Private For a Fistful of Cred-chits

[Dante Iblis]

Ord Mantell - Orbit

♪ have some ambience, why don't ya? ♪
​

Smoke filled the dingy cantina air. The faint barroom lights were muddied and diluted to a point that it was troublesome to make out the face of the reprobate one seat over.

But that was how Seluseus Krönch liked it, Dante knew. The Barabel spent every off-hour wasting away in these types of joints, filling his guts with rivers of the cheapest drink credits could buy and spending any left-overs getting his mind blown by the latest strain of spice to hit the market. It was pitiable.

Dante watched the Barabel from a booth across the cantina's deserted dance floor. He was idly rolling a glass of rotgut in between his hands. The first of the evening. Condensation from the cooled alcohol dampened his palms.

The large frame of the former Shockboxer turned Dante's Manager was unmistakable, even through the spice haze permeating the cantina. The Barabel downed another cup down his hatch and slammed the empty mug onto the counter. He shook his head violently from side to side, making the fat covering his chin and neck undulate.

"Another!" The Barabel yelled.

He was putting on an air of confidence for the two men seated next to him. Whether these were new investors, or established business partners, or simply gambling buddies he was attempting to swindle, Dante didn't know.

Dante's finger traced the fresh scar on his lower arm. A reminder of his most recent fight against the King of Kaas City's arena.

Seluseus didn't pay him to know things. He paid him to put up a show and lose fights.

Just do as I say kid, and you'll make it big. It's what all the pros do, trust me. The Barabel had told Dante before his first professional fight.

He'd lost that fight, of course. He'd been too naive to know better. It was on purpose, against some second-rate, washed out degenerate spacer in some obscure third-rate cantina's local shockboxer's league. Seluseus had played up Dante's skills before the fight, even made up a fake record of victories, to work the bets in Dante's favour. Then he'd bet four-to-one odds against his own Shockboxer under a false name, and when the bell rang and Dante was counted down and out, the fat Barabel had walked out twenty-hundred cred sticks richer.

From the other side of the cantina dance floor Seluseus let out a half-laugh half-gargle through those fattened gills of his.

Dante drummed his fingers against the glass, sending small ripples across the gold-ambrosia surface of liquid.

That fat Barabel had to die.

Tonight.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

They say you can judge a man and the occasion by the drink.

Beer is the small-talk's best friend. Drink it without much of a thought, like water. A new ship, a new speeder, a catch-up between friends--all these mundane occasions that were only elevated by the free beer served. Whiskey, Corellian whiskey to be precise, well depending on the brand and, of course, its attached price tag, but it was usually the go-to gift or a smuggler's long haul wind down beverage.

But rotgut?

That was reserved for the slimy goons, acting like they had the Force by the balls. A crook's drink, and not the dastardly scoundrel-type that Dash fell into, but the crook who beats their chests every kriffin' time they pull a number. Greaseballs and the like.

Dash Farstar eyed the drunken Barabel from the corner of his vision as he idly flipped a coin with his thumb. Sleepless, the smuggler was simply killing time until his eyes would start shutting on their own; this night's patrons hardly seemed to be the kind to offer an adequate job. Maybe a visit to the Come Right Inn was on the cards, but something seemed to keep his feet planted in this chitty watering hole.

Call it a Corellian's gut.​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

Seluseus didn't know Dante had followed him. He'd come right to the cantina after their shouting match earlier in the day, after taking all credits for himself, despite Dante's protests about drinking away their profits.

Dante raised the glass to his lips as he observed Seluseus go about his routine in ignorance. The intense stench of rotgut burned his nose. He downed the whole drink in one go, working to keep down the foulest-tasting alcohol this side of Corellia.

Whatever Seluseus saw in this drink, Dante couldn't tell. It was revolting. It dulled the senses, and it didn't even have the grace to be mild-tasting enough to not offend those dulled senses.

Dante stared through the glass and listened to Seluseus spin another tale about his shockboxing days. About how he'd taken on two opponents in a handicap match and come out on top through some fictitious technique. The same bullchit he'd said to a younger Dante back when he was still a farmhand on his dad's farm, and like that kid, the Barabel's friends were buying it.

The rotgut burned down his insides slowly, and the taste faded into false courage and revolting lightness.

Regrets and a future full of dead dreams. That's what Seluseus' stories had brought Dante. It's what they would bring anyone. Men like Seluseus, addicts of the most depraved kind, chiteaters who survived by preying on others, Dante had seen plenty of them back home. He'd left plenty of those deadbeats bloodied and bruised back then.

Dante set down the glass and got up from the booth's seat. He threw up his hood and started towards the cantina door.

"Dante, is that you?" The gargled voice of Seluseus called out. "Dante, get over here!"

Dante froze mid-step. He felt the sweat appear on his skin as the rush of alcohol disappeared from one moment to the next. He turned, his stomach twisting as he locked eyes with the Barabel.

"Good lad, Dante, at least your ears haven't stopped working!" The Barabel croaked. "Unlike that lazerbrain of yours!" He turned to the two patrons next to him, "can you believe it? That pathetic pile of chit couldn't follow instructions if his life depended on it!"

"This kid's going to be the ruin of me," Seluseus continued. "Cost me ten grand just last week, that incompetence of his! I do everything for him as his manager, and he repays me with this travesty! Utter waste of oxygen!" He gurgle-laughed as he downed another drink. The two fellows by his side snickered quietly into their glasses.

Dante's heart raced, and his breaths came deep and heavy. His hands curled and uncurled. Against the backdrop of heavy smoke and cutting laughter, he saw red.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

At this hour of the night, booze had already killed most of the patrons either by sending them off elsewhere or crashing their faces on the table, slurping their own ooze on the tables. The tunes of the band were only an irritating memory dinning in the ears. Dash could hardly miss the Barabel's shouting or his conversation for that matter -- alcohol really had a way of turning up one's speech volume.

The bartender at the other end of the cantina rolled his eyes, carrying on with his meticulous wiping of a glass. Not the first time he'd seen this particular scene play out. Not Dash's either. Dupe managers fixing dupe fights with dupe fighters. Tale as old as time in this shady corner of the galaxy.

But this time...

The coin fell to a stop on his fist.

This time the leash did not move the dog.

Dante Iblis ​

 

[Dante Iblis]

"Shut your mouth, you oversized monkey-lizard," Dante hissed through grit teeth.

"Oh, little akk hound found his bark?" Seluseus clapped one of his fellow patron's shoulder and pointed at Dante.

"You should have seen that little blood sucker cry his eyes out when he said goodbye to his mother," Seluseus laughed with derision. The Barabel turned back to Dante, and opened his mouth to speak, but Dante had cleared the room to knock Seluseus off his chair with one clean punch.

The fingers in Dante's fist throbbed, gaze firmly locked on the downed Seluseus. The Barabel reeled from the shock, whether concussed or too surprised that the air of arrogance had been knocked out of him, Dante didn't care. His blood boiled with anticipation. Somewhere behind him, the bartender's yelling got drowned out by the fast throb of his heartbeat pumping and the ringing in his ears.

Dante grabbed Seluseus by the collar and dragged the oversized Barabel across the floor. Seluseus clawed at Dante's arms with startled futility. Small gashes bled red where the claws sunk into skin, but the shockboxer didn't relent. He brought the lizard off the ground a few inches and hurled him right into the closest table, its lone occupant, the sleepy spacer and his special coin, be damned. It broke with a crash.

"You filthy worm, listen," Dante snapped at the reeling Barabel, folded under the two halves of a broken table. "I'm done cleaning up your chit. You're not draggin me down with you any longer. I quit."

His fists shook and his breaths came deep and heavy. The muscles of his jaw were set taught, and he watched the Barabel disdain. A year's worth of hatred all coalesced into a singular purpose. Freedom.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

It didn't help Dash's feet were on the table, rocking back and forth on the chair like a third-grader who had recently discovered this new mind-blowing, pioneering, trail-blazing attraction. The loud crash with which the saurian was brought down by his fighter, hurled Dash from his chair and down on the sticky floor of the cantina.

"Ouch!" he groaned, squinting his eyes in pain. Beside him, his lucky coin was swirling around its axis. Its eerie sound seemed to rattle with anticipation as if it would decide the Barabel's fate. The coin finally dropped with a loud ting, heads face up.

The saurian had bet on tails.

Dash caught two figures hurrying away from the cantina--the Barabel's friends. His mouth opened wide as revelation dawned upon him -- a job had finally presented itself. The smuggler snatched the lucky coin from the floor and scurried up to his feet.

"Hey--" the Corellian rose his arms in surrender, not betting on his odds to survive a hook from the now-free fighter. "--you seen these guys he was courting?" Dash poked a thumb over his shoulder. "Those are bad news, pal. Bad news."

"They've been in town for over a week, looking for, well... word is -- they're slavers." he said in a hushed tone. Not that the Empire cared--slavery was not illegal this side of the galaxy--but for some reason the rumor peddlers had talked about the two mysterious figures with a lowered voice. "If I was you, I'd be in orbit by now, jumping to the other side of the galaxy."

Dante Iblis ​

 

[Dante Iblis]

The Barabel rolled from side to side, weakly grabbing for something to hold onto in a disoriented stupor. He lay in a mess of broken table pieces, collecting small shards in his sides as he turned back and forth.

Dante breathed hard. That bastard, Seluseus, he was laying belly up, completely defenceless. After years of holding his power over Dante, now the fat lizard had finally slipped and lost it all. Or, more accurately, Dante had broken the legs out from under him.

Near the cantina entrance, two sets of footfalls disappeared as the doors swivelled open and closed again. Seluseus friends had fled. Figures, corruption and some credits don't create lasting bedfellows.

"Hey--"

Dante shot a glance in the spacer's direction. The man was a witness, but he wasn't a threat. And if his words rang true, maybe he meant to be an ally.

An ally, yeah. Dante looked back at Seluseus. The Barabel's breathing came thin and he wheezed feebly. He was dying.

The realization struck Dante. He'd been angry, yes. He'd had every right to be angry towards that abusive piece of chit. But killing another being ...

Dante's hands clenched, his breath came shallow.

He'd killed a man. On purpose or not, that Barabel was dying right there on the floor and there was nothing to be done about it. Dante had become a criminal, a murderer, in the blink of an eye.

He had to get out of here.

Dante knelt down next to the Barabel, and started rummaging around in his inner pockets. The bastard always kept the credits from their—from Dante's—winnings somewhere in his jacket.

Feebly, the Barabel grabbed Dante's arm, still trying to resist.

Dante nearly jumped. He exhaled a sharp breath, then struck Seluseus' throat. It collapsed with a sickening crunch. The Barabel lay motionless against the floor after that. With a quick hand, Dante slipped a wallet from the Barabel's jacket and got up without missing a beat. He tossed a few cred-chips the spacer's way.

"Take me on your ship. I don't care where. Just get me out of here," he tried to be commanding, but his voice shook. "You have a ship right?"

The cantina had gone dead silent. Not even the barman made a sound.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

The grim crack of the Barabel's throat resounded across the cantina louder than a destroyer's engine roaring into ignition and made Dash jump in his own skin. He blinked, still trying to process what had just happened when the clink of cred-chips in his hands snapped him back to reality. He counted the chips with his thumb and a ludicrous grimace puckered his face.

"Hey, this ain't gonna cut--" Dash started to protest, but curled down in silence upon seeing the man looming over him. He was probably the same height as Dash, maybe even shorter, but to the craven smuggler: the loud snap of the Barabel's neck--still ringing in his ears--elevated the fighter to the size of a Coruscani cloudcutter.

" 'course I do!" the scoundrel took the man's question as a personal affront, but slightly exaggerating the offence he'd taken as to appear far more imposing than he actually was. Swooping the creds into his pocket, he motioned to the fighter to follow him as he hurried towards the exit. "Name's Dash Farstar -- best pilot, this side of the galaxy."

He had started talking, weaving tales of the Nova Run, the Ghost Nebula, and more; some were half-lies, others were half-truths. He'd spewed those stories so many times he had started to believe he was Danger Arceneau 's cousin. It was just one of his coping mechanisms when fear veiled his vision and he needed a clear mind.

Suddenly, from behind, blaster fire boomed and flashed red a hairbreadth away from his neck.

"This way!" Dash turned a sharp left headed to Landing Pad 171 where the Empress Teta was docked.

Someone was giving the two a relentless chase.​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

They ran now, down the streets of the Mantellian spaceport. At this hour, only a handful of people stalked the streets.

The spacer—Dash—talked and talked and talked. Dante listened to every word. The stories kept coming, nothing new or different from what Dante had heard other spacers talk about, but he really needed the barest thread of something familiar to hold on to right about now.

Dash disappeared down a corner, and Dante ducked the street right after him, pushing over a Rodian retruning from a grocery run who stood in his path. The plastic white bags he carried slipped and burst on the permacrete, spilling produce and foodstuffs everywhere.

Dante ignored the curses flung his way in Hutteese. He ignored the Rodian had ever existed. A part of him had gone beyond caring, he had to fend for himself first. That meant, finding out what his next steps would be.

What would happen to his career? Had the barman recognized Dante? Would the authorities investigate, and notify the Shockboxers' League? What if they caught up with him and put him under arrest?

His mind spun with questions. Everything he knew spiralled in a tailspin on a collision course with several fistfuls of bad news.

Was this it? The fate he'd feared? Would his only path forward be living out his days as some crime lord's muscle? Outlaws didn't much care if you were a murderer or not. If you did as you were told, they'd feed you and give you a place to sleep. Maybe that was what he'd be reduced to now.

Stupid fething chit-for-brains. Why'd you have to go and kill the old feth?

Dante clenched his teeth and whispered a curse under his breath.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ruined everything.

A blaster bolt struck the permacrete just two steps ahead of Dante.

The kid yelped, and twisted his feet from the shock. He fell, barely catching himself in a roll.

Another few red bolts came streaking by from the other end of the street, right where the Rodian had dropped, but the grocery store runner wasn't the one firing. The men standing in his stead were difficult to make out, but they were tall and burly, and more importantly, well armed and armoured.

"Chit, chit, chit!" Dante scrambled to his feet.

"This way!" The spacer yelled as he disappeared around another corner.

Dante ran after him, barely ducking out of the way of a crackling red bolt.

"How far until we get to that ship?" He yelled.

Back from the other street, several sets of footsteps echoed between bursts of blaster fire.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

"Just run!"

Dash didn't run, he flew low.

Landing Pad 171 was as true as steel to its namesake; remote and sleep-inducing if you started to count. The distance was only further compounded by the relentless chase of hunters hot on their tail. And dancing to the tunes of blaster fire made it anything but sleep-inducing.

They tumbled over carts carrying goods, swooped through someone's laundry and leapt over fences and the jaws of their akk-dog guardians. Dash felt his heart laboring in the sludge of adrenaline and fear as his breathes sharpened with each stride. His hair damp with sweat poked his eyes every glance he shot back at their pursuers. The way to the landing pad seemed so long that fatigue began to kick in, slowly draining the fear away and clearing his mind.

Why was he even doing this? For a fistful of cred-chits the fighter tossed at him, Dash Farstar was risking his precious hide. The thought of escaping the fighter himself and leaving him to the hands of hell knows who made him lick his salty lips with appetite.

<<Beew-weep.>> the smuggler's comms cut through his thoughts.

<<R3!!>> a grin of joy snapped across his lips. Running for his life, he'd forgotten about his companion. The worn down sign of Pad 159 caught the edges of his vision and he knew he was too close to the ship to abandon his newfound customer. <<Get the Teta running fast!! I will be there in a minute! We need to be off as soon my feet hit the ramp, you got it?!>>

<<Beeeweeewoo-weep.>> the sound of a diligent confirmation.

And indeed a minute later, they barged into pad 171. The Mantellian moon glazed the YT-2400's scrappy hull with a silvery polish; as they approached the ship, the deceptive luster of the moonlight faded, revealing the real Teta. Anyone familiar with starships would recognize its sullen, worn-out look, blending seamlessly with the shabby, run-down spaceport.

The ramp began to slide open with a hiss, salvation was only a dozen meters away when the shadow of death obscured moon above. Dash's mouth opened wide, staring at the flying hunter; in the darkness of the night, he saw clearly the disruptor beam charging and swelling in the muzzle like the inevitable nova of a white dwarf.

He was going to die for only a fistful of cred-chits—

THAW!

A bright flash of red lit the landing pad, followed by a shrill of death echoing across the night. Dash trembled and shook, then exploded into laughing fit as he saw ozone wafting from one of the laser canons on the Teta. The droid had saved his damn life. He freed himself from the ensnaring exhilaration and hurried into his ship, motioning for the fighter to hurry up.

As soon as they went up the ramp, the floor beneath their feet began to throb with the familiar hum of engines flaring to life. R3 had finished the pre-flight operations and all Dash had to do was yank the helm up and increase the throttle, steering the Teta into the starry night.

When the freighter broke atmosphere, Dash finally breathed a long sigh of relief and turned to his broke customer. "This haul's just gone double in price, kid -- ya better have the creds wherever I'm flying you to."

"Speaking of -- ya never told me where we off to."​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

Dante leapt up the landing ramp, blaster bolts burning the air around him to ozone. When he scrambled to his feet, the bulkhead next to him still sizzled with black smoke. He rushed into the ship alongside Dash, throwing quick glances toward the loading bay for any intruders that tried to board the ship.

It didn't take long for the ship's engines to spring to life, however. None of their pursuers made it onto the ship before the landing ramp retracted, and the engines spooled to full power. The ship shook as its magnetic landing clamps disengaged, and a moment later gravity went weird as Ord Mantell's gravitic pull was suddenly replaced by the artifical gravity of the old YT freighter.

Dante took a moment to collect himself, then sought the spacer in the cockpit. He arrived as the spacer finished up the last details of their ascent.

"This haul's just gone double in price, kid -- ya better have the creds wherever I'm flying you to," the spacer said, seemingly satisfied with the immediate need for piloting, as he swivelled to face Dante.

"You greedy—here," Dante slipped another two gold-creds from his pocket and placed them next to the flight controls. The console of flashing lights and switches looked more complex than the speeders he was used to, though he'd somewhat expected that.

"Speaking of -- ya never told me where we off to."

Where did he want to go? In all the panic of their escape he had completely forgotten to tell the spacer a destination, and now that he thought about it, coming up with a system proved difficult. The list of possible systems was narrower than before. He'd killed a man, become a criminal. News of his crimes would travel from system to system as databases were updated. That ruled out systems with heavy security details, which unfortunately included most civilized systems. Similarly, the less civilized systems usually served as destinations for low-lives and criminals.

Low-lives and criminals like him.

No, he wouldn't go to join them. He'd killed someone, but that didn't yet make him a criminal. In the eyes of the law perhaps, but Seluseus had it coming. That bastard had done nothing but exploit Dante from the moment he'd signed the contract, placing him in one life-threatening fight after the other while he pocketed the pay. He'd forced Dante to compromise his career by throwing fights so that the fat lizard could get a bigger payout, after which he would supply Dante with the barest necessities. Expired medpatches, some old rations from a bargain sale, even that one time he had to sleep out on the streets because the fat lizard had only paid for a single motel room.

Seluseus had it coming. Now he only had to lay low and figure out how to spin this to his advantage. He had no experience evading the law, but fortunately the man sitting in the pilot's chair seemed like he had plenty.

"Where would you go to lay low for a while?"

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

The fighter-turned-murderer's head was swimming. Dash saw the haze forming over his client's eyes, blurring thoughts and ideas under a veil of confusion and panic.

"Where would you go to lay low for a while?"

The smuggler clicked his tongue. "That's gonna cost ya, too, y'know; nothing's free in this galaxy, kid." he paused for a moment then leaned back on the nav-console. "We need to get to Alliance space asap. With the war going, it'd be hard for a tail to follow out from Imp space into Alliance territory." Dash explained as his digits punched in the hyperspace coordinates. "Take the Hydian down to Denon, then race the whole Corellian Run right to its end--Tatooine, Kemal Station... any place where nobody's asking questions."

He pushed the hyperspace lever forward, stretching the endless stars into the dashing lines of hyperspace

*

The silence following their reversal from hyperspace heralded a false sense of security; it lasted only several seconds before the Teta's sensors and klaxons for collision course cried out. Dash jumped in his seat with a curse escaping his lips. He blinked, unable to fathom what in the galaxy he was seeing on the sensors.

"What the hell?! R3, are the sensors glitching again?"

"Beewoop." a negative reply sent shivers down his spine.

"Are you sure?!"

"Beep-beep." a cold shower of a yes followed.

"How is this...A kriffin' cruiser; no transponder; out here in Alliance space; right off Arkania." he accentuated every point through gritted teeth, struggling to convince himself of the absurd, yet grim situation. Dash double checked another sensor console -- a slightly illegal one, military-grade and Kuat-made -- and shook his head. "No tachyon." and the cruiser was not on the Teta's scanners when they had first reversed to realspace.

Either it had been drifting pointlessly this side of space in stealth—perhaps, a deep Imperial recon, but why would it drop its cover for a dingy Corellian freighter...—or the tales were true. Saltier spacers and grizzlier smugglers, mostly in drunken stupor, had often told him stories—stories he wouldn't believe—of the Hyperspace War: stories of the Maw's ships materializing anywhere at any time and always unexpected; stories of their vessels performing hyperspace jumps for absurdly short distances such as a mere astronautical mile; stories of the mythical, so-called Path Engine.

Dash wouldn't believe it until revelation struck him, and struck him hard. The battlecruiser (ooc:scroll down to Gladiator), a mere speck through the transparisteel, suddenly emerged before them like a behemoth filling out the viewport with its ravenous maw. Instincts kicked in and the smuggler banked the Empress Teta portside only for the ship to stutter in disobedience and groan as opposing forces tore at its durasteel hull.

Ensnared in a tractor beam, the smuggler could only watch helplessly in horror as boarding shuttles from the prison ship descended upon them like birds of prey.​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

"Then get me there. And fast," Dante told the spacer.

He sat back in one of the chairs and crossed his arms, kicking his feet up on one of the empty console boards. As the stars stretched out to infinity, he watched his life crumble to pieces. But, unexpectedly, he felt a sense of peace about it. All he had to do was get to a safe place, and from there he could figure out his next steps.

* * *

Dante stirred awake, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. During their time in hyperspace, he'd half dozed-off after the adrenaline from their escape had worn off.

Before, he'd managed to pry his eyes open, he felt the sudden shift back to real space.

"Are we already-"

Warning klaxons interrupted, answering the question for him.

The spacer fell into action immediately, exchanging choice words with his droid and running sensor readings through the computer. Nothing about him betrayed the same sense of subtle confidence he'd shown during their departure from the Bright Jewel System.

That made Dante uneasy in turn.

He frowned, looking around the cockpit for anything he recognized, but his search was fruitless. He wasn't a spacer nor a ship captain. Corellia's Hells he'd barely received his speeder license. He couldn't understand much of anything beyond that they'd indeed dropped out of hyperspace for some unknown reason.

But the massive object suddenly materializing to take up the entirety of the viewport window, that he could understand.

He stood frozen for a moment, stunned by the massive warship and the blue clouds full of lightning cracks dispersing into the void around it. He stumbled as the ship shook, before he caught himself and reached to shake the spacer by his shoulder.

"What the feth is happening? Where'd they come from?" He shouted, trying to suppress the sudden concern that had found its way into his voice.

Small ships appeared from inside the warship's hangar, blocky and jury rigged with large claws at their bows. Two of them came directly for the spacer's freighter. It took only moments before they had attached themselves to the hull. One directly at the docking ring on the opposite side of the ship from the cockpit, the other went underneath and towards the cargo hold.

No hails came over the comms-array, just the grating, high-pitched whine of a plasma torch cutting through the quadranium hull of the outer airlock door.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

"Slavers." Dash grimly responded.

A series of heavy thuds boomed throughout the freighter as large slabs of the Teta's hull fell down, followed by the hurried steps of the interlopers rushing to seize the vessel for themselves.

Several moments later, the door to the cockpit slid open with a hiss and a trio of goons -- one Weequay, one Nikto and one Zeltron -- barged in with their weapons pointed at their sole quarry.

"You owe me a 100 creds, Big Head." the Nikto told the Weequay. "Told you this was a waste."

Big Head merely grumbled.

"Halcorr's not gonna be pleased." the Zeltron chuckled, then narrowed his eyes at Dante, "...actually, we might've hit the jackpot -- ain't this the one our contacts on Ord Mantell were looking for?"

There was a long pause as the three appraised the fighter-turned-murderer. Big Head was first to break the silence with a cruel grin tugging his lips.

"Seems to me you owe me a 100 creds, you filthy mudhorn." Big Head cackled, then raised his weapon.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa -- hold on a second there, hoss!" Dash waved his hands wildly, his flight and survive instincts kicking in with a masterclass of deception, "See, I was bringing this guy in. Ya'll's guys on Mantell hooked me up with this shindig."

The three slavers looked at each other than burst into laughter.

"Seems to me... we got two for the price of one." the filthy mudhorn said before the slavers fired their stun rifles with avaricious conviction.

The world turned black.​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

The Houk ringmaster snatched the vibroblade and the sharpening stone from his Gand companion.

"You lazerbrain! You have to turn it off before you start sharpening the edge!" The ringmaster yelled.

He flipped the housing of the vibro-emitter open and clicked a circuit open. The blade's quiet hum stopped.

"See?" He shoved the blade back into the Gand's hands. "Don't bother with it anymore; it's busted. Great job you did, numbnuts!"

The Gand watched his ringmaster leave in a huffing fury, large bug eyes fixed on the fat rolls on the back of his neck.

<But Sir, what do I-> The Gand began, only to be interrupted immediately by the choleric bellow of his superior.

"Give it to one of the fighters! I don't care! Just leave me alone! I need to get to the captain. Word is, he's brought a new friend aboard, eh he he."

—————​

Dante came to on a cold, metal floor. The last thing he remembered was the whine of a plasmatorch, then fear, and finally a shock that knocked him out cold. He rubbed his elbow, which was throbbing with pain, though not quite as badly as his head.

"Ouch," he muttered under his breath, finally taking a moment to inspect his surroundings.

He was boxed in from all directions, though without the claustrophobia of a prison cell. The room was spacious, surrounded by several tall metal walls in a hexagonal shape that extended high above into... the crackling blue of a particle shield with the cold eternity of space on the other side!

Dante swallowed.

What in Corellia's Nine Hells had he gotten himself into? Were they going to lower the shields and... ? No, he thought. The memories from the bridge returned to him gradually as he retraced the steps that had led him here. He recalled three intruders, armed with blasters but with their stun settings enabled. The spacer had said something about slavers. Slavers didn't catch their prey only to execute it after the trouble they took to get them captured. There wasn't any profit in doing business that way. Unless ...

Dante scanned the room, frowning as he looked for any clue that might tell him where he'd been placed. Was this some kind of mass-holding cell, and he'd so happened to be the only one tossed in? If this had been a holding cell, surely then they would have thrown the spacer in as well alongside him, wouldn't they? It made little sense not to use the space if they had it. So if it wasn't a holding cell, then what was it?

Dante rose to his feet. His head spun from the aftereffects of catching a stun bolt straight to the face, and he had to get up slowly so as not to lose his balance.

—————​

Unbeknownst to him, in the room just beyond those walls, hidden behind an observation panel, Dash Farstar sat tied to a chair, not by restraints but by the sheer terror that four massive slavers and their captain elicited when staring down a captive aboard their ship.

As far as they knew, the spacer had delivered a potentially valuable asset to them entirely free of charge. Seluseus had planned to sell the boy after his most recent escapade on the surface of Ord Mantell, and when the contract fell through, the slaver's contacts had been forced to turn to other means of finding their promised prize.

Except they hadn't expected a lone freighter captain to bring the boy directly into their hands. A freighter captain, who, by mere happenstance, had saved them not only the cost of purchasing the boy from Seluseus but of reporting back to the Magister Protector that they had (temporarily) failed.

 

[Dash Farstar]

The smuggler's face was already pale when Naxus, the Magister Protector of the Crucible, marched into the room. At the towering Feeorin's intimidating sight, his face went from pale to transparent. While, the chitter chatter between the rest of the slavers and Admiral Halcorr subsided into a graven silence.

Only a few minutes later, the sliding of the door did break the stillness, followed by the clinking of heels that heralded Dr. Mezani's arrival. "His medical report." she handed her datapad to Naxus.

The Magister Protector gleaned through the information and for the first time since forever, his unwelcoming grimace shifted into a cruel grin of satisfaction. It had been a while since such a fine specimen had found itself among the assets of the Crucible, as while back as Naxus' own subjugation.

Cold fear should've ran down his spine at the prospect of one worthy of claiming his Magister mantle, but none who doubted their own abilities ever reached such heights within the Crucible.

"Uhh, what about my rewa—" the smuggler braved the opportunity.

"Silence!!" Naxus growled, "Or I will tear your mouth off your face."

Avarice could drive the cowardliest of men to feats of untold boldness. But Naxus knew another emotion, one far more stronger and potent than avarice could ever be, one fire branded into the very fabric of his body and mind.

Survival.

"You are rewarded with your life." Naxus stated, then nodded his head towards the exit. "Go."

The smuggler rose up warily from his seat, as if expecting a trap, then with a measured step headed for the exit before reluctantly halting midway out.

"Wh-what, uh, what's gonna happen to him?"

A grizzly snarl was the sole answer he would get.

The smuggler trembled, then turned heel, leaving the room.

"His training begins now." Naxus declared. "Five duels for today, ten tomorrow."

"Magister Protector, I would not rush him so fast, given these mooks—" Dr. Mazani gestured at the four slavers. "—cannot work a simple stun blaster's settings."

"You would not, but I will." Naxus said, then repeated. "His training begins now."

He looked at the observation panel where the so-called Dante Iblis began coming to his senses.

This was his first day…

… for the rest of his life.​

Dante Iblis