3-7 HAB-BLOCK HARM

“Why are you asking me, Master Lasah? Don’t you have more experience?”

A hint of amusement dances through Master Lasah’s mind. “Have you forgotten what I asked you not too long ago? Whether you would be willing to accept more responsibility?”

“Ah, right,” you say, a sheepish smile on your face. “I… I think we should interview Mister Tlin.”

“Why so?”

“Maybe there’s something he left out of his testimony to CorSec, intentionally or not. I think that, if he did, we could probably get something out of him.”

“A chance to use your… gifts? Well, I suppose this is why I asked for you in the first place.”

“Not just me!” you blurt out. “I mean, you’d know better. I’m sure you have your own ways of getting information from people. It’s just… if we used everything at our disposal, we would get a lot more!”

She smiles down at you and you blush behind the mask. You did accept the greater responsibility, but you didn’t expect her to foist all of this decision making upon you. And, sure, you will certainly help out with interviewing of Ioaniis Tlin, but Master Lasah is the expert here! She definitely has better ways of doing things. You’re willing to snoop through people’s thoughts if need be. It’s just…

She expects a lot from you already. You’ve not really done anything yet, but suddenly you feel like you’re struggling to keep up.

Master Lasah holds a comlink to her mouth, speaking quickly to the CorSec operator at the other end. She relays your wish to speak with Ioaniis Tlin to your chagrin, but surprisingly receives a swift response. Apparently, Mister Tlin has a record with CorSec — for what is not said. Tlin’s residence and place of work are on said record, and thus you and Master Lasah soon have the locations of where Tlin is likely to be: the industrial block to the southeast or the hab block to the northeast.

Convenient.

“Master Lasah, which way first?” you ask, getting the question out before she asks you.

She huffs, then points north. “We will try his place of residence first. We have his exact address, and I do not yet feel up to searching an entire block for his whereabouts, especially in there—” she says, swiveling to gesture south with her other hand.

Understandable. It is, after all, far too noisy for you too. Though the clamor of minds ahead do not excite you, the unbearable din produced by the industrial block is far worse. You’ve trained to handle the former; not so much the latter.

Master Lasah leads the way after directing the Guardian droid on watch to clean up the area. The other one continues following you two, marching with exaggerated fervor behind you. Master Lasah pushes an entry door open, the lock already broken long ago through constant abuse and neglect. Before you is a long hallway, each side lined with a hundred domiciles with rows and rows more beyond. To the immediate left is a small side room with a twin set of turbolifts and a set of stairs. Master Lasah pushes the call-button for the lift, then jumps back as a nasty series of metallic shrieks and clatters ring out from the chamber behind the doors. Finally, after minutes of torturous waiting, the doors slide open, revealing nothing but an empty shaft.

You take the stairs.

Ten floors up, and your legs ache helishly. Twenty floors up, and you’re considering asking the droid to carry you — no way you’d ever ask Master Lasah!

Twenty-two floors up, and you thank the Emperor under your breath for His benevolent mercy. You’re finally there.

Master Lasah also takes pity on you, giving you a few minutes to rest on the floor. You rub your legs, trying to deny the pain its dreadful hold, but by the time you must go, you’re only barely recovered. Duty calls, however, and you must move on.

Master Lasah hoists you up to your feet then leads the way once again. The three of you silently navigate the maze of dreary apartments — the endless, numbered doors the only guide.

Suddenly, Master Lasah picks up the pace, rushing forward without warning. You’re left gaping for a moment, then sprint to catch up, wincing with every step you take. You look ahead, wondering what set her off, then gasp.

There’s someone hurt; someone greatly injured and in pain.

Ten meters ahead of you, Master Lasah skids to a stop in front of a door, reaching out with the Force and flicking the locking mechanism open on the other side. She holds one hand out toward you, signaling for you to stop while reaching out with the other to cautiously push the door open.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Nothing happens. Only the low groan of a wounded man can be heard.

Master Lasah steps in with you close behind. No lightsaber, merely two sets of Force-provided perception are needed. The two of you slowly make your way through the first room — a tight chamber, just big enough for a stove, a refrigerator, and a cot. Each one is dented and damaged, to the point that it is obviously not from standard use. There was a fight here.

The walls are undamaged however, but that’s purely because there’s nothing to damage. They’re bare concrete, marked only by the shed blood of the tenant, groaning with pain in the next room over.

Whoever was here wasn’t searching for anything. There’s nothing to search for. They came for one reason: to rough up Ioaniis Tlin.

Tlin sits in the tiny shower stall within his ‘fresher, dried blood crusting on his face and his legs bent at the wrong angles. He’s clearly been sitting here for a while, unable to go anywhere; unable to call for help from within this stonework tomb with half his comlink floating in the toilet beside him.

It’s a good thing you came looking for him.

Master Lasah leans in close, placing a hand upon his forehead. She beckons you closer and directs you to Stanch and Purify him as much as possible. As you do, she gently pries his eyelids open, flakes of dried blood falling away as a sanguinary snow.

“Ioaniis Tlin?” she asks quietly. “Ioaniis Tlin? Can you hear me?”

Tlin only moans again in response and she frowns in consternation. “Xena, we need to get that medic over here.”

“Why not bring him down?”

“It is best not to move an injured person if they’re not under current threat. Tlin seems stable enough at the moment, but moving him might make things worse. And, I do not believe carrying him down twenty-odd flights of stairs will be ‘good’ for his health. Now, go. And take the droid with you.”

“Yes, Master.”

You rush back down the hall, doing your best to recall the path you took up here. Fortunately, whenever you think you’re lost, you simply prompt the droid and it points the way. After the trek through the labyrinth, however, you’re again met with the prospect of overcoming the stairs once again.

It’s an arduous journey down, but you make it. You gasp for breath and your feet, ankles, and calves burn from jumping down so many stairs. It’s only thanks to your training that you didn’t fall and break anything. You dodge between a few residents wandering about who stare at you in shock, then burst out the front door. You turn to your right and take off, west, down the street, not waiting for the droid to catch up — its own trip far slower than yours considering its lack of ability to skip as many steps as you without suffering damage.

There, at the corner of the intersection. The clinic, manned by a single chirurgeon. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem too busy at the moment. He stands behind a counter, marking something down on a datapad as a medical droid stands idle in the back room next to a sleeping patient.

“There’s an emergency!” you cry as you throw the door open, startling the man. He staggers backward, knocking a drink and a stool to the floor. Fortunately, he catches himself before he himself falls over, then glares at you in annoyance.

“Sorry,” you say meekly. “It’s… there’s someone hurt.”

“W - who are you? What are you?”

“I’m Jedi Initiate Xena. My Master and I went to speak with Ioaniis Tlin since he found Justinia Ryker dead yesterday. But, we found him heavily injured. He’s bled a lot, but he seems mostly stable. I think.”

“J - Jedi?” the medic stammers out. “Wha? This had better not be a prank.”

At that moment, the CorSec Guardian droid skids across the floor, face first past the door, having tripped and fallen over while at full tilt. You and the medic stare in horror as it bowls over a pedestrian who then starts screaming in pure rage. Fortunately, the other Guardian droid still standing in the intersection makes its way over to mollify the assaulted pedestrian while the first one makes its way over to you.

“It’s not with me.”

“Really?” the medic says, clearly disbelieving you.

You pull your robe far enough to the side to display your saber while shuffling away from the droid. “I am a Jedi. There’s truly someone hurt. Please help him.”

He sighs, then starts pulling some medical equipment out from under the counter before him. “Yes, I believe you. And, I do distinctly remember Tlin. He’s, unfortunately, a regular of mine in more ways than one. I’ll see to him. Where is he?”

“His apartment. It’s at—”

“I know. Argh. I hate going there.”

“...sorry?”

“Bah, not your fault. Now, you can stay here, or you can come with me. I don’t really care.”

With that he starts making his way over to the door, muttering under his breath. As he passes you, he turns and says, “Kid, whatever you do, don’t do drugs. The narcotics business never turns out well.”

“Uh, okay? Wait—”

But, before you can ask why he’s even bringing that up, he’s out the door. You turn to the droid standing next to you, a distinct lack of paint setting it apart from its compatriot standing outside. still making amends to the disgruntled citizen.

“Why did he say that?”

Surprisingly, it says something actually useful. “This area, while respectable on the exterior, is rumored to be home to a lively narcotics trade.”

“So, why hasn’t CorSec done anything about it?”

“Rumors are not enough to generate search warrants.”

“Right.”