Summary: Rey's trip to Niima is both alarming and illuminating. Zuvio deals with the fallout from the Road War. Things get nasty. However, Zuvio has an idea...He might be able to turn a problem into an asset.

Author's Note: Warning for violence! Also, it occurred to me after writing this that it MIGHT be construed as a real-world analogy. IT'S NOT. This is just what would probably happen if two nasty raider Clans went at it, and meanwhile there's only ONE center of semi-benign civilization on this Force-forsaken planet.

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Rey took the long way around, pushing the speeder as far as she dared. She dodged the sunlight wherever possible, sometimes sacrificing speed for stealth, keeping the Ravager on her right as much as she could, senses on fire, trying to take it all in at once.

Soft focus, Rey thought grimly. She felt a sudden, grinding pain of regret for her lost speeder and its new (well, new to her) proximity alert system.

Now she had to look out for danger the old-fashioned way.

Fortunately, Rey knew the area well enough to dodge and weave between all the good hiding places without straining her memory. If anyone followed her into the maze of cracked earth and sharp rocks between the Badlands and Niima, they would regret it.

The Ravager, however, was quiet. Cerebos' flag – the Mad Dog flag – still flew high in the sky. But the sharp flare of blaster fire seemed to have quieted.

Well, everyone needs sleep. Nobody can keep that up forever.

And if it was the Clan fighting the Mad Dogs… Well from what she'd seen the previous day, Rey wouldn't be surprised if there had been heavy casualties on both sides. Especially if the Militia had gotten involved, as they were want to do with the raiders ventured too close to the Outpost.

Rey shivered. She hoped not. Her feelings on the place aside, it wasn't all bad. And there were families there. Businesses. Lost souls just trying to survive. Or forget.

A good place for me, she thought. For Red.

He'd be one of them soon. A man displaced, forgotten. History had moved on without him. The Galaxy he'd known was in pieces. The Empire he'd served was dust and memory.

She assumed that he was an Imperial, anyway, considering that she'd found him on a warship.

Rey bit her lip as she pondered the mystery. He'd clearly been meant to survive the crash – the structure of the med bay confirmed that. But why? Was that area of the ship just what it appeared; an emergency medical facility? If he was an officer, and he'd survived whatever had killed his shipmates… Rey shuddered as she remembered the bodies stacked in the bilge, glassy eyes following her light as she picked her way through the dark.

Strange, the questions that rose high in her mind after she'd left his presence.

Well, I haven't really had time to think…

But there was nothing that she could really do.

Ask him when you get back.

Rey smiled a little.

And I will get his name.

############################

The perimeter power grid was still up.

At least something is going right today, Zuvio thought. He walked closer to the main gate, one hand on a stun baton, the other hanging casually at his side, a whisper away from the blaster strapped to his thigh.

A rickety hover sled, piled high with battered plaster steel crates and a number of lumpy burlap sacks strapped in with the cargo net was waiting just inside the gate. Zu, one of Plutt's "trade managers," was glowering at the driver, who was growing increasingly pale with each threatening gesture.

Finally Zu shoved the old, ragged human in the chest. He hit the ground in a jumble of thin limbs. A reedy whine issued from his throat.

Oh, for…

"What's going on here?" Zuvio growled, drawing his baton.

The drivers's companion took advantage of the distraction to jump between the human and the Trandoshan female.

Zu scowled and jerked her thumb at the cowering human.

"They don't have the gate fee. Not for all that," she snapped.

"It was five portions the last time we were here!" The human gasped, sagging against his friend.

Zuvio frowned, and stepped closer to the two beings.

"I haven't seen either of you around here before," he said, sneaking a look under the taller being's hood. A deep, muffled voice issued through the cloth covering its mouth.

"We haven't been to Niima in a while."

Zuvio frowned. The male's voice was cool and steady, nearly without inflection.

No fear.

Will he run, or kill? Zuvio mused.

He gestured to Zu to move back. The Trandoshan glared, but took a step away and leaned against the gate, hefting her rifle meaningfully.

"We apologize for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid that in light of recent… Events, we have been forced to be rather careful about what comes in this gate," the constable said, tapping the edge of said gate with his baton.

Electricity crackled through the air, leaving the sharp smell of ozone in its wake.

The human flinched. The hooded male nodded slowly. He was nearly a foot taller than the human, and roughly twice twice Zuvio's size, though considerably lighter in his frame.

Hungry, Zuvio thought. A fighter.

That one too...

He eyed the shaking human carefully. The man was scared, clearly. His eyes were wide, his mouth pinched. Even his shoulders were shaking.

But not his hands. Those were balled into fists by his sides. The right was curved around something that Zuvio could not make out.

A rock, maybe…

"I would appreciate it, sir, if you would lower your hood." He said, after a tense silence. "You understand."

The tall being nodded slowly, and complied. Zuvio kept his expression carefully blank as the sackcloth hood fell away, revealing dark blue skin, black hair, and glowing red eyes.

"We're just looking to trade. Get a little food. A place to sleep. We'll be out of your hair in no time at all."

Zuvio's smile did not reach his eyes.

"And who might I be addressing?"

The Chiss' smile broadened.

"I am Mitth'osilan. I go by Oz. This is Thetol. We deal and salvage. Dry goods..." He brushed at his sleeve. "… And sand."

Behind him, Zu snorted.

"Everyone deals with sand," said Thetol, standing a little straighter. "Whether they want to or not."

Zuvio had to smirk.

"I need a statement from both of you," he said. "Your names. Your cargo. Reason for staying. Planned duration of your visit. The usual."

The two males looked at each other. Then Thetol shrugged.

"Fine," he said "As long as one of you transcribes." He held up his right hand.

Zuvio's lips curled with disgust. The man was missing three fingers, the rest wrapped in a bloodsoaked cloth.

"I'm a little… Indisposed. And Oz can't write Aurebesh."

Zuvio nodded curtly. He glanced away, out beyond the gate into the waist. The line of the gate was growing. Smaller groups are passing by the other checkpoints, sometimes dozens at a time. Most of them Zuvio had never seen. Which meant that they were either from the recently decimated Clan, or a cloaked ship loaded with impoverished colonists had crashed in the Graveyard.

Zuvio didn't have to be a professional gambler to win that bet.

So many…

Most of them were thin women and shaking children, all of more species than he could count. However, there were also a disturbing number of straight, strong beings with warrior eyes.

We can't afford a war with Cerebos, Zuvio thought. Not now.

Damn it.

When did I get so weak?

Niima couldn't support them all. There's only so much space. And if care of us came knocking, they would be able to hold out for long…But would the surviving Clan warriors - and there were quite a few, clearly - fight to defend the Outpost? Defend the town that had taken them in? Or would they take it for themselves?

But if they fight for us...No...With us...

You can't win.

That voice again. No, that feeling. The grinding, almost-despair screaming that he was swimming against the tide.

Or, more accurately, walking into a sandstorm, daring it to strip the flesh from his bones.

His comlink crackled.

Damn it, what now…

"Boss! We gotta fight in the bunkhouse. No –" More static, then fire and wild screams, oddly reverberating as Zuvio picked up the roar of primal violence with his own ears.

Kriff...

"Better get down here boss. They cracked the –"

The next words were lost in static.

"What's going on?"

Zuvio jumped, and then cursed. The Chiss – Oz – had crept up next to him, Zu at his elbow, glaring suspiciously.

"Just some… Local color," Zuvio replied tonelessly. The constable gave the two traders one final look, and turned to Zu.

"Check their cargo. If everything is in order…" He sighed. "Let them in."

Zuvio shot the two males - the two warriors - a warning look.

"Stay out of trouble," he said, and mounted his short range speeder.

Lynchings were a bit higher in his priority list then mostly-legal Wastelanders.

He completely missed the glint of gold passing between Thenol and Zu.

############################

The lynching was well underway by the time Rey got past the gate. Between the screams, the smoke, and the half-afraid, half-excited crowd flooding towards the scrapyard, it was hard to ignore, and impossible to avoid hearing the screams.

Rey tried just the same.

The only good thing that came out of it was the fact that there was nearly no competition in the market. She made off with a water filter and a jar of desiccant for less than a portion. Two of the tiny resistors she'd scavenge from the Gorgon fetched a surprising one and a quarter portions from the microtech stall, enough to pick up an extra pack of vitamin tablets from the commissary.

And speaking of the commissary…

Thanks to Niima's special brand of justice, the commissary was closed, and Plutt was nowhere to be seen.

He's probably got a front row seat, Rey thought.

The wind shifted, carrying another wave of screams.

Force…

It sounded like there were at least three people…

Her stomach clenched. But she needed Plutt. She – they – needed food. So she wrapped a length of cloth around her mouth and nose and clambered up onto a pile of scrap. The height gave her an unobstructed view of the Outpost, like vulture perched on a cliff, eyeing a rotting carcass.

The killing fields spread out beneath her. There were more than three. A lot more.

Bile rose in her throat as she recognized three of the beings hanging by the wrists and ankles from a makeshift gallows. Two human males in a Togruta female.

Three of the Clan warriors that she'd rescued.

The other dozen or so were a mix of blank-eyed Wasteland scum, thieves who had run out of second chances, and musclebound warriors branded with Cerebos' three-headed dog.

Apparently one size fit all these days when it came to Niima justice.

Rey's vision blurred when she saw six more Clan warriors chained to an old pipe, right next to three snarling Mad Dog raiders. Waiting to die.

What happened here?

Niima was a rough town, but they were usually more… Discerning than this.

Where the hell is the militia?

The wind shifted again. Rey's nostrils filled with the smell of roasting meat. And heaven help her, her mouth watered.

It's been so long…

Rey jumped off the scrap pile and hit the dirt, her stomach heaving. Fortunately, there were too many beings around to see her fall.

Get to Plutt, she thought, as a scream stabbed through her head. No...

Find Zuvio.

############################

Halfway to the bunkhouse, Zuvio realized that getting through the crowd was going to be impossible. He commed his cousins and the smattering of Militia volunteers – recent recruits, all, largely thanks to the Clan and the Mad Dogs stepping up their game - and clambered up onto the top of the bunkhouse roof.

The violence was centered near the commissary, on a wide stretch of open ground where Plutt kept his more valuable acquisitions, along with piles of junk that Zuvio had given up trying to identify.

The center of Niima was rather more stable than the stalls in the market. There was a mostly unbroken line of prefab and concrete structures between him and the commissary; a secondary highway, typically used by smaller beings and younglings. And, today, for him.

Zuvio braced himself, and jumped.

He spotted Rey two minutes later. The girl was picking her way along the sharp edge of an ancient plasma turbine. A small pack was slung across her thin shoulders, and her face was half obscured by faded rag.

Oddly, her staff was nowhere to be seen.

He was spared the decision of whether or not to speak when she jerked to a halt, turned, and looked straight at them.

She darted to a ladder on the side of a storage tent and clambered up to join him.

"Zu –"

Zuvio held up a finger to silence her. He dropped into a crouch is the roar of the crowd below swelled alarmingly.

Rey paled and followed suit, her dark eyes watering from the greasy smoke.

"I haven't seen you around lately," he murmured when he was sure that the crowd would cover his voice. Rey looked away, almost sheepishly.

Interesting.

"I've been busy," she said evasively. "But really… What the hell is this?" She gestured sharply at the mob. "What have you been doing? They shouldn't –"

"I've been doing what I can," Zuvio snapped. "The Clan and the Dogs went after each other a couple weeks ago. From what we can tell, the Clan got rooted out of the Inflictor, and most of the survivors came here."

Zuvio shook his head.

Not that I blame them, he thought. Where the hell else would they go?

"Apparently they did some serious damage to the Dogs though. I saw the fire on the Inflictor from the station. Did you see it?"

Rey was silent.

"Apparently the Dogs are not being especially welcoming," he continued, watching her carefully.

Normally, defeated raider clans got absorbed into the victor's ranks. But this desperation that he was seeing… No, this conflict had turned personal.

"But… Why?" Rey muttered, half to herself. "The killings… What happened?" Dark realization sparked in her eyes. "They attack Niima, didn't they..." She said, answering her own question.

Zuvio nodded grimly.

"Just a few raids on the satellite scavengers… Have you had any trouble?" He asked, eyeing her with concern.

Rey shook her head quickly.

"Not… Recently," she said. And looked away again.

Zuvio's hackles rose. There is something there, he suddenly knew. Something had changed.

Wasn't she headed out that way…

Rey derailed his train of thought with a sudden, shocked gasp.

A chill ran down Zuvio's spine as the pink flush of exertion drained from her face. Her eyes went wide and dilated, and she swayed to the side, nearly toppling off the roof.

Zuvio reached out to steady her, but she recovered herself abruptly and smacked his hand away. She whirled on him, eyes wide.

"Look!" she hissed, and jabbed her finger at the far side of the killing field.

Zuvio pulled out his macrobinoculars. He could barely make out the rough shape, the flicker of motion amid the writhing crowd. But –

– There –

A heavily laden cart, burlap obscuring its contents, trundled up to the edge of the crowd. Two traders were riding up front. The driver jumped down the second that the cart ground to a halt. Zuvio's eyes widened as the male's headscarf slipped, revealing a stretch of dark blue skin.

The lawman swore, and jumped to his feet. He powered up his comlink just as the two traders he's admitted not a half an hour previously dropped their hoods and hauled the cloth off the wagon, revealing a dozen Clan raiders, all armed to the teeth.

The crowd fell silent.

Next to him, Rey gasped. Zuvio barely spared her glance, but… Was that recognition in her eyes?

He decided to worry about it later when the raiders advanced on the scaffold, the front two moving slowly, but with purpose vibroblades humming, burlap bags slung over their shoulders.

Wait, what?

Zuvio pulled out his comlink again.

"Hold," he whispered.

The Chiss male - Oz - gestured to his companions, who stepped up to the scaffold, and stood toe to toe with the two Devaronians stoking the fire. The sharp click of blasters being cocked snapped through the air.

Time grew thick as Oz stared them down.

Then the Devaronians stepped aside. The Clan rushed the scaffold, brandishing the burlap sacks, putting out the fire. The remaining warriors aimed their rifles at the crowd, silencing the angry roar.

Zuvio's breath caught when Chiss brandished a viper blade, and cut down two of his comrades. The other, though…

Oz laid his hand on the human's forehead. Rey gave a soft cry.

Zuvio's chest tightened as Oz slid his vibroblade into the human's heart.

Too far gone, Zuvio thought.

In a mad, sad way, it made sense. He glanced at Rey.

The girl was hugging herself and shaking, her eyes wide and staring. Zuvio reached out his hand to – what, comfort her? – and immediately thought better of it.

"I need to find Plutt," she whispered.

Below, the crowd slowly disbursed. The mood was broken, the bloodlust temporarily sated.

The rest had died, after all. Or would very soon.

The Clansmen released their comrades from their chains, and quickly ushered them back to the cart. Zuvio fingered his comink, but thought better of it. He stepped to the edge of the roof, and offered Rey his hand.

"There's Plutt," he said, nodding at the being plodding back to the commissary, surrounded by his hired muscle.

Rey nodded, and climbed down on her own. She vanished into the crowd.

So did the Clan warriors. Their cart lay abandoned on the edge of the field.

Zuvio closed his eyes, his head suddenly aching.

"Close the gates," he muttered into his comlink. "No one gets out."

He jumped down, pulled his rifle off his back, and made a beeline for the Devaronians.

The jail was going to be rather full.

End Notes:

1. Seriously, Niima's situation is completely different than a certain other real-life thing.

2. Jakku is basically a post-Apocalyptic Wasteland. The Aftermath canon has only solidified this headcanon for me. It's Space Australia, guys.

3. Zuvio and Niima will, therefore, do the most logical thing. RECRUIT the Clan warriors. If they're going to stay, they need to help fight off the Mad Dogs if anyone is going to survive the year. Niima has an energy barrier, after all. There's benefit to both sides, here.

4. That's why there are 2 parts. Zuvio will display some surprising political and tactical savvy.

And Oz will get the Niima locals on his side. Or, well, less mad at him than they currently are.

5. Meanwhile, Rey's AT-AT is probably the safest place on the entire freaking planet. Obviously.

6. Cerebos' raiders are referred to in Niima as the 'Mad Dogs.'