Morden Man

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

I have equally been struggling to get much down as regards PoW of late. I think I messed up by planning everything out so much that now when I actually sit down to write it feels like a chore.

I suddenly feel a great deal of sympathy for George R. R. Martin. I mean, minus the millions of dollars and morbid obesity.

Heroes For Hire: Crime, Superheroes, Politics, etc.

"Bosses don't change a thing in the name of seemingly making it,
Servants'll kiss the ring of whoever they think is paying 'em,
You don't deserve the spit that they hurdled up in your face and shit." - Killer Mike

Rand Industries
Manhattan

Erected in the center of Danny Rand’s office was a wooden sparring dummy that Danny circled with intent. His blonde hair had turned near brown with sweat and the light bounced off his bare chest as he bobbed and weaved around the dummy’s arms. His limbs were still weary but spending the night with Misty had put a bounce back into his step. He had slept even better than he had imagined. For the first time since he’d arrived back in New York his night had not been beset with nightmares. Even with that Danny knew he couldn’t afford to rest on his laurels. In his line of work there was always some threat waiting around the corner for him. The life of an Iron Fist was a life of pain. He knew that the moment he plunged his fists into Shou-Lao the Undying and the past eighteen months had only confirmed it.

To be an Iron Fist was to be hunted and Danny had to be prepared for the next predator that came for him.

“Someone seems chipper this morning,” came a voice from behind Rand. “You slept well, I take it?”

Danny’s head spun round and there stood at the mouth of Danny’s office was Wesley Phillips. He was immaculately turned out in a navy pinstriped suit and a light blue shirt underneath. The burgundy tie that kept held his outfit together was the same shade as the burgundy leather shoes on his feet. His hands were knotted behind his back and he smiled at Danny playfully as he awaited his response.

“How did you get in here?”

Wesley shrugged his shoulders and reached into his suit jacket and produced a document. “I would have thought you’d be more concerned with these.”

Danny reached for a towel draped over one of the arms of wooden dummy and mopped his sweaty brow clean. Once he was done he took the document from Phillips and skimmed over it. It was a prospective contract that would outsource forty-five billion dollars worth of research and development out to Rand Industries over the course of the next eight years. Danny’s eyes widened as he saw the sum and he looked up at Wesley with shock.

“It’s been less than twelve hours.”

Again Wesley shrugged his shoulders.

“What can I say? Diane must have taken more of a shine to you than she let on. When I got to work this morning I found it waiting for me in my inbox. I am lead to believe there may be more in the pipeline over the coming months provided you continue to demonstrate your commitment to Rand Industries over all else. I'm afraid that will mean no more unannounced trips to the Bahamas.”

Danny nodded in agreement and pulled on a yellow t-shirt.

“What happens now?”

“You go to the press,” Wesley said as he perched on the edge of Danny’s desk. “Tell them that the prince over the water has returned to lead Rand Industries back to the Promised Land and then sit back and watch whilst your share price skyrockets.”

A reluctant smile appeared on Danny’s face as he glanced over the document again. Between Phillips and Gërdec nearly fifty billion dollars had been magicked up in less than twelve hours. It wouldn’t be any near enough to keep Rand Industries afloat on its own but if Wesley’s word proved to be good again there would be more coming. It was a huge step towards safeguarding everything his father had built.

“I’m impressed, Wesley.”

Phillips ran a hand through his thick beard and then gestured up at the television screen at the opposite end of the office.

“You ought to be thanking old Tommy Drayton. There’s no way these things get pushed through with so little scrutiny if not for that mess in Harlem. As it stands everyone in this town is too busy checking under their cars to notice what’s right in front of their faces. Between that and the Alderman case there’s a killing to be made over the next week if we play this correctly.”

Danny nodded.

“Never waste a crisis.”

An appreciative smile appeared on Wesley’s face and he patted Danny on the back. “You’re not as wet behind the ears as Jeryn made out, Mr. Rand.”

Wesley stood up and ambled towards the window of Danny's office. It was one of the tallest buildings in New York and Danny had made sure that his office had the best view of the New York skyline. He could see the Baxter Building and Stark Tower from his desk. He wasn't made for desk work but on those occasions that he was in the office being able to catch a glimpse of the Human Torch blazing across the sky made it more bearable. It was a reminder of who he really was and what he'd put on this Earth to do. Once things had calmed down at Rand Industries he could finally go back to doing it.

"So what's say we start discussing my salary?" Wesley smirked as he surveyed the skyline. "How does eight million dollars a year sound?"

Heroes For Hire: Crime, Superheroes, Politics, etc.

"Me and this woman made love in Kemet,
Fell to the Earth, lost each other, died and we came back sister and brother." - Killer Mike

Manhattan

The door to Danny Rand’s apartment swung open and he stepped through it with a sigh. He loosened his bowtie and discarded it on a table by the entrance. One long night of schmoozing at a benefit dinner had taken it out of Danny more than eighteen months trapped in the Eighth City had ever done. At least there the people trying to knife him were upfront about it. Nonetheless Jeryn and Wesley seemed pleased with Danny’s performance and hopeful that all the working the room might pay off for Rand Industries down the line. With that out of the way all Rand wanted to do was put his head down and try to get some sleep. It would prove hard with the screams still ringing in his ears but with his limbs so weary he could barely lift them he figured he could manage it.

At least until he felt the presence behind him. The door slammed shut and a pair of vice-like hands clamped around Danny’s hands and forced him to the ground. He attempted to pry his hands free with no success but stopped struggling upon seeing his assailant’s face.

It was Misty Knight.

“Danny.”

Her stare was icy cold, lacking the warmth that Danny had become accustomed to, but he smiled back at her all the same.

“Misty.”

Knight sneered at Rand from on top of him. “You want to tell me where the hell you’ve been?”

Even if he did want to talk about what had happened over the past year and a half Danny wasn’t sure where he’d even begin. He’d seen the way people’s eyes glossed over when he talked about K’un-L’un and the other Six Cities of Heaven. In truth he didn’t blame them. He’d rather keep his cards close to his chest than have to explain that he’d literally been to Hell and back. That he was a changed man as a result.

“It’s a long story.”

“I bet it is,” Misty said with a discontented look. She gave Danny’s neck a sniff and wrinkled her nose up with disapproval. “Is that smoke I smell? Since when did you take up smoking?”

He’d spent most of his night downwind of Diane Gërdec. Slightly easier to explain but all the same Rand couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the love of his life that his company was near the point of collapse and that he spent his night shilling for favour from an near-eighty year old woman.

Instead he opted for smiling disarmingly and shrugging his shoulders as little as he could beneath Misty’s grip. “That’s a long story too.”

Again Knight looked unconvinced but she rolled free from atop of Danny and climbed to her feet. He watched as she sauntered towards his bedroom without so much as a look back at him.

“There was a time I’d never have been able to sneak up on you.”

“I haven’t slept in eighteen months,” Danny chuckled as he climbed to his feet. “Give me a break.”

Rand followed Knight into his bedroom and shut the door behind him with a click. He watched as Misty reached for the zipper of her red jumpsuit and unzipped it agonizingly slowly with a smirk.

“Oh, I’m going to give you much more than that, Danny Rand.”

Heroes For Hire: Crime, Superheroes, Politics, etc.

“We're here to tell you all your false idols are just pretenders,
They're corporation slaves indentured to all the lenders,
So even if you got seven figures, you still a nigga.” – Killer Mike

Gërdec Foundation
Manhattan

Danny Rand and Jeryn Hogarth stood in the corner of the large dining hall and spoke amongst themselves as people filtered towards their seats. Both men were in black tie. Rand wore it considerably better as Hogarth had attempted to squeeze into a tux he’d purchased almost half a decade ago and had already manage to spill ketchup down his front. Despite inwardly feeling awkward at the gathering of other so-called men of note Danny was outwardly relaxed. His speech to the shareholders meeting had been well received and given the situation in Harlem the leadership he’d shown endeared him to them even more. For forty-five minutes Danny Rand had been his father’s son. At the Gërdec Foundation dinner he would need to be more than that. The shareholders had a vested interest in Danny and Rand Industries succeeding. Here half the room were waiting for them to fail so they could strip the company down.

Danny took a sip of champagne and then gestured to the security lining the dining hall’s walls. “There’s an awful lot of security here tonight.”

“Can you blame them?” Hogarth shrugged his shoulders as he shoveled a sausage roll down his throat. “After that thing with Drayton the whole city’s on full alert. You think you’re going to get half of New York’s movers and shakers in one room after something like that without a small army at hand?”

Danny took another mouthful of champagne. Across the room an immaculately well-groomed man sauntered across the room. He was tall, six foot two at the very least, with a bald head and a black beard flecked with greys. Danny could tell by the way he was looking at them that he was their in.

When he was within a few feet Jeryn spotted him too and murmured to Danny under his breath. “There’s our man.”

“Wesley Phillips,” Jeryn said as he shook the man’s hand and pointed him in Danny’s direction. “This is Daniel Rand.”

Phillips outstretched one of his large hands and Danny took hold of it. It was smooth, eerily so, and despite his effeminate appearance Danny could sense a steeliness beneath the man’s front that he worked hard to keep hidden. Something about the man intrigued him and from the glint in Wesley’s eye it was almost as if he knew it.

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Rand.”

Hogarth called out to a server and plucked a glass of champagne from him and thrust it into Wesley’s hand. Phillips took it gratefully and sipped on it as Jeryn ran through Wesley’s background.

“Wes is Chief of Staff to the Borough President of Staten Island by way of Goldman Sachs. He’s thinking about making a move back to the private sector and I told him we might be able to find a home for him at Rand Industries.”

Danny smiled knowingly. “A rather spacious one, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Hogarth nodded. “He thinks he can get us some face time with Diane tonight.”

A bemused look appeared on Danny’s face.

“Diane?”

“Gërdec,” Hogarth sighed.” As in the “Gërdec Foundation” Diane Gërdec. She was Deputy to Roger Kollek a decade and a half ago. She has more friends in this city than the rest of us put together and we’re going to need to get her onside if we want some of those fat government contracts.”

Again Danny seemed confused. “Why do we need her approval if she’s the former Deputy Mayor? I don’t get it.”

“Sorry about him,” Hogarth said with a chuckle to Phillips as a look of genuine embarrassment appeared on his face. “He’s still a little wet behind the ears about how these things work.”

Again there was a glimmer of playful recognition in Wesley’s eyes.

“A clean pair of hands? Not many of those left in New York. I’m impressed Rand Industries lasted this long if it’s such a stranger to the dark arts, Mr. Rand.”

Hogarth chuckled whilst Danny peered over the edge of his champagne glass as he took a sip. Wesley maintained his gaze for several seconds too long before breaking it to look around the dining hall. After several seconds he spotted the form of Diane Gërdec. He set his glass of champagne down, weaved his arm underneath Danny’s armpit, and pulled him away from Hogarth and towards Diane’s large entourage.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

After some jostling and playful banter with Diane’s Chief of Staff the pair of them stood before Diane Gërdec in all her bountiful splendor. She was no taller than five feet, wore a royal blue blazer with large shoulder pads, and had thick, curly white hair that looked to be immaculately brushed. Between the old woman’s fingers with a cigarette which she puffed on despite the building being smoke-free.

Wesley unhooked his arm from Danny’s and thrust him towards the old woman with a smile. “Diane, this is Daniel Rand.”

Diane eyed Danny up and down before gesturing to her entourage to leave them. They muttered incomprehensively and shot Rand dirty looks as they made their exit to leave him alone with the old woman. Gërdec sat unmoving as she eyed him with bleary green eyes that were tinged with brown.

Finally she spoke with a heavy Brooklyn accent that took Danny off-guard. “Rand, eh? You here with a begging bowl like the rest of them?

His face blushed red and he tried to think of a retort but the abrasive laugh that came rushing from Diane’s lips cut across him. She flicked the ash of her cigarette free onto the expensive carpet below and took another long drag of her cigarette as she gestured to Danny to take a seat.

“I’m only kidding, kid. I knew your father before… Y’know, what happened with your mother and him.” Gërdec muttered as she studied him. “Did you know that?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he often did when people mentioned Wendell. “My father had a lot of friends in New York.”

“That he did,” Diane said as she exhaled a thick stream of smoke. “You on the other hand do not, Mr. Rand. You let that Brubaker fool run your company into the ground and now you’re here because you need an in. Am I right?”

Danny considered disputing it for a second but made Diane for a woman that would not think highly of him for doing so. He could feel both Wesley and Hogarth’s eyes trained on him in the distance. Instead of lying he simply looked the old woman dead in the eye and nodded.

“A man needs friends, Mr. Rand. You see that mess with Drayton this afternoon? That’s what happens when a man doesn’t have friends in a city like New York.”

Something about the comment sat uncomfortably with Danny and he squinted at the old woman as she took another drag of her cigarette.

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Diane chuckled. “Nothing at all.”

She blew another thick cloud of smoke out of her lugs and then coughed a few times. She gestured to Danny to hand her the glass of water that was a few inches out of her reach but he sat unmoving and allowed herself to strain to reach it. There was something in that laugh, Danny thought, as he watched the old woman glug down a mouthful of water to cool her blackened lungs. Finally she set it down and sighed contentedly before looking in Danny’s direction.

“You’re a lot less charming than your father was, Mr. Rand, but for his sake I’ll keep you in mind next time I speak with my friends. Perhaps your fortunes will take a turn for the better and one day you’ll be able to do me a solid in my time of need. Should I ever need one.”

Danny nodded as he stood up from his seat, brushed down the front of his tuxedo, and nodded by way of confirmation.

“Thank you.”

Heroes For Hire: Crime, Superheroes, Politics, etc.

"Don't fret, little man, don't cry,
They could never take the energy inside you were born with.
Knowing that, understand you could never be poor,
You already won the war, you were born rich." - EL-P

Rand Industries
Manhattan

Danny Rand sat alone in his office with a pair of headphones over his ears and his feet planted atop his desk. It had been nearly two years since Danny had visited the Rand Industries building and eighteen months since he’d left for the Eighth City of Heaven. There alongside his fellow Immortal Weapons he’d been met with horrors unimaginable and been forced to fight for his life against all manner of malevolent being. Deep beneath the Earth in the bowels of the Eighth City it had felt like decades had passed but upon his escape he had learned he had been imprisoned for less than two years. His body a broken, beaten mess and his mind tortured he returned to New York to find Rand Industries in shambles. One long careful shower later he found himself in his dusty office playing the CEO again.

In truth though Danny was a changed man. He wore the headphones to drown out the noise that echoed endlessly around his mind. The screams of the damned. The heavy bass line drowned them out and allowed Danny’s fractured mind some semblance of quiet. He kept his eyes firmly shut and swayed his head along with the music serenely until his peace was interrupted by a pair of hands yanking his headphones cleanly from his head.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Standing over Danny was Jeryn Hogarth in his crinkled brown suit. The stuffy, brown-haired man frowned at Danny from behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and Rand could tell from the look on Hogarth’s face that he was in trouble. All the same he tried his best to be disarming.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re doing nothing,” Hogarth muttered through clenched teeth as he threw the headphones down on the table in front of Danny. “But I know you couldn’t possibly be doing nothing because you promised me you’d look over your speech to the shareholder’s meeting this afternoon. I know you couldn’t possibly be doing nothing because I quit lecturing at Brown to help you salvage what little is left of Rand Industries after that idiot Brubaker nearly ran it into the ground. So tell me, am I wrong? Because I really, really hope I’m wrong, Danny.”

Danny searched for an excuse and found himself stammering before settling on the truth. “I… I haven’t had a minute to myself since I got back, Jeryn.”

Hogarth pushed Danny’s feet from atop the desk and they landed on the ground with a thud. Rand winced as he felt a wave of pain pass through them. The beatings he’d taken in the Eighth City were still taking their toll on him. Jeryn seemed none the wiser as he perched on Danny’s desk.

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll think about that next time you decide to take an eighteen-month sojourn to some magical city in the clouds without telling anyone.”

Again Danny searched for the right words over the sound of the tinny bass coming from his discarded headphones.

“I explained that.”

Jeryn’s scornful look softened and he sighed sympathetically at Danny and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“Look, I don’t know what happened whilst you were away and you certainly don’t seem like you want to talk about it but I need your mind here with me. Do you understand me?”

The television screen on the wall behind Jeryn’s head caught Danny’s eye and he tuned Hogarth out for a moment as he tried to make out what was happening. There was footage of a man by the name of Thomas Drayton on screen followed by images of a burning car somewhere in Harlem. Danny reached for the remote on the table and moved to turn the television up before Hogarth snapped in his direction.

“Are you listening to me?”

Danny gestured towards the television screen with concern. “What’s going on?”

Jeryn snatched the remote control from Danny’s hand and turned the television off with a frown.

“Clearly you don’t understand the seriousness of the position we are in. The shareholders are out for your blood, kid. They’ve been making moves behind our back trying to get the board to force you out. They blame that mess with Brubaker on you and to be frank with you I can’t say that I blame them. We’re one bad month, one bad fortnight even, away from being bought out.”

The look of concern on Danny’s face passed as Jeryn spoke and the unfairness of having the company his father had built up from nothing taken away from him set in. Danny had walked in his father’s footsteps in many ways. Had Wendell Rand not died on that mountainside he would have been the Iron Fist and Danny Rand would have been anything else. He had seen one of his father’s dreams fulfilled. He’d be damned if he’d see the one his father fulfilled himself erased from history.

“They can’t do that.”

“Oh, they can,” Jeryn said as he rooted around in his jacket. “They can and they will unless you get your head in the game and show them that we have things under control. You need to show them that your name is on the outside of that building for a reason.”

From inside he produced a piece of paper that he threw into Danny’s lap. Rand lifted it to eyesight and skimmed the paper’s contents. It was a leaked memo from one of Rand Industries minority owners discussing making a “change” at the top table. How Jeryn had got his hands on it was beyond Danny but he knew it was the real deal. Once he was done reading it he set it down and a steely look crossed the young man’s face.

“Alright, alright, show me the goddamn speech.”

Jeryn smiled contentedly and pulled out a pen and a copy of Danny’s speech.

“That’s more like it.”

Star Wars: Coruscant Underworld [Always accepting!]

So no "Two Zeltrons, One Cup" then? Damn it.

Star Trek: To Boldly Go

That certainly works for me though I can't speak to whether it will fix the lull. I guess it depends on whether you think the story you'd like to tell can be told with as few as three or four people posting regularly. If not maybe best to call it a day and give it a go at another point. From where I am I'm definitely happy to continue though.

It's not as if you're asking us to crank out two thousand word posts.

Star Trek: To Boldly Go

Well, who needs to post in order to move things along? I mean, I could but given that Brown's meant to be in the Sick Bay it would be a bit of a leap. All the same though I'd sooner we all stretched the suspension of disbelief a little in order to keep the game alive. I just genuinely haven't been sure whether/who was up next and what we needed to do in the short term.

Star Wars: Coruscant Underworld [Always accepting!]

Now
Zam’s Brothel, 3030.

Zam watched from her balcony as the Duros bartender wiped down the surface with a wet rag. He had been a pilot once, before the spice addiction, and had fallen on hard times before Zam hired him. It was a risk, perhaps too much of one given his limited experience, but Zam had always been swift to help those in need. She reached out one of her aged blue hands towards a drink that rested atop the ledge and took a greedy mouthful of it. Her nerves had yet to calm from that situation with the Stars an hour ago. From behind her came a knock on her door and the elderly Twi’lek turned to face it. Through the doorway step the Mandalorian she entrusted to keep her brothel safe.

“You asked for me.”

“I did,” Zam said as she gestured to the seat opposite her desk. “Take a seat.”

The Mandalorian stood unmoving as Zam took to her seat. “I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

The Twi’lek took another mouthful of drink, murmured under her breath with contentment, and then set the glass down with a smile. Her eyes ran over the Mandalorian’s armour as she collected her thought. The deep claw marks across the chest and helmet drew most of her focus but the slight signs of rust along the shins and gauntlets always piqued her interest. She had heard that Mandalorians took great pride in their armour but the one she employed seemed atypical of that reputation. It didn’t matter how he looked so long as he kept her brothel safe. He showed earlier that he was still capable of doing that.

“I was impressed with the way you handled those Blackened Stars. You could have lost your cool or risen to that Rodian’s insults but you stayed calm. I appreciate that. This place is very precious to me. It’s very precious to all of them.”

Zam’s icy blue eyes seemed to grow misty with nostalgia as she spoke. After a few moments Zam recalled why she had invited the Mandalorian up to her quarters and smiled in the warrior’s direction. Her smile was met with a cold, empty stare that the Twi’lek did not seem discouraged by.

“Do you know how this brothel came into my possession, Mandalorian?”

The Mandalorian shook his head. The movement was so slight it was barely noticeable. There was an austerity to the armoured man’s movements. He seemed to move only as much as he needed to and he spoke even less.

“Many years ago I worked here. I say worked but I didn’t have much choice. I was brought here by slavers and sold to the brothel’s previous owners. Believe it or not they were nice enough. At the end of each year they would allow each whore a fraction of the credits they had earned. You might not believe it to look at me now but once I was a very beautiful woman, Mandalorian. I had many suitors, and many, many more clients, and at the end of each year I would more credits than any of the other women. Yet it was still not enough to buy my freedom. Not by a very long shot. That would take many years of hard work. Long after my body grew wrinkled and the suitors became fewer and further between I toiled in the hope of earning my freedom. Though I had known nothing but servitude I yearned for a life where my flesh could be my own.”

The elderly Twi’lek paused for a moment to take another mouthful of drink. Once she swallowed she looked to the Mandalorian with a weary smile.

“It took twenty-eight years.”

Even as she spoke there seemed a surprise to Zam’s voice. She knew she had lived those twenty-eight years but the memories seemed so distant, so remote, that it felt as if they had happened to someone else.

“What do you think I did with my freedom? Where do you think I went, Mandalorian? Where would you go?”

A word crept from behind the Mandalorian’s mask. For once the Mandalorian’s voice sounded like it carried something resembling emotion.

“Home,” it spoke.

“As good a guess as any,” Zam said with a wry smile. “I was plucked from my family at such a young age I could barely remember my own name. This place was the only home I’ve ever known. The women I laid next to every night, whose wounds I tended to, and tears I dried were the only family I belonged to. It might sound... strange but leaving this place was never an option. Even as the other women begged me to leave I took to working once more, this time as a free woman, and though my body could barely take it I finally managed to save enough to buy the brothel outright. That took thirteen more years.”

A contented smile appeared on Zam's face and she stood up from her seat, drink in hand, and made her way back towards the balcony that overlooked the brothel. Her long black robe hung behind her as she walked. It covered a body that had no right to have retained the shape and form it did at Zam's age. The Mandalorian stood in place, arms crossed, and watched as Zam gestured to the brothel around them.

"Forty-one years of service, forty-one years of men and women travelling across the galaxy to fawn over me, to claw at my skin, to make me bite, kiss, and suck as and what they comanded, and finally I was a free woman. A truly free woman. Do you know what it is to be truly free, Mandalorian?"

There seemed a hint of recognition in the bounty hunter for a moment and his arms uncrossed, falling loosely by his sides, as he considered Zam's words.

*****

Then
Quadrant Six, Ganthel

On the floor of a cell in Quadrant Six’s Justiciar Department was Alec Vendrell. The scent of alcohol radiated from him so strongly it could be smelled several cells down. His clothes were ripped and stained with alcohol and there were several bruises along his face from the night before. Alec had been out on the town again and for the third time in as many weeks had been on the wrong side of a beating. It wasn’t the kind of behaviour that was expected from a Vendrell on Ganthel. They were the closest thing the little industrial planet had to a first family given their history on the docks. As soon as the Vendrell men were of age they went to work on the docks and once they were past thirty-five most went to work in the union. Alec’s father was Esvan Vandrell. “Van the Man” as he was lovingly referred to along the docks. He was head of the largest union in the Quadrant and one the most powerful men several Quadrants over. As such Alec’s scrapes with the Justiciars were a cause of constant embarrassment for his father and the latest one would no doubt cause Alec’s father another headache.

For the time being though Alec was more concerned about his own headache. To the sound of shouting his bloodshot eyes opened wearily and he winced as the pounding in his head intensified by the second. The sharp intake of light hadn’t helped. From behind him he heard the voice shouting once more and Vendrell realised it was directed at him.

“Wake the hell up you lazy sack of bantha fodder.”

Vendrell pushed himself up and looked towards the man stood at the gate of his cell. The man was a wall of muscle, clad in the grey and blue Justiciar uniform that Vendrell had come to loathe over the past six months, and the twisted, cruel mouth that stuck out from the bottom of his helm was familiar to Alec. Justiciar Dorn he remembered as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to fight back his headache.

“Looks like daddy has pulled a few strings for you again, Vendrell.” Dorn muttered as he unlocked the door to Alec’s cell. “You’re free to go this time.”

The sound of the door clanging open made Alec’s already throbbing head throb a little more but he refused Dorn the pleasure of seeing his discomfort. Instead he climbed to his feet with the wall as his support and wandered out of the cell that had been his home for the night. He picked up his things from lockup and made his way towards the exit only to find another familiar face waiting for him on the other side of it.

“Kass?” Alec muttered in a pained voice. “What are you doing here?”

Alec’s sister let out a sigh and shrugged her shoulders. “What do you think I’m doing here? Dad said if you got in trouble with the Justiciar’s again he’d kick you out. As much as you might get on my nerves sometimes I don’t want you on the street.”

Alec smiled and pulled his sister close to him. He was oblivious to his sister’s pained expression throughout their embrace. He smelled like a brewery and there was still dried blood along his chin. The Vendrells weren’t a touchy-feely family at the best of times and hugging definitely wasn’t in their nature.

He let Kass go and looked at her with a warm, appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

Brother and sister walked alongside in silence for a few moments before Kass conjured up the courage to tell Alec what she had promised herself she would tell her him. The two spoke little at home, Alec was almost a decade her senior and their paths rarely crossed but for family occasions, but it was clear from their body language that Kass was the more mature and considered of the two. It was why the words that came next carried such weight.

“This has to stop,” Kass muttered. “You know that, right?”

Alec nodded gravely in acceptance. “What am I supposed to do, though? Go work on the docks like dad and the rest of those meatheads? I’d sooner die than do that.”

He was twenty-three years of age, seven years passed the usual age of taking work at the docks, and had never worked a day in his life. It had caused more than its fair share of arguments in the Vendrell household but up until now Alec had refused to relent. He didn’t want to be another inconsequential Vendrell that was born in Quadrant Six, worked the docks in Quadrant Six, and died in Quadrant Six. He wanted more than that. Trouble was that on Ganthel that’s all there was.

Kass let out a sympathetic sigh as she tried to hail down a transporter pod.

“Yeah, well, at the rate you’re going at you’ll have your wish before the month’s out, big brother.”

*****

Now
3030, Zam’s Brothel

The Mandalorian snapped back into awareness as the haze of memories passed. All thoughts of Kass, his father, or Justiciar Dorn left his mind and his eyes fixed on the elderly Twi’lek stood peering over the brothel’s balcony at the revelers below them. The Mandalorian strode out to the balcony to stand beside his employer one more.

“Why are you telling me all of this, Zam?”

Zam extended her hand to young Mon Calamari stood sheepishly in the corner of the room beneath them. “You are fond of Ki.”

The Mandalorian was fond of Ki Hobro. Or more Alec Vendrell was fond of Ki Hobro. He thought he had hidden that fact from sight but the Mandalorian supposed the elderly Twi’lek had spent a lifetime in places like these. She knew affection, true affection, when she was it. It wasn’t a romantic love he felt for Ki but the opposite. Though she looked and sounded nothing like his sister Kass there was something about her nature that reminded Alec of Kass Vandrell whenever he was in Ki’s presence. All the same he gritted his teeth beneath his battered helmet and shook his head curtly.

“No more than the rest.”

A wry, knowing smile appeared on Zam’s blue lips.

“If only you were as good at lying as you are with those blasters.”

“She was an orphan when she arrived in Coruscant. It is a dangerous thing to be in a place like 3030. One only realizes how important friends and family are when they find themselves without them. A young girl without someone to look out for her is a target out there. Ki was a target.”

Beneath them Ki gossiped with J’asta and the two shared a laugh with one another before the Mon Calamari took to the bar and started up conversation with the Duros that worked it.

“Before I bought her freedom Ki worked for Gorro,” Zam sighed as she took another mouthful of her drink. “The Scarred Hutts passed her around like a piece of meat, forced her to take spice, and took pleasure in her humiliation. Had I not found her I am sure she would have died. If not at the hands of one of Gorro’s men then from a bad batch of spice. Yet here she is free. She can come and go as she pleases, ply her trade without fear of injury or abuse, and earn a decent living. She can save for the starship she dreams for and maybe one day she will see the Outer Rim. Maybe all of them will fulfill their dreams.”

There was love in the elderly Twi’lek’s eyes. A maternal love that the Mandalorian had seen nowhere else in 3030. Coruscant’s underbelly was dark and sickly to the touch. It consumed and exploited people and then spat them out once it was done with them. Zam’s was an oasis from all of that. The Mandalorian thought of Ki in the hands of the Scarred Hutts or the Blackened Stars. He thought of his own sister in their possession.

“I lost forty years of my life before I found freedom, Mandalorian, and this brothel is a mural to that sacrifice. It is the only brothel of its kind in all of Courscant – a safe haven for the weak and vulnerable, those without friends and family, who see no other way out than to sell their flesh. You will find no slave within these walls. Only free men and women.”

Zam took one last mouthful and then upturned the vessel and placed it atop the balcony with a contented smile. She looked to the Mandalorian with her soft eyes and the Mandalorian felt them probing and searching beyond his visor for some sign of reciprocation.

“Do you understand now why we must protect this place? This place is so much more to a brothel, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nodded.

“I understand.”

Beneath his gauntlets Alec felt his hands growing sweaty as the magnitude of his task dawned on him. Not once had he felt guilty for taking Zam's money before but now he did. When he had taken the job this place had meant nothing to him, there hundreds of brothels in 3030 after all, but now he understood this place meant more to Zam than anything had ever meant to him in his life. He pictured a future without Zam's Brothel. He tried to imagine where girls like Ki might go or whose employ they might be forced into. Most of all he pictured a day when his skills would be called upon and he would be found lacking.

And for some reason he had a feeling that day was coming soon.

Star Trek: To Boldly Go

As the pen made contact with Brown's wound he grimaced. Half from the pain and half from Cole's English accent. It wasn't often that Malachi felt homesick but being in the presence of other humans reminded him exactly how far from home they all were. A decade ago he'd been running laps around a park in South London and now here he was. It was surreal to say the least.

"Was the Captain here earlier? I thought I saw her leaving when I came in."

A slight grunt slipped from Brown's lips as the heat intensified. Somehow he could already feel the serum at work beneath his skin.

For a moment Malachi's steely front wavered as his thoughts drifted to Vaella. "She's not hurt, is she?"