitated a moment too long watching the group as they shuffled away.
“This stuff ain’t light, you know.” Paz grumbled, and the older man started into action, following him back to the ship, but not without at least one look back.
Vir was quiet as they packed away the supplies in the troop bay of the Revenant, securing the larger crates to the walls to prevent them moving in flight. Paz glanced at the other Mandalorian out of the edge of his visor. His suspicion was unfortunately confirmed as he turned towards the cockpit, closing the hatch of the fighter from his vambrace as he did. Vir straightened and took a step, his modulator crackling as he exhaled heavily. Paz echoed his sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, before he spoke.
“You got something to say, vod?”
He turned. Vir seemed to sway on his feet, as if he were rooted to the decking of the ship. His shoulders rose and fell once in another sigh before he swung his visor to Paz.
“Those people. You know what they were.”
Paz nodded, starting to get an idea where this was going. He didn't like it. “Slaves.”
Vir nodded. “And not like the ones the Hutts keep, the ones that get their own houses and pay and get to keep a hold of their own ident' chips."
“We’re on the brink of extinction, verd.” Paz said. “We can barely feed our own. If we bring attention to ourselves, there are those who will stamp out our remnants for good.”
Vir took a step towards him, his cloak swaying. “We don’t have to bring attention to ourselves. I’m not saying we bring the home with us, I’m just saying we take out the chaakaryc’e. There are groups who help people in their position, if they don’t just scatter on their own.”
Paz said nothing, weighing the idea in his mind.
Encouraged, the older Mandalorian continued. “Look, we’ve got to wait for that last vendor to drop cargo off anyway. Gives us an easy half hour to kill. If we find them quickly, we can take them out. Otherwise, we leave and you won’t hear another word from me. Ogir'olar, we leave here in thirty minutes.”
Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, Paz cocked his head towards the man. “Fine. But you get to sniff them out. I’m just along to make sure you don’t throw your back out, n’evaar’la vod.”
* * * * * * *
Tracking the group from where they’d seen them in the side street to an empty storehouse several blocks away was child’s play. A large row of windows lined the top of the building, and the two Mandalorians lay on the roof of the building across the alleyway from the storehouse, a scope held to Vir’s visor as he scanned the heat signatures in the building across from them.
“Looks like just four right now. They must just be using this place for staging before transport, it’s not fortified.” Vir said, replacing the scope into a pouch at his back.
The Mandalorians both ducked back as they heard a commotion further up the alley. Peering carefully back over the edge, Paz saw a Twi’lek woman struggling against two men as they dragged her towards the rectangle of light of the open door. Her voice was more angry than anything else, but the hunter in Paz could hear the undercurrent of fear.
“...making a big mistake! The New Republic is on their way here right now. They know everything. Your names, your cargo, your buyers. You’ll spend the rest of your lives rotting in a kriffing prison ship.”
Unfortunately, her words had no effect on the two stone-faced men carting her forward, and her shouts faded as they dragged her into the building and slammed the door behind them. Paz cursed and slipped back to Vir. The older man was already nodding before Paz spoke.
“New Republic, I heard.”
“We can’t risk that, Vir. The Tribe--”
“We don’t know that they’re coming. She could be bluffing.”
Paz bit back another curse. “Or, she could be telling the truth and this place could be crawling with peacekeepers in ten minutes.”
Vir shrugged. “Plenty of time to take these chaakaryc’e out and be gone, vod.”
“And if the Twi’ sees us?” Paz shifted forward to look back over the scene. The Twi’lek was no longer visible through the high windows, but three of the traffickers stood in a small group in view, laughing about something. As they watched, the two others returned from the back room and joined the trio.
The older man tilted his head for a moment in thought. “We kill the lights.”
“What?” Paz looked back at him. “Are you serious?”
“Lek. We cut the lights, take out the traffickers and the boss, and then leave. If the New Republic does show up, they’ll be able to take care of the adate, and we’ll be long gone. The Twi’ never sees us. They’ll never know it was mando’ade that did it.”
Paz shook his head, wondering how the hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He was the al’verde of the Tribe, for Issik’s sake, not some ad on his first command. “Dini’la, verd. It’s too risky.”
Vir turned to look at him. “Too risky?” He gestured at the terrified victims huddled against the walls inside the buildings. “This is worth a little risk, al’verde. Besides, you need something to test your stealth skills every now and then. Keep you from tramping around everywhere so loudly in those boots.”
Paz rolled his eyes, hearing the grin in the older man’s voice. Vir knew that Paz wouldn’t back down from a fight like this, not given the caliber of the crimes to be committed, and how pent up the al’verde had been since Nevarro. Knowing full well that he was being manipulated, and not at all happy about it, Paz blew out a breath that crackled through his modulator.
“Fine. But if things start to go south, we leave. Immediately. I say tok’kad, we’re gone. Alright?”
Vir made a circle from his thumb and forefinger, and Paz swore the man’s body language was smug as he crept up to the edge of the building.
“Tsikala?”
“Lek.”
“Oya, vod.”
Paz grinned at the hunting call as they snuck back from the edge of the rooftop.
They climbed silently back down to the alleyway and Vir pulled a mini-spanner from his belt. It took the work of only a moment before he had the utility box on the side of the building open, exposing a complex network of wiring. Paz kept watch as the older man worked, but the alley was empty and quiet.
The lights from the windows high above them died and the alley became significantly darker. The helmet’s night-vision modulation flickered on, tinting the world in a sickly green. From inside, Paz heard someone curse.
“Kriffing power’s out again. Trul, get outside and figure out what the hell is going on.”
Paz turned his head back to Vir just as the older man tucked away the tool and pulled his rifle off his shoulder. Paz signaled to his vod that he would take this first man and Vir nodded, adjusting his weapon. Paz stepped to the side of the doorway and waited.
A Klantoonian slammed the door open away from Paz, grumbling under his breath as he stalked out into the alley and squinting towards the utility box. Quick as a snake, Paz grabbed the trafficker’s shoulder and spun him, pulling the Klantoonian’s back against his chest as he did.
The Klantoonian managed to get out a surprised grunt before Paz gripped him just under the jaw and jerked quickly up and to the right, snapping his neck. He let the limp body slide to the side and moved silently to the door, Vir just behind him. As they slipped in the doorway, an annoyed voice spoke from further in the large space.
“Trul, what’s taking you so long!? You two, go check what that idiot is doing.”
Paz drew his blaster as two more of the group split off and headed towards them, still ignorant to the threat. Darting ahead of him, Vir moved smoothly, anchoring one man by the shoulder as he drew his vibroblade. The man let out a gasping grunt as the blade slipped under his ribs and up into his chest cavity, spilling blood as Vir withdrew it. The older man dumped the body to the side and sheathed the blade before pulling the rifle back up, aiming for the remaining two across the room.
The other, a Twi’lek, slammed into Paz and scrabbled at him blindly, trying to get a grip on Paz’s smooth armor. Unable to get a shot off with the man so close, Paz threw an elbow into the man’s throat and he staggered back, choking. Paz wasted no time in shooting the trafficker and ducked back as blaster fire pinged off his beskar.
With no idea what was happening, the remaining two traffickers had opened fire blindly. Vir took both of them out in two quick shots, and Paz let out a breath. The last thing they wanted coming into a room full of civies was a shoot-out.
Silence fell in the storehouse for a moment, broken only by the terrified breathing of the victims. Paz could hear someone crying. The quiet was broken as the door to the back offices slammed open and two figures shuffled into the room. A final man hunched behind the captured Twi’lek, one hand gripping the back of her neck hard. Her hands were up, eyes darting around in the darkness.
The man’s voice rang with forced bravado. “I don’t give a damn who you are or who you're with. Me and this young lady are going to walk out of here real calmly. Any of you make a move in my direction, I’ll put a bolt in her spine.”
* * * * * * *
Iakoh Tulum knew she had likely made some poor choices that evening. It was debatable which decision had been her worst; her decision to curse out the New Republic commander on her last, desperate call for aid, her decision to storm out of the guesthouse without any kind of weapon in a seedy area, her decision to go, alone, to the staging point for the group she’d been tracking for two standard weeks, or possibly her decision to talk back to Madu Slar, the head of the trafficking ring that operated out of Evtoa.
Regardless of which decision had been the ringer, she certainly hadn’t intended to end up as a human shield with a blaster jammed into her spine and a grimy hand clamped on the back of her neck.
“...Me and this young lady are going to walk out of here real calmly. Any of you make a move in my direction, I’ll put a bolt in her spine.” Madu’s voice was oily and smooth, but there was an undercurrent of panic under it. In the end, he was just as much prey as those he bought and sold.
Iakoh saw the blaster bolt flash past her face and heard a choked gurgle behind her before Madu’s hand slid from her neck and his body crumpled behind her. Backing away from both the corpse of the trafficker and the origin of the blaster bolt, she strained her eyes but saw nothing in the darkness. Sharp panicked breaths came from the people along the walls, and she heard at least one of the captives quietly praying, another not so quietly crying.
The only warning Iakoh had was a slight rasp of metal on duracrete before a hand came down on her shoulder and steered her to face to the right. She lifted her hands again, feeling a slight tremor in them, but kept her voice steady as she spoke.
“My name is Iakoh Tulum. I’m with Project Arallute. We’re trying to repatriate these people to their homes. They have no valuables. We’re just trying to get them home.”
There was a long pause before a voice behind her right shoulder answered. It was modulated, as if through a mask, but still clearly male.
“You know where they come from?”
She nodded. “Yes. We’ve been tracking them for a few weeks. I’ve been trying to get peacekeeping forces from the New Republic to respond to the situation for the last week.”
The man’s hand went tight on her shoulder and his voice sharpened. “You said the New Republic was coming. Are they?”
Iakoh shook her head. “No. I got the same answer from every New Republic security outpost from here and Rishi. 'We can't expend the resources for this type of operation at the present moment’. Told me to check back in a few weeks."
“Typical…” the man said under his breath.
She could hear the bitterness in her voice. "I knew Madu was moving them off-world soon. We didn’t have a few weeks for the Core to decide if they merited help. I was trying to get a better idea of what exactly the situation was here, maybe try to hire private security to take them out. Bastards caught me outside.”
"You're lucky they didn't just shoot you."
“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that.” Iakoh turned to look at her rescuer, knowing it was pointless in the darkness, but the hand on her shoulder tightened again to stop her.
“Don’t turn around.”
Iakoh immediately tensed, the heavy hand on her shoulder dredging up hideous echoes. The man must’ve noticed because he lightened his grip and his voice was softer when he spoke.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Just...I need you to close your eyes and stay facing that direction. Is that alright?”
Iakoh nodded jerkily but forced the tremor in her hands to still. Whoever the hells these people are, they didn’t seem to be interested in reselling the victims, or in taking payment for their good deeds another way. The hand disappeared from her shoulder, leaving it cold in the damp chill of the storehouse. Lowering her hands slightly, she resisted the urge to turn around but couldn’t hold her question back.
“Who are you?”
There was no answer.
The next moment, she squinted hard and threw her arm up over her eyes as the room blazed with light again. Letting her arm fall, she saw only the fearful, blinking faces of the victims along the walls. She turned but saw no one else, and certainly no one wearing a mask. One of the victims sniffled, pulling her back to her purpose here, and she strode back into the office to grab her comlink off Madu’s desk.
“Hey, it’s Iakoh. You’re not gonna believe this but….”