Chapter Text
They said a bounty hunter’s work was never done, and right now Fennec Shand was beginning to believe it.
The assignment had started smoothly enough but then it wasn’t exactly the most taxing of tasks. Travel to the ass end of the galaxy, collect a box of supplies, pay, leave and then profit from her client’s reluctance to set foot in one of the cesspits of this quadrant where sudden death was as easy to catch as a sniffle.
Not that she was going to protest in the face of easy and plentiful money, and she rested back in the chair as the orbiting station that made up the ‘auction house’ came into view. ‘Auction house’, of course, was a grander title than it probably deserved. Dark and humid, the place was made up of shadows and vibrations, many relating to the somewhat unique physical characteristics of the insectoid race that ran the place, but despite the gloom activities were rife when she finally arrived. No less than six ships were docked at the station already, and various languages mixed together as did the people the station attracted as they carried out whatever dubious task they were currently engaged with.
Not that she cared. Having located her point of contact - a scruffy thin human known as Osta Mills - she followed his path as they weaved their way through the corridors and smaller rooms where the individual group biddings were taking place depending on their key skills. Another larger room held a cage for animal auctions, and as she passed a tentacle slowly squeezed out from the bars as it searched for whatever things with tentacles searched for before retreating once again. Dangerous creatures sold well around here, of course, but danger attracted danger.
“I think you’ll be pleased with the supplies,” Mills had been talking animatedly at the front since she’d arrived but she’d managed to tune most of it out. “Excellent quality and bigger than anticipated.”
That’s what they all said but it didn’t really matter. Supplies were supplies, and as long as they fit the requirements then size really didn’t matter for a change.
The next room was crowded, and from the taunting noises she gathered it was less an active auction and more a processing area for some new slaves that had the misfortune to end up in this end of the galaxy. Sure enough, a quick scan confirmed an unconscious form on the floor of a nearby cage and another slumped figure resting against the bars, barely clothed. Even from this distance she could see the obvious marks dotted across his body that suggested perhaps said slave wasn’t as obedient as his new masters would like.
But the pair in the cage were the luckier ones, and Fennec eyed their companion critically as the crowd focused on him. Strung up to a ring in the ceiling by his wrists, his admittedly well muscled body was stretched out as the slave desperately tried to recover his breath. His back shone with the signs of recent whip marks and his head lolled downward weakly, ragged breathing the only real indication that the man was still conscious as a trickle of blood lazily snaked its way down his skin. The small scrap of fabric that clung desperately over his hips barely scraped by as clothing and what appeared to be a rope burn shone around his neck to suggest an even more brutal beginning.
The crowd jeered and taunted but the slave was clearly too far gone to care, and Fennec was about to look away again when the man finally lifted his head groggily. Dark brown hair to his shoulders. Reddish dark bandana.
Reddish dark bandana.
Her feet slowed as she watched him carefully. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t be that stupid.
A small movement to the side in order to confirm that, yes, clearly they were that stupid, and if this carried on they’d be dead as well. Tracker’s face tattoo was unmistakable even if the features of the typical clone weren’t already on his face, not that the boy had even noticed her. Eyes closed, shuddering with each breath he took and looking like he was dropping in and out of consciousness, Tracker clearly had other things to worry about than what his audience was up to. A bruise on his other eye almost made him look like he’d had another face tattoo, and what with the signs of electrical prods on his chest and the red lines across his thighs and knees the chances that Tracker was going to remain conscious for too much longer were low.
Her eyes moved toward the cage again, this time properly studying the features of the ones she could see. Both clones, and the silver haired one huddled at the front appeared to be the sniper she’d assessed during her research on Clone Force 99. It wasn’t going to need a genius to realise who the solid unconscious body in the corner belonged to, nor why he was unconscious in the first place. Explosives expert had a punch on him that could stun a bantha, and the auction house never liked a fair fight.
Yes, apparently they could be that stupid, and for a moment frustration flashed through her that the idiots had got themselves in this state before she turned away.
This was not her problem. This couldn’t be her problem. She had other things to do.
Frowning to herself, she followed Mills as they entered into the office, the soft thudding sound of whip on skin beginning to start up again behind her in a manner that grated more than she was willing to admit. It took a moment before she realised that a data pad had been carefully pushed in her direction on the table, accompanied by an expectant look.
Eyes narrowing, she pulled it closer.
“There’s only one interpretation I can think of for that information,” she said finally. “And it is unacceptable.”
“My apologies. The delay for your shipment was unavoidable, but we are anticipating its release within the next day.”
Here for a day? Not a chance in hell. “That’s too long. I have other places to be.”
“I appreciate that which is why we’re adding an additional 10% for your trouble. As I’ve mentioned, the quality is excellent. You won’t regret it.”
She was regretting it already, fingers drumming on her arm that stilled as a scream vibrated through the closed door. Tracker or someone else in the facility? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
Her eyes narrowed as she reminded herself fiercely that she didn’t care.
“You could have indicated the delay before my arrival,” she said, turning her irritation to a suitable target. Mills opened his hands up in manufactured sorrow.
“We only had late notification. My apologies.”
Of course there were apologies. There were always apologies, and her fingers drummed again, unimpressed.
“Is there a bar nearby?”
“Of course. The station has three well stocked bars to suit every taste.”
And no doubt some of those tastes would require the drinks to be served by people with limited clothing and persuasive techniques to encourage further spending. Her gaze moved back to the data-pad, flicking through file after file, before frowning at the next one. Intel on clones and rumours of their biology. Of course it would be.
She could just go to the damned bar and wait for her supplies. She could just leave them to their situation. She could do a lot of things.
She stared at the data pad a little longer before finally lifting her head.
“I don’t often see clones anymore.”
She was too soft for her own good. Mills looked at her in mild surprise.
“You have previously dealt with clones?”
“In the past. A particular audience was interested in them. You see one, you see them all, but then I guess that was the point.” She handed the data pad back with a small shrug. A faintly risky direction to take, but she’d dealt with men like Mills most of her life and sure enough a little blaze of interest and potential profit sparked in his eyes. So predictable.
“I see. Perhaps you might be interested in my recent acquisitions?”
Considering his recent acquisitions were currently getting several levels of shit kicked out of them, Fennec assumed that slave training was not going well. Again, unsurprising. The boys were good at what they did, but they weren’t specialists when it came to taking instructions and slow sales would increase the profit loss through provision from such irritating things such as food, water and oxygen.
At least it was an opportunity.
“Like I said,” Fennec said dismissively. “Seen one, seen them all.”
“Ah, but I have been told these are modified versions.” Mills was eager for the sale just as she’d predicted. “For the collector.”
A collector, huh? Really. She lifted her head to study him long enough for the man to get twitchy under such extreme scrutiny before tilting her head slightly.
“It’s not as though there’s anything else to do. Let’s see them.”
The situation was just as she’d imagined it as she was led back to the auction-training room and a snap of Mills’ fingers melted the crowd away to reveal what was left of the clone sergeant. Well, he was still breathing but that was the only good thing to comment about his situation, his deep, shuddering breaths shaking his body each time he drew one. Slumped over and barely conscious, it was clear the tight restraints were the only things that were stopping him from crashing to the floor.
She moved a little closer in grim fascination. The slavers hadn’t stopped with just a whip either. Long claw marks shone down Tracker’s back and buttock from where his clothing had been torn away from him, and he’d almost turned a different colour from where the occasional patch of blood dried over his skin.
He still hadn’t noticed her but he quite rightly had other things on his mind. Fennec studied him impassively for a little while longer before turning her gaze back to the cage.
“You sedated the larger one?” she queried.
“It seemed the best option given his strength. We do not want him to harm himself before sales, after all,” Mills said smoothly.
How sweet, and clearly not the tactic they’d decided upon for his two brothers. The half naked silver haired one was positioned at the front of the cage and was just as battered as his sergeant, but his agitation was clear. Clones were loyal to each other, she guessed. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that he looked like he wanted to murder folk.
“Not exactly in good quality, are they,” she commented drily.
“They have needed some correction, but that merely demonstrates their stamina and fortitude,” Mills replied happily. “As soldiers they are excellent.”
She noted the distinction with no surprise. Soldiers were only useful if they followed orders, and from what she recalled from her past encounters with them obedience was not exactly a trait they had specialised in.
“How long have you had them for?”
“Two days.”
Well, that explained the layered bruising. Their talk was also finally having an effect on the half conscious Tracker, the smallest of movements as the voices drifted across to him. His eyes fluttered open to look at her tiredly and it took a moment for the situation to register.
He couldn't have been snapped into reality quicker than if she’d slammed a knife in his thigh. Eyes widened in horrified recognition and it took a few moments before he recovered, their gaze locked together as the noises of the surrounding rooms ebbed and flowed around them. Well, at least the man had the good sense to shut up about knowing her, but then statistically he had to have some intelligence in there somewhere to stop him dying almost immediately.
Idiots. She should leave them to their fate. She owed them nothing and time was money, and yet the discomfort in leaving was more than she’d expected.
And to give credit where credit was due, the boys were holding on where many would have simply rolled over in submission. Even now Tracker’s gaze was hard and defiant, but even his stubbornness couldn’t stop the exhaustion from entering his eyes or his reluctant consideration of an unpalatable but necessary option in begging for her assistance.
Well, at least he had some sense.
“You’re not likely to get much for them,” she said toward Mills, her gaze still locked with Tracker’s. “The appeal of clones is their unquestionable loyalty. Their obedience. They’re like dogs in human form, if they’re snarling and disobedient to their master then they’re worth nothing.”
“They are pretty,” Mills shrugged.
Yes, they were pretty, but pretty wasn’t everything especially when it was trying to kill you. And right now, with blood smeared over their skin and their bodies battered, trembling and tense, pretty was being generous as well. Thankfully few people were willing to risk maiming alongside their dose of sexual pleasure no matter how sweet the boy.
“No one buys for a day or two of excitement, and I’m assuming they’re not domesticated enough for a brothel. Clones take the ‘bad boy’ stereotype and enhance it.”
Her words were for Mills but her attention was fully on Tracker. He was still keeping his tongue under control but there was a flicker of hope entering into his exhausted eyes. Foolish of course, but she found herself reaching out to cup his chin in her hand under the pretence of assessing the merchandise only to note that the silver haired clone had straightened in the cage as though he stood any chance at all of stopping her doing whatever the hell she wanted.
Loyalty to the leader, perhaps. How sweet, but she kept half an eye on him as she gently moved Tracker’s head to assess the cut that had so recently bled down his face. Superficial and dramatic, but then clones always did look better with the remnants of war smeared over their bodies.
And speaking of war, she could almost feel the electrical crackle of tension from the cage as the glare tried unsuccessfully to burn a hole through her, the intense outrage increasing as she deliberately brushed the fingers of her other hand lightly over Tracker’s nipple to test the theory. Oh yes, if Silver was out that cage he’d be ripping them apart with his bare hands, and suddenly ‘loyalty’ had turned into something bigger.
No wonder Silver had been flinching whenever something happened to Tracker. A budding romance? Wouldn’t be the first clones to do it, certainly wouldn’t be the last. How sweet.
“I’m curious where you got them from,” Fennec asked finally.
“A shipment.”
She waited but that was apparently it. “If you thought that was a satisfactory answer then I must disappoint you.”
Another small hesitation before a tiny but reluctant bow of the head. “The Pyke Syndicate.”
Pykes. So they had fucked off the wrong group, had they? How unsurprising. The boys’ subtlety was poor at the best of times and the Pykes were well known to hold a grudge. She guessed it was only a matter of time before they would stumble into a group that were less lenient than she was.
Far too lenient for that matter, so much so that Tracker’s fierce eyes had softened into a cautious but silent plea for help that wasn’t quite as subtle as she’d have hoped. Idiot. Such an idiot. She should just leave them to the consequences of their actions.
Their gaze held a little longer, Tracker no longer trying to be the big fierce leader but simply one scared for his men. She couldn’t deny it would be irritating to lose them. Their obedience might be questionable and they answered back enough to be a headache, but their abilities were excellent, their technical skillsets were hard to come by, and even better, they’d work for ten times less than their counterparts because clones were used to being paid peanuts, if at all.
Options were considered and decisions were made.
“I may have a buyer for them,” she said, finally lowering her fingers from his jawline as she turned away. “For the right price, of course. Clones are moving out of favour, and only good specimens are desired.”
“Excellent. This one and the silver are available.”
Just those two? How irritating. If she had to end up in some type of bidding war then she was not going to be happy. What was she saying? She wasn’t going to be happy regardless. Her peaceful easy task was under threat.
“And the other one?” A small jab of the thumb toward the slumbering giant on the floor.
“He is strong, healthy,” said Mills happily. “The Trandoshans will pay good money for him for their hunt.”
Trandoshans. Not what she wanted to hear, but Mills wasn’t incorrect either. Strong slaves were regularly purchased for their caged hunt-to-the-death, releasing slaves into a territory in order to track them down over a period of time. In truth, if the other two weren’t buckling at the knees they’d probably be sold for a reasonable sum too.
From the nervousness that had added to Tracker’s gaze it was quite clear that even they were aware of the Trandoshan reputation.
“What was the Trandoshan offer for the larger one?” she asked finally.
“Unknown at this time. They plan to review all the slaves tomorrow on arrival.”
So they weren’t sold yet but Mills wasn’t wrong in thinking this was barely a minor setback. The boy was strong and fit and disobedience normally produced an interesting hunt. Clones were excellent prey, able to take a beating and come back for more, and to a Trandoshan that was excellent news indeed.
Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed with how the day was going.
“Open up the cage,” she said finally, causing a flicker in Mills’ cosy demeanour. He glanced nervously toward the door.
“I will need suitable reinforcements-”
Well, well. The boys really had been a pain to their captors, and she could almost feel the tired but satisfied smile from Silver.
“No you don’t,” she replied briskly. “Open it. And you,” her next words were tossed toward the silver haired clone in question. “Keep your ass on the ground.”
Not that the boy was in any fit state to move. Fire and defiance might burn in his heart but the marks that decorated his hide clearly showed the long beating he’d endured at some point in his very recent past, a mix of stripes and burns and half healed cuts, and his posture spoke of exhaustion and pain.
But she’d come back to him in a second. Giving him a small careful look - his glare whenever she’d touched Tracker had the feeling of murderous intent - she stalked closer to the sleeping form of her explosives expert and flicked open the blanket for a moment.
At least Expert was better. His lack of clothing was unsurprising given the state of his brothers, but clearly there’d been some restraint when dealing with him. Not that she blamed them for that either. This was a man who could tear open cages if he was in a mood to do so, and damage to the goods would impact their profit margin immediately. They’d taken the easiest route to simply sedate him until sale, letting his body do the talking for them, and she could almost feel his price creep up as she studied him impassively.
Not that she had as much worry over the other one, and she turned her attention back to Silver once more. The sniper, she recalled, an excellent shot but a skillset hard to demonstrate in this place even if Silver was in the mood to oblige them.
Beaten and exhausted but no less furious golden-brown eyes stared across at her, stating very quickly that demonstrations weren’t happening. An understandable if risky choice; lean and slightly trembling already, no amount of bared teeth was going to save Silver if he fell into the wrong hands. If he was lucky he’d only be a teaser prey, designed to warm up the hunters before the expensive prey was released.
If he wasn’t .. well, they’d snap him like a twig, use him for entertainment until he howled and then simply dispose of him, and from the defeated posture she was half certain the boy knew it too.
“He was a little feisty at the start,” said Mills helpfully. “But that only goes to show his tenacity and adaptability, key traits in our clones.”
Key traits were a nice touch, but she guessed a man had to find a sales pitch somewhere. Silver was still staring steadily at her as though all his injuries had occurred to someone else, and as she moved closer she was aware of Tracker following her movements, just as tense as his brother had been when the positions were switched.
Ah. No doubt the ‘devoted’ type of clones, or at least the type that were fucking in a storeroom whenever they had a spare moment. Not that she begrudged them that burst of excitement in what was almost certainly a somewhat dull if short and painful life.
She deliberately lingered closer to the hanging clone as she stepped from the cage and sure enough there was the softest of hissed whispers as she passed.
“Get them out.”
The desperation in his voice wasn’t hard to notice and she paused for a moment as though still gathering her thoughts. She’d expected the request. She hadn’t quite expected the distress behind it.
Getting one of them out, possibly. Getting all three was much harder, and - again - this was not her problem.
And yet she could feel the weight of his eyes on her.
“Well?” Mills spoke after a few moments of what counted for silence in the busy sales area, all vibrations and movement and distant cries.
“Possibly,” she said finally and dismissively. “As I said, my interest in clones is currently limited, but I may be open to opportunities.”
Fennec paused and made the smallest nod toward Tracker. “You may also want to put this one away before he faints and tears his shoulder tendons. Clones are particularly adept at hiding their injuries and he’d be expensive to fix.”
There was no argument about that and, when Tracker was finally cut down, little acting on his part to show his exhaustion. Almost hitting the floor on release, Tracker was flung back into the cage still naked and barely able to push himself up. Not that he was alone for more than a second, Silver stepping forward to catch him as best a badly battered clone could, and by the time she’d glanced around again Tracker had been moved to a far corner with a blanket over his hips as Silver curled up beside him and ran his hand over him in obvious concern to check his injuries.
A little too obviously. Fennec had no idea whether the auction house had realised their particular vulnerability for each other, but now wasn’t the time to test the theory.
“You promised me a drink,” Fennec said, stepping far enough toward the door to turn Mills’ attention away from the recovering clones. “Let’s try that bar and discuss prices.”
Wasn’t a surprise that this particular tactic was a success. Mills opened his hands and beamed the smile of someone who smelt profit. “By all means.”
Oh, this was going to cost her. And to think she’d thought this was going to be a simple run.