So... I went a little crazy writing a backstory for a character, and it morphed into a series of short stories that I plan to keep working on from time to time. I figured I'd post it here to see if anyone wants to read and provide feedback (particularly on technical matters). Thanks.
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The cacophony of somebody attempting to beat down my door jerks me violently out of one of the few night’s rests I’ve had in the last twenty years. I still see her face in my dreams if I’m sober enough to dream when I go to bed. My mouth is drier than the Jundland Wastes. I roll over, fumbling blindly for a bottle, hoping there’s something left inside. I pick up the clear container with the hazy brown swill in the bottom, raise it to my lips and drink quickly as somebody pounds on my door once again. I had forgotten about the sound that woke me up. Somebody is rather insistent on getting my attention. I grab my old combat knife from the nightstand; it will be more useful in the tight confines of my entryway than a blaster if this individual wants trouble. I reach for the door release as they knock loudly once more. The door slides open with its signature metallic grinding, been hounding the landlord to fix that for longer than my current state of intoxication will allow me to remember.
Standing in my doorway is a Twi’Lek woman I recognize as a ghost long dead. No… she’s one of the dancing girls down at Bordo’s, a filthy dive with cheap booze and a no-questions policy that a person with my past likes. She holds in her arms a young girl, 8 years old tops, daughter perhaps, sister maybe, there’s definitely a resemblance… doesn’t really matter, I suppose. The dancer, her name is Jiljoo if I recall correctly, looks up into my eyes, her desperation palpable. The little girl isn’t moving; one of her legs is bent the wrong way, and there’s a nasty gash on one of her lekku. That’s bad news. Twi’lek brains extend into the lekku, or head-tails as they’re sometimes called, and if that gash is as deep as it looks, there could be brain-damage or worse. Jiljoo manages in pretty broken Basic, “P-please… help.”
I step aside and usher her in, slamming the door lock with the palm of my hand as soon as she’s past me. I hurry over to the table and brush the empty bottles and moldy plates onto the floor. I take the girl from Jiljoo and gingerly place her on the table. I point to the closet by the entrance and say “Black bag, fast.” Jiljoo seems to understand and hurries back with the bag as I begin checking the girl over, trying to get an idea as to the extent of her injuries. I quickly unroll the bag and begin hooking the electrodes to the girl’s temples, chest, and lekku. With a quick smack, the diagnostic computer begins beeping with the slow, steady rhythm of the girl’s heartbeat. I’ll take the small wins where I can get them. Jiljoo crowds over my shoulder as I try to work, and I look back at her and point to my rather disgusting excuse for a bed, “Sit, now.” She’s crying rather loudly, and I can’t really blame her, but she’s in the way, and I need to work.
I look at the computer’s readout again. The girl’s brainwave pattern is weak. I was afraid of that. There seems to be some damage, but I might be able to fix it still. I quickly grab the bacta from the medpac. I begin flushing the wound with it. Once the blood and grit is washed away I fill the gash with the miraculous little bacteria and seal it with some synthskin. I don’t have any that matches the girl’s powder-blue skin, but with the strangle-hold the Hutts keep on medical supplies on this planet, it’s nothing short of amazing that I have any synthskin or bacta at all. I turn to the girl’s leg as I wait for the bacta to do its work.
I run my imager over the leg and quickly see that her leg is broken in four places. I set to work re-aligning the broken pieces as best I can. A girl her age should be in a tank with injuries this extensive, but I know full well Jiljoo doesn’t have the money for something like that. I begin injecting small amounts of bacta deep into her leg, depositing the healing bacteria directly into the leg between the breaks. I splint her leg with some liquid-splint and inject a pain blocker into the nerve cluster above her hip. That should keep her from feeling the pain and keep her leg immobilized for the two or three days the bacta will need to fuse the bone back together. I then get the idea to scan the rest of her.
As I methodically run my scanner over the young Twi’lek, I discover evidence of past injuries: broken ribs, an arm, her wrist… all healed the old fashioned way – time and lots of pain. Once I’m sure she’s not in any imminent danger that I can do anything about, I turn to Jiljoo, “What happened?”
“M-my Aola… she okay?” I’m not very familiar with the Twi’Lek language, so I’m not sure of Aola is the girls name or a title like daughter or sister.
“I don’t know. The leg is bad, but easy enough. The gash to her lekku is another matter entirely. I’ve done what I can; only time will tell.” She looks at me like she has at least an idea of what I’m saying, though her tears have not ceased since she walked through the door. I ask her again, “What happened?”
“Sp-speeder. Garudon…” I nod in understanding. Garudon is a local thug who fancies himself the boss of this neighborhood. He is known to be a notorious drunk driver, and this girl is not his first victim; though, she is his youngest.
I bring up the scan of the girl. “And here?” I ask, pointing to the old remodeled breaks.
Jiljoo lowers her head, “I… I am Vassij’ra… slave. Aola also slave…”
“And Bordo’s a jiggling mass of bantha fodder…” I cut her off. She looks around, scared that my words will somehow make it back to her master. “Stay here. Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. It’s not much. I’ll be back soon.” She nods obediently enough. I’ll be shocked however if her and the girl are still here when I return.
I pull on my old armored flight-suit, one of the few relics I kept from my military days though the insignias have long since faded into blank patches on dirty armor-plating. I take a look at myself in the mirror. I look like the back side of a dead Hutt. I wash the dark blue blood of the little girl from my hands and then tie my half-meter long grey hair back into a pony-tail. I would have never let it get this long during active duty, but I’ve long since stopped caring. I wash my face and smooth out my sideburns and moustache while examining the jagged red lines shooting through the whites surrounding my green eyes. I slip my knife into its sheath at the small of my back and prepare to leave. I take a last look at Jiljoo as she sits on a rickety chair at the head of the table, caressing Aola’s head gently and singing a soft song to the young girl.
“I’m serious. Stay here. She shouldn’t be moved. Stay here,” I repeat sternly, hoping she does as I say. I toss what is likely the only clean blanket in the tiny hovel I call my apartment over the girl and head out the door, cycling the lock behind me. I head for Bordo’s.
I live within walking distance of most of the “finer” drinking establishments in Anchorhead. It makes it safer to get home after a long night. It takes me a couple minutes to get to Bordo’s, and I know the way well; it’s a regular spot in my nightly routine. I step down through the door and look around, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I see a fat, green-skinned, red-haired Rodian standing behind the bar, counting bottles. I glance down at my chrono and see it’s not even mid-day yet. What am I even doing up? Oh right… I reach into my pocket and pull out a slip of flimsiplast as I sit at a stool.
Bordo turns to look at me, “Bolarro! What you doin’ up so early. What can I get for you?”
I can barely hide my disdain as I slap my claim slip on the bar, “I need my blaster out of the safe. I gotta head out of town for a few hours.” One does not simply wander unarmed into the outskirts of the city, and I need to deal with Garudon before I deal with Bordo. “Look, Bordo, I need a favor.”
“For my best customer? Anything my friend!” His fake enthusiasm annoys me. I know all too well that Bordo is a racist bastard. I pay at least a third more on my drinks than his Rodian patrons, but he’s still cheaper than most and has the sense not to ask too many questions.
“I need you to give Jiljoo and your dish-girl the day off. The younger one was hit by a speeder this morning. She’s recovering at my place.”
Bordo’s frown is still clear despite his weird alien pucker mouth, “How bad?” I lay out the extent of the injuries, not mentioning that I know about the beating he’s been giving her. “Well, I can do without Aola for a night, but Jiljoo needs to work.”
I grab the little toad by his collar and jerk him across the bar. A pair of Rodian regulars in the back corner draw their blasters, but, with as close as I’m holding Bordo, I know they can’t get a clean shot, “They are both getting a couple days off, do you hear me? I’ll pay for their time as soon as I get back this afternoon. Now… give me my blaster.” Bordo lets out a choked gasp as he fumbles under the bar for the release. The secret compartment on the bar opens, revealing the collection of checked weapons. I grab my old assault blaster and toss it over my shoulder. I reach into Bordo’s pocket and grab his passkey, “I’m borrowing your swoop, too.”
“S-sure… no… no problem friend.” I tossed the fat green wretch back across the bar and stare-down his friends in the back. They slowly holster their pistols as I move toward the back exit. Once I’m clear of the building, I re-secure my heavy rifle’s sling across my shoulders and back. I toss my leg over Bordo’s old swoop, basically a super-charged speeder-bike, fire it up and turn toward Garudon’s compound.
Bordo’s swoop is in need of a tune-up, but it’s still plenty fast. I arrive at the bottom of the path that leads up to Garudon’s hilltop compound just after midday. The suns of Tatooine are at their highest, and Garudon’s thugs are all heat thriving species. Garudon himself is a Trandoshan, reptilian humanoid known for their hunting skills. It’s rare for his type to gather followers that are not also hunters, and that’s probably why he’s such a small player around here. That and, if he got too big, the Hutts would squash him like a sand-flea.
I decide to make a wide, slow circle around the perimeter, scout out their defenses. This guy’s perimeter is nothing short of laughable; one Rodian sentry sits on top of his house, looking half-asleep in the midday sun. I park Bordo’s swoop behind a rock outcropping on the south side of the hill, and slowly, I work my way up the hill while keeping an eye out for sensors or turrets. Nothing, not even a camera. Garudon is either very arrogant, or very stupid. I slip unseen onto the top of the main building, sliding up behind the sentry and silencing him for good. I look around from the top and see Garudon’s favorite speeder, a blue stain still visible on the front cleat where he hit Aola this morning. I prop the Rodian back up in his seat and lull his head forward like he was sleeping. I open the crate next to his seat, party favors. I fish a pair of thermal detonators out of the crate then pull the activator switches from the rest. They’ll still be volatile, but can’t be activated manually. I slide down the side of the domed building toward the garage. After a quick circle around Garudon’s expensive toy, I get to work.
It’s takes me about an hour to get everything ready, and nobody checks on the Rodian… no communicator contact, no relief, not even so much as a hey, how are you doing up there? I sneak back to the swoop and fire it up. I ride up to the front gate of his compound, prop my rifle on the top of the gate and draw a bead on the dead Rodian. I aim through the scope and squeeze off a shot, then immediately switch to autofire. The Rodian’s body falls from his seat and slides down the side of the building. Immediately the little compound springs to life. The front door flies open and a trio of thugs come running out. The first one runs over to the dead Rodian as the others begin firing in my direction. I squeeze the trigger a moment, sending a volley of shots their way. I’m not really aiming, just getting their heads down while I rev the engine. A large Trandoshan comes out with a high-powered sniper rifle. Time for a distraction. I aim at the crate on top of the building and fire. The ensuing explosion almost knocks me from my ride. Garudon and his thugs hit the dirt; though, a second Rodian in the group doesn’t get down fast enough, his smoldering corpse tumbling through the air over the hood of Garudon’s speeder. I fire a few more times just for looks and spin Bordo’s swoop around.
I jam on the throttle and take off into the desert. I barely make it to the bottom of the hill when I hear my little surprise go off at the top. The two stolen thermal detonators wired to the ignition put an end to Garudon’s pursuit… and his reign of terror. One problem down, one to go.
I speed back to Anchorhead, arriving back at my little dive of an apartment with plenty of time before sundown. Of course, the nights are rather short on this backwater… not that there’s much water here either… I need a drink… I punch in the security code on my door and listen to it grind open. The lights are out as I step inside. I figured they wouldn’t be here; I hate when I’m right. I hit the control panel, and as the lights come on, something hits me across the back. Thankfully, my armor, designed to absorb the impacts one is likely to encounter in a cockpit, eats the brunt of the impact. I spin and swing my arm, knocking an oar out of Jiljoo’s hands. I stare incredulously as she recognizes me.
She backs away and holds her hands up defensively, “Sorry! I not know! I thought Garudon or Bordo!” I look from her down to the oar.
“Where the hell did you find an oar on a desert planet?” She looks confused, so I gesture at the discarded impromptu weapon.
“Was in closet…”
I laugh and move over to the table and check on the girl. Where the hell did I get an oar on a desert planet? And when did I find it? The computer is showing an improvement in brainwaves. That’s good at least. She might even regain consciousness tonight. I scoop her up, put her in my bed, and put the covers over her. I turn back to Jiljoo, “You stay here with her tonight.”
“I work. Bordo be mad…”
“Don’t worry about Bordo. I’ve already talked to him,” I cut her off.
“Th-thank you.”
I head toward the ‘fresher, in need of a de-sanding after my high speed ride through the deserts of Tatooine. I begin unsnapping the odds and ends of my armor, taking off the reinforced gloves and the heavy plasteel boots. I pour a couple kilos of sand out of my armor as I drop each piece on the floor and step into the shower. As I’m washing the fine grit sand out of my white hair and moustache, I hear the ‘fresher door open. I find myself wishing I hadn’t left my knife with my armor. The barrier door slides open and Jiljoo is standing there wearing a nervous smile and nothing else.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I simultaneously try to cover myself and not stare at the lovely young dancer.
“I… I give you thanks.” She climbs into the shower and makes me feel like a lecherous old wretch. She’s young enough to be my granddaughter, not that I ever had kids, but I’m still a man and… well… if you can resist something like that, you’re a better man than I.
I put my armor back on, grab a stimpack from my medical bag, and strap my blaster back on, letting the heavy rifle hang behind me near my hip. I slip my knife into my boot, stuff the stim into a belt pouch, and leave Jiljoo to watch after Aola. I grab an old, half-empty bottle of Corellian whiskey and raise it to my lips. I pause before the bitter liquid reaches the neck of the bottle. Considering how stupid what I’m about to do is, I should probably do it sober… On second thought, if I go in there sober, I might change my mind… I quickly down about half of the remaining contents and head back outside. I throw my leg over Bordo’s swoop and head back to deal with the fat Rodian.
I park the swoop back where I got it, behind the bar, and enter through the kitchen. Bordo’s miserable excuse for a chef is stirring something that smells like rotting bantha droppings. The Dug gives me a sneer and I return a rude gesture of my own before he calls out, “Usual, Bol?”
“Not tonight, Sed. I want to keep my liquor down,” I quip back. He laughs, and I enter the bar proper.
I take a careful look around. The same two Rodians are sitting in the booth in the back corner, friends of Bordo. Bordo is at his normal spot behind the bar serving a pair of Twi’Lek males I’ve never seen before, and a few regulars are scattered around the periphery. I sit near the service station at the bar, where the waitresses pick up drinks for the outlying tables, mostly because this spot puts the bars central column between Bordo’s Rodian friends and me. I set the passkey for the swoop on the bar and reach over to grab a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter. I pour myself a double and drop the credits next to his till. After pouring the Twi’Leks some drink that looks like a bubbling pink slime, he turns and catches sight of me at the bar. I swear that slimy green bastard turns pale when he sees me.
He hisses through that narrow snout of his, “What have you done!” He waddles toward me, hands visibly shaking. As he gets closer, he leans over the bar, “You attacked Garudon’s compound! Have you lost your mind?”
I shrug, “I have a problem with thugs that harm little girls, which reminds me…” I ****** his collar and drag him further across the bar while sliding my knife out of my boot and pressing the tip against his stomach. “Give me the controller for your slave chips, now.” I jam the knife through his apron and into the bar, keeping him in place and pull my blaster rifle around by the sling, pointing it where one of the Rodian’s friends comes out from around the pillar. I fire a volley of bolts in his direction, sending the thug sprawling on the ground and the regulars ducking under tables. The Twi’Lek’s bolt for the door; I let them go. “The controller, now!”
“Y-you’ll – hurk – pay for this, Bolarro…” He chokes out as I jerk on his collar again, but he pulls the controller from his pocket and slides it across the bar. I jam the muzzle of my rifle into his stomach and turn to look at the second Rodian as he rounds the other side.
“Put your gun down, or I splatter Bordo all over the bar.” The Rodian says something in a language I don’t understand, Huttese, I think, and slowly lowers his blaster to a table.
Bordo sneers at me again, “By the way, you missed Garudon. He’s on his way to your apartment now.” Ah hell… I jerk Bordo’s head into the bar, grab my knife and fire a volley of bolts between the Rodian brothers as I head for the door at a sprint. It occurs to me that I left the passkey for Bordo’s swoop on the bar. I’ll have to run back to my apartment. As I clear the door, a barrage of blaster fire hits the walls around me; one grazes my shoulder, but the armor does its job well enough. I duck down a side alley as I sprint toward my apartment. I’ve done this trip hundreds of different ways in various states of intoxication, but I’ve never done it this fast. By the time I get to my apartment, I’m sucking wind like Hutt at the end of a marathon. I’m too old for this… I round the corner and see the door still sealed. I run up, gasping for air, and punch in the code, my old service number. The door slides open, and I see Jiljoo and Aola still bundled up in the bed. I take three steps in before I see Jiljoo looking up at me, eyes full of fear.
I reach for my blaster when I’m blindsided by a big green claw. I am sent sprawling out the door, hitting the wall across the alley. I shake my head clear of the impact in time to see a massive Trandoshan with half his face badly burned and an arm missing comes charging toward me. He’s on me in an instant, grabbing me by the throat and squeezing with just the one hand. I can’t get to my blaster; it’s way too big to use this close. I manage to get a hand on my knife. I plunge the blade into his stomach. Garudon roars in my face and slings me like a Jawa through the door where I can’t run away. I land with a thud on the floor against the side of my bed. The impact almost knocks the wind out of me, but my armor once again keeps the brunt of it away from me. I manage to see that Aola is awake and cowering in the corner with her mother, or sister, or whatever – I really need to double check on that – before Garudon is back on me. He punches me in the face and kicks me in the side. I hear the rib crack even through the armor, and the pain shoots through my side. My knife is sticking out of his belly, stuck in his thick scales. There’s no blood around the wound. Either his species’ signature regenerative qualities are faster than I’ve read, or I didn’t actually make it through his scales. Either way, I’m in a lot of trouble. I see the mysterious oar sitting where it was dropped earlier and decide to do something desperate. I kick the Trandoshan in the groin and learn that they’re not quite the same in that regard when he doesn’t even flinch. He kicks me again, and I go sliding across the floor into the wall. I quickly scramble across the floor and grab the oar. I roll to my feet while swinging the chunk of wood in an upward arc, making solid contact beneath the Trandoshan’s chin. I hear bone break, and for the first time, he doesn’t respond to my attack with a roar. The claw to the stomach is a bit more effective however. His claws puncture through the plasteel plate under the old flightsuit and into the flesh underneath. He lifts by the stomach, and I feel blood bubbling up in my mouth and my vision going a black.
Suddenly I hear a scream, a child’s scream, and a pressure pounding against my sides. I’m tossed through the air like a bomb went off; Garudon flies the other way, out the door. I hit the ground and manage to bring my blaster rifle to bear from my sling and open up full auto. My aim, like my eyesight, is a little shaky, but I fire out the door until the battery pack goes dry. I reach into my belt-pouch and pull out my stimpack. I jam the needle into the center claw wound in my belly. The pain-killers, bacta, and antibiotics start working immediately, clearing my head enough that I can pull myself to my feet. I stumble out to check on Garudon and see the dent he made in the duracrete alley wall. I don’t think he was alive when I started shooting. I kick his smoldering corpse over onto his back and verify. I’m not making that mistake again. I stumble back into the apartment and slam the door shut.
Aola is squeezing against Jiljoo who has her wrapped up possessively. I unhook my rifle’s sling and drop it to the floor before kneeling at the edge of the bed. I look at little Aola, trembling in terror, each shuddering sob combining with another pressure wave centered on her. I look up to Jiljoo, “She’s a Jedi?”
“N-no. Not Jedi. No Jedi. Jedi bad.” Jiljoo looks legitimately frightened. I realize she was born after the purge, and most people that are old enough to remember a time when Jedi were a thing, have been fed a stream of lies a couple kilometers long. There’s no mistaking it, though. The girl, while lacking the training, definitely has the potential. I withdraw the stolen slave controller and show it to Jiljoo.
“I’m going to take your chips out. You’re free.”
“But… Bordo…”
“Don’t worry about Bordo. Bordo is my problem.” I run the scanner over Jiljoo to find the chip. I then place the controller to the base of her neck and press the extract button. She grunts as the needles stick into her flesh and extract the chip. Based on her reaction, and Aola’s already fragile state, I apply a minor anesthetic after I find the chip location. I extract her chip and smash them both with an empty bottle. I stand and begin packing quickly. I’ve made a lot of enemies in this town, and helped two slaves escape; it is time to go. I pack up my medical bag, toss it into my duffel followed quickly by a few changes of clothes, and dig out my hidden cash supply. I stuff the credits into my bag, hoping I have enough to get us off planet. I re-secure my rifle and gather up the girls. I’d prefer to give Aola another day to rest, but that’s not an option at this point. I take the point as I head out the door. I check over the remains of Garudon and notice a passkey on his belt that I’ve miraculously managed not to shoot.
I find a small speeder parked at the opposite end of the alley and start it up. We lay Aola in the back seat and I crawl into the driver’s seat. I have to adjust it quite a bit as Garudon is… was a half-meter taller than me. Jiljoo gets in the passenger seat and I hit the accelerator. I start driving toward Mos Eisley as it’s our best chance to find a transport off planet. Once we’re clear of Anchorhead, I pour on the speed. This thing’s not as fast as the speeder I blew up at Garudon’s compound, but it is still pretty quick. Still, it’s not as fast as Bordo’s swoop.
We’re not very far outside of town when I hear the familiar rumbling whine of Bordo’s swoop coming up from behind. I risk a look back to see those two damned Rodians from the bar bearing down on us on the back of that blasted swoop. I prop my knees on the steering lever while I replace the battery pack in my rifle. I double-check to make sure it’s set for auto-fire and send a trio of shots back toward them. My communicator buzzes in my ear, and I flick it on while pushing Jiljoo down in the seat for her own protection, “Now’s not a good time.”
Bordo’s voice comes over the comm., “You’re stealing Black Sun property, Bolarro. Do you think they’re just going to let a force sensitive girl go? They’ll find her, find you, take her back and kill anyone who gets in their way. Just give her over. You can keep the dancer and no questions asked.”
“Blow it out an airlock, Bordo.” I flick the communicator off as a pair of shots hit the windshield from behind. I can’t outrun these two. Even with two riders, that swoop is much faster than my stolen speeder. I have one option. I hit the reverse thrusters and jerk the control stick to the side, sending the speeder into a slide as I prop the rifle on the door for stability. I squeeze the trigger and send a hail of blaster fire into the approaching swoop. The stabilizer, engine turbine, and right repulsorlift burst into flames, sending the nose of the swoop into the sand and flinging the Rodians tumbling out over the desert. I hit the throttle again, barely getting the speeder out of the path of the flaming debris. I swing back around and fire a shot into each of the Rodians’ heads for good measure. I glance at myself in the rearview as I return us to the path to Mos Eisley. I see the side of my face swelling up, purpling beneath the dark skin. I’m going to have to patch that up soon, but first things first. I have to get us off this planet.
Black Sun… I’ve really done it now. The second largest criminal organization in the galaxy is now pissed at me. Wait… how the hell does a slime like Bordo get tangled up with an organization like that? And what is Black Sun doing on Tatooine? The Hutts hate competition, like a murderous hate… Jabba can’t possible know they’re here. I might be able to use that.
It’s starting to get dark by the time we reach Mos Eisley. I find us a cheap room for the night and start scouring the bars for a cheap ride off planet. I’m light on creds, but I do have valuable skills to trade. I manage to find a Correllian pilot sympathetic to a war veteran who is willing to trade passage for three to Ord Mantell in exchange for my services as a medic and what credits I have left. Jiljoo, Aola, and I leave the next morning aboard an old Wayfarer loaded to the bulkheads. It’s going to be a long trip…
Edited by LuciferBalor