Bounty (Alex Rider/Star Wars Crossover) (BOOK 2)

Chapter Eight

Alex was worn and haggard. He could not sleep. He could not quiet his mind. It was screaming with pain and uncertainty. He had tried to calm himself so he could sleep, but could not prevail. He was uncomfortable and feared rest would not come to him for a very long time, or worse, a very short time.

His instincts told him the ship was coming out of hyperspace, and he was right. He was jolted again and fell over onto the floor, not having time to brace himself. He tried to sit back up, but gave up, finding that the slumped over position was much more comfortable, simply because he had moved. He waited, but time came and went slowly in the darkness of the cargo hold.

A half an hour later, he felt the ship being let down. A few moments later, the door to the cargo hold slid open. Alex blinked hard in the bright light and saw Boba Fett stroll in, still fully attired in his Mandalorian armor, trying to look as intimidating as possible. He was in nothing even close to the friendly mood he had been in earlier, but instead was harsh and rough with his prisoner.

"Get up, slave," he commanded. When Alex did not move at once, he grabbed Alex's shoulder and hauled him up forcefully. He forced Alex to walk in front of him, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder.

Alex was prodded out of the hold and down the ramp, into the waning sunlight of mid-afternoon. He looked around. There was a group of bounty hunters standing around, each with various humanoids they were willing to sell for high prices.

"Move it, slave," Fett pushed him forward, Alex stumbling. "What are you trying to do, slave? Make me look like I sell bad merchandise?" As he spat out the last phrase through gritted teeth, he kicked Alex, who was trying to get back up, hard in the back of the knees, making him fall down even farther. The bounty hunter pulled on Alex's elbow, pulling him up once again.

Alex felt lost. He had no willpower left. He tried in vain to make himself do as the bounty hunter ordered, but had no strength, either. He was fatigued from lack of food and rest. He walked slowly in front of his captor, head bowed submissively, hand clenched in front of him, that being the only position allowed by the stuncuffs.

He and the other slaves were marched through the streets of the dusty city, the vendors on the sides of the streets eyeing them greedily. They were, after all, only merchandise; something to be bartered for, bought, and sold. This was the life of a slave. He listened to what the onlooking crowds was muttering among themselves. From them, he learned that they were to be sold off at a public auction in the center of the city. Certain individuals in the crowd were pointing out other pieces of "merchandise," noting that they looked strong or hard working. No one there cared that these were people, just like himself, who had families, lives, and people who would miss them. No doubt many of them were "enemies of the Empire" just like himself.

The slaves were paraded out of the streets and into a large square. There were about seventeen of them all together. None of them were as badly hurt as Alex, but all of them were dusty, tired, and the exhaustion and brokenness shown in their eyes, except for one. She was a Togrutan female standing next to Alex, with blue and white head-tails that hung down her back. She wore a light brown tunic and clothing very similar to Alex. She kept glancing back at him, giving him odd looks. Alex smiled as best as he could.

"My name is Ahsoka," she said quietly, introducing herself. "What's yours?"

"Alex Rider," he replied just as quietly. He couldn't speak any louder for the lack of liquid and the dust coating inside his mouth. He studied her closer.

Ahsoka did the same to him. "Are you a Jedi?" she asked finally, trying to put a note of curiosity in her voice, as if she was merely interested

"Yes," he replied, then, "No. I was, but that was before all this."