A Massiff Uncaged

In need of rest and recovery, Shomwe laid on the floor of her cage. She allowed herself to drift in and out of consciousness. The pain was present all over, but the headache was what worried her the most. Probably a concussion. Alone, away from daylight, sleeping for ambiguous intervals, with nothing to do, and painful untreated injuries, tracking time was impossible. Ten minutes was undiscernible from two hours.

Hence, Shomwe did not know how long it had been before she heard the click. In the quiet dungeon where the only prior sound had been the hum of mechanisms and pipe flows in the walls, it was hard to miss. It came from the front of her cell. Standing, she moved to investigate. Did she have another visitor?

When she failed to identify anything that could have caused the noise, she leaned close to the bars, straining to get a look at the extreme angles outside her cage. Placing a hand on the bars that comprised her door, the barrier swung clear.

Shomwe stared in surprise. She was free. Cautiously, she stepped out, looking up and down the walkway for potential threats. Looking back at her cage, she noticed the panel for the lock mechanism had gone dark, as though the power to it had been deactivated.

Seeing no reason to hang around, the woman left the dungeon. From outside her cell, she discovered that the prison was moderately sized, but that no one else seemed to be held there.

Strange.

The door to the dungeon was left open and Shomwe simply walked out. A nearby room held the confiscated belongings of everyone committed to the prison. Well, everyone who had been committed. She dug around until she found her belongings. Her blaster and the credits she had had on her at the time of being beaten were nowhere to be found, though. That figured.

Leaving the impound, the hallways seemed familiar enough that she presumed she was still in Wusheg’s estate. What used to be Wusheg’s estate, anyway. She was making good progress when she realised that she had come quite a way without encountering a single guard. Convenient for her, certainly, but perhaps a sign that something was off.

Shomwe more or less wandered quietly until she found herself in a familiar part of the estate. From there she could make her way out of the building. It was then that she began encountering other occupants. They had not yet noticed her, and so each time she made certain to hide herself in alcoves and behind stacked boxes.

Guessing that the doorways would most likely be properly supervised, she elected to seek an alternate exit. It was not hard. She crept through a dark pantry and out a window just big enough for her to fit. Squirming through was awkward and she ended up falling to the ground outside. Fortunately, the window had been on the ground floor of the building.

“Yep, that’s just what I needed,” Shomwe groaned, picking herself up. “More impacts on my body.”

It was night. The estate grounds were illuminated by sparse floodlights. Clear of the building, her next obstacle was the wall that encompassed the compound. Again, she was unwilling to test her luck with the gates; better to deal with an inanimate barrier. She reached the wall undiscovered and examined it. It was too tall and smooth for her to hope to climb. She looked around for some boxes or something to stack against it. Nothing.

Shomwe wound up to punch a nearby tree out of frustration before realising which one of them would be hurt by such an outburst. However, now that she looked at the tree, she did notice how wide some of its branches reached. Thick, stable branches. Branches that reached over the wall…

A small spark of hope invigorated her to immediately attempt to climb the tree. She failed though, as her aching limbs gave out. Reminding herself that every passing minute was an opportunity for someone to notice that she was not in her cell – or worse, spy her in the yard – Shomwe steeled herself and jumped on the tree once more. Her arms demanded that she give up, but she powered through the pain.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been able to scale the tree without issue. She was not Cartel enforcer material, but only privileged gangsters could afford to be unfit. In her current state, she was hungry, dehydrated, and injured. However, above all else, she was desperate, and in situations like these, that could trounce other factors.

Reaching the branch that would lead her out of the compound, she stole a moment to rest atop it. She panted like an anooba. She shook her arms, trying to get the tired out. A disturbance at the edge of her hearing prompted her to instinctively freeze and hold her breath. The clarity improved and the source drew nearer. It was a conversation between two Cartel goons.

“…on Zuch taking over. He’s got enough backing from the other lieutenants, and he’s willing to blast anyone that would challenge him.”

“He’s got that backing because he’s willing to blast anyone that says ‘no’ to him. And besides, your head is on wrong if you think the Hutt Council is going to let anyone but another Hutt be in charge here. But… if they did let someone else step up, it would be Toplo.”

“What!? Now you’re the one talking crazy. When was the last time you saw a Hutt favour an Ishi Tib?”

“Same time I saw one favour a Snivvian! But that’s not the point. I bet the Hutts would be willing to trust a Jawa if they thought he would act in their interests. So why not an Ishi Tib? My point is that Toplo is crafty. He’s got the smarts to hold on to leadership.”

“Eh, I’ll give you that…”

With the voices receding, Shomwe stopped suppressing her breaths. It was a terrible sensation to try to breathe quietly when short of air. Unwilling to wait longer, she shuffled out along the branch. With her weight further and further from the trunk, it sagged. This was to her benefit as the distance between the limb and the top of the wall became more manageable as it dipped. Her plan was to drop from the branch onto the wall, then ease herself down the outside from there. The execution was not so elegant, as when she attempted to dismount the branch, she lost her balance and toppled off the wall. For the second time, she landed with a heavy thud.

“Son of a nerfherder…”

It was all worth it though, as now she was outside the compound. Wasting no time on celebration, she made for the town with a slight limp. She did her best to stay off the main streets. Hutt minions may have been concentrated at the estate, but at any given time, there were more than a few on the prowl.

Things were more active tonight than most nights. Based on the tone Shomwe read from the people around, things were tense in the town. She began to understand why when she passed the first crime scene. Clone troopers and local law enforcement cordoned the space in front of a small building. She glimpsed what looked like a body beneath a shroud. Handfuls of concerned onlookers swapped words of sympathy. Shomwe would witness similar scenes two more times before reaching her flat.

Unlocking her door, she breathed a sigh of relief to find that the place had not yet been sacked. That would likely change upon word of her imprisonment reaching the ears of those who knew where she lived.

She knew that she could not stay in Shinca. She had made enemies of the Hutts and everyone on their payroll. Going to the Republic for help was not an option. Even if she cut a deal that kept her out of a cell, she would not be safe. If the Hutts really wanted her dead, the Republic was not going to be able to stop them.

She had to run, and not just from Shinca, but from Dantooine. The Cartel’s presence here was planetary. The best hope for her was to find a place where a different entity was in charge; an entity that would not let Hutt influence in and had the strength to keep it out. As sad a thought as it was, her life here was over.

There was some solace in that, though. She had meant what she said to Seak: her life there sucked. This whole calamity might have been a shove toward a better destiny for her. She could hope.

Getting off-world was the most important thing for her survival, but she had some other priorities at the moment. She made her way to her kitchen – the side of her single-room residence that had a refrigerator and countertop. She pulled out a filtering bottle filled with water and drank until it was empty. With her thirst addressed, she helped herself to both sets of leftovers in the refrigerator. After that, she showered, wincing as she cleansed her tender body. With the dirt out of the way, she retrieved most of the contents of her medicine cabinet. She applied what little bacta she had to her head. If she did have a concussion, remedying that was critical. She had been tempted to apply it to her ribs and abdomen instead – it certainly felt as though they had taken the most punishment.

When she was finished, she looked at herself in her mirror. The dried blood was gone and her head was not pounding quite so hard anymore, but her face was still misshapen and her skin discoloured.

“Well,” she sighed, “Going to have to hold off on that modelling audition for now.”

What Shomwe wanted more than anything else in that moment was to lay in her bed, fall into a deep sleep, and wake up feeling totally refreshed. Unfortunately, she was running on borrowed time and she knew it. When the knuckle-draggers at the estate found her missing – assuming they had not already done so – this would be the first place they would look for her.

She loaded as much as she could into a rucksack and a duffle bag – which was quite nearly everything she owned. She made certain not to leave anything important behind, such as her savings or her side cape.

Packed and set, she left her flat for the last time.