The Beast of Bacrana

He did not exactly open his eyes as he felt the ship jostling, but awareness came to them. The liner was too vast to be truly moved, its hold filled with victuals it would exchange with rich ore, its berths overloaded with fresh-eyed prospectors it would replace with weary, soot-stained ex-frontiersmen.

His eyes went from dull and gray to a pale green, as inscrutable structures behind their compound lenses rearranged themselves. They keenly scanned the common sleeping berth. His ammonia booth had been taken, and he had simply sat on the floor. Many seemed to want to land on this world. Some, apparently, so badly they could not bother to be listed on the manifest.

His gaze did not have to travel far to be met with another, an ortolan child seated across the aisle. Its beady black eyes were rapt with curiosity, taken by the stillness of its fellow traveller.

"Hello." The child's greeting was forward. Ordinary.

He found himself compelled to respond. One arm lifted from his leg, its first finger extended slightly. It was not quite a wave, more an acknowledgement.

"Are you a Jedi?" The question was abrupt. Almost too swift. Once the formality of greeting had passed, clearly, the child had no more use for decorum.

He took his first breath of the hour, his throat rumbling, his speech amplified just slightly by the vocoder built into his mask. His voice seemed to vibrate, a hoarse croak one might associate with disuse, were it not for his mask and insectile countenance. "Yes."

"I thought so. I saw your laser sword. Mum said it was a glow rod but I knew better."

He lowered his hand to the accoutrment hanging from his belt. A netted pouch carrying a handful of sanitary items. Two spare tanks of ammonia gas. And his lightsaber. A blocky thing with greenish brasslike fittings, wrapped around with cross-hatched rubber, for easy grip with both of his small, three-fingered hands. Perhaps, given his small frame, a shoto would have been less conspicuous, but he had learned what his Master had trained him. If he wanted a weapon to be easy, to work its way up his chain of intuition, he would carry a blaster.

He did not share these thoughts with the child. The child tried to mask its disappointment with another question.

"Can I see it?"

"It is not for showing."

The child inhaled, but what words it had planned to exhale were lost in a gasp of surprise, as two turquoise hands swept around it. He turned his head to the large, female ortolan, now putting the child over her shoulder, letting it get a look at its father, a bit further past the bulkhead. She dipped slightly, as much of a curt bow as she could manage while wrangling a squirming adolescent. "A thousand apologies, master Jedi... Gand... sir." She stumbled a little over the conflicting cultural honorifics.

"This Gand is not troubled," he spoke, perhaps not-so-subtly smoothing her tangled tongue. He lifted his hand again, flexing it open in a soft gesture of absolution and contrition. A versatile somatic trick among the fragmented unGand. It had not offended anyone yet.

The woman took a moment, turning around, and giving her child a whispered scolding. The young ortolan ran to the shelter of its father. But she hesitated.

He made no move, not to wave her away, nor welcome her.

"There won't... be, any trouble, will there? Master Jedi?" Her head turned, and she gave him a worried look.

He could sense her unease. She was concerned to see one of the Jedi coming to such a world, where she had seen fit to stay with her children, at least for a time. Her use of his title had been as unsubtle as his correction.

His breath mask hissed as he took in a deeper breath to answer her, hopefully more fully. "It is the Order's hope that this Gand's presence here will ensure that there is no trouble." His mask hissed again as he inhaled. "It is a courtesy that the Order and This Gand extend to the many new colonists here, and the peoples and companies that employ them."

It was true. The Order hoped that the presence of a Jedi Knight, however freshly engraved that title was, would encourage both the burgeoning criminal element and the overbearing corporations who sought to exploit this new, novel administrative state to step a little more lightly. His real job here was to cool the temperature of this venture by merely existing. It was hoped that the expected light administrative duties would enhance his 'soft' skills, as his Master had put it. And he would have the chance to meditate and explore the mysteries of the force outside of the confines of his temple, without the guidance of his Master.

Independently.

A mandible quivered against the seal of his mask, the pressure beginning to rise again in his temples. This was a test in more ways than one.

He turned to the woman. He was not capable of smiling. He was barely capable of modulating his voice. But he sought to reassure her. To smooth over the ripples of fear.

His mask clicked twice, as he drew in two short breaths. One for himself, and one to speak again. "There will be no trouble."

This was a mistake. It had to be. He'd sort it out as soon as he could find a comm station. He had done well in tests, his attending doctor spoke highly of him, how could they punish him like this. Sure, they paid for his way through medical school and he'd work it off. He just hadn't expected that the company that paid his way would be bought up by a mining corporation. Of course he could refuse, but then he'd have to pay them back. He'd be in debt for decades. No better to work the system and be debt free in a fraction of the time.

He stepped out of the shuttle, the sun stinging his eyes, despite the dust in the air. It was four steps off the terminal before his expensive shoes was ruined by the muddy ground. At least he had a welcoming comittee as in front of him stood a Zabrak in oil stained coveralls.

"Welcome doc," the Zabrak smiled and held out an equally stained hand. Deng took it hesitantly.

"Thanks, but I believe there's been a mistake," Deng replied. "I will sort this out and be out of here within a week."

"Long as you do your job while you're here," the Zabrak said.

"I won't turn away anyone needing help," Deng said and followed the Zabrak into a landspeeder. He could do this he thought. Just a week or two tops and he'd get this sorted out and get back to the Core Worlds.

6 months later

"Put Mr. Javand in examination room 2, I'll be with him in a moment," Deng stuck his upper body out the door of his modest office to notify the reseptionist.

He closed the door and sat back down behind the desk. "Sorry about that," he said to local representative of the Lant Mining Corp. "Now where was we."

"You were trying to explain to me how you shouldn't be here," the corporate agent said with a smile. "But the thing is you signed a contract, and unless you can pay it down, you are stuck here. These people need a doctor."

"I signed with a local ore processing company company on Corellia, I thought the stipulation that I would have to move meant another city," Deng said with a sigh.

"And when we bought that company and all its contracts that move got a bit further than you expected,"" the corp agent replied. "But as it stands my hands are tied. The people here deserve medical attention, and you have 3 year left on the contract."

The two was interrupted by the door to the office bursting open. "Doc you need to come. Been an accident at mine 34."

Without thinking, Deng grabbed his doctors bag and was halfway out the door. "Don't think this conversation is over," Deng told the corp agent.

Rushing past the receptionist Deng suddenly remembered. "Apologize to Mr. Javand, try to reschedule."

Reynar Thonn jokingly referred to the Cantina as 'his office." It was true enough, this was were he did most of his business. Of all the wretched hives of scum and villainy out there The Mineshaft certainly was one of the wretchedest. Everybody has a side hustle, small time spice dealers, gamblers, black marketeers, a bounty hunter fit right in.

Problem was bounty pucks had been in short supply lately. It was so bad the droid had turned himself off for a week, Reynar didn't have that option, not with his current booze and spice budget anyway. He'd considered taking up an honest trade, like sabacc, but the pickings here? He was better off contacting the guild every standard week to see if they'd send him somewhere else, anywhere else.

But evidently he hadn't paid his penance yet. The Guild liked their hunters professional, it gave clients confidence. You could hire a triggerman for fifty cred, probably less, but you'd get what you paid for. "Reynar, you need to stop thinking with your blaster," the said. "If you want to get tapped for big time jobs you gotta be clean, no collateral damage. Follow the rules...". So he stayed here, as far from the big time as you could get. You couldn't even see the big time from here.

"Got anything?". He looked at the bartender. "Smugglers? Non guild miners? Anything?". The Arcona behind the bar blinked his gold eyes at Reynar, he was salted to the gills. No help there. Maybe he'd contact the guild, or see if the droid moved, the fun never stopped on Barcana.

Garrik Kade stepped off the transport and took a slow look across Bacrana’s settlement. New structures, fresh mining equipment, and too many people trying to make a living in a place that didn’t seem ready for them yet. The cold wind didn’t bother him. He’d worked harsher worlds.

The contract had been vague. Something about losses outside the perimeter and locals talking about a beast. That was enough to get his attention. Frontier colonies rarely asked for help unless things were already going wrong.

He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and started toward the main hall, moving with the steady patience of someone used to watching before acting. He wasn’t here to make friends.

Just to see what kind of trouble Bacrana was hiding.

"You think we're safe here?" Deng asked his receptionist, braving another peek out the window. Right now they seemed content yelling out and booing the administrator, but how long before they decided to storm the building. And how long would the doors hold out when that happened.

With a grimace he took a sip at what passed for caf out here. He still hadn't gotten used to the taste. The first thing he would do once back to Coruscant was visit one of the many caf shops for a proper blend.

He was half a mind to go tell Director to say whatever he had to, to calm the masses. But secretly he had sympathy for the miners, after all he was forced to work here against his will as well.

The Gand peered through the layers of plastiglas between himself and the child, seeing concern etched on his face. He paused a moment, then found his feet. He took his breath-mask from the hook near the door, and stepped into the airlock, his mandibles comfortably interlocking around the rubbery seal that kept out the corrosive oxygen.

As the thin airlock cycled, he took his robe from the hook outside, putting it over his tunic. It had been sprayed with deodorant and lined with packets of a soft powder that, according to the locals, took the edge off. The smell of ammonia, he had heard, was quite pungent and distracting.

Only once he had properly settled, emerged from his thoughts and into the present moment, did he speak to the boy, hoping he had calmed down. "Speak about this trouble."

"Someone's going to get hurt if they don't calm down," Deng sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

He stands there a moment, looking out before he decides something has to be done. But not by him. They looked ready to rip apart the first person to leave the offices. It wasn't his job to negotiate pay.

He walks over to the office of the guy whose job it actually is, Director Dorell. He knocks on the door before entering.

"Are you going to do something about what's going on out there?" he asks. "They are going to get us or themselves hurt. And dead miners can't work last I checked."

He knew imploring to Director Dorell's better nature would fail outright, as he suspected the director just didn't have any. Instead he had to get it down to numbers. "Next supply drop is weeks away, and so is any replacement workers. How do you think a month of reduced production would look on your performance review. I'd stand a better chance to get out of here before you."

He eyed the child impassively. Perhaps the child knew, or simply intuited, that he had no real intention of policing his activity. It was not his jurisdiction. And besides, he did not want to lose the child's trust. Parenting was for parents, and strangers needed all of the sources of information they could muster, especially in small communities.

"This Gand will see if this is trouble," he said, noncommittally, as he swept out of the office. He glanced at the town's chronometer, then headed for the transit station, hoping he could compel some member of the motor pool to expedite transport to the site.

Thankfully, his miniscule frame did little to strain the child's speeder bike. He would have to look into getting one for himself, as he hadn't anticipated having to come all the way down to the mine. Not without invitation, of course. Things seemed to be a bit more... heated on this planet than he had anticipated.

He looked back over his shoulder, and pointed back towards the settlement. He did not insist the boy leave, but his suggestion was very clear.

With the racous settlers shouting ahead, he approached the droid, looking up at it from his disadvantaged position, stopping before the riot shield as if it were merely a reception desk.

His mask clicked, and after a hissing inhale, he said, "This Gand would speak to the aggrieved parties," as if it were a protocol droid, and not a hulking barely-restrained killing machine.

Reynar looked out at the protestors, looking for any signs as to what the general protest was about. It didn't take much to spark unrest, as one of the company's main profit streams was screwing over the workers. He pulled out his blaster and checked it. It was a new piece, he payed too much for it back in Empress Teta, they sid the beam was bright enough to blind a Rancor at 10 meters, but then again if you were 10 meters from a Rancor, you were done for, even if it was blind.

Now that he thought about it he did have one card to play. "I know a guy inside the mining camp. One of the med staff, he's done some work on me when captures have gone sideways.". He fished his comlink out of his pocket. Time to contact Doctor Arden.