First Reply The Night is Dark

[Davik Haize]

Deep Space,
The Outer Rim

The galaxy hung upside down.

Dangling by his boots from one of the long arrays of a nav beacon, Davik Haize worked, arms deep, through a tangle of scorched chipsets and frayed wiring.

Nav beacons rarely went dark, but it wasn't unheard of. Still, this marked the third consecutive unit to fail in under a month. The drifting wrecks and scattered debris of merchant vessels floated as proof for what occurs when the beacons went static.

A distant flicker drew his focus gazed away, and the Warden of the Sky turned his red helmet from the open panel: a supernova, perhaps one from thousands of years ago. Haize let the thought linger: had anyone from that system made it out in time? Who were they? Or had the system been uninhabited? But his questions faded away with the blazing itch burning the back of his neck.

Danger.

His frown deepened. Blue eyes scanned past his small ship hovering silently nearby, and into the endless black.

Nothing.

And yet, the itch stayed - far more intrusive than before.​

 

[Morrow]

Inertial compensators boomed as the ship made an emergency exit out of hyperspace.

The blood on Morrow's face was still warm. Though not as warm as the trickle his fingers desperately tried to stanch from his ribs. He limped over to a trio of bodies and towards the ship's console, easing himself into the pilot's seat. He hesitated as he took stock of the knobs and switches, unaware of most of their functions. A black scorchmark fountained sparks from controls that looked more important than the rest.

"Damn it," he hissed quietly, seething through the pain. If only he hadn't missed that first shot.

Defeated, he leaned back in the seat, watching the stillness of distant stars as the ship drifted aimlessly.

How the hell am I going to make it out of this?

Bleeding out, maybe?

 

[Davik Haize]

A blinding surge of white and cyan light flooded Haize’s visor, followed a heartbeat later by an invisible tidal force slamming into him as a vessel ripped through the fabric of space-time, dropping from hyperspace.

The mysterious vessel ploughed straight through the nav beacon, swatting it aside and latching Davik onto its forward viewport like a helpless womp rat caught in a podracer’s draft. The Warden kicked with his feet until his mag-boots found purchase and his body wobbled to its newfound balance.

<<”A warning next time would be great, Skip.>> Davik murmured through his helmet’s integrated comms. A series of beeps replied.

<<”Yeah, yeah - I’ll fix it next time.”>> if there is a next time, he thought, then peered through the viewport to see a slender man lying dead in the helmsman's seat. Or almost dead?

Only one way to find out.

Davik knocked on the viewport and waved.​

 

[Morrow]

Each breath was a shade more painful than the last. Morrow closed his eyes, exerting a great effort to control the expansion of his ribs. He needed to conserve energy while he thought of something.

They had taken his things and done who knows what with them. He couldn't call anyone. He couldn't fly the ship, even if he knew how. Maybe this was it. Morrow always figured he'd go down fighting in some way or another. If nothing else, at least he took those nerve-burners with him. One last victory to gloat over. He briefly cracked a small smirk, head sinking further into the headrest.

Suddenly, the feeling of someone looking at him coaxed his eyes open. A figure stared back at him, waving. Morrow blinked in disbelief, wondering if he was going crazy already.

Nope, still there.

Slowly, Morrow's hand rose, blaster still clutched in his grasp. He waved weakly with the weapon, still in the throes of confusion. Quickly, he snapped out of it, his wave becoming slightly more frantic. Grip on his wound with the other hand, likewise regaining some tightness. He indicated the man with the muzzle of the blaster, having failed to think of putting it down, then pointed towards the cockpit's exit. He intended to show the figure to the airlock, get some help, but he could only hope the vague pointing was enough to get his plea across.

He lumbered out of the chair, stumbling and catching himself on the edge of the console. Pain shot up his torso and radiated into his neck. Looking back through the viewport, grimacing, he waved again, this time miming a gesture that beckoned approach.

 

[Davik Haize]

The stranger stirred to life, or what was left of it. A frail wave of the man's hand gradually grew into a fevered gesture of beckoning, and Haize noticed the blaster stuttering in the man's weak grasp. He squinted, trying to discern more details of the cockpit, but the glint of stars illuminating the transparisteel's smooth surface warded off his prying watch.

But did not curb his curiosity.

Davik raised a gloved hand to signal the man to hold, then began the slow crawl around the cockpit bulkhead towards the portside airlock, gloved hands grappling at any hold they could find. Leaning back, he scanned the hull for make, model, and affiliation: some old Sorosuub boat; freighter size - of the smaller kind; civilian with some OEM refits; and no tags nor emblems that he could see. Definitely not a pirate ship.

Several long minutes later, the airlock sealed with a hiss, and Davik Haize's broad-shouldered frame stepped into the cockpit. He unlatched his helmet, clipped it opposite his blaster holster, rolled back the sleeves of his well-worn, spacer-leather jacket (impossibly cool clothes) and unzipped it to reveal the grey jumpsuit beneath. After hours repairing the nav beacon this ship had plowed through, it felt damn good to be back in a pressurized cabin.

Even if it was loitered with bodies and blood.

The slender man stood a dozen feet or so away from him. His hair was matted with sweat and crimson droplets trickled down his free hand pressing against his ribs. The man was a slap away from death, yet Haize's danger senses lit an inferno along his nape; he tilted his head only briefly in thought before deciding - whatever was out there in the void still brooded the area.

He reached out for his belt and pulled out a small medpack, overstocked as every salty spacer would swear by, and offered it to the man. No hesitation, nor fear from the weapon the stranger wielded.

"Bacta injector first, then the patches tight on the wound." Davik instructed as his eyes scanned the immediate area around the man. The corpses looked like your run-of-the-mill mercs but that didn't matter - they were dead, "Anyone else aboard?"

Then, his eyes shot back at the long-haired man in realization, "You know how to use it, right?"

Not everyone in space knew how to self-medicate (unless it were death sticks).

Morrow ​

 

[Morrow]

Morrow limped down the ship's cooridor, leaning against the wall for support. A groan rumbled behind him, barely audible over the ambient droning of the ship's systems. He turned, slightly still propped against the wall, just in time to see one of the bodies squirm. Shaky-handed, he raised the blaster and fired two shots into the upper back of the face-down survivor. A weak impression of death rushed through the force momentarily, reaching Morrow's senses as a notion of success.

It took Morrow a few minutes to find the airlock. His wound, coupled with only a vague awareness of the ship's layout, slowed him down quite significantly. There was immense relief when he weakly punched the airlock control with the bottom of the blaster's grip.

In their current proximity, Morrow's state was much clearer. Beyond the obvious shot to the ribs, he looked beaten, ragged. A black eye and the marks on his face looked much older than what he was grasping at his side.

Without hesitation, Morrow dropped the blaster onto the floor to take the medpack. He slid downward against the wall and sat half-slumped opposite his injury. Medpack in his clutches, he fought with the latch to open the kit.

"Anyone else aboard?"

"Not anymore."

A sustained grunt answered the stranger's question as Morrow shoved the batca injector into his ribs. Wincing, he threw the spent implement ot the side, sending it skipping several feet down the cooridor. His head leaned back against the panneling, stygian locks swaying. An exhale telegraphed relief as the pain began to dull.

"I thought I was dead out here... thanks."

Hopefully, the stranger wouldn't have too many questions about the men on the ground. Morrow couldn't manage another fight.

"You wouldn't happen to have a ship waiting somewhere around here, would you?"

 

[Davik Haize]

While the man scrambled to patch his wounds, Haize drifted around the cockpit, casually kicking weapons from the limp hands of the dead.

Strange things happened in space.

Standard procedure called for sweeping the ship; due diligence often meant the difference between breathing and not. But that gnawing presence in his mind’s eye rooted him in the cockpit. Whatever still lurked out there made one thing clear: stay close to a yoke and a running engine.

One look at the pilot console told him this wasn’t it. The sublight engine readout blinked red - whatever this boat once had for propulsion was now nothing more than a dying cough sealed in a box.

Thankfully, the maneuvering jets were intact. With a bit of flair, he could limp this ship to the Duchess.
​

"You wouldn't happen to have a ship waiting somewhere around here, would you?"​

“Happens that I have,” Haize replied, settling into the pilot’s seat without taking his eyes off the controls. “You can call me Haize.”

He’d long adopted the spacer’s habit of giving only his surname - a custom among smugglers and long-haul sailors. He never knew why it stuck, but even his old Warden mentor had only ever gone by a surname.

The ship stuttered as its maneuvering jets kicked in, turning the groaning vessel around. Davik kept a steady course back towards the Duchess, killing the beaten-up accelerator completely and letting inertia do its thing. His attention shifted between the viewport and the scanners, half-expecting the danger he sensed to materialize any second now; all the while fending off a creeping curiosity by repeating his vow: protect the hyperlanes, keep travellers safe.

Don’t overcomplicate it, his mentor had often said.

But something urged him, forced him even, to ask, “So what happened here?”

Morrow ​

 

[Morrow]

“You can call me Haize.”

"Morrow."

While Haize was distracted with maneuvering the ship, Morrow snuck the blaster back into his waistband. His right hand pressed against the medpatch as he limped into the cockpit threshold.

“So what happened here?”

Morrow hesitated, blue eyes burning a hole into the back of Haize's head. One hand twitched, anticipating a move towards the blaster, ready to shoot if too many conclusions were drawn. Danger emanated from Morrow, likely sending vague portents to the warden's senses.

"They tried to take me," Morrow replied. After a small pause, he continued: "I managed to take one of them hostage and demanded to be let go." He gestured towards the farthest body, bringing attention to an identical blaster wound in the dead man's ribs. "They didn't seem to care that he was in the way. You can probably figure out the rest."

Pain hissed from his teeth as he lowered himself into the compartment's auxiliary seating behind the pilot and copilot's chairs. His free hand rested in his lap, refusing to stray too far from the weapon. Hopefully, Haize wasn't another bounty hunter.

"I don't even know who these guys are... were," he lied.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Davik Haize​

 

[Davik Haize]

The Warden of the Sky's attention flicked between Morrow and the viewport as the freighter closed in on the Duchess. Easing the reverse thrusters into a full burn for a soft dock, Haize casually shrugged.

Don't overcomplicate it.

"Plenty of scum in the galaxy," he muttered.

Slavers, pirates, organ harvesters, loan sharks - you name it. Morrow looked like someone who'd gotten in too deep. Owed the wrong people, maybe the wrong Hutt; due date hits, and they collect it all: interest on the interest.

With a flick of his hand, Haize cut the engine and the reverse thrusters, stood up, and motioned for Morrow to follow.

"Abednedo's the nearest civilized world, right off the end of the Corellian Run," he said, strolling toward the airlock. "I'll tether this crate to mine, drop you off there."

He knew a few scrappers who'd pay decent creds for this salvage, and the Duchess needed some lifesaving parts.

Just as he reached for the airlock controls, an ethereal spike pierced his skull. His hand shot to his temple, teeth gritted against each other. He turned to Morrow but the threat wasn't pulsating from him.

Morrow Veno ​

 

[Veno]

He was lounging around in an Imperial safehouse, biting down on some grub and resisting the urge to slam a generous share of alcohol. Even if just for the sake of it. It might not be protocol but none would be the wiser... though before that thought could become true, the call came in. Groaning, Veno answered and got the run down from an ISB handler - some mook blasted an Imperial mole, taking what he had on him and whatever it was, it was above Veno's clearance to know. He just had to get it back.

The starship lurched from hyperspace, detaching from the dock. Seeing the two ships docked together from the viewport, he recognised one of them from the dataset. A friend, maybe? Veno sighed, shrugging. Just meant two bodies instead of one. His gloved fingers danced across the control panels, pressing buttons, spinning knobs and pulling levers.

On the Sky Warden's Ship, a buzzing alert sounded.

"In the name of the Empire, prepare to be boarded."

Davik Haize - Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"Abednedo's the nearest civilized world, right off the end of the Corellian Run," he said, strolling toward the airlock. "I'll tether this crate to mine, drop you off there."

Abednedo. Never heard of it. But it was better than drifting aimlessly in the vacuum of space. Even if he was going to be creditless and destitute on a foreign world. At least he got to live. Morrow nodded. "You really saved my ass." Gratitude was palpable in his voice. Then, a query: "What were you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" Had he not been in such an unlikely area, Morrow would be a dead man; he couldn't help but wonder.

<"In the name of the Empire, prepare to be boarded.">

"Oh chit, you've gotta be kidding!" Morrow felt a pain emerge in his ribs as he raised his voice. Ignoring it, he drew the blaster from his waistband. Once the airlock opened to the warden's ship, he surged forward to cover behind a pilaster in the ship's cooridor. He fumbled with the gas pack, ripping it from the well and checking its contents with a firm shake by his ear.

Almost dry.

"Damn it." Frustrated, he slapped the cartridge back anyway, pulling back the priming lever with a distinct click.

"Any chance he's here for you and not me?" Morrow asked, possibly giving away a little more than he might have intended. It seemed innocuous enough as a question, though in reality Morrow was formulating a plan to sell the Warden out. Better him than me, he thought. So much for that gratitude.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Davik Haize | Veno​

 

[Davik Haize]

“Fixing nav beacons.” was all Morrow received in response. For one, Haize wasn’t much for words unless they were needed; and two, his commlink buzzed with a transmission routed from the Duchess.

<"In the name of the Empire, prepare to be boarded.">

Morrow sprang forward into the Duchess like a startled loth-cat upon hearing the transmission, in contrast to Haize’s casual step as Skip’s chirps rang, reporting details of the vesselthat had just torn back into realspace. The Warden couldn’t help but wonder given Morrow’s reaction, whether the Empire was hunting the man. It mattered little; Haize’s reaction would’ve been still all the same.

<”Imperial vessel, this is Gauntlet starfighter the Duchess - we are merely cargo haulers, rerouting our hyperspace course. Feel free to board through the starboard airlock.”> Davik calmly lied, sealing shut the airlock to Morrow’s ship behind him and strolling towards the opposite side of the Duchess, a gloved hand motioning for Morrow to follow.

Waylon of Arkanis, his mentor, the man who had given him a purpose in a life that had become meaningless, would’ve usually played theatre with the Imperials unless they openly threatened him or others. He knew restraint, cunning restraint.

Davik Haize, war orphan, the boy who had lost it all to the ceaseless warring nations of the galaxy, who had watched peace die in fire, knew something else entirely.

Violence, cunning violence.

He rolled up the sleeves of his worn, brown, space leather jacket and squared up to face the airlock.

The Force welled in his gut, up his spine, and down into a clenched right fist.

A silent, subtle smirk tugged his lips sideways in anticipation.

Veno Morrow ​

 

[Veno]

The Imperial vessel docked with a heavy thunk, the careful guiding placement of metal on metal tied these three ships together. Some kind of maze, even, with their different layouts hardly being consistent. Veno rose up from his seat, grasping for his blaster pistol and a vibroknife. So far as he was aware, these two knew his purpose. If not that, then at least one of them did.

To go in not expecting a fight was a fool's game. And maybe Veno was some kind of a fool, but he was a touch too cowardly to never be armed.

His image might have been disarming, standing in the airlock in armour unique to the Imperial agent. Definitely not some Imperial navy crewman, or marine come to do an inspection. Though, maybe his shorter stature removed whatever intimidation he might have brought with him.

He scratched at his helmet with the butt of his blaster pistol, the vibro knife in-hand.

"So, which one of you is the thief?"

Davik Haize - Morrow

 

[Davik Haize]

The airlock latch released with a loud, rotary thunk, then hissed open to reveal…

…nothing.

Just an empty deck stretching into the dim guts of the Imperial transport.

Davik Haize blinked in confusion. No soulless stormtrooper visor; no smug customs officer with a datapad.; no E-11 rifle barrel shoved in his face; nothing.

“So, which one of you is the thief?” a voice called out from…

…below.

Blue eyes, nested beneath a brow raised in perplexity, slowly tracked downward.

And they turned.

And turned.

And turned.

And turned until they were nearly shut.

That’s when he saw it.

A small, hideous creature in stubby Imperial armor, holding a pistol in one hand and a vibro-knife in the other, glaring up at them like a rancor cub with a fake badge.

Davik slowly locked eyes with his temporary companion, Morrow. In unison, and disbelief, they both yelled out:

“Thief?!?!”

Whatever the little thing was about to reply, the Force had already surged from Davik’s clenched right fist down into his leg, and in a single motion, he launched to kick the small, gnarly creature like a holoball.

Veno Morrow ​

 

[Veno]

He was as quick as he appeared and sturdier than that.

Veno rushed forwards, darted to the side and caught the kick across his torso. Held in the pit of his elbow. Just a bit sad that his knife was caught up in that hand, too. "I was hoping for this," the creature cackled. He pushed forward a step, a second, a third in an effort to make Davik lose his balance and topple over.

Small but adequately trained and with the experience to support it.

In an effort to prevent Morrow from making a move, Veno threw an elbow at his head as he moved forwards.

Davik Haize - Morrow

 

[Morrow]

Morrow genuinely didn't know what the hunter meant by thief. It must have been Haize he was looking for, since Morrow's bounty was for something a lot worse than theft. There was a moment where he considered turning on his rescuer and getting out of this without the chance of another bolt to the ribs. Then, the hunter surged forward, throwing an elbow towards his face. Morrow tried to move out of the way, but the pain and stiffness from his wound made him an easy target.

A flash of white strobed in his vision as the elbow sank into his temple, shooting pain through his already blackened eye. He lost balance, fell against the wall, and stumbled backward. Morrow cried out, cursing at the pain and the hunter. Those notions of betrayal switched, hate channeling towards retribution toward the masked man.

Still holding his side, Morrow leaned forward, rising slightly up from the floor, and raised his blaster. "Were you hoping for this!?" he retorted, words hissing through clenched teeth. He began pulling the trigger in rapid succession, content to spend what remained of the gas pack filling the bastard full of holes.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Davik Haize Veno​