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Slave Soldier

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.02.2013 , 08:51 AM | #1
Slave Soldier tells part of the back story for my Imperial Agent character, Cartog. He lived on Hutta until his late teens, when he was enslaved by the Empire (which is another story ) and sent to refine his killing skills in the army. Cartog spent three years killing pirates and scum in the Outer Rim. He became a better killer, and he became even better at doing what he needed to do to survive.


The Black Ghost

Cartog looked over his team as they walked out of what was left of the pirate camp. Everyone was in one piece. Yuta was putting a field dressing on Keeli. She was making a mess of it, but messy medicine beat no medicine at all. She was still learning the job. Jack leaned up against the still-burning hulk of an enemy speeder. Cartog noticed he did it in a way that gave him the best view of the area, in case he needed to jump into action again. Good man. Jack hefted his assault cannon with one hand, and lit a cigarette with the other.

Jack and Yuta caught him looking. Yuta raised a fist, and Jack barked twice. Cartog grinned. He said, “That’s my dogs.” When he’d joined the team as a lowly trooper, he gave them the nickname Jackals, because they fought like a bunch of wild animals. Everyone had eaten it up. Their armor was painted in black and gray streaks of paint stolen from the supply huts back at base. Sometimes they spared some to paint their faces.

Cartog keyed his helmet radio. “Jeran, have you secured the landing site?” Static. He yanked on the antenna line and heard it connect. Their equipment wasn’t worth the powder it would take to blow it to hell. “Jeran, this is Cartog. Have you secured the LZ?”

The line crackled. “Secured, boss, but looks like we’re not leaving yet.”

The others looked at him. The smoking camp and bodies behind them said they’d done their job for today. “What’s up, Jer?”

“You’ll want to see this, boss.”

Why couldn’t people just give it to him straight?

The landing site was about a hundred yards away, the flattest patch of land they could get. “All right, Jackals. On your feet,” he said to the group.

They started walking. Cartog led the way. Yuta was behind him, with Keeli limping behind her. Jack brought up the rear. All the bad guys were accounted for, but they kept their weapons out. There were always more.

A hooded Sith was standing by their transport. Some of the Cartog’s group pulled up. Cartog kept walking. He was scared out of his wits, but he was in charge of the squad, and he had to act like it. He pushed Yuta and Jack forward. “Come on, lads. I’m sure he doesn’t bite.”

He didn’t know what to do. Theirs was a penal unit, supplemented with slaves like himself and bounty hunters, barely trained and equipped with less. They were cannon fodder for pirate hunting. The Sith fought with the real army. He never thought he’d meet one of the ‘black ghosts,’ like they called them back home. Cartog saluted and bowed. “Sir,” he said.

The Sith chuckled. “The proper way to address a Sith is ‘my lord,’” it said.

“Apologies. My lord.” He bowed lower. The rest of the squad was standing behind him, not knowing what to do. “Bow, you morons!” he said.

That will have to do,” it sniffed. The Sith lowered its hood. Cartog tried not to flinch. It was a decaying shell of a man, with thin black veins in his neck, and flickering red eyes. The creature was about his height and about his build, wearing black, horned armor and a blood red cloak. The chipped, scratched breastplate had seen better days. He looked over the squad. “You have no sergeant. No lieutenant. Where is your leader?”

“Corporal Cartog Dalledos, my lord. I’m in charge. Our sergeant was killed last week, as well as our last medic.”

The Sith walked among the squad, who were more than happy to get out of his way. He trembled, and coughed. He exuded a mixture of dark power and physical weakness.

“And yet your captain calls you… ‘Jackals’?… the fiercest squad he has.”

Jeran stepped forward. He had his war paint on today and some blood splatter to go with it. Jeran said, “We were ambushed. We killed fifty before it was all over.”

The Sith choked him with the Force. People stepped back as Jeran staggered left and right. “I was speaking to your leader. Silence your voice, or I will do it for you,” the Sith said.

Jeran started to fall to his knees. His eyes bugged out. Cartog snapped, “We’re low on troops as it is out here without you killing them!” Jeran started to spasm. In seconds he’d be dead. Cartog’s hand itched for his blaster. Instead Cartog grabbed Sestra’s shoulder and shouted, “I said that’s enough!”

The choke faltered. Jeran gulped air like a drowning man breaking the surface.

Lord Sestra backhanded Cartog. He drew his lightsaber, and its thin red beam leveled inches from Cartog’s face. “Impudent fool. Do not question my actions again.”

If the bastard hadn’t been Sith, Cartog would have shot him in the back already. “Thank you for sparing one of my best riflemen,” he said. Lightsaber or no, the Sith and Cartog stared one another down. The Sith had tried to kill one of his troops. Cartog could not, would not let that go.

The Sith straightened up. He gestured at Cartog, and other members of the team. “Many of you wear slave collars,” he said. “I am Lord Sestra! I am engaged in a quest to plumb depths of the Force no Sith has ever known. I sense your anger. Good. Let it fill you. Serve me well and I will take away your collars. Others will bow before you! Together, the Force will flow through us, and we will become unstoppable!”

Cartog didn’t buy Sestra’s speech – he’d always thought he’d be more scared of a Sith in the flesh – but his heart flip flopped over the idea of having his collar taken off. From the murmurs behind him, the others wanted some of that action, too. He recited the answer that they’d learned in training: “We serve the Sith.”

“Yes, all Imperial soldiers do serve the Sith. I need more than obedience. Join me!”

He was going to squeeze it out of them. Cartog looked at his squad and thought, Dogs, don’t let me down. He took out his bayonet and roared, “Jackals, let me hear it!”

The Jackals did their best war cries. They sounded like the screams of death coming down from heaven. Cartog grinned. He owed them a case a beer. He snapped his best salute to Lord Sestra and hoped they were done strutting.

Sestra said, “Contact your commander. You will have one more mission today.”
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.02.2013 , 03:58 PM | #2
Dance of Death

Recon had found another camp like the one they just cleared. They wanted to take them out before they could get away and warn their friends.

The transports reached orbit, jumped, then came out of hyperspace twenty minutes later. The forward window was suddenly filled with the pirate moon that was their next objective. Beyond that, curving farther than Cartog could see, was the gas giant the moon belonged to. The ships had barely returned to real space before they cut power and went into stealth flight.

The transports glided forward. Cartog heard the gentle hiss of thrusters firing as the pilots nudged them toward their targets. They swam through turbulence as the ship descended through the moon’s atmosphere. It used to make Cartog throw up. Anymore, he liked it. Three of the transports peeled off to attack the camp from the air. The other three, including Cartog’s, approached from behind hills on the camp’s other side. Over their comms, the mission commander gave the order to go in.

Sestra smiled. He unhooked his lightsaber from his belt. “Two minutes!” Cartog shouted to the squad. Their job was to rappel inside the camp after the transports had softened it up, then kill any resistance from inside while the other two transports landed troops and attacked from the outside.

Sestra started chanting. Cartog’s heart pounded. He’d wasn’t religious but he knew when to ask Fate for its favor. Cartog asked over and over again, Protect my dogs, protect my dogs, protect my dogs. They were the only family he had.

The transport moved up.

“One minute!” Cartog shouted.

They moved into position over a burning, smoking wreckage of what used to be a prefab huts and pieces of small, fast boats. There weren’t many bodies he could see. Cartog looked at Sestra. The Sith was deep in a trance. Cartog grit his teeth and opened the port side hatch while Jeran opened the other side.

Sestra finished. He raised his hands up and swept them before the squad. Cartog smelled blood. Everything turned red. Cartog wished his could forget what happened next.

The Jackals went mad. Sestra laughed. All of them, Cartog included, screamed. They howled like animals as they went down their ropes. None of them could kill fast enough. They slaughtered the wounded. The helpless. Good old Jack killed someone with his bare hands. Cartog bashed someone’s head in with the butt of his rifle. Over and over again.

Sestra leaped down from the transport without a rope. He followed them in, soaking in the carnage. When an enemy fell, he lifted the body into the air using the Force. Red light rushed inside it, and it would come back to life, eyes glowing. The Jackals would kill it again. Sestra would laugh. As the bloodshed raged, he soaked it in. He breathed in the red haze that seemed to cover everything.

A firefight that should have been over in ten minutes turned into a dance of death that lasted an hour. By then, the pirates’ bodies were so shot full of holes they couldn’t get up anymore, no matter how much Force power Sestra used on them.

The spell ended.

Cartog stood in the middle of the blasted camp. He and the Jackals looked at each other. Hardened soldiers and soulless killers dropped to the ground and wept. He had to grab Seria, a former slaver and drug killer, to keep her from sticking herself with her own knife. Cartog felt like a shell. Two years ago, he watched his family get gunned down before his eyes. He felt the same emptiness now that he had then. Somehow, it kept him sane.
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.03.2013 , 10:22 AM | #3
No Help

Sestra left on one of the other transports. Barely composed, Cartog called for medical evac for the squad. No one was wounded, but he was afraid to stuff them into a transport without having a gallon of sedatives ready to go in case they freaked out.

When they got back to base, Cartog grabbed the medic by the shoulder and said, “Get them all to medical. Take care of them. These people are wounded, get me?”

The medic said, “I don’t see any injuries…”

Cartog stuck his sidearm in his face. “If I find out they haven’t been taken care of, people in white uniforms are going to die next.”

The medic nodded. “I’ll take care of them.”

“Good. Go.”

Cartog walked to the captain’s tent as fast as he could. When walking wasn’t enough, he jogged. When he couldn’t bear that anymore, he ran. He punched out two guards that got in his way, and walked directly in. The captain and his aide looked like they were having a friendly afternoon drink. In fact, the captain looked drunk.

“Where’s Lord Sestra?”

The bloody soldier standing in front of the captain was more war than he’d seen in five years. The captain took a step back. “Stand down, soldier! Who do you think you—”

It was the wrong answer. Cartog reached for his blaster. He stepped toward him and shouted. “Damn you, tell me where he is!”

The captain’s aide spotted Cartog’s slave collar. He was carrying a control box, and hit Cartog with a jolt that knocked him to the floor. Electricity arced all over Cartog’s body. His fillings shot pain into the nerves of his jaw. Cartog writhed in agony. He didn’t scream. It had been used on him enough times over the years that he’d stopped screaming. When it stopped, his memories of the battle still felt worse.

Cartog looked from the aide to the commandant. “Sestra,” he croaked.

The captain said, “Hit him again.”

Once he was too weak to resist, the guards dragged him to the stockade. For the next few hours, the captain taught him a lesson about the Imperial chain of command. They used the shock collar, mostly, but switched off with batons and kicks, too. After a while, Cartog decided to give them a new trick in return. Whenever they paused, he started laughing.

They finally stopped. The captain’s aide put the shock collar’s control device back on his belt. Cartog lay in a puddle of his own drool. His head ached from where he’d banged it against the ground when he’d convulsed.

“That’s funny, corporal. Laughing. I know it hurts,” the captain said.

Cartog said nothing. Of course it hurt. So what?

“Take some advice. Lord Sestra’s the only chance you have to be more than a slave.”

Huh. The captain was a slave, too, and he wasn’t even wearing a collar.

Cartog rested his head back on the floor. The ground smelled like urine – he didn’t think it was his – and grit. It felt damp. The captain’s boots walked out. The guards’ boots did, too.
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.03.2013 , 09:35 PM | #4
Punishments and Rewards

He soaked in the memory of his pain. A few hours after sunset, the guards came again. They hauled Cartog to his feet and threw him out of the stockade. “Make it easy on yourself. Do what he says,” one of them said.

Cartog looked back at him. “What’s it to you?”

He turned his head. On the back of his neck, he wore a slave collar too.

Cartog looked at the other guard. “How about you?”

“Not me. Not yet. I serve the Sith,” the guard said. “Hoo rah.”

Lip-service enforcers. That was good to know.

It was the middle of the night, and the camp was a ghost town except for the night guardsmen. He made it back to the Jackals’ barracks. The squad was already there. Cartog heard snoring. A few heads turned to the door.

“Yo, boss! You all right?” Jeran asked.

People started getting up. Jeran, Keeli, and Yuta were the first. They were the ones that Cartog had known the longest. Others woke up from the commotion. Someone turned on the lights.

“Where did they take you?”

“You okay, man?”

“Cartog, you look like crap.”

“All right, give me a second. Better yet, get me a drink.” Cartog dragged over someone’s locker and sat down on it. Everyone else gathered around. He had wanted to just pass out and deal with this in the morning, but it might as well be now.

One of them handed him a flask. Cartog drank. The rotgut tasted like the speeder lubricant it came from. Bad as it was, it was still the taste of home, and the kick in the head it gave him cleared his mind. Cartog handed it back.

“They burned you, didn’t they?” Jeran asked. Burned, slang for getting collar-shocked.

“Yeah, they did. You guys okay?”

Keeli said, “Nobody had any combat wounds, so they pumped us up on sedatives and tranquilizers.” She lifted her shirt, showing a bandage on her abdomen. “Some of us were still hurting ourselves.”

Cartog growled. Damned Sestra. He looked from face to face. His dogs looked shaky. The softer-hearted ones wouldn’t even look at him. The others looked through him. Cartog didn’t know which was worse.

“What about the captain?” Jack asked. Most of the squad snorted and rolled their eyes. “Yo, just saying.”

“No way. The captain’s in Sestra’s pocket.”

“What’s happening, boss? Are we stuck with this guy?” Jeran asked.

“Yeah.” No point in sugar-coating it. Cartog lowered his eyes to the floor. “Everyone get some rest. We’ll need everything we’ve got to get through this.”

Cartog put them through a double dose of combat training the next day. They had to keep moving. They had to keep their minds off what happened. So did he. The pain from the collar shocks help cloud out memories he wished would go away.

The 17th Penal Company was small unit. There were no secrets. From other troopers, Cartog found out that Lord Sestra had arrived yesterday. He had terrified the captain into giving him the Jackals. No one knew whom he served or where he came from. He threw the captain out of his tent, the captain threw his aide out of his, and the captain’s aide was bunking with the officers. Sestra had been seen meditating as the sun rose. Beyond that, no one knew where he was.

The squad was in the middle of knife fighting drills when Cartog saw the blood-red cloak coming towards them. Cartog had heard that the Sith liked drama. Sestra’s hood was up, on a cloudy day, and he walked slowly.

Cartog gave the order to stand down. Sestra stood before him and folded his arms. Cartog bit his lip. He bowed the way he’d been trained. “My lord,” he said. Politeness was a good way to set an enemy at ease.

“You Jackals fought well yesterday. I am pleased.”

He ought to be. Cartog’s curiosity overcame his disgust. “What did you do?”

“I blessed you and your squad with the dark side of the Force. Once battle was joined, the bloodshed fed the blessing. It made you stronger. That strengthened me.” He closed his hands into fists and seemed to glow a feverish black light. “I used my power to resuscitate the enemy, force their souls back into their bodies. Such a simple thing, flesh.”

It sounded like voodoo to Cartog. He wasn’t sure how much he believed. He didn’t care.

“You, all of you, show much potential as….” Cartog looked at him in shock. As his pets? Sestra chuckled. “As my servants.” Close enough. He folded his arms. “All of you will be rewarded. You Jackals will be the first of my army.”

Jeran had enough. “Hell no. We’re not serving some sick bastard like you.”

Sestra’s reached his hand out and Force-choked him again. He dropped to his knees immediately, much faster than he had before.

Cartog pointed his rifle at him. The rest of the Jackals did too. “Let him go!” Cartog shouted.

Sestra threw his head back, and all of them went flying. Cartog struggled to his feet. He screamed as red light poured out of Jeran’s eyes, nose, ears and mouth and into Sestra’s body.

Jeran fell. Sestra radiated power; it was like a shockwave hitting Cartog’s body. He howled. He drew his lightsaber and turned to face the squad. “Listen well, Jackals! I shall not be defied again. You serve me. You will enforce my will. You will have the rewards – and punishments – you deserve. As I promised, those of you with collars will have them removed.” He threw a pouch of coins that struck Cartog in the face. “Your first reward,” he said. “I had hoped you would be standing when I gave it to you.”

Lord Sestra stared Cartog down. This time, Cartog blinked. He lowered his rifle, and gestured for the Jackals to do the same. Sestra grinned. He spun his lightsaber slowly, and and walked away.
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

Adwynyth's Avatar

09.04.2013 , 01:45 AM | #5
Wow. I love this. Keep going. *eats popcorn*
Horrendously bad fan fiction: Sith in a Pretty Dress

frauzet's Avatar

09.04.2013 , 11:30 AM | #6
*follows the trail of popcorn*
I like!
No not the popcorn, the story!
Author of "Trouble, Destiny and Other Complications"
Participant of the "Short Fic Weekly Challlenge Thread!"
All my stories from TDaOC and SFWC in chronological order

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.04.2013 , 07:31 PM | #7

Peasant Weapons

A few days later, their next mission orders came through. Intelligence had managed to piece together enough information from the bits of bits of rubble that were left after their last battle to nail down the location of the pirates’ main stronghold. Knock that out, and the sector would be stable enough to establish a colony. It would probably make Cartog’s homeworld look like a resort, but desperate people didn’t care.

Lord Sestra met them at the launch pad. He looked strong, but not as strong as he had the day he killed Jeran. Sickly, yes, but not yet shaking. Cartog said nothing. It gave him hope. Sestra didn’t strike him as your average Sith. He needed the Jackals’ help. He pumped them up so that he could feed on their fire. Maybe whatever he was doing was feeding on him, too. Maybe he could beat this dog in a fight.

Maybe he had rocks in his head, too. That was always possible.

“I feel your fear,” Sestra said to them. “Allow me to strengthen your resolve.” He lifted his hand. The hair stood on Cartog’s back as they started to feel the power of the Force. He felt his strength grow. His senses sharpened. And yes, he felt like the strongest warrior on the planet.

Sestra nodded as he saw the effect on the Jackals. “You see? Feel the power of the Force!”

Hoo-rah, Cartog thought. A little shot in the arm didn’t change anything. Cartog turned to the Jackals. “Everybody on. Move!”

The transports lifted off. Cartog sat across from Sestra. He refused to look at him. He sat with his back against the pilot’s seat, facing the team, and looked over his dogs instead. They looked cold. No bluster, no bravado. Normally he’d have a short talk with Jeran or Keeli about keeping an eye on the team. Jeran’s seat was empty. Cartog gripped his rifle.

Fifteen minutes passed like a day. Atmosphere, orbit, hyperspace, approach. Cartog watched the life bleeding out of the team, as sand ran down the hourglass. Soon they’d be Sestra’s killers again.

“On approach vector,” the pilot said. “Get ready back there.”

Sestra took his meditation posture. He began chanting. Jack rubbed his arms together and hunched over. Seria closed her eyes tight. Keeli locked eyes with Cartog.

Cartog toggled the frequency in his helmet communicator to respond to the pilot. “Roger…” Then he shook his head, yanked the antenna line, and thumbed the switch to an unencrypted channel. “Roger that.”

The mission commander swore. “Damn it, Cartog! You know what you just—”

Flak went off less than thirty yards from their transport. The sky lit up with ground fire. Sestra’s chant broke. He grabbed hold of his seat belt and just held on. Another explosion rocked the transport. Alarms filled the cabin. “We’re hit!” the pilot yelled. “Crash positions, everybody! Going down! Going down!”

Cartog looked out the cockpit window. Half of it was filled with smoke from the burning portside engine. Past that, he could see tracer fire coming from a just a few hundred meters away. Good.

“Hold onnnnn!!!!”

The transport went in. It clipped a hill, almost went over, then the pilot leveled it out and it hit the ground. It slid about ten yards up hill, then came to a stop.

People started swearing, but no one screamed. “Is anyone hurt?” Cartog asked.

“You stupid fool…” Sestra began.

“Shut up, my lord. We’ve got bigger problems now.” If Sestra choked him he was going to shoot him somewhere below the belt. There were no serious injuries. “All right, hatches open. Cover positions. Keeli, top of the hill. Seria, use the transport for cover. Keeli, get me eyes on targets. Go!” The Jackals spilled out of the ship. Sestra followed them. Cartog listened for chanting, but it looked like lord Sestra was smart enough to let them keep thinking for now.

Sestra was right about one thing. This might well be the stupidest idea he’d ever had.

The top of the hill was their forward flank. The transport and the down slope was their rear flank. Their left and right sides were open. Car crouched down in the middle of their position while he got his bearings. He looked back at the transport. The radio was out. The pilot was firing up the emergency radio, while the copilot broke out medical supplies.

Sestra paced. He didn’t draw his lightsaber yet.

The wiry twang of blaster fire split the air. Cartog looked back to the top of the hill. Keeli was firing where Cartog couldn’t see. Jack rested the assault cannon on the lip of the hill and was getting the sights up. The clatter and zip of needler fire came back at them. Over his radio, he heard Keeli say, “Locals coming in. Two speeders, more behind them. Rifles and a mounted needler gun so far.”

From his right, Seria yelled, “I’ve got more using the hills as cover! They’re flanking us!”

The pirate stronghold was a collection of camps from different clans of pirates, near enough to trade and support each other from an attack, and far enough away that they didn’t kill each other over petty arguments. Those that weren’t fighting the Imperial ships in orbit were converging here. The Imperials had better weapons, but they wouldn’t be able to hold out forever.

Sestra began to chant. Cartog slapped him. Sestra’s head cleared, and his rage felt like immolation standing this close. Cartog did the best acting job he could. “Not yet! Please, my lord! Do that and we’ll charge straight into automatic fire!”

He spit in Cartog’s face. “Peasant weapons!”

The crossfire rose and even Lord Sestra ducked. “We’re not Sith,” Cartog pleaded. “We need to buy time.”

Sestra’s mouth curled in disgust. “Lead your men. I will deal with you later.” The Sith turned and charged the pirates.

“Cover him!” Cartog yelled.

Sestra leaped over thirty meters into the middle of a dismounted pack of pirates. Cartog and Janson fired the pirates nearby to keep them from shooting him in back. Cartog had to give the Sith some credit: he was deadly with a lightsaber, and he seemed to grow stronger in the Force as he killed more of his enemy.

The pirates started turning their attention to him. Sestra deflected high explosive bombs. He danced under barrages of needler fire. He also took shot after shot and grew burned from the near misses. Cartog wondered how long it would last.

The pirates kept coming. Seria and Jack braced their assault cannons in the dirt and started using them as mortars, to keep reinforcements scattered while the rest of the squad fought the stuff up close. Lord Sestra was fighting a handful of fanatics with vibroswords. He was covered in their blood and practically glowing in dark light, but even he couldn’t hold them all. Cartog had an urge to try to help him. He fired at pirates nearby.

Sestra leaped away from the fanatics, forcing them to chase him, then took fire from other pirates as they shot at him in midair. Cartog fired a grenade at the fanatics and took them out.

Cartog’s helmet crackled. “Jackals, this is mission command. We’ve got the pirates on the run. Fire missions ready! Give us targets!”

The Jackals cheered as they heard it too. Cartog flipped open the datapad on his wrist and checked the area. “Command, targets…” He spit out a string of numbers. “Fire for effect! Fire for effect!”

Moments later, there was a whoosh from the sky. The artillery sensors inside their armor screamed. The Jackals ducked and covered, and blue-hot plasma explosions ringed their hill. The Jackals lost their footing as the ground shook.

Cartog could barely hear, “Close support is inbound. Heading for your signal!”

The battle wasn’t over yet. Just the hard part.

Half an hour later, smoke rose from every direction. The close support transports had started landing near their position. They would start mopping up soon. The other transports were firing on the pirate camps from the air.

Cartog and the rest of the Jackals found Sestra’s body on the other side of the ring of hills, close to where Cartog thought he might have landed. He lay in the middle of a dozen bodies, holding shattered vibroblades and split rifles, sandwiched by two wrecked speeders. Antitank rounds that someone had fired in panic had cracked his armor. Judging by the burns all over his body, though, it had been the artillery strike from space that had killed him.

Cartog sighed. “Damn it all.”

Keeli chuckled. She said, “You’re a lousy actor, Cartog.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t work when you smile and say something like that.”

“Friendly fire accident. I wonder if they’ll believe you,” Jack said.

The other Jackals looked at each other. Cartog looked from trooper to trooper. “It was my call. None of you are responsible. Understand?”

There were scattered yea’s and a few nods. Keeli said, “They’ll put your collar back on. If you’re lucky.”

Cartog said nothing. If he was unlucky, he’d be shot or tortured to death for his incompetence. He’d rolled the dice for his dogs. They were worth it.

“Sucks losing a good squad leader,” Jack said.

Time to move on. Cartog said, “All right. Somebody pull out a tarp and gather the body. We’ll take it back to base for proper respects.” That wasn’t the best acting job he’d ever done, either.
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.04.2013 , 07:32 PM | #8
A Different Kind of Freedom

After a week of confinement, beatings, and collar shocks, Cartog heard a new set of footsteps walking toward his cell. The door clanked open. Two guards entered the room and flanked the door. They weren’t guards from the 17th. They were cyborgs. Cartog felt cold just looking at them. His heart dropped farther when a Sith followed them in. His face was covered with a smooth, oval durasteel helmet. This one wasn’t like Sestra. Cartog felt no weakness at all. Only terror. He hoped his death would be quick. Chained to the floor, Cartog couldn’t stand up to face him. He simply bowed.

“I am Darth Jadus,” the Sith said. “You are the soldier who was responsible for the death of my former servant.” Darth Jadus licked his words. He spoke with an oily calm.

“Your former servant?” Cartog asked.

“He was not ‘lord’ Sestra. Sestra delved into secrets of the Dark Side that are forbidden. They are not ineffective, but they feed on those who use them. It weakens them, and in time, it would have killed him. He felt he could unlock its power and prevent the decay. I dismissed him for his foolishness. He was no longer Sith.”

“The captain followed him.”

“Your captain is dead.”

Cartog gulped. He steeled himself, and said, “We didn’t know. We served him as best we could, my lord.”

Jadus laughed. “I sense only half truth in your words, corporal. But it does not matter. You have saved me from an embarrassment. You will be rewarded with freedom from your collar.”

Cartog didn’t like the sound of this.

“Continue to serve the Empire as you do. One day, I may have need of your talents.”

The end -- thanks for reading!
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?

Adwynyth's Avatar

09.05.2013 , 12:34 AM | #9
*ahem* SQUEE
Horrendously bad fan fiction: Sith in a Pretty Dress

CNS_Sarajevo's Avatar

09.05.2013 , 05:39 AM | #10
Quote: Originally Posted by adwynyth View Post
*ahem* squee :d
Slave Soldier - Cartog wanted nothing more than to have his slave collar removed. But was the price worth paying?