Lord of Wolves
St. Thomas Barran
~20 years ago~
Space. Dark, cold, vast. An easy place to get lost. An easy place to be forgotten. War had been ravaging the galaxy since time immemorial, leaving untold billions of pounds of flotsam and jetsam scattered across the stars. No one was using it, and no one would. Except for those who could take the shreds of another existence and make it into something new. Those like Jaren Roark and his scurvy crew of salvagers.
Aboard the GS-100 salvage ship Mother Lode, they roamed from battle site to battle site once the smoke had cleared, claiming the treasures that could be found in durasteel, electronics, and, indeed, the pockets of the frozen fallen. Today, they were on the track of a major debris field. Word in the cantinas was that some bloodthirsty gang of space barbarians had gotten caught by a planetary defense force, which they had proceeded to ravage before disappearing before reinforcements could arrive. Few survivors, dozens of destroyed ships; a salvagers dream.
“Sir, we’re coming out of hyperspace,” chirped his Rodian first mate. Jaren nodded, hand resting on the slugthrower in his hip holster. He didn’t expect trouble, but there were times when his crew wasn’t the first to arrive at a battle site. Usually it was just packs of mynocks, but sometimes it wasn’t, and sometimes they didn’t want to share.
“Confirm debris field,” said the female Twi’lek managing the scanner suite, “It’s a big one, boss. And no other ships in range.” Jaren nodded, smile creeping across his face.
“All right, let's make this quick,” he ordered, turning to his Weequay helmsman, “Bring us around.” The huge, lumbering ship began to move towards the hundreds of chunks of floating debris beginning to emerge in the viewports. Today was going to be a great day. Planetary defense forces could at times be even more well-equipped than regular militaries. As the ship reached the outskirts of the field, Jaren was about to order the gathering arms extended when his scanner operator piped up again.
“Boss! I got something weird on the scanner,” she declared, “Looks like a life-form, but there’s something else…” Jaren quirked an eye and walked over to examine the screen. There was a life-form there, all right, but it didn’t look to be a pack of mynocks, and there was nothing to indicate another salvage crew. All there was was…
“Atmosphere?” he asked the operator. The operator took a second, and nodded. The scanners were picking up the chemical signs of venting atmosphere. That could only mean one thing.
“Someone’s alive out there,” Jaren said, eyes narrowing. Immediately conflict swirled in his mind. On the one hand, he was not a person to leave a random spacer to slowly die from loss of oxygen. On the other, this was a battle site, and he had no idea the allegiance of whoever he was about to rescue. Still, he was a salvager, not a pirate. He had the responsibility as a decent intelligent lifeform to render assistance.
“Peko,” he said to his first mate, “Get the droids ready. We’re going to get whoever that is.” The Rodian looked as concerned as a Rodian could, but nodded. Minutes later, the Mother Lode was alongside the source of the life signs. It looked to be some kind of frigate, but with the level of damage it was impossible to tell who it had once belonged to. At the head of a cadre of armed salvage droids, Jaren and Peko brought their cutters to bear as they sliced into the rusted and carbon-scored hull. All signs pointed to the life signs being at what was once the bridge, sealed off from the rest of the ship. Not for long, however, as an infinitesimal leak somewhere in the vessel was causing it to slowly, yet surely, lose its integrity.
When they’d finally cut through the hull, letting the circle of durasteel crash into the ship, the first thing Jaren noticed was the smell.
“By the Force,” he said, hand going to his nose, “What the hell happened in there?” One of the droids jumped down, and answered his question.
“Multiple bodies,” the droid’s electronic voice declared emotionlessly, “Limbs, blood, viscera. Major fight here, boss.” Jaren immediately regretted his decision to render assistance. What the hell had he gotten himself and his crew into?
“What else do you see?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Single man, positive for life signs,” the droid replied, “Slumped in the captain’s chair. Bone armor. Covered in blood. Holding a vibroaxe. Appears unconscious. Possibly hypoxic.” Jaren chewed his lip. This guy was one of the barbarians, that’s for sure. What was also for sure was that there was no way Jaren was bringing him onto his ship. Not in walking condition anyway. He still couldn’t bring himself to leave a man to die alone to slow suffocation, but the lives of his crew came first.
“Peko, get some binders,” he said, “We’ll tie him down and dump him at the nearest starport. Do our good turn and be done with it.” Peko looked positively contorted with concern now, but he nodded.
~Ten Years Later~
In the darkened torch light of a throne room, a figure knelt. He was clad no longer in bone, but in heavy battle armor covered in exotic skins. He was bigger, thicker, older, with the beginnings of salt and pepper starting to shake into his long black hair and thick black beard. Yet as he knelt it was clear that he had lost nothing of his ferocity or his grace. The muscles were tensed, the eyes hard. This was a man who had seen many things, fought many things, and lost many things. This was a warrior, in every sense.
“I was found,” came the deep, booming voice, carrying through the room.