Star Wars: Slave Of Darkness

Maklan was seated at the bar of the brothel, a lukewarm mug of caf in hand. He wasn't there to "visit" with any of the girls, just to take advantage of its caf machine. The platoon had yet to acquire one for the warehouse and he'd been pulling an all-nighter.

There had been a lot to police and much more remained.

Last night had been bodies. Not only did they need to dispose of the corpses, they also had to make sure everyone important had been accounted for.

None of his had died. And the only reason he knew that was because he'd been busy picking out shrapnel for most of the night after one of the scum-suckers had pulled a frag grenade on two of his men. 

While their armor had taken most of the blast and their helmets had protected them from concussions, there were gaps between the plating. Luckily, nothing important got hit, so all he had to deal with was a load of complaining from the pair as he stitched them back up.

One of them had lost an arm as a result of the blast, but thanks to its cybernetic nature it was a mild inconvenience at best. A few hours with a mechanic and it would be working good as new.

After years on Korriban, it was an honest surprise to have an op with zero fatalities or serious injuries. Maklan found that he didn't quite know what to think about that fact.

The lobby of the brothel was empty, save for Maklan himself. The "ladies" of the establishment mostly worked at night, so the establishment was closed down until the late afternoon to give them a chance to rest.

As the captain took a sip of his caf, the door opened, letting in a gust of the morning heat. Maklan didn't turn to face them, instead sliding a second cup to the side. Metal fingers wrapped around the handle before lifting it up to their owner's lips as they took the seat beside him.

After a long moment of simply enjoying cheap instant caf, Flint spoke, "Been a long time since I shot at anything human-shaped. Almost thought I'd forgotten how."

"Any of the boys share that difficulty?"

"Only few, if any." The sergeant shook his head, "Most defaulted to overkilling their targets and more than expected got caught up as collateral, so we didn't quite hit the capture metric you set for the mission. Fidget's group was especially bad, as per usual."

Maklan sighed into his caf, "Damn. Still, I suppose that was a bonus objective, at best."

Every man in the platoon had learned quickly that there wasn't much on Korriban that went down with "just enough" and more than one had been on the wrong end of something that had been pumped with enough blaster bolts to mission-kill a tank, yet still able to tear a chunk out of them.

Such encounters had ingrained habits that, though useful at the time, were now proving to be problematic. He would only let that mistake happen once.

"Get the men drilling on fire discipline so we don't have a repeat." The captain ordered after taking another sip, "We let that get a bit lax due to the beasties on Korriban, but we can't afford that shite now that we're back in civilization."

It was an order that he himself would be following as well. Back in the office building, he'd filled a gangster with enough blaster bolts to melt the top half of the man's body into a puddle of organic sludge.

That he'd managed to push that image out of his head so easily and still catch a few hours of sleep probably implied some unfortunate things about his mental state.

Maklan liked to think of himself as a realist and observed the world through that lens. While his platoon were well-drilled soldiers out of sheer necessity, they had never been the elite of the Imperial Army. On top of that, he only had a few dozen at his disposal that weren't engaged in policing their territory and free to carry out operations.

He also believed that the galaxy was out to get him and reacted accordingly.

Though the Slicers had heavily outnumbered his forces, they had largely been a disorganized mob. Their hierarchy had been fragile and had folded near-instantly with only a few of the lieutenants dead. The leader of the gang had been left untouched, but he'd proven to be completely inept at keeping his panicking subordinates in line once the killings started.

They had been the biggest power in the district, but they were a mere blip on the radar compared to some of the gangs in the richer parts of the city. But as Tesser said, the Slicers had merely been the first step.

"How many did we get?" Maklan finally asked.

"Six told us to go space ourselves." Flint replied, draining his caf mug quickly and setting it on the bar, "The other twelve were more compliant after I let Fidget give our reply to their polite request."

The captain acknowledged it with a grunt. Twelve gangsters, plus the half dozen or so vagrants they had press-ganged after moving into the warehouse. It wasn't exactly an army, but it was more bodies at his disposal for manual labor, if nothing else.

"They don't go anywhere alone and none of them get weapons." He ordered, "If they have to take a piss, they'll get a buddy to go with them. If even a toe is out of line, it's getting shot off. But dangle rewards over their head for good behavior."

"Train 'em like a kath hound." Flint smirked, "Got it, sir."

"I'm assuming you've got men tallying up our spoils?" At the other soldier's nod, he continued, "When they're done, have them forward a complete manifest to Cormun. 

He'll know what to do with any credits we find. In the meantime…did we get anything worth noting?"

"Aside from weapons, some tibanna gas tanks, and more Spice than even Fidget can get through in a week, we did manage to snag a few "vehicles.""

Maklan's cup paused on its trip to his mouth and he raised a brow, "I could hear the quotation marks in that. The hells wrong with 'em?"

"Just that they're civilian vehicles in bad shape. A few swoop bikes and a couple of cargo speeders held together with rust, prayers, and tape." Flint shrugged.

"Still, the twins think they can do something with them. They've already started drawing up plans to turn one of the vans into an improvised hovertank."

The captain thought about it for a moment before nodding, "Tell them to prioritize that project. I won't say no to some mechanized support, ramshackle it may be. We might need it sooner or later and the army proper is unlikely to supply any."

Flint smirked, clearly appreciating the idea, "Will do. I'm sure they'll be delighted."

"Is that an accusation of favoritism I hear in your tone, Sergeant?" Maklan asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

"Not at all, sir." The cyborg replied, his tone completely unconvincing, "After all, I like my cybernetics kept in working order."

The pair of soldiers shared a good-natured chuckle between them, though it quickly tapered off into silence. Each man refilled their mugs more than once with lukewarm caf, content to enjoy the quiet.

It was a few minutes after both men had finished their third mug that Maklan broke the silence.

"It feels strange." He started, pausing to find the words, "Being back in civilization, I mean."

"Not sure I'd call this "civilization"…" Flint muttered darkly.

The captain elbowed the other man, "It's not Korriban, is what I mean. Smartarse."

Flint's metal fingers tapped against the handle of his mug, "I know what you mean…and I agree. I almost forgot how to act around people when we first landed. Kept checking our six for monsters." He glanced at Maklan, "How long were you there, sir? Three years?"

"Seven." Maklan corrected, "Took charge of the platoon a little before you joined our prestigious crew. Battlefield promotion."

"Shavit." The other man cursed quietly, "How the hells aren't you as bonkers as Fidget?"

"No Spice addiction, for one," The older man replied, "And the other…Well, I've experienced worse."

Flint paused, waiting to see if Maklan was going to elaborate. However, that hope was in vain and he decided to let the line of questioning drop.

"It's strange to be off Korriban…" Maklan repeated his earlier sentiment, "…But not nice. There are still monsters lurking in the shadows. They're just human-shaped now."

"Sir?"

The captain shook his head, "Just a bit of rambling. Go finish up with the men and then catch some shut eye. Who knows how much we'll get in the coming days."

The other man only hesitated for a moment before Maklan found himself alone again.

Staring into the empty caf mug, he could feel the Smoke Demon's ruby eyes boring into his back from his own shadow. His next words came out as a mutter, not directed at anyone. But in his mind, he pictured a particular figure that haunted his memories.

"Oh, yes. Plenty of monsters out here..."

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The first book of this fanfic has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.

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