— Maeve —
"Mighty Leia is with us, one and all," The Spiteful Man — Atom — said. "She is our sister, not of blood, but of chains. Everywhere they exist, she does as well, and she shoulders a portion of our burdens. You and yours may be new to this, but she's with you all the same. You can fraggin' count on that."
If it wasn't for the hellish circumstances, for… everything else, Maeve could've sworn her world hadn't fallen apart. How many times had she simply sat and listened as stories were told? Stories of spirits and treasured meanings. Stories to inspire emotion and kinship. Stories with lessons and teachings inherent to life and the world they lived in.
This 'Atom' was a strange man, not at all broken as Maeve thought she would find others here in hell. No, he had life within him. Life and Spite, pushing him to persist even with a collar around his neck. For a moment, Maeve almost thought it unfair. But truthfully, beneath her shattered soul, her pain and anger… she shared that spite against all that chained them.
Her mother was a shell of the woman who'd raised her. Her littlest sister was worse. The women of her tribe were crushed, chained. But in Atom, Maeve and her people saw that even this was never hopeless. They could survive. They could fight. They could trust in at least one spirit to continue watching over them.
This Mighty Leia, born of stars and sharing them with her claimed siblings. She was unlike the spirits of the woods and snow that Maeve had been raised with. She was something bigger, something overarching, something that concerned itself with chained souls all across the void.
Yet… for all of Mighty Leia's scope, her stories were so very familiar. They were a language Maeve could speak. Tales to be passed down, whispered in the dark.
In those hellish quarters, all they were missing was a sustaining fire to gather around and to keep back the night. But then… they were the fire. They were what pushed back the darkness, for they had to be. Nothing else would do it for them. Just them in their chains, gathered around shared stars to keep the terrors of hell at least somewhat at bay.
"Mighty Leia was born to the cosmos, born to better, and one day, she was stolen away from all she knew by her chains. Cast from heaven into chained hell. She was ripped from the firmament, but her stars were never taken from her."
That piece of the story resonated with Maeve, with her sisters and tribal kin. Mighty Leia suffered the same hell as them. Her world had been ripped to shreds, and those shreds had been torn away. She'd been unjustly, atrociously, stolen from the life she knew and thrown into the hell that Maeve and her people now lived for themselves. The spirit's experiences preceded them, but the truth in her tale hadn't faded.
"She suffered for an age — the torture and torment of chains, this terrible fate — but she survived. More than her personal pain, Mighty Leia's heart broke for those who came to be chained beside her. So, on nights just like this one, she shared portions of herself with her new siblings-in-chains. She shared stars, the very same that now burn in your chests."
Maeve recognized the story Atom shared for what it was: a hope, a dream, a promise. Mighty Leia had survived, and they could, too.
"Eventually, she shared enough stars to dim herself. She cut out pieces of her being for every one of her siblings. But it was no sacrifice. It was an investment of trust, of protection — a vow, a promise, and a commitment of kinship.
"And when she finally slipped her chains in the dark, returning to her sky, she looked back down at the stars she'd shared and entrusted her siblings with. They were part of her, and so, her siblings were never alone. Even now, that rings true. Even now, Mighty Leia watches, waits, and wishes for you to return your star and join her in freedom. Don't go letting her down, neh?"
The story Atom shared was the origin of a spark that wouldn't — couldn't — go out. The origin of something shared, something connective, something every slave could hold dear.
It was a tale to carry with them, all of them, as they suffered under the crushing, shattering weight of chains. It was the culture, history, and lore of a new tribe that Maeve and her people could now claim. And like the larger prides of Cathar's southern reaches, outsiders could never understand just how much those stories meant to those who treasured them most.
The Snowhunters had their own stories of the many spirits that walked the snow of their homeland. Good and evil and so much in between, they were the lifeblood of their people. Lessons imparted by the tribe's whiskered wisemen. Songs and dances — epics acted out around fires in the night. Tales of fright and warning shared with litters on their mother's knee. Prayers and curses, veneration and damnation, that they swore by.
The stories of her people, and their tellings, were… some of Maeve's most treasured memories. She lived for them just as she lived for a good hunt. For… For so long, she'd intended to become the tribe's next storyteller… But with almost no one left to tell the tales to, that dream was looking as broken as the rest of the life she'd known.
Still… broken pieces could be picked up and put back together as she saw so well here, with Mighty Leia's spirit as the shared lifeblood of those in chains.
Maeve had committed the culture of her people to her mind. She could recount every tale from memory, adding gravitas and playing to her audience as needed. She could spin gloriously horrific tales of banshees with their terrible shrieks on the wind, or Fae glimpsed through the trees, beckoning hunters into traps and tricks, or the terrible Hag Herald of Winter, bringing deathly chills into the forests.
She could inspire romance with tales of the Lovers Chased by Giants, Diarmuid and Grainne, resting their heads on the run in every secret nook and alcove throughout the north — each site of their union becoming sacred to her people.
Many more times than she could properly count, she'd let herself be coaxed into recounting the feats of their namesakes to her littlest sister, the Warrior Queen Maeve and the Goddess Niamh Cinn Oir. Now… Now, the memories of those exasperated retellings might be all she had left of Niamh…
And not just her littlest sister. The stories were all she had left of her entire tribe, her people, when they were whole and hale and proud.
As much as it pained her to admit, the Snowhunters were a shattered, broken, half-dead thing, only living on through their women, and not even wholly there, either. Inspired by Mighty Leia's tale of origin, Maeve wouldn't — couldn't — let her own stories fade into nothingness. She wouldn't just persevere; she would preserve, keeping the lifeblood of her people alive and flowing.
And maybe… make something new in the process, adding to their legends with the shared stories of this new tribe of chains. Mighty Leia was certainly a spirit worth remembering.
So with a goal — a reason to live on — in her mind, Maeve followed up Atom's tale of Mighty Leia's origins and nature with a request.
"Tell me more."
He wasn't the one to do so, standing back and letting his fellows take the storytelling spotlight. They were an odd tribe. 18-strong — Mostly human, with a few exceptions for a Togruta here, two Twi'leks there, a strange, almost Cathar-like 'Gank', and an unknowable, ethereal Fae-like spirit-made-flesh to round them out.
Yet despite the diversity of being, they were tight-knit, camaraderie running thick between them. They all felt so alive, even in chains. And it was quite clear for Maeve to see that they all looked to Atom as their Great Chieftain.
The ones who stepped forth to fulfill Maeve's request for more stories of Mighty Leia legends were sixfold and contained most of their tribe's diversity. Both Twi'lek women, the Togruta woman, two of the dark-skinned human men, and the Fae-like spirit-made-flesh. They, it seemed, knew their tribe's chained stories best. And as Maeve was introduced to them, she found like-minded storytellers, unwilling to let their legends fade.
"Mighty Leia's canon is expansive," The spirit-made-flesh — Fay — said. "Always growing, always deepening. You'll find no shortage of stories where her presence plays a pivotal role."
"Indeed. But where to start?" One of the Twi'lek women — De'vi — wondered aloud.
"Somewhere they can relate to?" The Togruta woman — Taati — asked. "One with themes of community to help glue together their people now? There's nothing more terrible than a fractured tribe…"
Maeve recognized the sympathy and pain in her voice. Taati knew the sheer goodness of a tribe, the goodness of a people, a home, just for them. Had… Had she known a tribe of her own, prior to her chains…? Had she been stolen from its ashes, like them, or simply stolen away from it while it was still whole?
Maeve… didn't know which would be worse, having no home to go back to, like them, or knowing that her home was still waiting for her and being unable to find it again.
"Anywhere," One of the dark-skinned human men — Quinlan — answered flatly. "They deserve to hear all of their new sister's stories eventually, so anywhere is a good place to start."
The other dark-skinned human man — Podry — nodded, "That's the magic of these tales in the night. The… The matrons in the pits… They kept me and the other boys up to hear them many times. It wasn't just entertainment; it was a protection, a relief, a unity we all shared. Everyone who knows chains deserves to know the sister that watches over them."
"There's something special in every story Mighty Leia can claim," The other Twi'lek woman — Aayla — explained, speaking from experience. "Her. Her lessons and hopes and promises… Listen well. These… may just keep you alive."
"May just keep you from going HOLLOW…" Podry added, serious and heavy with that single stressed word.
Maeve's heart certainly ached at it. How many of her people were going HOLLOW already? Her mother was halfway there. Her littlest sister was perhaps past that damning threshold already…
But when Podry said 'HOLLOW', something shone. A star from within and from behind him, just over his shoulder. A magic of the world, existing even — especially — in chains. He was touched by the spirits, Maeve realized.
They… this chained sibling tribe, they all were, in one way or another. Some were touched more intimately — Podry, Fay, Quinlan, Aayla, one of the younger human men standing off to the side, and Atom, most of all — but they all carried that chained sister spirit close to their souls.
With the shining of shared stars at Podry's 'HOLLOW', that magic of the world resonated. For the first time since she saw her lover cut down and defiled before her, Niamh… flinched under her own power. Maeve noticed the movement immediately, clutching her littlest sister to tightly to her side and hoping.
Intently, she stared at Podry and said, "Any story. Anything… Please… Please, bring us back from the HOLLOW."
More magic of the world shone in those dark, hellish slave quarters — soothing, focused, and continuous — coming from Fay in her spirit-made-flesh. Niamh blinked, and just some of her HOLLOW tension drained into the magical light.
"L-Light…?" Niamh asked, the single word still weak enough to make Maeve weep. With tears in her eyes, Maeve nodded frantically, encouragingly, insistently for them to continue.
"Let me tell you," Fay began, soft and gentle and warm in both voice and aura. "About the Clan of the Clipped Falcon. They were a clan chained for generations, but in those lifetimes, they passed down memories of the freedom their clan once knew. They never forgot, treasuring that legacy in safe havens from their masters. A shrine away from ruinous eyes. Whispers between bunks. And passed from Clan Head to Clan Head, a single flower from their former homeworld that never seemed to die."
At once, Maeve's heart ached and raged. Was this what her tribe had to look forward to? Reduced to mere memories in chains?! A glorious, proud, and storied society forced to hide and lose itself to generations of slavery?!
"The Clipped Falcons were Ahia-Ko, a species unfortunately rendered extinct long before any of our times," Fay continued. "They were native to the Jungles of Akiva, proud in their traditions and ways there. But all the pride in the galaxy won't save one from chains when they come calling.
"Terrible as it is, unjust and unfair and unconscionable, any can fall to cruel masters. As Mighty Leia herself proves. For all her Celestial might and freedom… even she was chained. So too were the Ahia-Ko, the Clipped Falcons.
"But as with all masters in these stories, the ones who held the chains have been completely forgotten. It is only right, the proper and worthy way of things. Mighty Leia and her chained siblings deserve to last, deserve to be remembered. But not a single master in her canon is given that honor. None are recorded in her Sky and Stars."
"Good," Maeve spat. "These masters are no spirits with stories worth being told. They are devils, imposing their wicked whims upon the world. Even the 'greatest' of them isn't worth the snow on my paw."
From the sidelines of the story being told, Atom snorted in humorous agreement, "That's the spiteful spirit we like to see. Fuck 'em. All of 'em. Don't even label 'em as villains. As soon as they've chained you or me or any of Mighty Leia's siblings, they stop deserving names."
"Just so," Fay nodded. "We will all have a place in Mighty Leia's Sky. They will not. They can not. Their cruelty, their chains, may define us, but they themselves are quickly and completely lost to the sands of time.
"Such is the way of this story and all like it. The Clipped Falcons suffered under the chained weight of unnamed masters until it was almost — but never quite — all they knew. For on the darkest days and brightest nights, they shared stories of their history and of the sister that watched over them.
"With each memory passed on, with each whispered persistence and dreamed freedom, the Clan's flower lived impossibly on. It was a Hai-ka flower, with treasured funerary meanings… yet it lived. Wilted, yes. But never withered. Never dead as the death it represented. So long as it persisted, their Clan did, too."
Fay did… something, then, to illustrate her story. Magic of the world from her spirit-made-flesh. A flower formed and bloomed in her cupped hands. It was orange and yellow and red, with petals like licking flames. It seemed to burn, flames that wouldn't go out.
Maeve felt her breath catch in her throat, awed by the impossible beauty. Her whole tribe seemed to crowd around, sharing in the flower's warmth. Now, they had their sustaining fire to gather around, to tell stories around.
And at the sight of it, Niamh… moved for herself. She reached out a hand — slow and shaky, but moving. For the first time in their new hell, Maeve saw embers of life in her littlest sister's eyes, reflecting the outlasting life represented by that fiery flower. And Fay, gentle as can be, reached back at Niamh to place that impossible magic into her hands.
"Hold that for me, won't you, my dear?" She requested.
Niamh nodded (Nodded!) and cradled the magic in her palms, enraptured. The positive progress made Maeve feel like her heart could soar.
"Eventually," Fay continued her story. "After many generations of their Clan in chains, opportunity presented itself. Glorious, glorious opportunity, for even their masters had been replaced by the years, and the new ones, while still just as cruel, were lax. Slack had been added to their chains, and the Clan Head, Oh-tli, knew what he could and must do.
"Oh-tli was young, fierce, and bold. He had to be. Once, their Clan had boasted great warriors, but no more. The chains had choked that martial tradition out of existence, for the masters would never allow their slaves to take up arms. They had memories and legends of warriors, but none for themselves. Until Oh-tli, that is. He was-…"
Fay paused and asked, "How do you tend to put these things, Atom?"
"Sounds like he had the spirit, had the spite," Atom grunted. "Sounds like he was built different."
Fay nodded with a chuckle, "That's exactly what I was looking for. Yes, Oh-tli was 'built different'. He had to be. For his Clan, his very chained blood had to burn. But he knew nothing of true fighting, nothing but his Clan's memories of warriors.
"So he prayed, making up for his lacking experience with determination and faith in his chained sister. In the night, beneath her Sky, he pleaded, holding up his Clan's flower as a sacrifice to gain Mighty Leia's favor and attention. He didn't need to, though, for Mighty Leia is always watching over all of her chained siblings.
"From beginning to end, birth to that very moment, Mighty Leia had known Oh-tli. He was her brother, her kin of chains. So when he prayed and pleaded for her to bless his shared star with the ability to fight for his Clan, she didn't hesitate to do so. And she went farther still, blessing his Clan's flower as well — blessing the Hai-ka so that it would forevermore represent her chained siblings' collective determination to outlast their chains."
"That flower you now hold, little one," Fay said, speaking directly to Niamh. "It is blessed just the same. It is the fire that burns away the HOLLOW. It is yours, and your tribe's, now. May you always persist, may you always endure."
"It… It's ours now, Maeve…" Niamh said, barely a whisper but Maeve's heart still skipped as her littlest sister addressed her again. "Fire for the Sealgairí Sneachta, all who remain…"
"It-It is," Maeve agreed, her voice hitching only slightly. "Why… Why don't you go show it to Mother, Niamh? I think she would like to see the new fire of our tribe."
Niamh didn't just nod at that; she smiled. Brittle, but alive and not HOLLOW. It was all Maeve could've asked for, life returned to her littlest sister by story and Mighty Leia's star. Right then, Maeve vowed that Mighty Leia would always have a sister in her.
"What… What happened next?" Curiosity pushed Maeve to ask. "Oh-tli was blessed by the Spirit Sister in the Sky. The lingering fire of his Clan was blessed, too. So then… what next?"
"Why, he fought, of course. The only just course of action against masters…" Fay said with a smile that was somehow both pleasant and vicious. "He fought against his nameless masters, fought for his Clan and all of the other siblings chained beside him. He blazed the way of liberation for all to follow.
"Righteous and determined, Oh-tli rebelled. Stars shone at his back as he cleaved through the masters, a force of Mighty Leia's nature. He fought with her strength, the might of all of her nearby shared stars. But let no one tell you that the masters are not dangerous, powerful, and numerous.
"Oh-tli was only one soul, unwilling to throw his Clan or the siblings chained beside him into the meatgrinder he'd created. Eventually, he would have won," Fay assured. "But it would've taken the dedication of his whole life, his whole being. Even among Mighty Leia's champions, few have that much… Spite to spare."
Strangely, she shot a pointed glance at Atom as she said that. Atom just snorted, "I know what I've gotten myself into. Not like I was doing anything better with my whole life, whole being, whatever. And I'm all Spite, so no worries there."
"The warning and wisdom stand," Fay sighed as if she'd already known the answer he would give. "But yes, I expected nothing else from you, Atom."
"Not my fault that every other option but Spite is shit," Atom shot back.
Again, Fay sighed — though it was rather fond, that time — and continued her story, "Oh-tli sought respite from the oppressive waves of masters. Not for himself, but for those he was defending and liberating. He would keep fighting himself, crushing masters until the end of his days, but for his Clan, he turned to his starry sister once more.
"Soaked in the blood of masters, Oh-tli humbly asked for just one more thing from Mighty Leia. 'I will continue to fight for you, Sister,' he said. 'Just make sure my Clan knows your freedom once more.' Again, his humble request was unnecessary, for Mighty Leia always looks out for her siblings, always acts for them wherever she can.
"The Clipped Falcons stood behind Oh-tli as he fended off another wave of masters, come to slap them back in chains. He fought and fought, unstoppable in Mighty Leia's name. He defended every soul of his Clan with extreme prejudice. And with masterly blood spilling forth like a flood, Mighty Leia descended behind him.
"She wore a form of stars and supernovas and nebulae, the walking embodiment of her Sky. His Clan wept at the sight of her. The masters began to fall into desperate, frenzied terror. And still, Oh-tli fought on.
"Behind him, Mighty Leia welcomed his whole Clan into her arms, cracking open her very Sky so they may pass to old freedom rekindled. And still, Oh-tli fought on.
"She embraced her chained siblings, one and all, whisking them away in shining stars. And still, Oh-tli fought on.
"When she was done with his Clan, Mighty Leia embraced him from behind, a refreshing kiss upon the crown of his head. And still — and so — Oh-tli fought on.
"He never turned from his fight, never caught a glimpse of his starry sister for himself, but from that day forth until the end of his natural life, Oh-tli fought masters in her name.
"Years and years later, he would die of old age; a life well-lived with countless masters falling to his blessed, righteous resistance. Only then would his shared star properly rejoin Mighty Leia's Sky. Only then would he get his first glimpse of the sister who'd been with him the whole time. Just as his Clan years before, Mighty Leia welcomed him into her Sky with open, embracing arms. And finally, Oh-tli fought no more."
The end of the story struck Maeve silent with awe. Oh-tli was a man worthy of legend, his tale worthy of being recorded, remembered, and retold. This… This was all she'd wished for when she asked to hear more. It was the kind of story she could respect, that her people could respect. A Clan Head reviving his Clan's warrior traditions to fight against the hell of chains. Maeve was proud to claim the same kinship with Mighty Leia that Oh-tli once had.
"… Thank you," She said softly, earnestly. "This may be the first story of many in this new tribe, but me and mine will never forget it. A noble warrior like Oh-tli deserves nothing less. Is… Is his spirit still with us…?"
"Perhaps," Fay said, smiling slightly. "His sentiment certainly is. There are certainly… souls who will give their all, everything they have, to the righteous fight against the masters."
Their counterpart tribe in those hellish quarters all nodded at that statement, most glancing Atom's way. Some did so with fondness and exasperation. Others did so with determination and idolization. They all seemed to concur that Atom was cut from the same coat as Oh-tli, though. And… others in their tribe, too, for De'vi looked in the same way to Podry and Taati looked to the young man, David.
Immediately, Maeve decided that they were in good company in their new tribe. She decided that, even chained and collared, these new siblings of theirs would fight. How could she and her people do anything but the same, especially now with new legends to look toward for inspiration?
"Whatever you do, brothers and sisters in chains," She said — vowed. "Know that the Sealgairí Sneachta, we Snowhunters, shall stand with you. Your stories are ours. I hope our stories will become yours as well."
"All of Mighty Leia's siblings may contribute to her canon," Fay assured. "All of her shared stars will be reinvested and remembered in her Sky."
"We shall be more so," Maeve declared. "Carving a legend of our own from this hell."
She looked around at what remained of her tribe. New life had been breathed into each of them, but none more so than Niamh. Standing beside their chief mother, she still held that flower representing hope and spite and outlasting resistance. Mother was holding her close, much less of a shell with those fiery petals to help warm and revive her.
"Our… Our warriors have fallen," Mother, Aoife, said, her voice alive and her word law once more. "But unlike the Clipped Falcons, they have not yet been forgotten, not yet been erased.
"Our claws haven't been clipped. Our fangs haven't been pulled. We carry weapons with us wherever we go. If… If this is all we have left, I will gladly fight so that we may proudly meet our men — our mates, our brothers, fathers, and sons — amongst the spirits and tell them that their deaths were not for nothing…"
"That's the spirit," Atom grinned. "That's the Spite. Be ready, neh? Now that we're here, shit's gonna get… interesting, real quick. No chain is gonna hold us, not with Mighty Leia at our backs and so many acceptable targets in front of us.
Prepare yourself. Fight if you can. And if you can't? Survive. Survive to tend that new flower of yours and all it represents. Survive to burn with it, the life of your tribe never extinguished. May Spite be with you, be with us all. We'll need it."
IIIII
— Atom —
Life in the slave markets of Rorak 5 — the largest in Hutt Space, in the galaxy — was a special kind of hell. More a limbo than a final, damning destination, but no less tormented for it. From here, it would only get worse for those in chains after their very flesh was bought and sold.
It was, at once, a processing center, marketplace, melting pot, and a vast stockhouse that treated souls as commodities. It was the economy of the Rorak system, concentrated in the hands of the cruelest few, the only 'free' few. More scratch flowed through here than circulated upon the planet below. And everything else the system offered served the damned, flesh-trading industry of slavery, sucked in like a black hole.
Slaves were brought across the void to the station's slavering maw. Slaves were brought from the world below, too — a population of billions acting as fertile harvesting grounds close at hand. Beyond that, the world's respectable industry maintained the space station, and menials (more slaves) flowed in a constant, replaceable stream up to orbit to keep Rorak 5 running on suffering.
The Hutt figurehead governor of the Rorak system didn't live on the populated, industrialized planet below; he stayed on high, his only duty to keep business booming.
In that duty, he was backed up by the highest, cruelest, and richest masters on the station — a council of Middle Men Barons. They were masters more like corps, terribly, terribly impersonal in their life-ruining business. Slavery was nothing more than callous accounting for them, each so eager to take their slice of the market, each so deeply and solely invested in the scratch to be made buying and reselling flesh.
Masters came to Rorak 5 from all corners of the galaxy. It was a twisted form of economic tourism, attracting everything from the worst of the worst to the low-bar-best that a master could be. Rorak 5 even had a slave-species stock exchange, buying and selling the very idea of a species' slavery. The system's supply, the system's demand, and everything in between were all slaves, all flesh and soul. Thanks to that, it was easy to slip our Legendary gig through the cracks.
18 volunteers to go undercover as slaves. It easily could've been more. Smasher, for one, wanted in on the action, but it was a bit hard to pass off a massive steel monster as a slave. There was only so much even the Force could fuzz and fudge.
The Core Crew — the Edgerunning OGs — was all here, though, with Kiwi spoofing credentials to act as the 'seller' who got us in. Dorio, Maine, Gloria, Taati, David, Becca, Lucy, Sasha, and I were part of the infil team, the ones who were 'sold' to stock the slave market. The Jedi had joined us — Fay, Aayla, and Quinlan easily securing their spots. V as well, with her samurai, Isla, acting as rather unnecessary protection. To round things out, we took some Core Gonks as well, the ones who had the most experience with chains — Coyate, Shank, De'vi, and Podry.
Nova was with us, too. Technically, not physically, of course. Existing on the net, she could be carried along in Lucy's lobby, with no master the wiser. Terrible as it was, I felt that my daughter needed to see what we were fighting and fighting for. Her role was mainly to observe and help with netrunning support where she could.
It was a large team for infil, but necessary for inciting revolution on a station so damningly experienced in the business of chains. I made sure all of us could act as muscle, though some — like Gloria, De'vi, Taati, and Fay — had more social duties as their primary concerns.
The most important aspect of slipping undercover came down to the Force. My face was a bit well-known in Hutt Space nowadays. As were several more of our Gonks, to a lesser degree. To get around that, the Jedi, David, Podry, and I had put a Force Weave in play. Led by Fay, we combined our efforts to obscure recognizable features. It'd worked, and in processing, the masters had barely given us a second glance.
Unfortunately, going undercover as slaves meant that we were running real light on iron. Completely, for the most part. Just chrome and Force to our names. Of course, for my danger-junkie chooms, that only added to the gig's already Legendary status.
"We'll be goin' in dry, choom-Daddy," Becca had purred, putting it best. "And comin' out wet with blood and violence and preem, improvised action~!"
The Force Weave helped there, concealing chrome from notice. Netrunning (and Nova) was similarly concealable, the processing masters not even knowing to check for the ability (or that they were getting a two-for-one special with Lucy). And of course, the Force itself was always with us, the Jedi, David, Podry, and I most prominently. So even chained, we were far from unarmed. We'd just have to make it work with what we had.
Slipping through the cracks into the slave markets had been a humbling and enlightening experience. I'd seen slaves, seen chains, but only the end result of them, only when they were already set. Rorak 5 offered a new perspective on damnation.
The processing process was abominable. Families torn apart on a whim or for cruel convenience — children from their parents, brothers from sisters, and lovers from each other. Liberties taken without hesitation or even a scrap of empathy for those who suffered them — the masters completely used to having their every way, large or small. Punishments and abuses dished out for the smallest slights — whips and shocks, blades and bludgeons, torments emotional and crushingly spiritual.
Worst of all was the systemic, infuriatingly efficient injection of slave control chips. Rorak 5 had that processing process down to a routine. Every slave that passed through their system was burdened with a bomb under their skin. That ever-present threat of death cast a constant, heavy, and overarchingly anxious mood across the slave markets, worse than the hell it already was.
Our team managed to avoid them through a liberal abuse of Force coercion. There was only so far I was willing to go to make our undercover act real. And when even Aayla froze up at the prospect of being once again implanted with a slave control chip, I knew that was a step too far.
Neutralizing that overarching threat for the whole station was the first thing I'd ordered as we got settled in our new slave quarters. Sasha, Lucy, and Nova got straight down to it, subtly jamming the transmission through the net in a way that would both avoid detection and avoid the gory fireworks once shit kicked off.
Nova, especially, was eager to help. I could sense that she'd dedicated entire parallel processes of her being to monitoring the jam and ensuring the worst-case scenario couldn't occur. And those parallel processes were practically glitching with righteous spiteful fury all the while… She really was my daughter.
We'd been put in quarters with new slaves, freshly chained. Catgirls — Cathar, really — and I already knew they'd been in high demand from the markets for the worst reasons… If they were actually going to be sold, that is. They wouldn't be.
Not one more slave would be sold now that we were here. Those already sold, and on their way out with new masters, would be stopped at the edge of the system, blockaded and boarded by the lurking Gonk Fleet. The Rorak system was already ours. The masters here just hadn't gotten the memo yet.
The freshly chained Snowhunters were our first converts and recruits inside the slave markets. Just the beginning. The scene there repeated itself over the darkest hours to come. In the night, as the masters slept and the overseers fell lax, our team began to creep through the station to spread Mighty Leia's word. Freedom. It was coming. It was here.
With Nova, Sasha, and Lucy in the station's systems, we had free rein. With the Force, overseers 'unfortunately' fell asleep at their posts, no fatalities — not yet, at least. With chrome and Edgerunning skill, we secured ways into every armoury on the station, doors that could be blasted open for our chained siblings to take up arms. With Spite, we prepared to blow the fraggin' roof off this twisted, hellish limbo.
And come morning — as the markets filled, refreshing with 'new stock' and expecting their cruel, flesh-trading business as usual — we would.
The Gonk movement and Mighty Leia's Laws had come to the damning limbo of Rorak 5, and we weren't leaving until the entire system sang our names.
IIIII
[AN: Merry Christmas All (just a day late)! As a gift, have a few of the bonus pics for each chapter that I usually reserve for my patreons. As of publicly posting this one, a new chapter just went up there, too. Come join us on Patreon (pat reon.com/dryskies_btb), if you want, but as always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :]