Chapter 2: SCAVENGERS' CLAIM
The volcanic rock tore at Ven Calder's worn boots. My boots now. The distinction was getting harder to maintain.
I'd covered maybe two hundred meters when the dizziness hit—concussion, dehydration, blood loss, take your pick. My legs folded. I caught myself on a boulder, breathing hard, and looked back.
The wreck sat in a shallow crater, smoke rising from three different breach points. The scavengers had stopped cutting. One of them—taller than the others, moving with a predator's patience—stepped through the gap they'd made.
Not human.
The shape was wrong. Too bulky through the shoulders, the head elongated. When it turned toward my direction, I caught a glimpse of scales catching the light.
Trandoshan.
The Star Wars wiki binges finally proved useful. Reptilian species. Hunters. Collected prey.
I was prey.
But they weren't chasing yet. The Trandoshan barked orders to the others—both human from what I could tell—and they spread out to search the wreck. Looking for valuables. They'd get to me eventually.
Move.
I pushed off the boulder and kept going, forcing my legs to work. The settlement smoke was closer now, maybe a kilometer. If I could reach people, blend in, I might survive long enough to figure out what the hell was happening.
The ground sloped downward into a shallow ravine, volcanic glass crunching under my feet. I used the terrain for cover, checking over my shoulder every few seconds.
Halfway down, my foot hit something loose.
I went down hard.
The impact drove the air from my lungs and sent fresh agony through my ribs. I lay there in the black sand, staring at the alien sky, trying to remember how to breathe.
Get up. Get up, Morgan. This isn't how you die.
I'd survived Afghanistan. IEDs. Ambushes. A sniper round that missed my head by three inches and took out the sergeant beside me instead. I'd survived dying once already, apparently.
I wasn't going to die in a ditch on some backwater volcanic planet.
I rolled over and pushed myself up.
That's when I heard them coming.
Footsteps on volcanic glass. The Trandoshan's harsh voice, closer than it should be. They'd seen me fall.
I scrambled up the far side of the ravine, every movement a lesson in pain management. A rock outcropping offered cover. I pressed my back against it, heart pounding, and listened.
"—saw him go down here."
Human voice. Male. Nervous.
"Then find him."
The Trandoshan. Deeper, wet-sounding, like speaking through a mouthful of gravel.
"Could be dead from the crash. Why bother?"
"Because dead men don't run."
Footsteps getting closer. Two sets—the humans checking the ravine. The Trandoshan moving slower, higher up, tracking from above.
I needed a weapon.
I needed anything.
A loose rock caught my eye. Fist-sized, edges sharp from the fracture. Better than nothing. I grabbed it, pressed myself deeper into the shadow of the outcropping, and waited.
The first human came around the corner.
He was young. Barely twenty, with the look of someone who'd made bad choices and was trying to survive them. His eyes scanned the ground, not the shadows.
Amateur.
I let him pass.
The second human followed ten seconds later. Older, warier, actually checking his angles. His hand rested on a blaster at his hip.
I stayed motionless. Breathed through my mouth, slow and silent. The training came back like muscle memory, even in this unfamiliar body.
He passed too.
"Nothing here."
"Keep looking."
The Trandoshan's voice came from above. I looked up.
He stood on the ridge, maybe fifteen meters away, looking directly at my hiding spot. Our eyes met.
His lips pulled back, showing rows of pointed teeth.
"Found him."
I ran.
No point in hiding now. I exploded from cover and sprinted down the ravine, the Trandoshan's roar echoing behind me. The humans shouted confusion—they hadn't seen me—but the lizard was already moving, covering ground with terrifying speed.
My boots slipped on loose rock. I caught myself, kept moving. The ravine narrowed ahead, becoming a choke point. Bad terrain. I needed to get out, get to open ground where I could use distance.
A blast of red energy scorched the rock beside my head.
They're shooting at me.
I zigged left, ducking behind a boulder. Another shot hit the ground where I'd been. The Trandoshan wasn't trying to kill me—the shots were herding, pushing me toward the choke point.
Where the two humans waited.
Trap.
I stopped. Looked up. The ravine walls were steep but not impossible—volcanic rock with plenty of handholds.
The Trandoshan appeared at the other end of the ravine, blocking my retreat. His weapon was holstered now. He wanted to do this the old-fashioned way.
"Nowhere to go, little human."
He was right. The humans behind me, the Trandoshan ahead, the walls on either side.
I started climbing.
My ribs screamed. My fingers tore on sharp edges. I made it three meters up before a scaled hand closed around my ankle and yanked.
The fall knocked something loose in my chest. I landed on my back, gasping, and the Trandoshan loomed over me. His claws clicked together.
"The ship was empty. No cargo worth taking."
His hand reached for my arm, probably to drag me up or check my pockets.
The moment his scales touched my skin, something happened.
That same jolt from before, but stronger. Lightning crawling up my arm, through my chest, down to my other hand. And then I was holding something that hadn't been there.
A vibroblade.
The Trandoshan froze. His other hand went to his hip, to the empty sheath where the weapon had been.
His eyes met mine. For a moment, neither of us moved.
I didn't understand what had just happened. The blade had been on his belt. Now it was in my hand. There was no transition, no theft, no movement—it simply was.
But I knew how to use a knife.
I brought the blade up to his throat before he could react.
"Back. Off."
The Trandoshan's pupils contracted to slits.
"How did you—"
"Back. Off."
I pressed the blade harder. A thin line of green blood welled up against the edge. The weapon hummed faintly—vibroblade, I realized, the cutting edge moving at high frequency. One good push and I'd open his throat.
His hands came up slowly. Not surrender—calculation.
The two humans appeared at the ravine entrance, blasters drawn.
"Boss?"
The Trandoshan's tongue flicked out, tasting the air.
"Hold."
I shifted my position, putting the lizard between me and the humans. Hostage tactics. Basic, but effective.
"I'm leaving now."
"That blade belongs to me."
"It belonged to you. Past tense."
Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger—curiosity. Dangerous.
"How did you take it?"
I didn't answer because I didn't know.
I started backing up, keeping the blade at his throat, forcing him to move with me. The humans tracked us with their weapons, but neither fired. Good discipline, or fear of hitting their boss.
We reached the far end of the ravine. I could see the settlement smoke over the ridge—closer now. Maybe half a kilometer.
"When I let you go, you're going to stand there and count to sixty."
The Trandoshan smiled.
"And if I don't?"
"Then I keep the blade in your throat instead of just against it."
He considered this.
"You're not Ven Calder."
The statement hit me like ice water.
"He was a coward. A runner. You—" His tongue flicked again. "You've killed before. I can taste it."
I shoved him forward and ran.
The twin suns hammered down like judgment.
I stopped once, maybe two hundred meters from the ridge, and looked back. The Trandoshan stood where I'd left him, watching. Not following. His humans flanked him, weapons still raised, but nobody moved.
The vibroblade was slick in my grip. I looked at it—really looked. Ven Calder's memories offered nothing. This wasn't something my host had known how to do.
Touch.
The credit chip in the crashed cockpit. This blade now. Both times, I'd touched something, and something else had appeared in my hand.
Stolen.
The word surfaced with horrible certainty. I'd stolen these things. Not by taking them—by touching their owners.
What am I?
The philosophical question could wait. The immediate one couldn't.
I turned toward the settlement and started walking.
The wasteland stretched around me, volcanic and alien and nothing like the world I'd left behind. Sulfur vents hissed steam into the rust-colored air. Strange formations of black glass jutted from the ground like frozen lightning.
My ribs ached with every step. My mouth was dry—dehydration setting in fast under the twin suns. I needed water, shelter, information. In that order.
Ven Calder's memories provided fragments. Nevarro was a guild world—bounty hunters, mercenaries, the kind of people who asked few questions if you had credits. The settlement ahead was the main trading post. Cantinas, merchants, criminal enterprise.
It would have to do.
I crested the final ridge and stopped.
The settlement sprawled below, built into volcanic rock and old mining infrastructure. Rough buildings, landing pads, streets choked with dust and people. A sign in alien script marked the main entrance—Aurebesh, I recognized from the wiki binges, though I couldn't read it.
But I recognized the cantina.
The distinctive architecture. The placement. I'd seen it before, in screenshots from a show I'd never watched.
The Mandalorian.
I was standing in The Mandalorian's timeline.
Which meant everything I knew—everything I'd read online, every spoiler, every wiki article—was suddenly very, very relevant.
And very, very dangerous.
I adjusted my grip on the stolen vibroblade and walked toward Nevarro City.
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