THE SHADOW OF THE MANDALORE
Chapter 7 part 4
This is the last section of this chapter.
Next week, we start Chapter Eight, and that’s only two parts. That will be the end of this story until I finish it. I won’t be even starting it until sometime in the new year.
My Sci-Fi Fridays will have come to an end.
In last week’s story…
We follow Alyssa as she meets with her former Kashiefa, (that’s Ryltohian for Master) Setti, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. He tells her there was a Sith on the planet who evaded detection so he could bring down the ship and try to get a Sith artefact from Fitt. The problem is, they don’t know what the artefact is. It was the reason the girl was taken. She’s being used as leverage. But Alyssa has a bigger fear, that being the girl has the Force, and it’s strong. She’s young and untrained, and there’s every possibility, she could be corrupted.
In the meantime, Dax leaves to trace a lead…
iv
Dax skimmed over the mountains of garbage where the Warehouse Quarter in the Lower Nault District was supposed to be located. Bringing up the 3-d holo-map he uploaded to his Swoop bike’s comlink, there was little he saw that looked similar to the map. He told Dyatha-Lun he was leaving to follow a hunch, and if everything went the way he hoped, he’d be back within the hour; that was when he realized the map was at least thirteen hundred years old, and the last update was probably three hundred years ago.
Back in two hours seems more like it.
He looked out over the towering mountains of garbage stretching across the Lower Nault as far as he could see. The records said the Lower Nault District was abandoned except for refuse droids, but there was obviously life down there. Sustaining heavy damage during the Sith Invasion, the Nault had been cited as one of the primary sources of the Rakghoul Plague. The warehouses themselves had somehow withstood the test of time – the durocrete and transparisteel frames both doing what they were supposed to do, and that was to withstand the test of time. But a thousand years of neglect had caused more damage than any fallout from the Sith invasion might have done.
If I’m right, I’ve found the Basilisk War Droid; if I’m not, I’m probably walking into a trap.
Most of the warehouses were hidden under twisting shadows of warped transparisteel I-beams that appeared to sprout out from mountainous hills of garbage. Everything about the place looked desolate and uninhabited; the air was noxious, rank with fumes and gases, but he could sense the people hiding in and under the mountains of garbage. There were swampy tracts of stagnant water as big as lakes in the distant gloom, with water trickling out of broken hydro-conduits above soaking through the garbage and forming streams of rainbow-stained water winding between the ever-growing piles and almost burying the warehouses they surrounded. Narrow footpaths wormed their way around hillocks, and Dax could see how in the distance the hills evolved into towering mountains of gleaming metal, each with tracks leading up to the tiers and levels above.
There were ancient war machines that looked like out-of-date Ak-Aks and Walkers from before the Mandalorian War; the burned out husks of troop carriers and transport ships that had crashed into the planet’s surface, had been turned into some sort of housing, each piled on top of the other as though they were storage containers. The air was heavy, thick with smoke and humidity, and he could see millions and millions of droids that looked to have been picked over, the empty shells of their bodies glittering in the failing lights coming from the roof above.
It’s almost looks like they’re fighting some forgotten War down here.
He dropped down to the surface and parked the Swoop bike nearby, and reaching out with the Force searched out for the heat and pain so often associated with the Dark side. He could sense the hatred and hostility around him. He took a deep breath. He placed his hand against the door of the first building he came too and took another deep breath, letting the Force seep into his mind and slow everything down. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins and hear his heartbeat echoing through his body; he could hear the air circulating through the alleyway behind him.
I can’t afford to let my fear get the better of me.
He knocked on the door lightly, sensing something behind it as he reached for his light sabre. He knocked again, and then stepping back, prepared himself by using Form II Makashi. As he pushed the door open slowly with the Force, he sensed a life form beyond.
“Are you going to come in, or stand outside there and conduct your business?” a hoarse, rasping voice called out. There was a distinct sound accompanying it – a shrill whistle – and Dax peered around the doorway cautiously.
“Who are you? Or maybe I should say what are you?” he asked.
“There’s no need to be rude,” the creature said, standing up behind the desk and dwarfing Dax with his mammoth size. Dax guessed the figure to be standing at least five meters tall.
Its large, oversized head and massive shoulders seemed to be a single growth; there was no neck in between. The head tapered to a blunt point with no discernible nose, the mouth was large, the teeth inside flat – as though made for softer foods – and Dax breathed a sigh of relief, thinking at least the thing wouldn’t be eating him for a snack. He appeared to have evolved from water-dwelling mammals, with most of his water borne ancestry long since bred out of him; what were once his fins, and flukes were now undeveloped arms and legs. However, he still breathed through a blowhole on the top of his head.
“You never met a Herglic, Human?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” Dax said, turning his light sabre off and hanging it off his belt.
“Then we’re even. I never met a Jedi before. What you want?”
“Do you live here?”
“I trade here. I live there,” he said, waving one of his mammoth arms in a general direction. Dax looked to his left. The Herglic’s living quarters appeared separated by various partitions he’d picked up over the years.
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with…what did you call yourself?”
“A Herglic. They don’t let my type on the Upper Levels. No allowing species to mix on the Upper Levels,” he said with a slow shake of his oversized head. “That’s one of the reason for the Civil War, you know. You’d think they would’ve changed the laws by now.”
“What laws?”
“The Segregation Laws.”
“Don’t know nothing about that. That’s not why I’m here. You said you trade here,” Dax said, looking at the clutter in the warehouse.
There were stacks and crates lined up along the length of three walls, and large walkways between the rows big enough for the Herglic to move through. As if to prove his point, the Herglic picked up a large crate and began walking down one of the alleyways with it.
Dax followed him.
“Are you looking to buy from me?” the Herglic asked, placing the crate on top of three others.
“That depends on what you have to sell,” Dax replied with a smile.
“My family have been working down here for generations. We own four warehouses. I can get you anything you need, or want,” he said, walking back to the front of the building.
“I’m looking for a Basilisk War Droid that was manufactured on Mand’oa—Mandalore—and purchased here through an agent on Ryloth.”
“You’re looking for information, then.”
Dax nodded.
“I don’t sell information.”
“I’ve managed to trace the Droid to this warehouse. Did you have it?”
“I did.”
“And where is it now?”
“It was purchased. Someone picked it up.”
“Who?”
“I told you, I don’t sell information.”
“How about a trade then? Will you trade with me? What if I tell you the Droid was used in a crime, and that if I go to SucoroCom with whatever information I have, you’ll have to deal with them. You may be held as an accomplice in that crime.”
“I’m a legitimate businessman. I don’t deal with stolen property. The Droid was sold. I have a bill of lading.”
“Can I see it?”
“As part of the trade? I let you see the bill, and you don’t report me.”
Dax nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”
The Herglic walked to a large cabinet, pulling a drawer open with a fingernail. He picked up a set of tongs hanging on a string and sorted through some papers before reaching in and pulling the bill out.
“Ah yes, here it is.” He looked down at Dax. “I should warn you, this man,” he said as he handed Dax the bill. “He’s dangerous.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
“Tattoos on his face. A chrome cap screwed to his skull, and a scar on the left side of his face.”
“There’s no address here,” Dax said looking up at the creature.
“That’s because he said he was returning to Mandalore.”