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Fox had been kidnapped.
Now this was, normally, a pretty routine experience for him. The fact that he in this case did not know the kidnappers or how in particular he would get back, did not much raise the stakes for him.
“So, how’d you go about kidnapping me?” Fox asked casually, through the ray shielded cell door.
“Shut up, clone,” responded the criminal.
Ah, so one of those. Well, Fox had had worse. Much worse, actually. So much worse that this frankly barely counted as a problem.
“Right, yes, brilliant deductive reasoning, but I did already know I was a clone. Kind of hard to miss. I was wondering how some criminal masterminds like you managed to find me.” Fox didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm; he doubted his so-called ‘captors’ would catch it.
“Hmmph. We’re masterminds alright. Such masterminds that we happened to find an unconscious clone in the middle of a spaceport, and decided he might fetch a pretty penny.”
Well, either this kidnapper was playing along, or he really was a massive idiot. Either way, Fox didn’t much care.
“And it didn’t occur to you that an ‘unconscious clone in a spaceport’ might already belong to someone else?” It would bother that ‘someone else,’ Fox knew. Whichever transport specialist had misjudged his sedative dose would be in a world of hurt once Sidious found out. Silver linings.
Kidnapper #1 (Fox assumed there were other kidnappers, there had to be someone flying the ship) grunted. “Don’t matter to us. We’re getting paid, regardless of what previous buyers might say. Finders, keepers, and all that.”
Well, this man was both stupid and dead.
“Right,” Fox said, with a delicate cough. “And I don’t suppose you saw the scar on my left forearm?”
The man grunted again. (He must be a minion, Fox decided. Only minions grunted that much.) “Yeah, we saw it. Lots of scars on you; must be a pretty bad clone. None of us knows what a ‘Sidious’ is, and we don’t care.”
“ Wonderful, ” Fox said, and meant it. At some point soon, all of these men would be dying horrible and painful deaths, and Fox wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. So in the meantime, he might as well enjoy his unscheduled vacation.
“Any chance of snacks?”
One of his captors (kidnapper #2, Fox dubbed this one) glared at him, thumping the wall of the cell. “This look like a hotel to you?”
Fox looked around consideringly. “Lets see … cramped, cheaply constructed, no amenities. And it smells, and the company’s unpleasant … yeah, seems like most of the Coruscant hotels I’ve been in. But those places give cheap snacks. You got any cheap snacks?”
“You’re our prisoner . You’re gonna be a slave soon. I’m not giving you snacks. ”
“Oh, so you do have some? Wonderful. You know, a well-fed slave always fetches a better price. A few last-minute calories could be just the thing to get you that rich buyer you’re looking for.”
Kidnapper #2 glared. “We’ve already got a buyer. No bag of chips is gonna change that.”
Ah, so the snacks in question were chips. That was good intel. Actionable. As was the bit about the buyer, of course.
“Right, a buyer lined up. Of course. But will they still buy if I collapse from hunger the second I leave the ship?”
“We haven’t had you that long,” said Kidnapper #2, evidently utilizing one of his few brain cells. “You’re not about to collapse.”
Fox shrugged. “Sure, but do you know when I last ate before you snatched me? You took me from a master who likes to starve me for weeks.” This was all true. Even if he was tactically withholding information about the four course meal that Sidious had given him over the course of yesterday’s torture session.
The kidnapper frowned. “You don’t look starved. You’re exaggerating.”
“Every word’s true,” Fox said. “You just don’t know what a malnourished clone looks like. But if your buyer does, you’ll be in a world of trouble.”
“Our buyer takes hundreds of clones, some of ‘em half-dead. Trandoshans won’t care if their prey’s a little hungry.”
Now that was interesting information. A Trandoshan slave ring, with potentially hundreds of captured brothers. His current captors were small fry. But if he could turn Sidious loose on an operation like that …
“Oh sure, they’ll buy, ” Fox continued, even as his mind whirled. “But Trandoshans want good sport. They’ll give, what, a few hundred credits for a half-starved clone? But one who’s strong, scarred, well-fed? That’s an easy two thousand credits right there, especially if I mention my rank and experience. Which I’ll happily do for, say … four bags of chips? Depending on the flavors of course.”
Kidnapper #2 hesitated. Fox was getting there, he could smell it. “That’s … there’s no price hike like that, that’s ridiculous.”
Fox shrugged. “Hey, maybe you’re right. You’ve got all this kidnapping experience, after all. Probably know way more about the market for this than me – I mean, it’s been months since I was last in a slave market.”
Admittedly, that had been to bust the market, not to be sold there as Kidnapper #2 probably assumed. But it was still a safe assumption that Fox knew the slave market better than his captors did; anyone who didn’t know the name Darth Sidious was clearly very new to the galactic underworld. That was an insecurity he could exploit.
“I’ve … gotta go ask the boss some questions,” deflected Kidnapper #2, clearly trying to not seem like he was running for help.
He went, leaving Fox alone and untended to. Amateur. Still, Fox didn’t have any plans to escape just yet. For one thing, he still needed to take down the Trandoshans. For the other, he hadn’t gotten his snacks yet.
The chips, Fox had been very satisfied to note, were delicious. Sour cream and onion, which Stone always stole as soon as the Guard got them stocked. And not just the tiny spacer portions either, but proper bags with lots of little crunchy bits at the bottom. If Fox ever felt like earning a punishment, he’d tell Sidious that they were tastier than the cookery from his galactically-renowned chefs.
Now, Kidnappers #1-3 were well-paid and long gone (though not without Fox memorizing plenty of identifying information; Sidious would be wanting to kill them later, he knew). Instead, Fox was flashing his number and rank, getting the Trandoshans impressed enough to take him to their boss to inspect. This was important; Fox wanted to make sure the bastards in charge didn’t have time to get away, once this whole thing came crashing to the ground.
And it would come crashing to the ground. There was a thrumming Sith force-bond in Fox’s mind that would make sure of that.
“So, you’re the leader of this little operation?” Fox asked boldly, as he was shoved forward into the presence of an extremely heavily armed Trandoshan, with enough scars to rival Fox himself.
“I am,” hissed the ringleader, teeth bared and scaly skin ruffling in a reptilian threat display. “And I hear you are quite the find. CC-1010, former High Marshall Commander of the Republic. You will be a worthy foe to hunt down.”
“Thank you,” Fox said genuinely, accepting the compliment. “But I must ask; how many of my brothers do you currently own?”
“With your purchase? I believe that brings us to two hundred and eighteen clones, in advance of this season’s hunts.”
Two hundred seventeen other brothers. Fox would see them freed, and he would see this man dead.
“Impressive,” said Fox. “Tell me, do you think I’m the most dangerous opponent you’ve ever brought in?”
The Trandoshan reached out, grasping Fox’s face precisely between his claws, assessing the ferocity of his prey. “No,” he said eventually. “Close, but not quite. Still, you may yet prove me wrong.”
He released his grip. Internally, Fox smiled.
“I do have one more scar you might want to see before making that assessment,” he said casually. “Left forearm, under the sleeve.”
The lead slaver grabbed Fox’s arm more roughly, scaled hand brushing the scars as he pulled back Fox’s sleeve.
Then, the Trandoshan jumped back, relinquishing his grip as though burned.
Where he’d been holding, the scars glowed flame-bright with the name of Fox’s master.
“Release him!” hissed the leader in panic, and the two shocked guards behind Fox stared in shock.
“Now!” he roared, “or do you wish us all to die?”
Fox felt his restraints unfasten, heard the guards retreat from his back.
“Please,” said the Trandoshan leader, voice suddenly oily and not quite hiding its fear. “Please, anything we can do for you or your master. The slavers who brought you here, the guards who laid hands on you – we would never had touched you, if we knew who laid claim to you. There is gold, and other slaves-”
Fox let his grin slowly widen, as the slaver grovelled. Belonging to Darth Sidious was not a pleasant experience, so it was important to savor the times like this.
“I would like you to free the slaves you possess, and compile a list of everyone from whom you have ever bought or sold a clone.”
“Of course-” babbled the deadly Trandoshan, turning to order a subordinate to comply with Fox’s wishes.
“I do appreciate you doing that,” Fox said, as the underling disappeared. “If it were up to me, I might even consider being lenient. But you see, I timed this rather well, and my master will arrive momentarily. When he sees that you laid hands on me … well. I’m sure it will be a hunt to remember.”