Mind over Mine Matter

[Intrepid42]

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Mind Over Mine Matter

Deep within the shafts, crevices and warrens, he approached a corner, taking it wide to peer around without seeming to slow, as was a common habit in this place. Not mainly to look for ambush. But because it did not do to risk injury. Not in this place. Not in this life.

Dust hang heavy in the air, forcing many to squint through poor googles, or just half-closed eyelids or eyemembranes. The passages were dimly lit where working was not in progress, to save power. And so injuries, both minor and not-so-minor, were commonplace.

He had been pulled off his shaft and sent to another. They did not need another hand at the thorilide seam, so it would have to be to help tend to an injury. Slaves were property, after all. And property has value. But not too much value. Where one of them could be patched up and restored to ‘use’ it would be done. Until such use was at an end.

He had entered back into the main system of corridors, leaving the narrow spaces and low ceilings his people had long preferred. Suffering is more easily avoided if it’s bringers must bend at the waist.

He heard a raised voice, which could only be one of their captors, off in a side chamber. And what could only be the injured fellow slave was there, an injured human on the ground, one foot angled awkwardly. Proper medicines and equipment did exist in this place, but not so much for the likes of her. But perhaps if it could be splinted properly and the human cleaned up a bit their captors might be convinced of a recovery. Or enough to spring a bone-shot from the infirmary’s guardians.

But there was another issue first. Quota time was coming up, and her captor was possibly feeling the heat. He was angry, and the shockprod in his grip being waved around in a manner that told him it was likely to see imminent use. Injuries she would probably survive with proper treatment. But that was something that might not happen in this place. And there were tales whispered in quieter moments, of overseers thinking it easier sometimes to just speed up ‘the process’, and get a new slave when shipments were due.

A moments breath taken, and he looked around. No-one else had them in clear sight. He focused on the roof above and risked concentrating, focusing his mind through an outstretched hand. Flakes of debris fell, creating noise and threat enough to distract the guard, who stepped away, looking upwards cautiously. He walked past, head hunched obsequiously and hastened to her side, before speaking to the guard.

“I am Ugnaught Zirn. I am engaged with the task of repairing this Moonlit Microsystems asset. I can complete this task, but will take her out of this place first, for the roof is unstable. I have spoken.”

The briefest of nods from their captor could be seen, and he tried not to let his relief show. He had learnt much in his 97 years of captivity, but over time even the smallest of risks added up.

[Intrepid42]

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Heroes in a Half-Squad

When that life ended. It happened quickly.

It was scant hours into a work period. An unaccustomed alarm sounded briefly, before half the guards ran into a side chamber. Other guards, and droids he had never seen before, surged into the cross corridor briefly before the sight and sound of their passing faded from signt and hearing.

An off-duty overseer came shortly after, and with their captors herded them towards an area deeper within the mining facility. Briefly he feared they were to be fed to the beast their captors kept there, but thankfully it was ‘merely’ a service bay. There was no room to stand, and barely enough space for them to lie, stacked up in places. He hoped that whatever it was ended quickly, lest they suffocate abandoned and trapped.

Sounds came to them, reverberating through the solitary vent and then through the locked door. Explosions. Coming closer. Blaster fire. And then voices. Right outside.

The door slid open. There were a round half dozen of them, outlined by the corridor lights. A red lightsaber glowed in one’s hand, and for a moment he feared that this was the end. Their leader stepped into the room, blue and white montrals scuffed by soot and grime. He would always remember her smile, those serried rows of teeth. The maw of a carnivore, apt to send a chill down the spine of a lineage habituated to being hunted.

But he noted soon enough that it was not at them that their rescuers’ anger and rage was directed. One of them spoke, he barely comprehended the words. But the meaning proved clear enough. They would be taken from this place, to a place better than this. All of them. It was hard to believe.

But yet it proved true. Harried and hurried, those crammed into that metal box were escorted to waiting ships. Through their captors, seen with fear on their faces for the first time. Through droids. And past the great beast chained in the heart of the facility, whose scream drowned out everything else.

He was crammed yet again into a tight space. Shields buckled and metal screamed as the ship spun and dove through what seemed like an apocalypse of fire. But then silence except for the weeping of his fellows and the quiet thrum of ship’s systems through the hull.

And through a porthole, glimpses of others ships in a varying and meandering formation. And on their sides, spray-painted emblems none of them would ever forget.

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// Details checked with Tinfy

[Intrepid42]

Underhanded Overhand

He walked the streets of the settlement known as Veles, having travelled here from the town he had been taken to all those months ago. There was purpose there, and quiet dignity. But barriers, quiet ones, stood in the way of one who had seen more than most. Much as the canyon sides pressed on the pass to … the facility.

It had taken many days to lose the sense of vertigo that merely looking up into the planet’s sky had brought. And he was grateful to be able to walk freely without fear of shock prod or injury, and would never lose the memory of his rescuers. However, of all the places in this galaxy, he had been brought to a place in the power of those who actively sought, or attracted, others with senses and control over place that most lacked. Or perhaps this was indeed no happenstance. Regardless, he had not survived his decades in binding to so easily walk back into servitude. However seemly and benign it might seem.

The local holonet and walls bore sigils, advertisements and inducements. Czerka. Republic. Guilds and groupings a plenty. But again, he was in no hurry to join even seemly servitude.

He chose to salvage the detritus of years of war and struggle for what credits that could bring. A risky job. But there were reasons so many lined the camps and alleys rather than seek corporate bonds. And he would not be idle.

He followed the trail taken by one of the various Imperial incursions, seeking metal and circuits where others might have overlooked. This took him beneath the town on the trail of wardroid wreckage of old. It proved lightly inhabited, as expected. But undoubtedly hostile, which was less so.

That hostility’s current face stood before him, blaster carbine held lightly in their arms.

“I am Ugnaught. I seek no quarrel, only things lost that might have value in the finding.”

There was no response other than a smirk, and a slow advance from the other.

Out of the main passage it walked, and into the side passage. Deeper. Just a little further.

He drew an old work-knife, well-kept but plain. Short and stubby like it’s wielder, and clearly no great threat.

The other paused, and started to lift it’s blaster. Only to pause, and collapse gurgling it’s last. Said work-knife having flashed across the shortening distance into the back of it’s mouth.

Zirn rose from his stance, and padded softly towards his latest collection of lost things, looking the fallen Outlaw up and down.

“I have spoken.”