Private Flightless Bird

[Lyra Archer]

Heavy smoke hung on the horizon, obscuring the golden hues of the sun as it slipped out of sight. Though the streets at the lowest levels of the city of Eriadu were dark by day, that same darkness grew far more sinister by night. Men with tired eyes and faces blackened by dirt from deep within the mines seemed to mindlessly meander in long lines along trash lined streets. They appeared hollow, as if the very soul within them had died and only a shell of their former selves remained.

Small groups of women lingered at a local market where the produce was bruised and all manner of foul four legged critters took refuge in dark crevices while waiting to make a meal of a discarded or forgotten scrap. There was very little chatter and laughter was all but a memory of another time and place. Life was hard and most that lived it here hoped that their time would come to pass sooner than later. As it began to rain, the droplets of acidic water drove everyone inside like a mouse to its hole.

On the backs of the least of these lived the aristocracy. Several stories into the sky, women shopped and laughed. They smiled over drinks at their favorite club. At home, children sat on plush carpeting in front of enormous holo screens that commanded every ounce of their attention. Men conducted business in lavish conference rooms with breathtaking views. Before heading home to their obligations as husbands and fathers, they would often frequent seedy establishments that would satiate their most depraved desires.

Citizen trafficking was at an all time high, but it had become the accepted social norm throughout the better portion of the galaxy. Slaves now filled many positions that had once been paid and so the gulf between the rich and the poor grew wildly. Economists surmised that at this rate it would only be a matter of a few years before there existed only a class of super wealthy and their slaves.

“Get back in there, girl,” a rough voice commanded as a heavy durasteel door slammed shut behind the crumpled figure of a woman. She slipped to the floor in a daze as the spice consumed her. “Who did you see?” a small voice whispered from the darkness. “A regular,” Lyra's cadence sounded tired. A single shaft of light barely illuminated the space, but the dozen women within the confines of the cage could see the bruising around her left eye.

Silence fell over the detention pod but it cracked when Lyra spoke again. “He hit me. It's no big deal,” she said in a dismissive tone. One of the women reached over and grabbed Lyra's arm, pulling her further into the light. “And this? How far is too far?” her eyes narrowed as she and the others focused on deep red and purple marks around the dark haired woman's neck. “What can we do?” another quiet voice questioned in flat tones.

Suddenly an exterior door opened and a hint of artificial light flooded the room briefly. The women mustered enough strength to cower together against the cold walls that surrounded them. “Lyra, you're up again,” the same rough voice from moments before called out in the darkness. “Oh but you can't, she needs to rest! We're allowed a half hour between clients!” the women's voices all began to clamor at once. “Silence!” the man shouted, his command booming over their weak pleas.

Lyra sighed. Her entire body was wracked with pain as she pushed herself from the floor. “Yes, sir,” she replied softly. She drew the lids of her eyes tight together in an effort to ward off the tears that stung at the corners and threatened to fall. The dark haired woman stood in the shadows, counting herself among them as she waited for the familiar sound of the sliding durasteel door to follow her words.

 

[Centiro]

For better or worse, the Eternal Empire did business all over the galaxy. Eriadu was one of those planets far down the Sanctuary Pipeline that currently had the attention of the Eternal Emperor and STRATCOM. A handful of the wealthy aristocrats on that planet arranged to meet with extremists in order to make a weapons deal, specifically explosives. It was last minute intelligence sent over to STRATCOM by the Lord of Whispers, who ran Eternal Empire’s intelligence. That is when the communique came to Centiro from the Eternal Emperor. In short, the gist of the message was “stop this from happening”. But that was how the Logistics Corp, Unit 404 (Special Courier Service) operated—they were tapped when the situation had gotten out of hand and it needed fixing immediately—in other words, Unit 404 operated under the guise of a sovereign courier service, but in truth, they were among the galaxy’s most elite operative groups. Often enough, Unit 404 was forced to act with very little intelligence or no intelligence at all—this was such a case.

Within 36 hours, Centiro was already on Eriadu. He took a public transport from the neighboring planet ice planet of Kelliadu. On this planet, Centiro made a “delivery” and then made his way over to Eriadu. While in transit to Eriadu, Centiro had to put together an identity that would hold up to scrutiny on Eriadu. While this was easily done with time and credits, he had to fabricate this on in a pinch—and be ready with this persona in less than 36 hours. With a plush bribe to Black Sun, Centiro was able to acquire the identity of a slaver that Black Sun just had killed. Since it was not known that this man was dead yet, Centiro took advantage of the coincidence and became this slaver known as “Latlus”. Paying a large amount of credits from the Eternal Empire coffers, Centiro not only took this persona, but made arrangements for this slaver to not be dead at all—he would take over this persona for years to come…if things went well today.

A scraggly “salt-n-pepper” beard was affixed to his face, complete with dark circles under his eyes and piercing blue eyes. His hair was disheveled and long, past his shoulders. Worn, dark bounty hunter armor was adorned by the operative to complete the look. Centiro made his way through Eriadu Spaceport, completely immersed in the persona of the slaver. His eyes cast suspicion on all he past, but a confident smile was etched on his face. Centiro studied file footage of this criminal, soliciting any surveillance footage available—those requests were under false pretenses as well. It was one narrative on top of the other. The narrative that was spun by Black Sun was that the attempt on his life failed, but he paid his debt to Black Sun, when in fact Latlus was indeed quite dead and a debt was still outstanding—but such was the deception that was being spun in return for a gracious amount of credits…

“Latlus” made his way down to the detention block where the prostitutes were held. It was slavery in every way. While the Eternal Empire forbid any sort of slavery, it was not out of concern for how another was treated, but instead it was forbidden because the Eternal Empire believed that having slaves brought about laziness and dependency on others—which the Eternal Empire had no tolerance for any sort of laziness. The security of the detention personnel did not even blink at the appearance of “Latlus” He knew the slaver frequented this prostitution ring establishment, but he did not know that the slaver was allowed to come and go as he pleased.

Lucky draw, it would seem…

The purpose in his being here, specifically, was to intercept the three Eriadu aristocrats that regularly met here to choose what “lucky” females would be used for their purposes the following week. But Centiro knew they showed up like clockwork at the same time, the same day, every week. As the blast door shot open, the large “parlor” was occupied by the “warden” of the establishment. Soft music filled the vast room. Plush loveseats and couches were spread throughout the chamber, designed to accommodate “guests” with their “playthings”. The weequay grinned with recognition of Latlus, but the upturned grin began to slowly dissipate.

He knows Latlus. My cover is going to be blown…

Centiro smiled back and strode over to the bar. The operative could sense the Warden’s suspicion. Not taking the time to consider what had given him away, his hand slipped to the small of his back as he walked and the a MAG-30 came to his hand. The weequay’s eyes shot open in surprise and quickly reached for his heavy blaster pistol. But Centiro was too fast. The gauss pistol bucked silently as round after round slammed into the chest and head of the alien. The railgun pistol was a design based off verpine technology, so the metal action of the slide clicking back and forth was the only sound that came from the small, deadly weapon.

The weequay died before he even hit the ground. Coming around the counter, he looked over the terminal, quickly seeing that his three quarry were “shopping” through the detention pods. Seeing which blast door led to that section, Centiro briskly walked over to the that chamber. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to enter. The operative knew he was on the clock now, so he entered the corridor and was both shocked and horrified to see the dozens of detention pods lining both sides of the corridor, only to see it branching off in several places to house even more pods…

Lyra Archer

 

[Lyra Archer]

The familiar sound of the durasteel door sliding open touched Lyra's ears and prompted her feet to move. She took a step into the hazy light only to find herself face to face with the guard that had been assigned to her detention pod. He grinned a mouthful of decaying stumps while leaning closer to the young woman. “Now it's my turn,” he spoke in low tones as his right hand forcefully took hold of Lyra's left wrist. The broken raven winced as pain burned from the inside out. “Not right now, Jack...please,” she begged, her voice dry and empty of emotion.

This was not the answer that the rotund guard was looking for. His anger consumed him and in one swift move, he pinned Lyra against the wall. “You will do exactly as I say,” he growled while his hand slid up the woman's emaciated body until it came to rest upon her chin. His fingers curled over her mouth as he pushed her head into the wall. “Got it?” Lyra nodded and the last hint of light within her deep brown eyes was suddenly extinguished.

Jack dropped his hand to the slave's waist and began to trace his fingers along the top of her tattered underwear. That and a stained t-shirt were the only garments which clothed Lyra's scarred body. The woman's stomach turned as she imagined the next few minutes of her future. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes and she clenched her jaw as his hands continued to wander.

“Stop.”

The word was as a shot heard around the planet. Every hint of movement ceased. Every voice was reduced to mere thoughts. Though hardly a whisper, the voice belonged to Lyra. The guard's eyes grew wide as he leaned back and studied the woman's face. After several moments of silence, a smile began to grow upon his cracked and flaking lips. “You said...you said what?” he asked in absolute disbelief before a hearty guffaw filled the space around them.

The women that remained within the confines of the detention pod gasped and clung to one another, afraid for the life of their fellow slave. Defiance of this degree would surely be a death sentence. As silence overwhelmed the commotion, Jack narrowed his eyes and with his right hand, took hold of the slave's shirt just beneath her neck. He swiftly raised his left and pulled Lyra close. “If you ever disrespect me like that again...” the man's voice trailed off as the woman bored holes into his eyes with her own.

Suddenly and without warning, Jack pulled his hand away and stumbled back several steps. He pulled his fingers into his chest with a bewildered look upon his face. “What...how did you...” he stammered while continuing to slowly back away from the female's frail figure. “You burned me!” he shouted, his tone growing frantic. Anger welled up inside of Lyra and she pushed herself from the wall, forcing her weak legs to carry her in the guard's direction. “No...stay away from me!” he shouted while spinning on his heel in an effort to get away.

“There won't be a next time,” Lyra's voice had gained some strength and now echoed across the dimly lit room. At the moment the last word left her lips, Jack fell like a towering tree to the forest floor. Silence swept over the man's round figure as he sprawled across the cold surface below. Just as quickly as the strength had overcome the woman, fear returned, rushing in to take its place. Lyra's heart began to race within her chest as she stepped backwards toward her cage. Like a good little bird, she slipped back into the safety of its walls and pulled the door tightly shut. “We must never speak of this again,” one of the women whispered in the darkness, but all of them feared that the truth would be found out.


Centiro

 

[Centiro]

Centiro knew he was on the clock. Looking down at his chronometer, he not only had to prevent the meeting, preferring to kill the participants, but he also had to escape--which was always the rub in operations like this. Quickly, Centiro made his way down the corridor of detention pods. The smell of unwashed flesh was strong in this section of passageways. Perhaps what made the stench worse was the attempt to mask the smell with perfumes and cleansing agents. But such things were of little concern to the operative as he stalked down the corridor, opening up his senses to the Force. Concentrating, he sensed his quarry down the next corridor coming up on the right. Their mocking laughs could be heard echoing down the hallway as they discussed the various attributes of the current prostitute they were admiring for the night’s “festivities”.

Taking a deep breath, Centiro rounded the corner with the trio of aristocrats, along with a pair of bodyguards. With practiced precision, he lined up shots with his pistol. The silent weapon bucked. It was a flurry of activity as all five of the men began pulling their blaster pistols. With his left hand, he held it out and a lightsaber sprang to his waiting hand. The dim lighting gave way to a brilliant lavender, illuminating the corridor. Blaster bolts flew towards Centiro, but the lightsaber was ready, meeting the angry bolts, deflecting the deadly energy into the walls beside him. His right hand continued to buck, with speedy pieces of durasteel tearing into the group of five. It would have been a very dangerous fight for the operative if they were ready for him, but Centiro caught all five of them by surprise. Seconds later, they were all sprawled on the deck, dead.

But the noise was loud from their blasters, so stealth was no longer afforded. It was possible that no one heard the blasters from this far in the detention pod corridors, but that was not a chance Centiro would take. The lightsaber winked out and it returned to the small of his back.

Pause.

Closing his eyes, Centiro reached out…he nearly passed out from the despair and suffering present in this place. While the operative did not hesitate to kill when the mission called for it, he had limits. He was not a monster. His mind began to work quickly as he considered his dilemma.

They will know there was an incursion to assassinate these aristocrats. Escape and anonymity is my priority now...

A thought came to his mind. A slight grin crossed his disguised face. He was going to release the prostitutes, slaves, whatever was the term of the day for them. There was master control nearby…but he was suddenly keenly aware of another presence of the Force close by…very close—on the other side of the door he was standing next to. His curiosity won the day. Centiro walked over to the Master Control and keyed the entry to open the cell where he sensed the presence of a force-user, then stood in the doorway peering in. The gauss pistol was still in his hand. In a soft voice, he said, “Come out. I am not here to hurt you…”

Lyra Archer

 

[Lyra Archer]

Suddenly from within the inky depths of the room, Lyra was made aware of a foreign presence. She was not entirely sure how, but within her had always been a sort of sixth sense. The dark haired woman hushed the others as she listened to the sound of the stranger's footfalls. Unexpectedly, the door to the detention pod hissed open and a loud metallic clank consumed the silence as it came to a stop.

The deep brown pools of Lyra's eyes strained as they scanned the darkness that spanned the distance between her and the mouth of the cell. A voice spoke but the tones were gentle and the words unfamiliar. It was as if he were speaking in a foreign tongue and the women hesitated to breathe let alone move.

Several seconds slipped by as Lyra considered her options. If she trusted this stranger, she could die. Perhaps it was a trap and the moment she left the cell, she would be killed. She knew however, that staying would likely result in her death at the hands of a client or her owner should he find out that she was responsible for Jack's death. Still, fear held Lyra back, even as the other women slowly rose and made their way toward the exit.

The raven haired woman surmised that an escape did not promise a new life. How would any of them survive on their own? They had no money and no way to make any in the near enough future to avoid starving. They had the clothes on their backs and literally, that was all that had been afforded the destitute troupe. In fact, the slaves did not even own a pair of shoes between them. None of these hard facts mattered to the rest of the women and that much was clear as they slipped past Centiro.

One by one, the rest of the detention pods were opened and the dull whispers of tired voices grew into a tsunami of chatter. Staying now would certainly be a death sentence as women like Lyra were a dime a dozen to the wealthy slavers that profited from dehumanizing them. Once they had been all used up, they would be thrown away like trash, replaced by another victim within hours. The caged raven hesitated for only a minute more before she pushed her pain wracked body from the floor and took a step toward the open door.

Suddenly there was another voice...and then another. “Hey you! Get back in there!” they shouted among profanities and confusion. Lyra's heart began to race within her chest as anxiety overwhelmed her. Staying would mean death sooner rather than later. She and this stranger now found themselves in a unique situation. Lyra knew a way out of the building and both of them needed to get there. As blaster bolts began to ring out in the darkness, the woman bounded toward Centiro and grabbed his arm. “Stay with me, I know a way out!”

Adrenaline filled Lyra's veins and replaced the pain as she took off running toward a wall at the back of the large room. Whether or not the stranger would follow her was his choice. Self preservation was the only thing on the woman's mind as her training of old began to rise to the surface. Even in the dark, the woman's eyes darted about, ensuring a clear path toward the back of the space that held the detention pods.

There in the corner about eight feet from the floor was a grate covering the ventilation shaft within the wall. Lyra crouched down low and with surprising agility, leaped up and grabbed hold of the grate. She firmly planted her feet against the wall and leaned back, pulling on the grate with all of her strength. The hardware had been removed long ago and so the grate took little persuasion before it broke free. The woman fell with the large piece of durasteel but landed back on her feet. Crouching low, she pushed off from the floor and leaped up into the entrance of the ventilation chamber. “Take my hand,” Lyra said as she stuck her arm down toward Centiro, unaware that the Force lived within him as well and he too could perform simple tasks with a heightened degree of ability.


Centiro

 

[Centiro]

Centiro watched as the detainees filed out of detention pods. He looked back and saw one of them still remaining inside. Finally, she opted to come out as more of the slavers came to investigate the alarms. Blaster bolts whizzed down the corridor. He returned fire as the female grabbed his arm and yelled, “Stay with me, I know a way out!”

Adapt and overcome…

It was what Unit 404 operatives had to do nearly every operation, because rarely any of their missions went without a hitch—but that was not due to incompetence…it was simply the nature of their assignments. He did not hesitate, knowing the woman was looking after her own self-interest. They rounded the corner and the woman sprung from the floor with force-like agility, grabbing the grate high above.

She is force sensitive…

It was rapid conclusion that would be explored later. She leveraged her feet and pulled the grate away, landed on her feet, and then leaped back up…

Yes, definitely utilizing the Force…

“Take my hand”

I will test her further…

He jumped to her outstretched hand, not attempting to call on the Force in any way. She was able to catch his hand and hoist him up enough that he could climb up, just as a pair of blaster bolts sailed past his dangling legs.

“Where to now?”

Lyra Archer

 

[Lyra Archer]

“Where to now?” the stranger's question did not echo in the tight corridor that the pair now found themselves crawling through. Lyra did not answer as her mind was playing through every turn necessary to make their way out of the building. Silence swept over the ventilation shaft as they shifted right, then left, then left again.

Suddenly Lyra stopped and without turning, reached her hand back to cover Centiro's mouth. “Shh...” she whispered as her ears, sensitive by common standards, began to hone in on a conversation taking place on the other side of the wall. “We gotta get the press off of this quick, Sal. Play it off as...as some kind of accident, I don't care!” a gruff voice spoke in accented tones. “You got it, boss,” another replied before the sound of footsteps were heard leaving the room.

The dark haired woman slowly began to crawl forward but then stopped without warning. “Hey, get Calan down here, I think we got rats or somethin' livin' in the wall. Okay, good.” The man ended the call and slowly crossed the room, coming to stand just beneath the place in the wall where Lyra and Centiro were. Without warning, he began banging his hand against the wall which startled the slave. Her right hand flew up to her mouth and her eyes grew wide as she stifled a scream.

“There a problem with rats, boss?” Another voice and presumably, another club employee entered the room. “Yeah...there's something behind here...” Lyra lowered her hand and shifted her weight between her knees. “No problem, I'll just gas 'em out,” the second voice replied. The woman glanced back at Centiro before placing a finger to her lips and turning to proceed.

Without hesitation, the pair began to make their way through the shaft again. The men resumed their conversation, stopping only to listen to the shuffling behind the wall. Suddenly there was a great commotion of yelling and closed fists slamming against the wall. “We gotta go!” Lyra shouted back to Centiro as she took a right and then another left, scurrying down the small metal corridor as quickly as her hands and knees would move.

As the pair made a final right, a light became visible at the end of the shaft. They approached and Lyra slowly inched toward the exit to peer out to the street below. “Clear,” she said in hushed tones before shoving her shoulder into the durasteel grate. The piece of metal popped out easily and went crashing to the ground about twelve feet below. Lyra folded her legs beneath her and sat at the precipice for a moment before pushing herself out of the shaft. She landed on her feet and glanced up to see if Centiro would follow. Her eyes darted about her surroundings but saw nothing alarming.

The moment did not escape the woman's mind. This was in fact, the first time that she had been out of custody in ten years. Though she wore no shoes and only a soiled t-shirt, Lyra had just gained back something she had thought lost to her forever: freedom.


Centiro