Thy Rod and Staff; self development and development

[Brent Smith]

It was the last night of leave for Brent before he was pushed into yet another a combat zone for yet another mission. Light filtered in from the window next to his bed, casting light over the ceiling. The fan across it cast even more shadows in the dark as it gave lazy spins, keeping the air flowing against Brent's sensitive skin. He could hear his father snoring in the other room, and the breathing of his brothers in the room across the hall--and his sister's breathing in the room across from his. It was cool, and perfect, the sheets felt so right and the bed contoured to him perfectly. For two weeks Brent had been able to fill himself with time with his family.

But still something was missing.

He rolled over in the bed. It felt so much emptier without Lucy here to keep him company. She had left a hole in his heart that he was sure would never be filled again. She had promised she would be there for him, and that she would love him. But when she found out what he really was, and got caught in the middle of it all, she left. She had been with him since junior high. He had never considered that there could be anyone else.

He rolled over to the other side, propping himself up with his pillow.

But then there was Ra. He had met her recently quite by accident. And now he knew their lives were forever interlocked, and things would never the same again. What she would be in his life, Brent didn't know. She would probably be his master in the Force, and almost certainly an ally. But he felt something for her that Brent was sure he would never feel again after Lucy. He didn't know if he was ready to feel that, but it was already happening.

He sighed. Brent knew he should have felt horrible, how could he end a relationship of eight years and already have eyes for another this early? Or at all? He pulled himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was sure there was some burbon left over in the fridge that could help ease him to sleep at this point.

 

[Brent Smith]

He pulled the fridge open and rummaged through it, delicately grabbing the bottle from the back. The door closed with a soft click as Brent unscrewed the bottle and took a sip strait from it. There wasn't much point in dirtying a glass when he was sure he was going to finish this thing off tonight in a few minutes. He tossed the lid into the chrome can a few feet away, it landed in the white garbage bag softly. Brent didn't need the light to know where it was, the can had been in the same place since before he was born. In the next room he could hear stirring, judging by the gate of the foot steps and the weight, he could tell it was his sister Ann.

He should have been quieter, Brent chided himself as he took another pull from the bottle.

"Hey," Ann said, her voice low and quiet enough for others to not here. "Can't sleep?"

A small trail of blue light filtered from the glass door behind Brent onto Ann's face. He could see in her eyes she wasn't groggy or half asleep either. He leaned on the counter and shook his head, "Not really, no."

"Me neither," she sighed taking a few steps closer. She sat on the counter next to him, her plaid blue pajama bottoms contrasting with the pink tile counters under her.

Brent took a sip from his bottle. He didn't blame her. His family didn't deserve what had happened to them because of him. They had been caught in the crossfire of his work, lined up with some seriously evil people, held hostage, tortured, and almost killed in front of him. They were civilians. Even trained men to go through that sort of thing rarely ever got through without serious trauma. He offered her the bottle. Ann took it and swallowed a mouthful. She was 17, but Brent knew it wasn't anything he hadn't done at her age, and anything she hadn't done at parties before.

"Is it always this way?" Ann asked handing the bottle back.

Brent took a sip from the bottle. He wanted to lie and tell her that it wasn't, but he had always been prized by his family for shooting strait when he had the chance.

"Depends," Brent asked deflecting the question, "What does the counselor have you doing?"

"Nothing, just dumb crap. Sometimes we talk, or just listen. I mean it helps some, I know a breathing exercise that can take the edge off, but nothing like this stuff," she took the bottle from his hands and helped herself to another mouthful. Brent could feel her looking at him in the dark, "So you know what's got me up, what has you up? Tell me about the mission, it might help."

"My missions are classified," Brent reminded her taking the bottle back. "And no, its not a mission."

 

[Brent Smith]

"Oh?" Ann asked. Brent could see out of the darkness she tilted her head to the side slightly, "What then?"

It was the most emotion and interest in anything Brent had seen Ann show since the incident. She was actually sitting up strait. It was good for her, he wasn't about to cut it off when he had this chance to bond with her, "Yes. Its a girl."

"Lucy? Did you hear back from Lucy?" Ann asked, her voice carrying a little bit of hope through the darkness.

"No," Brent said before taking a sip from the bottle, "Someone else, you haven't met her. I met her on my hunting trip to Umbara."

"I didn't know you went on a hunting trip," Ann said crossing her arms, "Why didn't you tell me you were going?"

"Cause I knew you'd want to come," Brent said side stepping the question. He became very reflective, "She is different from Lucy. Very different from anyone else you know. She's got rich red hair and vibrant golden eyes that feel like they look into your very soul."

"Sounds like a real keeper," Ann said taking the bottle from Brent's hand. He didn't even realize it was gone as she took a sip from it, "When do I get to meet her?"

"Its not like that," he objected.

"Oh yeah, right, cause you describe everyone like that," Ann set the bottle down and clasped her hands to her chest, "Oh the suspect had rich gray hair, succulent wrinkled skin and vibrant brown eyes."

"Ok, that's enough from you," Brent said reaching up and tussling her hair.

"Ow!" Ann growled swatting back at him, "Meanie, stop it."

Brent could hear his parents stirring in the other room, he halted in his tracks. He didn't want to wake anyone up, but he could see Ann smiling though the dark. For the first time in a while. He grabbed her by the arms and helped her off the counter. "Alright, off to bed with you, its still a school night."

"Fine," Ann grumbled, grabbing the bottle, "But I get to take this with me."

Brent took it back, "Not tonight, Missy."

 

[Brent Smith]

Brent stepped out of the speeder and crossed the austere duracrete path to the ISB outpost building. Overhead the drab gray skies were muted with clouds, casting dismal light on the square, squat building he marched towards. Inside one of the security guards checked his ID and waved him through the gray and black lobby with disinterest. He made his way in the elevator up to the third floor where his handler Dameron was waiting from behind his imposing metallic desk.

"Have a seat, Agent Smith," Dameron said motioning towards the single chair on the oppsite side.

"Good to see you as well," Brent said, taking his place in the chair. It was uncomfortable, and probably on purpose. Nothing about the FOSB was designed for comfort or frills. It was almost as if their amenities were even there to remind the agents constantly that they were intended to inflict pain and be as unhuman as possible. Like a droid.

"I am aware that one of your early missions involved a forced Recon on the planet Dredd," Dameron began as he opened a manila file on his desk.

Brent visibly flinched. He could never forget the bloodbath that was. He had carved his way through countless beings, shooting madly and doing all he could to just stay alive. The only reason he had lived through it was thanks to one plucky pilot named Sara Lee Jones, his own latent Force ability, and the sheer technological advance he had on the hoards of cannibals he had faced off. "I remember."

Dameron didn't even look up from his work, "You were recommended for a metal because of your efforts and success. It was a miracle, I don't see why you denied it. And thanks to that, you are one of our only leading field experts on the planet Dredd."

"I hardly saw it, except from behind the iron sights," Brent said tersely. "That doesn't make me an expert."

"You know more than most on how it is, that makes you the expert," Dameron said finally as he closed the file. "Because of that little number, your going on a rescue op."

Brent pursed his lips. He could tell by the gleam in Dameron's eye that there was by far more at play than was being spoken aloud. He knew the trauma that the mission had on Brent, and if he read the file, he saw from the areal photos what Brent had to do to get in. He didn't want to ask, and the last thing he wanted to have Dameron know is that he was onto him. So instead he nodded, "I'll do whatever the First Order needs me to do, sir. To protect and serve."

"Good," Dameron grabbed another file off his desk and tossed it towards Brent, "All your info is in that. Your ride is on platform 5, it lifts in 5 minutes. You can read on the way. Now get the hell out of here."

 

[Brent Smith]

Brent rose to his feet, file in hand and made his way out to the platform. It wasn't unusual for an agent to be assigned a ride, but it was strange for Brent to be assigned a ride. Dameron knew that he had the Celestial Bishop and that it was fully able to work for whatever Brent needed in the field. He also knew that Brent's ship was on a better par than most of what the FOSB had on hand for their stock ships. It was more inconspicuous, it had a better arsinol, and it was a deniable asset if things went wrong. There was only one thing at play--Brent was being set up. Or he was being punished. He would see in due time. The only way to know for sure was to spring the trap.

The ride for Brent was an aged but restored Lambda-class shuttle. There were many of these floating around since the fall of the Empire, it made it deniable but still capable for the FOSB. The pilot didn't greet him, Brent boarded it alone. Dredd was far off the beaten path, he had days of travel ahead of him, plenty of time to study the contents of the folder he had been handed and work out a plan.

His target to rescue was named Dr Hagren, a genetic scientist who had been a part of one of the Dominion's dark, top-secret weapons development programs. He was over a project dubbed "The NetherNight", a virus that would pass easily from person to person by contact like the common cold. Using that virus as its base type, the NetherNight virus' early symptoms were just sneezing, coughing, and a runny nose. But by the time its more insideous side kicked in and caused lung failure, it would be too late, and it would easily be passed on to more carriers. Dr Hagren threw his lot in for questionable weapon crafters in this galaxy, making biological weapons for the highest bidder to keep despots and tyrants in power until he was captured by pirates in the edges of wild space. They crashed on Dredd, and it was Brent's job to find him, bring him in, and use this doctor as one of their new weapons of destruction.

 

[Brent Smith]

The orders were clear. Brent would be dropped onto the surface in a H.A.L.O. drop. The black armor provided to Brent was thicker, clunkier and made to withstand the heat of orbital entry, as well as to help brace the impact of the fall. The Lambda-class shuttle was orbiting over one of Dredd's only oceans, one that Brent could almost promise was chalked full of poisonous materials and waste. The chests full of his gear were also re-enforced to withstand the impact, if they didn't make it, Brent would be out there all but on his own with next to nothing.

The indicator on the hatch of the shuttle went from red to green. Brent's hand hovered over the eject button for a second. He didn't want to return to the hell bellow, he knew some of what waited down bellow would be nothing short of a nightmare. But he also didn't know how horrific they could be. He knew Ra was involved in the Dominion, he had tried to not wonder how and if she knew about this and what part she played. He was almost as scared to find out what that meant about her as he was horrified of the cannibals that waited bellow.

When his finger depressed the button, Brent was sucked into the vacuum of space, the trio of metal container followed shortly after him. The force slowed down and for a second Brent faced the planet with its toxic, belched surface. Then the rotation of his orbit pulled him around and Brent could see the rest of the galaxy. An infinite number of twinkling stars shone out around him. Dredd was so far from the rest of the galaxy, he could see so much of it spread before him now. Brent knew that rotating one of those stars was his homeworld where his family was sleeping. On another, Ra was going about her day. He almost wondered what she was doing right now.

Enough of that, Brent thought to himself with a sigh, its time to go to work.

His thumb depressed the trigger on his gauntlet. Rockets built into the soles of Brent's boots nudged him towards the planet, just enough for gravity to start to take hold. The Lambda with its apathetic pilot high tailed it away as quickly as possible back to safety. Brent could feel the planet's distant gravity begin to take hold of his body. A faint sense of falling slowly grew stronger and stronger over him. Even though the temperature felt the same in his suit, he could see faint outlines of glowing yellow light begin to faintly whisp off him. The feeling of falling became undeniable. The force on his arms and legs made him compress into a more natural head dive. Indicator lights on the inside of his helmet lit up, showing his relative distance and projected landing spot. There were no satellites around this horrible planet to help, he would have to navigate by his own sight and skill.

With a grunt, Brent managed to whip himself to falling legs first. The faint glowing lines had grown to red trails around him. It was getting hotter in the armor, and the gravity was getting intensely constricting on Brent's insides. Sweat beads formed on his forehead as his breaths came in gasps and unconsciousness threatened to overtake him. Alarms suddenly began to blare in Brent's ears, he knew he had to do something or there would be no safe landing left for him. The man depressed his thumb in a weak fist. The rockets in the soles of his boots flared to life, easing the descent some and the tension. He could breath, but there was nothing to be done about the heat, his cooling systems were already pushed beyond the redline. Brent looked down.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself. "I'm off."

The angle of his trajectory was clear, if he didn't aright the path fast, he would be shattered on the beach, instead of in the waters like he needed. Brent glanced at his indicators, he had just seconds to gain a lot of ground for as much water as possible to slow his impact. He tried shifting his weight. Nothing, his course was set. Come on Brent. You can do this. You have to.

He reached down deep into his mind, an image of his family filled his senses. They were together at the park. Ra was there. There was food, laughter, and happiness. The Ronni blossoms were in full sprout, their pink flowers and their delicious smell filled his nostrils. His mother and father were with Ra. They were laughing, she was laughing too. They liked her. Somehow, Brent just knew they did. And he was there too, with a beer in one hand and a slice of fried bantha in the other. He didn't know if it was a halucination or the Force telling him his future. Either way, Brent felt his resolve strengthen, and grow. With everything in him he shoved to left. The beach under him rapidly moved away, and soon the oncoming ocean waves loomed before him, growing so much bigger every second.

Then his boots died. His suit shut off from the strain of the shift, everything went black, and Brent was plunged into utter darkness.

"Damn it."

 

[Brent Smith]

Brent was faintly aware of the sensation of sinking. His body hurt all over, he could feel his legs throbbing especially. He vaguely remembered trying to return to Dredd. He remembered falling. He remembered trying to reach the ocean. He remembered the Lambda abandoning him here. It must have been a nightmare, Brent thought to himself, I would never agree to go back there.

He coudn't tell when his eye were open or closed. The sensation of sinking grew stronger as he grew more awake. Brent realized the armor around him. With a shock the truth settled on him. It wasn't a dream, and he was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. His armor was already beginning to leak near his legs. There was no telling how far down he already was. Brent's first inclination was to tear his helmet off, but he knew that this was his only lifeline to oxygen. Brent depressed his thumb, but the rocket didn't activate. His armor was too heavy, Brent knew he didn't have a chance at trying to swim, especially with the state he was in.

He grabbed the breast plate on his chest and clumsily detached it from his, it sank away from Brent, he could feel himself feel ten pounds lighter. He pried away the plates on his biceps, shins, back, and his left pouldron. Most of what was left was his form-fitting black body glove, his helmet, boots, gloves, and a few other smaller plates. But he was light enough to begin swimming. With broad chest strokes and rapid flutter kicks, he made his way back to the surface. His head bobbed over the water line and Brent tossed his helmet away. As it sank in the murky depths, Brent blinked at the blinding light. He looked around to gain his bearings. To the left, it looked like a little over half a mile away, he could see the shore.

He didn't know if he had the strength to swim the whole way, but at this point, Brent didn't have much of a choice and the longer he waited, the more danger he was in. With the state of the planet, Brent wouldn't be surprised to find out there were superpredators lurking under the water.

 

[Brent Smith]

When he finally touched the shore of land, Brent was dragging himself, crawling across the tainted sand. His body slumped over just past the water line, he lay there as the waves washed over his semi-clad form. If they hadn't been so tainted, and the garbage that was littered around him, it might have almost been consoling. The burning sun over head beat down on Brent, quickly evaporating the water that caked his face, leaving a layer of salt and minerals. He could feel the sand creeping into his body glove, but Brent was too exhausted to do anything about it. He was dehydrated. He was depleted of energy. He was worn thin. He hovered on the edge of unconsciousness for he didn't know how long.

The faint sound of distant voices woke Brent from his non-restful state. With great effort he rolled over. They were coming from over one of the dunes strait ahead inland. On all fours, he pulled himself towards it. His muscles ached and groaned, Brent knew that any hostiles here he had to deal with head on, or they would completely destroy him. When he crested the dune, Brent peered over it, just barely letting his eyes over the limit. He could see his three weapon crates, and around them were ten of the savages. They had already pried one open and were looking over his highly lethal weaponry, and were prying the second open. Brent stiffled a curse. There was no way in this state he could take on ten of them, let alone one. Especially since they were armed with his superior firepower, and he had nothing but a small hold out blaster and a knife tucked away in his armor. They were dividing the spoils together, and chances were, they were also planning on who they'd kill and eat with the arsenal.

Brent lowered himself back behind the sand dune and felt his life go from bad to worse. He wasn't just trapped behind enemy lines. He had no weapons. No armor. And no way of signalling for back up. He was on his own, in a planet full of horrifying cannibals. Chances were the doctor was already captured--and he could have already been dead.

Brent slithered himself down the dune. When he reached the base, he forced himself to his feet and began trudging inland. There wasn't time to feel sorry for himself. Brent had to find his way out of this one.

 

[Brent Smith]

The shore slowly turned into a suburban zone. Brent didn't recognize this place, he had been deployed deeper, into the yawing chasms of the center fo Dredd's hellish city. When he looked around, all Brent could see were dilapidated homes along what could have once been a pleasant suburb. The grass had browned into patches of dead flora. There were overturned, weathered children's toys. A few smashed up bikes were down the way, and every roof Brent could see was patched over with a tarp. It was quiet, even for Brent's enhanced senses. He slowly walked along the cracked duracrete streets, waiting for someone or something to show up and attack him. The street led him to a 4 way stop. Smashed up and shot stop signs stood on every corner. Brent doubted that these were little more than suggestions at this point.

He faintly heard the sound of foot steps behind him. Someone was following him, and judging by the placement of the steps, they were doing a great deal to remain unspotted. They were to his right and behind, probably just cresting behind one of the houses on the corner. There was only one reason they would be following him like this; they were hungry. But they could also shed some info on where he was, anything at this point was better than nothing. Brent carried on his path casually. A few burned out rusty speeders sat along either side of the road, decaled with layers of graffiti on the sides.

The sound of a slug thrower's hammer clicking caught his ear. It came from inside one the house to his left and forward. He heard another from the street he had just crossed, on either side. And then different ones all around him. He had walked right into a trap, but Brent realized his mistake a moment too late.

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the air, Brent dove forward as the shot whizzed over his head. Another round from the other side of the street landed on the duracrete right next to Brent, sending a spray of duracrete into the air.

"Stay right there," came a voice, loud and clear, "Or your a dead man!"

 

[Brent Smith]

Brent raised his hands over his head. Several of the beings that had been hidden came out of their concealment. Most were behind houses, or in them perched behind windows with the curtains drawn. If Brent hadn't been so drained from his landing, swim, and treck in-land, he knew he could have heard or smelled them beforehand. There were six of them total, all armed with outmoded slug thowers or blasters that were dingy and barley functional. Their leader, judging by the massive golden chain around her neck and the fact that her blaster rifle looked like it was in the best shape.

"Get up," she demanded, "or I'mma force your ass up."

Brent pulled himself to his feet, he kept his hands raised over his head. They kept a safe distance from Brent's person, they were just three feet away, each of the gang members had formed up around him in a circle, with her at the head. Her face was bent up in a sneer of anger and a show of power, "What you doing here? Who sent you? Who's scoping out our turf?"

"I don't know what your talking about," Brent confessed, "I'm not--"

His words were cut off as one of the bigger members of the gang took a step forward. The gang member's fist collided with Brent's stomach in a blow that sent him back and knocked the wind out of him.

"My boy isn't gonna show you mercy, queen, if you don't start cooperating," the woman spat, "So you might as well start talking."

"I'm serious, I was part of a crash, I landed on this planet by mistake. I was trying to find my other ship mates, I was separated during the crash," Brent wheezed. "I just need to get back with them so we can return to the Dominion."

"Oh really?" the woman asked, her interest piqued. Brent could tell by the way her body had shifted he had not only hit something she was interested in, but she knew about. "Who were you with then?"

"I can't tell you," Brent said defiantly.

 

[Brent Smith]

The woman shrugged, "When you change your mind, let me know, hoe."

The big man moved toward Brent again, his second blow landed right in the center of his chest. Brent absorbed the blow, his body crumbling inward. Another made contact with Brent's face, he felt himself lifted off the ground, only to make contact with the merciless duracrete with a thud. He could feel the world spinning around him as four fists gripped him roughly and forced him to his feet. The massive thug loomed before him again, his face was warped in a smile of sick pleasure.

"Damn son, you got heart, I'll give you that," the leader said shaking her head.

Brent felt the four hands release him as the thug pulled back for another blow. The moment the fist began hurling towards him, Brent knew his chance to spring was now. As the massive man's body twisted in a hay-maker of a blast, Brent's right fist went up, making contact with the man's chin in an explosive, well-placed hit.

"The Hell?" gasped their leader as her underlings began to raise their weapons at Brent.

He twisted right, his left hand grabbed the closest goon's revolver by the top of its barrel, halting it halfway up. Brent wrenched the weapon from his hand, sidestepping around man and using him as human sheild. His forearm wrapped around the gangmember's neck, pinning him. The others hesitated, just long enough for Brent to react. He kicked his human shield forward, the closest gangmember he was forced towards fired reflexively, shooting his friend in the chest. Brent lurched left, hurling the rusty revolver at another member. The weapon hit him square in the face, breaking his nose and blinding him for a second. Out of his armor, Brent pulled his own blaster as he ran. Bullets from the attackers whizzed around Brent as he came to one of the houses. He planted a foot on the brick wall, shoving off it with the Force. The act sent him in a somersault over the heads of his foes. He fired twice, the shots cut through two of the gangmembers, they fell on the ground lifeless. Brent landed behind another of the gangmembers on the edge of their deteriorating circle. He pistol whipped the man and shot another behind him.

Only he and the leader were left, facing each other off with their weapons.

 

[Brent Smith]

"That was smooth as hell," she admitted begrudgingly. The ganster adjusted her grip on her pistol, "Too bad you are about to die for that."

"You and I both know your alive for one reason," Brent said, "And its not because I wasn't fast enough."

"Oh really now? And what's that reason?" she demanded, her thumb cocked the slug thrower's hammer back, "I could kill your sorry ass right now. I could shoot you dead. You really wanna test me right now?"

"Then do it," Brent ordered, lowering his blaster pistol. "Shoot me. Quit talking and do it." He paused, "But you can't. Your empty."

"Your an annoying little turd," She growled tossing her slug thrower aside, "If your going to kill me, do it. I don't give a damn. I won't beg."

"I won't, unless you give me a reason to," Brent said, "All I want is information. I'm looking for a man, Dr Hagren. He crashed here almost two weeks ago. If he survived, I am here to find him, rescue him, and get him out of here."

The gangster laughed, almost losing her footing she was laughing so hard, "You? Alone? Good luck with that, turd."

Brent's face remained unmoved, "You want to live or not?"

"Alright, fine, fine," she sobered up quickly, "Your in the wrong side of town if you want to find him. There was word of a crash, but I didn't really think anything of it. Most of those who crash like that end up dying. Any bodies that turn up are normally way too toasted to even be worth eating. But you can get some dope crap off the crashes if you act fast enough."

"The doctor. Info. Now," Brent promped.

"I'm getting there," she growled, "Jeez. No patience. There were some slaves taken up, but they were captured by the Nova City Angels. There was an auction three days ago. If you are going to find anything worth mentioning, its going to be there. Happy?"

"It will do," Brent said. He thumbed his blaster to stun and gave her a single shot. He scavenged off the bodies, grabbing all the firearms they had owned. Off them he found a few bags of giltterstim. He stored those in his suit, they could make valuable barter chips later for information, ammo, or whatever food that they had on world that wasn't human flesh.

Brent shuttered. He didn't know if there was any food on Dredd that wasn't from a sentient being. How he was going to survive here or keep his strength up without the rations that had been stored in his cases was a mystery. But for now the adrenaline in his system was beginning to wear off. Brent stumbled down the streets. He knew he had to find a safe place to get some rest or he wouldn't survive the next encounter.

 

[Brent Smith]

The sun on Dredd was finally starting to set as Brent found himself a safe place. On the fringe of town he found a warehouse that was deserted, the first building he had found completely abandoned. The place was littered with smashed and looted crates, discarded needles, broken glass bottles, and all sorts of minor plastic wrappings all over the place. Brent barricaded the single rusty sliding metal door, thankfully there were no windows for him to worry about on this building. He pulled a series of the crates together in the corner, making it look like a pile. If someone did happen to break in, it would at least buy him a little time and surprise. He crawled in under the pile. It was uncomfortable, but Brent's body was too depleted to care. On the duracrete floor Brent drifted into dreamless slumber. Even though he was exhausted, he kept jerking awake at the slightest nose. When the sun rose and Brent awoke, he wasn't well rested, but he was better than he had been. He felt like a dead man, surrounded by skeletons, in a realm of pure death. The voices in his mind whispered there was no escape, there would never be a way out.

Brent forced himself out to his feet and shoved the thoughts and images out of his mind. He forced himself to remember the mission, running through where he wanted to go next, his next course of action. His mind began to grind along, gaining speed as he stood in the abandoned warehouse. He ran his hands across his face. There was a horrific smell, probably from across the street. Despite its wretched smell, hunger still gnawed at Brent's stomach, and thirst parched his lips.

If he was going to get through this, Brent knew he needed to get water and food both.

 

[Brent Smith]

Brent crept into the back door of the house without a sound. The place was quiet, he didn't hear or feel anyone in the area. Still, he cluched one of his pilfered revolvers in his hand as he raided the kitchen. Their cupboards were mostly bare, except for a half loaf of stale bread, a bag of expired chips, and a few bottles of aged water. Brent didn't care, he piled it all on the counter. He knew he would need something less conspicuous. He stuck out right now like a Bantha on Alderaan. He raided one of the bedrooms, pulling together an outfit of a black graphic tee shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. Out of the closet he also pulled a satchel to store his raided goods. He stuffed the stale bread and most of the water in it, scarfing down the chips and one of the bottles of water.

The sound of a door slamming shut broke Brent's makeshift meal. Rushed footsteps came towards the kitchen faster than Brent could react. He grabbed his pistol from the counter top, cocked the hammer back and leveled it at the door. He didn't think or hesitate, the second a figure came around the corner, he pulled the trigger. This was a planet of cannibals, gangs, drugs, and violence. When the figure dropped, Brent realized who he had just shot, he was young, he couldn't have been more than 16. Brent cursed to himself, hurrying to the boy's side. He was still breathing, gasping for air, his eyes wide in fear and pain. The shot had hit him in the shoulder, it had missed both his lungs and any major blood vessels.

"Your going to be ok, your going to be fine," Brent assured him. He turned the boy over, there was an exit wound. That was good. "I am going to to treat you, but I need you to cooperate with me, can you do that?"

The boy gave a fearful nod.

"Stay right here, I will be right back," Brent ordered, 'You move, you risk making the damage worse."

He hurried into the bathroom and searched the shelves. From a cabinet under the sink he retrieved a first aid kit, it was battered and clearly worn from age. However, it was the best they had. It would do for now. Brent rushed back to the boy's side. A pool of his blood was beginning to make a crimson puddle on the hard floor. Brent tore open a packet of the aged bacta wipes, he didn't know if they were expired or not. For the kid's sake, he hoped it would still work.

"This is going to hurt, a lot."

 

[Brent Smith]

The boy was handling his wounded status rather well. He was sitting up, eyeing Brent warily from the other side of the worn couch in the living room. His eyes were guarded, judging by his posture, Brent could tell he was horrified of what this strange man in his house was about to do next. If he could have, Brent was sure he would have run away here and now. Brent knew he had to get out of there to complete the mission as soon as he could. He was on the clock, every second he spent not searching for Dr Hagren was another second he could end up as someone's main meal. But Brent wasn't a monster, he couldn't just leave this teen to die.

"Its alright," Brent said, "I didn't mean to shoot you, I just needed some food is all."

"I don't want any trouble," the teen said hurriedly, "Take whatever you want. All of it, its yours."

"If I wanted to hurt you or kill you I would have already finished the job," Brent said flatly. "I'm an offworlder, something like an assassin."

"I can see you aren't from around here," the teen agreed, "People around here don't normally treat people after they've shot them."

"I know," Brent said, "I've been here before," as a token of good will, Brent stuffed his pistol in his waistband and covered it with his jacket, the teen eased up slightly, "What's your name?"

"Matt."

"Good to meet you, Matt, I'm Brent. I have a brother back home almost your age."

The teen swallowed, "Really?"

"Yes, his name is Yarr, I have another brother named Fenn, and a sister named Ann," Brent said, "I have a whole family."

"Is she hot?" Matt asked.

Brent chuckled, he supposed teens across the galaxy and time never changed, "The boys at the high school all seem to think so. Do you have a family?"

"No," Matt said with lifeless candor, "They were all killed by the Cheshire Children."

Brent could guess that was probably one of the local gangs, maybe even the one that waylaid him, "I'm sorry." Matt shrugged. "I would like to get back to my family, very soon if I can. But I can't get home until I find someone. Do you think you can help me?"

"I don't know," Matt said hesitantly. Brent could tell he was scared, if he said no, he didn't know that Brent would keep him alive. If the person was dangerous enough, he might be a dead man walking anyway.

"His name is Dr Hagren. Some people who I work for find him very important. If you can help me, I can get you off this planet if you'd like. If you can't, I will just have to keep looking," Brent said, "I won't kill you because you don't know. Its not how I work."

Matt swallowed and thought for a second, "There's nothing left here for me. I guess I might as well try."

 

[Brent Smith]

"What do you know?" Brent asked.

"First," Matt held up a finger from his good hand, "How do I know your being honest with me and won't shoot me when you've got what you want or left me here when you have your doctor?"

"I'm an agent, Matt, trained by some of the galaxy's greatest spies and one its largest governments in existence, let alone history. If I wanted to force you to telling me something I am skilled in the art of torture," Brent said quietly. He saw Matt's eyes widen again and his body tensed up. "But I'm not. I didn't have to treat your wound either. I could have just let you bleed out or threatened to let you bleed out if you didn't talk, but I did treat you. I'm sorry I shot you, Matt, I don't like to hurt people if I can help it. I do have a heart. You don't have a reason to trust me, but you have fewer reasons to not trust me."

Matt thought it over for a second, "He's in the city somewhere. The rumor is that the Rocket City Racketeers bought all the slaves on the market. They keep them around for food and pleasure. Sometimes both. If your going to save this doctor, you better hurry."

Brent rose to his feet, "Can you travel?"

Matt stood up tentatively and nodded. "I have a speeder out front we can use, we would get there a lot faster. If you drive I can navigate."

Brent was fully aware that it could be a trap. The speeder could be surrounded or Matt could lead him into an ambush, but the way he spoke and his body language indicated that Matt was most likely being honest. "Then there is no time to lose."