THE KATHOL OUTBACK
TIMBRA OTT PENAL COLONY
D BLOCK
6 BBY

He stared with wide, blue eyes from the shadowy rafters of what had once been a large, high-vaulted mess hall. His small, tanned face was caked with soot, dirt and grime, along with other substances that he really did not want to name. At least, he thought to himself, all the poodoo made him harder to smell. A fair few of the other inmates hunted by smell, he had learned that the hard way. Here, there was only one way to learn things – to survive it. He’d survived it – only barely.

Then again, he had been barely surviving here for a very long time now. Though he had no way in which to keep track of the days or nights, he would later learn that he had survived in this hell that was his childhood for eight years as of this day. Though he was completely unaware that it was his life day – and, for that matter, completely unaware of what a life day was, he decided that he was going to eat today. He had not eaten for quite some time, and he was even hungrier than he usually was.

Given that his stomach usually ached and his muscles felt like they were wasting away, this was definitely a bad sign. The Barabel he had killed quite a few sleeps back had told him that he’d heard of a stash of food – real food – located near the East Quadrant mess hall. He’d also said that a gang, one of the more vicious ones (around here that was saying something) guarded it jealously. Trying to take it from them by force was suicide, and trying to sneak past them was even worse. He smiled to himself. Worse for a Barabel, perhaps.

But for a malnourished little child who had spent his entire life learning how to hide from people? He was willing to take the risk – if he didn’t, he was going to just starve to death anyway. He didn’t really feel like just giving up on life. That was why he had crawled up the side of the D Block building, what seemed like an age ago, and made his way through a carbon-scorched hole in the roof to the rafters where he now rested, covered in so much excrement that barely any skin at all was visible.

Not to mention that the smell was so intense that it completely overpowered his scent. After being sniffed out by that Barabel, he had no intention of making the same mistake again. Invisible didn’t mean undetectable. He looked at the small, sharpened bit of scrap metal that rested in his palm, and recalled with perfect clarity the way that it had so easily punched through the softer scales in the creature’s armpit. He’d eaten well that week. For three full sleeps, he had waited in the rafters, watching and observing the patterns of the gang. Getting the measure of them.

There were seven, in total. A Wookiee, two Rodians, a Weequay, three Humans and a single Trandoshan. From what he had seen, the Wookiee was the one in charge: the others avoided making eye contact with it, and always were more straight-backed when it was around. The monster was huge, easily three times as tall as he was. The child did not deny for a moment that he was afraid of the Wookiee. He was afraid of all of them – such a large group working together was rare, and if he was spotted by even one, he was very dead.

He was especially afraid, because he knew that the Trandoshan and the Rodians could see far better than a human could – even he would be hard-pressed to sneak past one. The fact that with their long snouts, the Rodians had an excellent sense of smell made it even worse. The Trandoshan, he might be able to get to look in another direction whilst he snuck past, but not even all the poodoo covering him would fool the keen snouts of those two Rodians. He was going to have to avoid them entirely. If he could, he’d avoid them all entirely.

Looking into the room below, he saw that the two Weequays were currently in the mess hall, standing guard. They were not looking particularly hard for any sign of intruders, more intent on the conversation that they were having. Sam knew it would be easy to sneak past them now, but that meant that he didn’t know where the Rodians were – further inside the block, it would be a lot harder to evade them. He could not afford to make his entry just yet. He had to wait until the two Rodians were the ones out in the mess hall.

His stomach spasmed painfully, but Sam Dunn did not move, settling in to wait until the two Weequays left and the Rodians took their place. He had waited for a long time already, he could afford to wait a little more. He allowed to get himself comfortable, lying on his back along one of the small maintenance catwalks of the building, hidden in shadow. The Weequays, with their decidedly ordinary vision, would not see him – even if they bothered to look up. So, the small child waited and tried his best to ignore the painful hunger gnawing at his insides.

Finally, the shift change arrived. The two Rodians walked out of the large door that led to the cell block and greeted the Weequays. The four aliens began talking, and Sam knew that this was the only chance he would get. The Rodians were distracted, and the strong musk of the two Weequay inmates would help to mask his own scent. He slowly got up to his feet and walked along the catwalk, keeping his footsteps light, until he reached the other end of the room. Right below him was an illumination strip. He sure wasn’t getting down that way.

He looked over to his left, and saw that there was another catwalk running parallel to his own, that was bathed in a deep shadow. The only problem was, it was two meters from his own, and if he jumped, he would definitely be heard. He had to wait until all four of the aliens were looking away, then, and risk the illuminated descent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be noticed. For the moment, the two Rodians were facing away from him. That wouldn’t last, he knew. That was when he noticed a line of cable above his head, an electrical cable.

It was insulated, he could see, so touching it wouldn’t kill him. However, if he was going to use it as rope, that meant he was going to have to cut through it. That, he mused, was suicide. He thought for a moment, before looking at the other catwalk. There was a cable hanging over that one, too. It was securely anchored into place by large bolts, no less. He grinned, glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no-one was looking his way, and jumped. He only barely made it, grabbing onto the cable tightly in a death grip.

His muscles started to burn as he hung there for a few seconds, making sure no-one had heart the small amount of noise he had caused. Only when he was satisfied, did he lightly drop down onto the catwalk below him, and from there, clamber over the side of the catwalk and drop down to the ground below. His legs burned with the force of the impact,  but he bent his knees and dropped as low to the ground as he could, both to try and minimize the sound caused, and keep his visible profile as small as was possible.

The four aliens did not react, distracted by the noise of their own conversation. Smiling grimly to himself, the child quickly ducked behind a table, and started to dart from table to table, keeping furniture between him and the aliens at all times. In about a minute, he was at the large doorway that led further into the cell block, and slipped inside, with nobody the wiser to his presence at all. He was in, but now he had to find the food cache, and avoid the other convicts. At this stage, detection meant a slow and very painful death.

OOC:

1,400 words. An Eight-year old Dunny, driven by hunger and the promise of real food, attempts to infiltrate a cellblock held by a brutal criminal gang. Though they lack any electronic defences, the superhuman senses of half of the gang's members will make getting in and out unseen very difficult.

In part I of III, Dunny waits until the perfect moment to bypass a pair of Rodians with hyper-alert senses, and enters the cell block proper. A pair of Weequays are heading his way, and there is still three humans, a Trandoshan and a Wookiee to get past...twice.