Chapter II, The Pit

The blaster sounded distinctly like a metallic thud. Niome had been lost for who knew how long. She realized then that she wasn't eight, she was twenty two, and that Jarek Hawthorne was not at her knees. She sat up groggily, headache welling from deep in the base of her neck. Her blistered skin felt soothed, and her muscles no longer ached. A Twi'lek woman watched her skeptically from behind a set of metal bars. She was saying something, but it was lost in the throbs of tremendous pain from her deepest brain. Something had broken, or was breaking. She shook her head, and the sound of water left her ears.

"Wake up, Girl. You're saved," The Twi'lek repeated. Niome only now got the notion to nod, her throat felt like sandpaper. The woman who wore a large red leather coat nodded pleased, "You're not deaf, which is good. The doctor put the bacta pressure a bit higher than is good for humans. If you're ear drums had burst, you would be a worth quite a bit less." Niome couldn't speak, she felt like she hadn't drank in days. The woman's words didn't make sense, if she was saved, why was she in a cage? What did she mean by "worth less." It was as if the alien could read her mind. She continued, unbothered by the gunslinger's newfound mutism, "For your rescue, you are indebted to the Black Sun Syndicate. We didn't find any credits on you, but your blasters, and other 'kit' are fine alternatives. Your life isn't worth a blaster, and a vibroknife or two though, so your body is ours, in exchange for your still breathing. Do you understand?" Niome stared at her dumbfounded, the Rylothian lifted a canteen in one hand. "Nod if you understand, or you aren't drinking, girl." It didn't take much thought, and she quickly bobbed her head. The woman tossed the plastic canteen into the cage without further word. "You'll be fed in a few hours, next rotation, we take you to market." As the woman's coat waved a goodbye, Niome was busy downing the valuable liquid she was given. She didn't have a plan, but she understood the circumstances well enough. If she wasn't in Hutt custody, she had a few days. If she was sold to the wrong individual, she was done for good. She could kiss her want for vengeance, and her freedom goodbye. So long bounty hunting, if that came about. She knew Jarek wouldn't be proud, he tore at her heart, where he was now relegated to existing.

Niome sat in the cage for only a moment, staring absently at the metal bars, and the electronic lock guarding the door. She didn't have much leverage here, she had a plastic canteen, and a set of underwear. Her mind began to race through solutions, and she studied the holding pens. Across from her sat a few Wookies, and several Twi'leks arranged by color to form a caged rainbow. Most appeared broken, hardly looking from the floors of their cells. Each kennel had a small drain for body waste, and hung roughly three feet from the floor. The stench was reviling. Niome was no slouch though, trained from the youngest age to shoot, and to get out of sticky situations like this one. She thought long and hard on the plan, and observed the lock carefully. She decided there was potential. She spent the next hours observing the rythm of the room, how guards came, and went. None came near the pens, they stayed far in the back, on a hardly lived catwalk over the pit of waste.

They were armored, and carried carbines. She couldn't have one present while she made her move. She bid her time until she had a chance. When food came, a droid hovered in from the far wall. Guards entered the room to watch, and avoid any funny business.