Ask Coruscant Cargo (Flashback)

[Nyx Otsana]

The Underlevels of Coruscant ​

Far from home. Nyx was so very far from home. How could this have happened? She'd never even been off-world before, and now (presumably) she was a whole star system away. The attack on her kinsmen had come out of nowhere. No one targets Kiffars, let alone on their own turf. Why was she taken? And what fate had befallen her family? She tried not to think about it, knowing it could only cause her more tears.

She, and others, had been forced into crates during travel. Four or five packed tightly inside, with barely any space to move. Best way to manage the cargo though as there was little incident during the journey. As expected, there were mournful groans and cries, pleas for freedom, but these must have been seasoned slavers because none, not a single one, were swayed to sympathy.

Nyx knew their type well, she’d heard her kinsmen talk of them, being that many were hired as enforcers and trackers. What a twist of fate, to run afoul of the very people her clan hunted. Maybe that’s why they’d be targeted. There were no other Kiffars here (that she knew of) apart from a few from her clan. Was this revenge for--

All thoughts ceased when the crate was suddenly hoisted up. Jostled left, then over to right before then abruptly tipping over to one side, none too gently either.

“Oi, oi! Watch that cargo.”

“Get a move on! We gotta ship ‘em tonight.”

The voices were numerous, some more recognizable than the others. Not a moment later, Nyx, along with the others, tumbled out of the crate and onto the floor of the warehouse. She was right. Surrounding them were the slavers, as well as smugglers of sorts. All of them though were armed, holding blasters at the ready should the ‘cargo’ become troublesome.

“Stand, stand. No funny business. Stand.” A Rhodian ordered.

Seems they were doing an inventory, checking numbers and their corresponding destinations. Two or three people were pulled here, one swapped with another there. Nyx, along with a few others were herded to the side. There was tension in the air, and with each passing moment, it grew thick. Seems there was a discrepancy of sorts, the numbers not quite adding up.

An irate Zabrak, holding up a datapad, was not happy. “Oi, you trying to pull something? You’re coming up short. There’s meant to be two shipments of spice, where’s the rest?”

@Song

 

[Sett]

Sett despised Coruscant. He was new to the criminal underworld, trying to gain a foothold before working his way up to, hopefully, a gaudy position in the Five Syndicates. That was the sole purpose of his identity. To be someone else, to cultivate power of his own. But by the Force, he didn’t know he’d have to start from scratch. He didn’t know that would require him picking up oddball jobs: smuggling spice, capturing criminals, and worst of all, trafficking slaves.

Sett was all for free labor, especially if it went into building his empire, but to be apart of the process? To witness the treatment of each slave firsthand? It made him sick to his stomach. Of course, not enough for him to ditch the job. He was in this for the credits and the contacts. If he had to dirty his hands, he would do it without question. And if he was questioned, he would shut it down like any scoundrel would.

“What you have here is the best you’re going to get,” he said, his voice gravelly and mechanical, thanks to the voice modulator lodged underneath his mask. “Didn’t you get the memo? You’re only getting one spice shipment this week. Not two. The recent sanctions passed in the Senate have made smuggling spice much harder, and getting two whole crates across police-infested territory isn’t possible anymore.”

Sett jutted his chin toward the slaves huddled in the corner. “Hell, you’d be lucky to even get those indentures off-world. They’ve been checking every transport ship that leaves Republic space.” He folded his arms over his chest, trying to look much taller than he was—although that wasn’t hard, considering the Zabrak was barely two-thirds his height. “You can get your other shipment tomorrow, but not today. Too many investigators out and about.”

There was no con. Sett understood the rules of the game, and lying was not one of them, and neither was hoarding spice. He just hoped the Zabrak would back down, else he’d make him. The man was not beyond a little brawling to get his opinion across.

@Pam0wl

 

[Nyx Otsana]

At first, the Zabrak squared up to Setto, intent on staring him down. If the punk was trying to pull something, he would have trouble. Dealing with spices and slaves was a nasty business, often people had to get nasty just to survive. Eat or be eaten, that’s just how things were. Unfortunately for the Zabrak, Setto didn’t seem to be bluffing, not that he could tell, considering the mask and all. Grumbling, the slaver finally relented, instead opting to click through his communications. The datapad must have confirmed it because the horn-headed brute then cursed, seeing that the scoundrel was right.

“The boss won’t be happy. Delays are bad for business….Ah, whatever.” With a high-pitched whistle, he turned his goons. “Load them up!”

The shoving began, prisoners being pushed and pulled here and there. The slavers organized them according to importance, as well as their final place of sale. Shackles were checked, along with overall ‘condition’. No good delivering dead stock. Sure enough, there was weeping, with some still hoping to barter for their freedom.

And Nyx was in the middle of it, her heart in her throat, her nerves a bundle of mess. Where were they going now? What was happening? She was already so far from home, would anyone ever find her? Was there even anyone left to look for her? Her thoughts became frantic, as did her breathing. Nyx closed her eyes tightly, feeling a pounding from within. The urge to flee was at war with the need to fight.

Run...Run. Need to run...No, fight. Have to fight back...Run. Run.

Pandemonium erupted amongst those enslaved. As if incited to do so, some lunged for their attackers, grasping for their weapons, all whilst others made a mad dash. There was no coordination or planning, it was as though a sudden compulsion had taken hold.

Nyx, startled at first by the frenzy, gave in to one of the instincts. She ran. Whilst the slavers jockeyed from control, she scurried away, following those in the stampede. Not that there was much hope of escape; these were professionals, after all. The whole warehouse was locked down tighter than a Hutt’s credit pot.

“They’re making a run for it! Grab ‘em.” The Rhodian raised his blaster, ready to aim but quickly it was knocked aside by the Zabrak.

“Idiots, don’t shoot! They’re no good to us dead!” He shoved his enforcers forward, urging them to pursue and take control of the situation. All hands on deck it seemed, as he jutted at Setto. “Oi, make yourself useful. No cargo, no credits!”

@Song

 

[Tacitus Agrippa]

Trafficking people was not something Tacitus enjoyed purely because the prison sentences for sentient trafficking were much longer than for other crimes. And trafficking people tended to not actually earn enough credits for it to be reasonably worth the risk. But he had signed on because he needed the credits, his own stake having lowered considerably since he had taken some time out of the business as it were.

So here he was looking after some fly-by-night, two-credit-chit, slaving operation… and the slaves were revolting.

Wonderful.

Marching his way down the corridor with his armour firmly in place, he pushed one of the incompetent guards to one side as he made his way forward. Cracking his knuckles, Tacitus chose violence.

“You had one job and you karked it.” He noted to the Zabrak he was working with, “How difficult is it to exchange some half-drugged people for spice?”

Picking out one of them, Tacitus started off at a casual jog after a kiffar woman who seemed to have gotten enough of her wits about her to start running.

“Oi! Girly, stop running right now or this is gonna get worse for you!”

People might say that things were as ‘worse’ as they were going to get for the young woman considering she was being sold as a slave in exchange for spice. But people who said things like that, in Tacitus’ experience? Suffered from a severe lack of creativity.

@Song @Pam0wl

 

[Sett]

Sett let out a short sigh. He half-expected the Zabrak to push it, to argue with him until blasters were drawn, but he was relieved when the man shrugged and went back to business. Last thing he needed was to make an enemy on his first week in the Coruscant underworld. He had a reputation to uphold and a foundation to lay out. He couldn’t afford any hiccups on this little smuggling operation—even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He observed the shackled men and women as they were escorted toward the transport. One young woman with rags for clothes reached out to him, tugging at his sleeve, begging to be freed. Sett pulled back. He was thankful for the mask and the voice modulator underneath, else the slavers might have caught the flash of pity on his face, the horror at what was going on here. Instead, his exterior remained icy and expressionless. Without remorse. Without guilt.

Sett turned away, but just as he did, chaos struck.

The young woman shoved past him, and so did a large handful of others. Many split off from each other, taking different directions in the hopes one of them might escape the warehouse. The Zabrak threw up his hands in shock. Then, the orders started flying. Enforcers moved into action, brandishing staffs and blasters, and Sett had no real other choice than to do the same. His credits were on the line.

He reached for a grappling hook on his belt and gave chase.

Sett was fast, reaching the first person he could find and tripping them with his right foot. Nearby, another enforcer he didn’t quite know pursued a kiffar girl, shrieking at her to stop. A small part of him hoped she might make it out the doors, but he knew it was pointless, and he knew that if one slave escaped, the fault would still lay with him. If the man didn’t catch her, then Sett would.

@Pam0wl @Nefieslab

 

[Nyx Otsana]

Light on her feet, Nyx ducked and dived amongst the chaos. Other slaves may have been willing to fight their oppressors head-on, but she was focused on getting as far away as possible. Adrenline had her running blind though, and her attempts at evasion were clumsy at best. Stumbling and tumbling, she skirted just out of reach when hands made their grabs. Unsteady as she was, the Kiffar still managed to achieve some agility, evading recapture with mere seconds to spare. But time was running out. The frenzy was slowly dying, with slaves being picked off one by one. Nyx did the only thing that she could. She kept running.

Hearing the shouting but not registering the words, the girl chose to ignore everything and instead slip inbetween a series of crates, her slender figure unincumbered by the numerous pallets of cargo. It wouldn't stop her persuers outright, but it would certainly slow them down and buy her some time; she'd need it, if she had any hopes of escape.

The warehouse was locked down tighter than a vault, and like any caged animal would, Nyx looked desperately for an exit.

And she might have spotted one; near one of the adjucant walls was a porthole of sorts, the mouth of which was covered with a metal, shutter seal. A service hatch, maybe? If she was lucky, then it would be easy to access; a girl her size could simply slip through! Deciding to risk it, Nyx broke out from her cover and dashed towards the metal panneling. Fingers clawed at it, attempting to lift the shutter before anyone got wise to her plan...

Fragile hope soon turned into bitter. The porthole's cover was latched shut, no doubt a preemptive measure given situations like these.

Nyx's heart sunk. "No!" She cried, her fists now pounding against the metal barrier. "No! No! No!" Hot tears threatened to fall, partially from the pain but most definitely from her frustration The noise would have certainly been heard and in mere moments, the slavers would be upon her once again. The sheer anguished fueled more strikes, knuckles and fingers growing bloody and bruised. Strangely enough, the metal shutter began to groan and bend, as if a greater force was hitting it rather than just a despreate girl.

@Nefieslab @Song

 

[Tacitus Agrippa]

Tacitus had missed some cardio days in his time away from the spotlight it was true but, in his defense, he had not expected to be chasing down desperate slaves within the first mission back. Honestly, even if he had worked on his cardio she likely would have gotten a good lead on him anyway – training was great but desperation was a strength all of its own.

And she was very desperate.

Fortunately for him and his chase, she was also panicking and it was that lack coherent thought that had her cornering herself. All he had to do was chase her, providing the threat to keep her panicked so she could trap herself between himself and the walls. The walls that were solid durasteel mostly and not something some unarmed waif was going to break through.

Of course, fear and frustration were some of the emotions that could actually be weaponized by certain parts of the population of the Galaxy. The Sith and the Jedi – Force Slingers – could use their emotional state to do things beyond what they had any right to be able to do naturally.

Throwing tantrums until the laws of reality bent to their whims.

The sound of rending metal was enough for Tacitus to draw his blaster pistol on its stun setting, his time away not dulling his quick-draw skills. He immediately fired a stun bolt at the slave’s left leg. It wouldn’t stun her totally due to hitting the leg but she wouldn’t be staying upright with one of her legs getting stunned.

“You Force Slingers are always so much trouble…” he muttered darkly as he approached, his pistol still aimed at her, “But you know what? Good for my bottom line.”

He kicked a pair of cuffs in her direction.

“Cuff yourself or I turn on the lethal setting and see how well you burn.”

@Song @Pam0wl

 

[Sett]

Just as Sett had the other escaping slave pinned down and cuffed, he turned to see the Kiffar girl pounding against the ironclad hatch that stood between her and glorious freedom. He almost felt pity. A twinge of sympathy. But with so many credits on the line and an icy reputation to build, he was far from stupid enough to help her. The same went for everyone else shackled and caged in the warehouse. This was the cold truth of the galaxy. Not everyone could be saved. Not everyone could get what they wanted.

The success of one often came at the cost of another’s.

However, as the woman he caught was escorted away, Sett noticed something was off. The Kiffar girl was no ordinary slave. No, there was an energy in her, an unnatural strength he could not quite comprehend. He’d heard stories before—the Force—and he’d even seen it firsthand. But this? This was raw, untempered power. Enough to leave four, warped dents in the metal barrier she’d been beating at for only seconds. He stared at it for a moment before snapping into action.

“Watch yourself, bounty hunter,” he told Tacitus gruffly. “Kill the girl, and it’s you they will be loading aboard that ship. Because I don’t think our employers will find a pile of ash very useful on the market.” He stared the man down through his blank, glassy visor, knowing he would breed unnecessary tension but expecting it’d be enough to avoid more bloodshed—and a waste of his time.

Not bothering to wait around for his answer, Sett strode toward the crumpled girl. Although he kept one of his knives close, he hoped she was no longer a threat.

Once he got close, he leaned down, plucked the cuffs off the concrete floor, and nodded at her. “Make this easy for us,” he said, and his voice fell into a low whisper. “You can think about escaping later, but not now. Not like this.” He looked over his shoulder to the array of armed slavers closing in on them then back to the girl. He raised his voice again, this time utterly serious. “Show me your hands.”

@Pam0wl