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Hunting Grounds

By: DankeDonuts

https://dankedonuts.sofurry.com/

The slick, red mudball that was Panna Prime was home to many a wild and destructive beast. From the giant icthyodonts that that attacked any craft that wandered too far from the city ports, to the small but viciously territorial bluebills who scavenged the urban waste-heaps. Some vermin even walked around moved about on two legs and called themselves 'humanoid.'

These were Challagarro's prey, and her territory of the moment was The Edge. The hottest (some would say 'only') nightclub on Panna City's Eastern Cluster. Aliens of all sorts and sexes shimmied and swirled around one another to the tunes of the technicolor Feeorin house band. Who played a wordless tune that was both vibrant and melancholy. A couple hundred individuals or more, almost entirely non-human, were either in the floor or otherwise engaged in a dozen or more entertainments. Enjoying themselves in one of the few public spaces that the Imperial 'culture squads' allowed them to gather in large numbers.

The Wookiee stood just off the man dance floor, leaning against a glowing support beam. Watching the scene with her dark teal eyes. Peering past the rapidly shifting colors, courtesy the ceiling lights, to make sure the peace was maintained. Any disruption -- the first hint of a brawl, but a whiff of drunken debauchery, the shadow of illicit goods crossing the glittering doors -- would bring unwanted attention. Or worse, permanent oversight. These things the Management would not abide, and they paid well to maintain proper standing in the eyes of the New Order. Nobody had to be told who the toughest bouncer in their employ was. She was a tall one, by her own people's standards. And she'd been told more than once that armored bandoleer caught the club lights in a pleasingly intimidating manner.

"Saw Lives."

The statement were barely audible over the din of music and voices. The Wookiee tapped her earpiece to repeat the last few seconds of recording. Yes, she'd heard right. Those two words were ones she'd been seeing more and more around her neck of the city. Painted onto the tail end of an alleyway. Scratched into the seat of a speederpod stop. Stencilled onto a jogan-fruit stand's register. And more, before she'd started keeping track. The man they referred to was long dead, but any Wookiee knew that heroes never really died. If one could call a terrorist madman renounced by the Rebel Alliance a 'hero.'

The dark red fur about her face curled into a scowl, and she tapped her earpiece again. If fed her a series of clicks and clacks that told her which way to start walking. People quickly made way for her as she moved along the extremes of the dance floor. Even if they hadn't, she could easily see over most, to the far end of the long bar. Its illuminated surface made her targets all the easier to spot via their silhouettes. One, a Human who didn't quite know how to wear his youthful and flashy attire. The other, a frilled Tarasin. Both male. Whatever they'd been talking about, they got awfully quiet once they noticed her approach. Looking away from her, and each other, in a textbook display of questionable innocence.

She slapped a hand on each man's shoulder and growled.

A multi-armed mixologist droid hovered their way. "The lady has kindly asked you to leave," it informed them in an over-enunciated patter.

She roared at it. Harshly enough to rattle the spines of her captives. Who swatted about ineffectively.

"Ah." It its credit, DR-E3 did not quake in terror. It turned from her back to the two ne'er-do-wells. "Forgive my poor attempt at improvisation. Her exact words were: 'Leave' and 'now'."

"We haven't done anything," sneered the Human. In a husky baritone that matched the one that had spoken the words which had so dominated the bouncer's attention.

Without further comment, Challagarro tightened her grip and lifted both men out of their seats. She started walking them to the door, their feet dangling helplessly a quarter-meter from the floor. No one got in her way. But the intruders didn't go quietly. The human cursed and clawed at the hairy vice-clamp. The cold-blooded one bet on dexterity, but found he could not wriggle free. His scales took on a righteous blue tone as he switched over to persuasion. "How dare you impede us! You should be joining us!" His accent was thick, and slurred every vowel. "Do you even know what's happening on your homeworld? You're a traitor to your species and every freedom loving- Awwwauugh!"

The snarling Wookiee sent the reptiloid arcing over the speeder lot in a long trajectory. He bounded across the hood of a bright green spots model, and collided with the pavement in a heap. His cohort landed right on top of him. Something broke, and it wasn't the permacrete.

Challagarro slammed both fists into her chest with a final roar of satisfaction. Dreet would have recorded their faces. They wouldn't get in again.

The music never stopped playing.

. . .

Ru-Kaat Oryas sat in a private seat, her back to the wall, in Traddil's Tapcaf. She was one-point-three meters from the nearest door. This establishment had two that were accessible to the public. There was no clear path to the second; a pair of Twi'leks were wandering about the opposite side of the place as though lost. Weaving haphazardly through the space between tables.

In her hands, the human woman held a cup of chilled Ithorian tea. Her lined eyes did not meet anyone else's. Parts of a businesswoman's tunic, dull grey, showed through the cut of her cloak. As did a swath of greying hair. Her hands were gloved.

The local Stormtrooper patrol, barring unforeseen circumstance, would be at the opposite end of its route this close to midnight.

A tired-looking Wookiee tramped into the place, and took to the bar. She got the barkeep's attention, and pointed to a flash of greenish-yellow brew on the shelves. The barkeep was Sullustan, squat and slow. He had a bad knee. He moved to pour her a drink, and she roared and motioned at him. He handed the entire bottle over. The auburn-furred giant lumbered towards the tables.

The Twi'leks found their friend -- a violet-skinned Zeltron -- and sat down with them. Opening a winding route around a few tables to the other exit. The tables all had inflexible circular lamps mounted to their centers.

The Wookiee found a wall-side booth, and slumped into it heavily enough to kake Ru-Kaat bounce. Ignorant of her rudeness, the Wookiee began nursing her drink. And was soon muttering into it, almost ruefully. Shyriiwook was hard enough for outlanders in the know to understand when spoken at room volume. It was practically indecipherable at a whisper. One would almost need a Jedi's senses to make out the words:

The barkeep was presently standing in-between Ru-Kaat and the door to the kitchen.

Ru-Kaat blew a trail of air over an already frosty drink.

Challa scratched at her ear, and said no more.

The Human finished her drink and left. Outside, atop a multi-tiered Northside terrace, she had an expansive view of her surroundings. Two other moons -- one pink, one gold -- were visible above, adding their light to Panna City's excess. The contours of the bulbous mudscreen which englobed the metropolis shone a stark white. Competing with the stars for attention.

Ru-Kaat double-checked that her speeder-bike hadn't been tampered with before mounting it. Then zoomed off into the traffic landed three levels below. It was just under a kilometer to her domicile. From there, she was within two kilometers of at least three starports.

'What to do?' she pondered.