Escape to Sunrise

[Jerek Zenduu]

.:Ord Radama::
..:Silver Transport:::

Jerek Zenduu had made up his mind about one thing. It was time to make up his mind.

The Silver Order had been nothing but friendly and accommodating, at least to a certain point. Yet the hours upon hours of training and classroom learning couldn't fill the void left by his old master's absence. By now, Jerek had resigned himself to their separation, even as he held out hope that Beck would return someday. But the weeks and months were passing without a change, and Jerek's apprenticeship was still neglected. A mission here and there, a delivery, chauffeuring, a supply run, it passed the time, but none of it was a substitute for the padawan's languishing education.

Even so, Jerek often relished the opportunity to escape the confines of the Voss Temple, and lately he had ben particularly restless. Some master must have taken pity on his boredom, for one morning he found himself standing before an unfamiliar Jedi with instructions to fly her vessel on a scouting mission. Though it was another chance to get out into the galaxy again, Jerek couldn't help but feel like his piloting skills were the only reason he was still tolerated. Maybe after this mission, he promised himself, he would leave for someplace else. He had heard of a group of Jedi with the new Galactic Alliance, surely they might be willing to train him properly.

Master Joza Perl took her passage in relative silence for the journey. That suited Jerek just fine, his mind had plenty to sort through as he weighed the choices before him. Beck might still be out there, but it seemed the only person in the galaxy who cared was sitting in a pilot's seat ferrying a master of the Silver Order like a taxi driver. If he was a knight, he could leave to search out on his own, with the resources of an entire order behind him. But that would take years of training that he didn't have, wouldn't have until someone restored the student-teacher pairing he'd gone so long without. Would the Silvers? Would the GA? Or someone else? There was a whole galaxy of possibilities, if only he could explore it. He just had to get through this mission.

Before him, the console beeped as it alerted its pilot of a change in status. A quick glance and a nod saw Jerek turn back to the other silent occupant of the unarmed transport. "We're entering orbit of Ord Radama, master," the youth said neutrally, probably the most he'd said since they left the temple hangar on Voss. "Where do you want me to land?"

[member="Joza Perl"]​

 

[Joza Perl]

The Husk Lizard slavery ring was new to the scene—or at least, they had been when Joza first started tracking them. She’d managed to shut down one of their operations easily enough on Nar Shaddaa with the help of Solan Charr, a Master in his own right who’d been trailing the same group. But it had been small, with only a handful of grunts guarding a single Twi’lek slave girl. They weren’t armed very well, and their inexperience in the slave trade showed. Unfortunately, as she’d assumed, the warehouse they’d set aflame was not their only operation. Nor was Nar Shaddaa the only planet where they’d put down roots.

In all honesty, Joza had chosen Jerek out of a lack of better options. Her personal pilot—the grumpy yet skilled Corellian ex-smuggler, Ivan—decided to exercise his right as a paid employee and take some time off. And while Joza could usually get herself from Point A to Point B without serious injury, she felt better leaving the controls up to someone who knew what they were doing. Hence Jerek. While the young man was busy keeping them on track towards their destination, Joza had been preparing for the mission.

She’d ferreted herself around the ship during their journey, often buried in a datapad. There was a lot of information to go over, and at times her gaze would slide over to the blond boy in the pilot’s chair. When they approached the swampy urban planet and Jerek asked for instructions, there was a momentary pause before her answer as she tapped the screen of her datapad in a few places. After rattling off the coordinates she’d been given, the Zeltron cleared her throat. He’d called her Master, hadn’t he? Joza was unused to such formalities being applied to her, as far as her own philosophy had stretched from that of the Jedi.

“We’ll be landing just outside a nightclub called The Loophole. When we get inside, stay close to me. Oh, and…” Rummaging through a cabinet embedded into the lower portion of one of the consoles, she retrieved a few items. Two billowing dark grey cloaks and...a collar. A slave collar, likely one of the many she’d had to remove from rescued victims. “Once we land, put these on.” She placed the nearly folded fabric and collar atop the armrest of the pilot’s chair. “I hope you’re a good actor, Jerek, because today you’ll be playing the role of my slave. It’s pretty simple, just stay by my side and don’t speak unless I prompt you to.”

Lifting her own cloak overhead, she let the cloth drop and shimmied into it. “I’ve got good word on a slave trade going down. Specifically, between the Husk Lizards and one Arianna Shiba—the lady of the evening being myself of course. I’m sure you know where this is going. Free the slave, arrest the traders, we all go home happy.” Smoothing the fabric of her charcoal cloak, she turned to face the Padawan, an earnest look on her face. “Of course, if you’d rather stay here, I understand. Dealing with slavers can be grisly business.” There was no hint of mockery or malice in her voice. If Jerek didn’t think that he was up to the challenge, she certainly wouldn’t push him—but she would use his reaction to gauge him.

[member="Jerek Zenduu"]

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

Jerek stared at the pile of clothes atop the chair's arm. His initial instinct was to resist the idea. He had expected to sit out the master's mission in relative quiet aboard the transport, he was just along to pilot. Besides, tangling with slavers wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Was he even qualified? Jerek was a jedi, not a thespian, and he had hardly started covering Mind Trick during his time with Beck. Still, the boy found himself yearning for the action and excitement that had been presented to him. To turn it down now would be foolish, and he nodded in agreement.

"No, I want to go," the blond-haired boy said. "I'll do it." At least, Jerek thought as he returned to the controls to lower the ship to its landing site, he wasn't going to be bored any more. The nearest landing pad to The Longhorn was several blocks away, and for a moment he fidgeted under the stare of Master Perl. Would she object to his choice and force him to stay after all? "Sorry, this was as close as I could get it," the boy offered as explanation.

The padawan wasn't sure what to expect as a response from this woman, having only met her today. Instead of waiting for the vibrohammer to drop he simply stood and began getting into costume, picking up the slave collar first. He stared at it, wondering who had once worn this device. It was smooth and lightweight, and it almost felt like he was holding nothing at all. Yet as he put it around his neck, confident in his trust that Master Perl would remove it when they were done, Jerek could feel the device bearing down on him. It needed not be heavy to feel heavy, the knowledge that every other being wearing one of these collars was in captivity, unable to walk free, forced to do someone else's bidding without question, it was a horrifying thought. Jerek nodded to the master, understanding her quest at once in a simple, clarifying moment.

With a quick motion, he donned the cloak and turned back to Master Perl, ready to go.

[member="Joza Perl"]​

 

[Joza Perl]

Joza hummed softly at the boy’s response. “Good.” Was all she said as she busied herself with dressing, tapping a few times on her wrist mounted datapad. “Good.” She repeated, this time seemingly less distracted. They were nearly ready.

Reaching into her pocket, she slipped a mask over the upper portion of her face, similar in style to the sort one would wear to a masquerade party, though painted darkly so as to not stand out. Her eyes slipped over towards Jerek, watching him beneath the tinted slits in the mask. The Padawan seemed to hesitate with the slave collar, and he could not be blamed. So many lives were ruined or otherwise changed by those horrid things, and at the very least they were a symbol of the Galaxy’s most disgusting practice. Perhaps she was biased in that regard, but it was what it was.

While they hadn’t had much interaction, Joza had pulled Jerek’s file beforehand. Though seemingly aloof and careless, the Zeltron often hid her true intensions and abilities behind a ditzy persona. Not to say that it wasn’t entirely genuine—but when it came to things like this, it was simply easier. And more fun. Typically just for her, not the other’s involved.

“You have your saber with you, yes? Carry it under your robes, as concealed as possible. If you don’t have one, you can borrow one of mine.” She tapped the side of her hip where one hilt was strapped, its shape masked by the billowing fabric. If all went according to plan, they likely would not need them. Strapping a voice distorter over her mouth and chin, Joza placed a hand on Jerek’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You will do well.” With how mangled and multi-toned her voice sounded due to the device, it would hardly sound comforting. Still, she didn’t make any promises that she’d protect him and that everything would be fine—it went without saying that she’d try, but no mission was without its risks.

As the pair disembarked and waded through the streets, it was obvious that Joza had directed them to a sleazier part of town. There was shouting—mostly men getting into fights or making passes at women. There were also smells: the scents of sewage, alcohol and sex mingling together in a cocktail of depravity. Joza inhaled deeply, the best she could manage in her garb. It was familiar, for all the right and wrong reasons.

The pair would drift into a more well-lit area, though the sounds and scents only increased. Now, sex would blend with cheap perfume and cigarettes. Humanoid women clad in flashy outfits would accost anything that seemed remotely male, putting their assets on display. They were aggressive too, one catching the arm of a concealed Joza and attempting to pull the hooded figure into her scantily clad body. The Zeltron’s arm would only slip out of her grasp, unperturbed as the pair continued towards their target. A flashing neon sign for The Loophole flickered across the way, and Joza tilted her head to look over at Jerek and make sure that the boy was alright. Exposure was important, not just to different cultures, but different walks of life. If one wanted to help the Galaxy, they had to understand where many of the Galaxy’s problems bred. Sith were not just the only obstacle.

This was where she’d come from.

[member="Jerek Zenduu"]

 

[Jerek Zenduu]

Jerek had not spent much time away from the Jedi Temple in his life. Republic, Silver, no matter, the cloistered experience was all the same. His short time as an apprentice to Beck in the Republic had seen him offworld a few times, but mostly in a starfighter and never to a slumworld like Ord Radama. The knight had gone off on those seedier missions by himself, despite Jerek's pleading. But now here he was, walking through a veritable red light district, with all the galaxy's filth on proud display.

Consciously, the padawan knew about the effects of alcohol, of death sticks, of spice and the sex trade. That they existed was no surprise, the Jedi freely taught their students about the harms beings inflicted on themselves (and others). It spurred their sense of justice and formed morals, and his told him that this was clearly wrong. Yet to see it up close, the haunting laugh of an inebriated Ewok, a pair of Gammoreans fighting each other well past victory, a wallowing Verpine too spiced up to know where a wall was, or scantily-clad beings of every gender and species imaginable; gesturing lewdly and often displaying their most provocative attributes in poses that left nothing to the imagination.

The fifteen-year-old's brain was on overload. His rote response was one of disgust and anger. With such immorality on display, why did no one do anything? Close down the bars, shut down the spice parlors, shutter the brothels. At the same time, his curiosity was strangely overpowering, spurring him to wonder at the effect of being on spice, the alluring quality of alcohol, the sensations granted behind the red velvet curtains.

Then his mind revolted, disgusted even at himself. The boy glanced along the rows of establishments down the block and around the corner, evaluating them as his strategy class had taught. His hand ran up his thigh, fingers finding the hilt of his training lightsaber. It wasn't capable of full power, not without a master's intervention, but he could at least use it to scare away the patrons and temptations of the district, right? They might be apathetic to the sound of a blaster, but he was almost certain none had ever seen a Jedi in real life before. With any luck, he might be taken for a Sith, they were even scarier. Jerek nearly grinned at the thought, before setting his face to a grimace.

It was now or never. His fingers gripped tightly around the hilt as he prepared to dispense justice and salvation.

[member="Joza Perl"]​

 

[Joza Perl]

As they meandered throughout the seedy district, it wasn’t difficult for Joza to get a read on Jerek’s feelings. A natural and curiosity and disgust mixed in what she imaged to be a thoroughly confusing cocktail---and she couldn’t blame him. Unlike many Jedi, Joza was not taken to the temple at a young age. Her sensitivity to the Force was discovered as a child, but her mother had outright refused to let the strange space monks take her only child from her. It turned out to be for a multitude of reasons, as the Zeltron learned later on. In short, Joza never experienced what this young teenager was feeling.

Her hand came to rest atop his own as it hovered near his saber hilt. She squeezed softly, but said nothing. Her first instinct was always to coddle and comfort, given her race and upbringing. Her second instinct was to be stern and clinical. She often had trouble deciding which one was right.

“Remember, follow my lead. Speak only when I prompt you to.” Her voice held a note of warning, but also a hint of ease. This would be a quick job. Fake her way through the deal, get the girl, and get off of this karkhole.

Entering the club, the pair would be momentarily blinded by flashing strobes. As their vision settled, they would see all manner of galactic scum drinking, gyrating, or straight up gettin’ busy. Scantily clad dancers swayed their hips in cages that hung from the ceiling, and at least a handful of women had some manner of collar or chains attached to them…and a few may have been nude. Makng sure that Jerek was still with her, Joza wove their way through the sinful crowd and towards the back where a burly Trandoshan stood in front of a curtained off area.

He eyed the suspiciously covered Joza as she approached, grumbling out something low in Huttese. His voice cut through even the pounding music. The Zeltron responded in kind, her naturally feminine voice garbed by her voice distorter. The bodyguard growled, but made no aggressive move aside from maintaining his already imposing posture. His head jerked towards the robed Jerek, and he growled again.

“Coo Sa?” (“Who is this?”) The lizard man practically glared at the blond boy, trying to figure out what use he had.

“Myo shag.” (“My slave.”) Came the swift response. Unconsciously, she shifted to move a bit in front of Jerek, feeling responsible for the Apprentice. She continued her explanation in the Hutt tongue. “He is a secretary. Good at book-keeping. He’s here to record today’s transaction and ensure that I am not being ripped off.” She lofted a masked brow, but her point got across. The gruff Trandoshan pulled back the curtain and ushered them inside.

In the back room, the pair would be greeted by the pleasant sight of a well-dressed and perfectly groomed man. He smiled at the undercover Jedi, clapping his hands together in delight.

“Excellent! I’m glad you’ve made it. Would you like any refreshment?” The dark haired man smiled again, perhaps with a hint of malice as he gestured towards the caf machine in the corner.

“No, Jahan.” Joza responded, taking a step closer though not threateningly. “I am here for the transaction alone.”

Jahan looked taken aback for a moment, then brushed it off. His gaze fell to Jerek with a bit of bewilderment, but it quickly shifted away after seeing the slave collar. “Of course, of course Miss Elosh. Let me just get her…” Sticking a hand through another curtained off area, he pulled a young Twi’lek out by the chain connecting her bound wrists. Her alabaster skin was a rare sight in her race, and the poor thing didn’t look to be more than eleven or twelve years old. And she was frightened—very frightened. Joza’s heart sank with empathy for the poor girl, knowing all too well the fear in her eyes.

“As you can see, she’s—“

“As described. I will take her.” Joza removed a credit stick from somewhere on her person and stepped forward, handing it to Jahan who looked a bit taken aback once more with her forward approach. Usually slaves were to be inspected, perhaps sampled before the final sale. Turning towards Jerek, she grabbed the slave girl’s chain and threw it towards Jerek. “Igor, sit her down at the table and take down her information.” Making up a name for her “slave” on the fly, she gestured towards the datapad the boy had brought along. She didn’t care much for what he did—take down serial numbers, a description of the slave, or play EndormonGO!—as long as the Twi’lek was moved away from the slaver.

As soon as she was moved, Joza stepped forward and grabbed her credit chip just as Jahan inserted it into his datapad to transfer the proper amount of credits. His brow furrowed as he looked up to her. “Miss Elosh, what are you--!”

Snap-hiss!

Jahan’s bewilderment and slight displeasure turned to utter shock as he looked down at the blue beam that had surged straight through his datapad and into his chest. Wasting no time, the Jedi snatched her credit chip away and kicked the man in the torso, sending him stumbling against a wall where he’d ultimately collapsed. The Twi’lek screamed, but thankfully she was gagged so she wouldn’t attract any attention. But the sound of rushing footsteps drew near. Glancing over to the dying man on the floor, one would see that he was holding some sort of device in his hand, finger on the button—he had called for backup.

“Kark it all!” Joza snarled and tore off her cloak, tossing it haphazardly to Jerek. “Cover the girl and get the both of yourselves to the ship. Make sure she’s protected Jerek, I’ll deal with them.” Bracing herself for the coming storm, Joza growled and twirled her saber.

[member="Jerek Zenduu"]