Private A Netherish Bargain

[Malcoma Hesse]

make war, not love​

Kal​

"Needa get 'em young now'days, 'eh Madam?"

She had nodded at the slaver. "Good conditioning rarely kills. Call it a little employer's insurance."

A nearby shout from drew her into reality. A Mirialan peddler was trying to sell her some wares by shoving them very nearly in her face. She simply ducked back and tried to move on. "Not interested," she muttered, occupation slipping to the hand she held. She glanced backward to find a child's pair of eyes half a meter below hers. A small smile tugged at her lips and her gaze softened as if to tell him that everything would be right soon.

If only they could get to Damris and their shuttle on the other side of this overcrowded spaceport.

But, no matter how many times she had assured the child since disembarking the slaving ferry that had brought them here from their freighter, his face hadn't changed. He hadn't even said a word to Malcoma, least of all his name.

"'Is name's Onhan," the voice of the slaver came again.

She guessed that his trauma already ran deep. Her black heart broke for his youth. While she was generally a misandrist, boys were not amongst the victims of her prejudice. At his age, they hadn't had the chance, or urge, yet to instead make victims of womenfolk. Such innocence, though relatively short-lived, deserved protection. It was why she had ended up walking away from a slave trade with someone she had not intended to buy. She was looking for a teenaged or adult woman to first free and then, pending her consent, fold into the escort ranks. When she had seen a little boy in the lineup of grown slaves, shock changed her mind like flipping the dashboard hyperspace switch. Of course, she had wanted to buy every being in that lineup, but money was a premium even to her, so safety became a matter of prioritization.

And prioritization's current synonym was Onhan.

When they passed by a food court, Malcoma slowed her beeline to a stop. She turned around and kneeled to his height. "Are you hungry?"

 

[Kal]

Isolate. Incriminate. Eliminate. His rules of engagement were clear, but his buyer was not playing ball.

Conversations a child might not have understood had led him to believe her to be perfect, exactly the kind of woman his employers in their ivory tower wanted to rid the Galaxy of, but she seemed to change upon leaving the trader. Suddenly she seemed concerned about his well-being - and not just as a product. He did not like it, not one bit.

There was a brief gleam of interest in his eyes when she mentioned food, but it passed just as quickly. He longed to feel alive again, but this body did not have taste buds, pain receptors, or really anything but convincing simulacrums.

All he had left was the thrill of bloodshed and yet his hands were bound in a way more profound than any rope.

Shaking his head mutely, the boy stared at Malcoma, as if waiting for her to do something, anything, to harm him.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal ​

"No?"

Of all the times Malcoma's body had been in shock, not once had she wanted to eat, but in hindsight she knew she should have. Adrenaline was a dirty fuel overtaxing organics of their mineral and nutrient reserves. It was all too easy when you lived in trauma to not realize you were fading away physically just as well as mentally until it was too late. The last thing she wanted to do was force Onhan to eat though; only him and the Force knew what his slavers, and perhaps even fellow slaves, had already made him do.

"That's alright," Malcoma replied before getting up. "Let's get something for the hyperlanes in case you change your mind."

She led the boy into another crowd. A surprisingly well-contained cloud of smells steeped the court. As they walked, a particular scent stuck out to Malcoma. Her stomach rumbled a little as she followed her nose to a food cart displaying a sign that proudly confirmed she was smelling exactly what she thought she was: deep fried nuna teriyaki.

Her stomach rumbled. Said cuisine wasn't exactly the essence of high class, but dealing with greasy slavers always made her crave greasy food—not quite equally so though, that would certainly clog her arteries after just one meal. Something about the ritual made her feel better; brought her into a better headspace; like two comparable, negative qualities made a positive.

When she got up to the counter, she ordered three meals to-go and paid with credit chip. "Keep the change," she muttered before taking the plastic bag handles in her free hand and moving away.

They found Damris soon after. He was leaning back on the hull of her shuttle beside the extended boarding ramp, scrolling away on a datapad. Upon Malcoma's approach, he looked up, then down. "Uh," he began. "W-what happened?" She had gone through a set of motions when trading for slaves ever since he had known her. He had expected her to stick to her MO of buying, freeing, women, one by one or two by two, but evidently—

"Plans changed." She turned to the child. "Onhan, this is Damris. He keeps me safe. He'll keep you safe now too."

Damris smiled at Onhan. "Hi." He stepped forwards to take the take-out bag. "I'll get this in the fridge."

 

[Kal]

Was she waiting until they were alone, or did she plan to teach the boy to obey through more carrot than stick?

The latter might complicate matters, but only to a certain degree. Other slaves, conversations he was not meant to hear, files and documents he was not meant to read - there were many ways to find sufficient justification. His rules of engagement were strict, but they did not prevent him from provocating a response nor locating proof of misdeeds.

Following along mutely, the woman soon brought him to a man. Security, by the looks of him. Someone whose pose hinted of a near-constant awareness of potential risks. Someone who always had a plan. He'd have to go first.

Managing a wan smile in return, the boy looked fragile, which was exactly the point.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal ​

If Onhan had been expecting his new warden's attitude to pivot upon entering into her ship, he would be sorely disappointed.

Surprised, even, as another woman all but bounced into the Main Hold moments after they themselves entered. "Hi, welcom—!" Her greeting trailed off as she, like Damris, noticed the boy. She didn't seem quite as surprised though. In fact, she approached slowly and knelt to his height. "Hi," she repeated. "I'm Sonti. Who are you?"

After a few silent beats, Malcoma offered his name instead.

"You're gonna love it at home. It's warm and safe and smells nice and we're never ever hungry." The young Kiffar glanced up at the older woman before returning her attention to Onhan. "I used to be a slave on Nar Shaddaa. Do you know where that is? It's a pretty far way from here. She bought my freedom from a horrible Hutt..." A shiver tore up Sonti's spine at remembering him. "...just like she just bought yours. You're free now, Onhan."

 

[Kal]

She bought my freedom from a horrible Hutt. For the briefest of moments, 'Onhan's mask slipped up to reveal a look that was downright appraising, but as quickly as it came it was gone. She seemed to be telling the truth, which made his buyer a master manipulator or worse honest. The soul within shuddered at the thought, trapped by protocol as he was.

After a moment's consideration, he activated a beacon of sorts embedded within his body, an invisible pulse echoing forth into infinity, beckoning one of the only beings able to alter or retract his instructions.

He could only hope he would receive a trigger-happy Shadow.

"Free?" The 'child' sounded dubious, an entirely genuine reaction. The soul within was, after all, anything but free - he had given up his free will so that he might live again, kill again, and yet nothing was going as planned or promised.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal
​

Many former slaves asked that question with much the same intonation, but not the same reasoning, so Malcoma nor Sonti were immediately taken aback. The Kiffar, however, canted her her empathetically. She had been one to react a similar way. She took up Onhan's free hand. "Yeah, free," she repeated. "I know it's weird, but you'll get used to it."

"Malcoma!?" The voice of Damris floated into the Hold.

She slipped her hand out of Onhan's and with a smile she was gone, into a short corridor leading into the cockpit. Hand on the low ceiling, she ducked into the cabin. Damris was sat in the pilot's seat turned towards the middle console, where the navcomputer was docked. Malcoma walked around behind him. "What's happening to it?" she asked, watching the screen glitch. She followed her question up with an immediate guess. "Old age?"

"And maybe lack of maintenance."

Malcoma sighed. "I'm going to kill—"

 

[Kal]

The brief grimace that crossed the kid's features made it clear that he was somewhat dubious, but not for the reasons she likely expected. At the same time, he seemed to twitch somewhat - surging forth, supernaturally strong muscles leaping into action as his hands closed around her throat, as her life ended - and then nothing. A fantasy. He was frozen.

Frozen until he abandoned his rebellious streak, that is. Disobedience was impossible.

In the cockpit, the navigational glitch would be followed by a sudden drop in temperature, the viewport briefly forming a bit of rime. A side effect of Kal's newest innovation of transportation - the tiniest hyperspace wormhole imaginable, a sliver of folded space barely large enough to transport photons. Fortunately, Kal was not made of matter.

Unless they were particularly perceptive, they would not notice Kal hovering unseen in the middle of the hallway - but the way 'Onhan's head swivelled towards him only to bend slightly in enforced respect might be noticeable.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal

They didn't notice him, not at first, but the drop in temperature was palpable. Goosebumps broke out down Malcoma's arms, the room's coolness only intensified by the texture of her leather jacket. "What just happened?" she asked, wrapping a hand around Damris' shoulder. The body heat radiating through his blazer was a stark contrast with their new environment.

He didn't have a chance to begin responding before Sonti's voice rang out from the main hold: "Uh, Malcoma...?!"

The bodyguard was first to respond. He turned his head to look down the short corridor into the hold—but instead of glimpsing the figures of Sonti and Onhan, he saw one that he didn't recognize.

As he jarred to his feet, he pushed Malcoma behind him.

 

[Kal]

He was supposed to have been undetectable, but instantaneous transportation was more an art than a science. The way he did it, anyway. Perhaps he had pulled a bit too much energy from his surroundings or fractured light or become more tangible than was desirable, but either way the game was up. Oh well, it was at most a minor inconvenience.

Form swirling into a stable visage resembling a lean humanoid made of shades of black and grey with a pair of luminous white orbs taking the place of eyes, he gave the 'kid' a miffed glance before turning to the buyer.

Well, the buyer and the bodyguard standing in front of her protectively.

<How unexpected.> A smoothly cultured voice would echo in the minds of all present. A strange experience, no doubt. <For what reason did you purchase the 'child'?> These words were directed primarily towards Malcoma, psychic tendrils brushing against her mind at the same time, seeking to read and categorise her emotions and surface thoughts.

It was more direct than his usual methods, but the current situation warranted it.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal

The Shadow's telepathic words might have been directed at Malcoma, but Sonti was the one to answer. "What did you do to him?" she shouted.

The madam's mind reeled in response. Before Kal had materialized further, she had glimpsed the Kiffar's figure down the way but not Onhan's, hidden halfway behind her. Instead of cold concern for one's newly acquired property, a mother-like aggression rose to break the emotional surface tension. Malcoma managed to shoulder past Damris. "I've dealt with some wild safeguarding measures," she growled, "but this is a brand new one."

Certain slavers, usually the ones down on their financial luck, outfitted their sentient 'goods' with tech like microtrackers embedded under their skin, unwilling to actually part with their stock but all too willing to rake in the credits in a deal. Not quite the old bait-and-switch but annoying nonetheless. If only there was a court amongst criminals, she'd sue for fraud or something.

 

[Kal]

There was concern, genuine concern - not just from the woman fussing over the frozen 'child' but from the owner.

<He did this to himself, but that is beside the point. His condition worries you, does it not?> Gaze swivelling towards 'Onhan', he uttered a single telepathic command, once again heard by all present - especially Malcoma. <Suffer.> The 'child' would begin to spasm uncontrollably, an inhuman screech leaving his lips even as his eyes glowed a dull crimson.

Kal's attention was upon his buyer, however. Doubtlessly, her reaction would confirm what he already knew. With a wave, his unruly agent's pain ended as abruptly as it had begun, the 'boy' rising to his feet and saluting him.

Anyone could see the homicidal fury in his eyes; this time there was no hiding it. Not that he tried.

<Peace, Madam Hesse. You seem to have stumbled your way into a trap meant for worse beings.>

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal

​

Sonti began to cry.

Damris tried to pull Malcoma back behind him, but the madam remained rooted. A shiver ripped up her spine, wavering her voice for but a moment when she echoed, "Worse?" like she didn't believe she wasn't.

She then demanded, "Who are you? And how do you know that?"

Her name, that she had unwittingly gotten in over her head, Kal could take his pick of interpretations.

 

[Kal]

Sonti began to cry.

Spinning to face her, Kal seemed almost puzzled. <Apologies for any distress I might have caused, that was never my intent. If I may, the being before you is not what you think he is - he is a living weapon driven by an adult soul, not a child.> As if to emphasise his point, Onhan suddenly drove a tiny fist against the metallic floor.

His hand was unarmed and the floor dented.

Returning his attention to Malcoma, he eyed her appraisingly for a long moment before reaching a conclusion. <I am Kal of Masque, Presiding Associate of this part of an operation aimed at culling... undesirable elements. None of the children sold by the slaver you visited are real, so to speak. Think of them as poisoned apples.> That was putting it mildly.

<As for how I know? I have my ways.> Telepathy, usually. That and pulling information from Onhan.

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Kal

​

—a living weapon driven by an adult soul…?

—operation aimed at culling undesirable elements?

—poisoned apples?

It took her a moment, but Malcoma laughed. At face value, if she was following this Kal’s admissions correctly, they were a ridiculous and unlikely string of words, but ones that insinuated that in different ways they were both after the same thing.

“Charming,” she chirped, dismissing his ways, whatever they were. ”So you have caught mice in your rat trap. I hope this is a catch and release of sorts.” She glanced down the hall at Onhan, still shaking under the weight of something unseen. Her gaze went soft as it shifted to the cowering form of Sonti, then stiffened up as her attention returned to Kal. “I don’t suppose I could ask for damages. I paid good money for the un-boy.”

The Madam paused to think over her next words carefully.

”Buying freedom is not cheap.”

 

[Kal]

Her amusement was a pleasant development - far more so than her subordinate's discomfort.

Quick to dismiss the possibility that this was anything but a 'catch and release', Kal seemed genuinely apologetic. <Of course, I only allowed this operation to proceed under strict conditions. The asset cannot harm the innocent - if he tried hard enough he would be rent asunder body and soul.> A bit extreme, perhaps, but necessary.

Offering compensation for damages was less essential, but it was the right thing to do.

<Naturally. You will be refunded the full sum paid for the asset...> Anything less would be an insult, given that the money had gone straight into his not inconsiderable funds. <... as well as travel expenses and miscellaneous damages.> Property damage, emotional discomfort, time spent in vain - you name it.

It was the least he could do, seeing as they had been dragged into his schemes.

Malcoma Hesse​