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| - The blade dragged across the metal bedpost with a satisfying screech. Crouched in the corner of his cell, Pepan Manja kept a watchful eye on the door, his hands working diligently to sharpen the blade to a lethal edge. Another inmate had smuggled the knife from their kitchen work detail, hiding it and giving it to Pepan in the laundry room. It was a simple table knife with a dull blade, but with some sharpening, it would do the job. Pepan paused to inspect the knife’s edge. The overhead lights glinted off the scraped metal. The blade could easily kill a man, but it would take more work to hone it so that it could pierce a durable Gand exoskeleton. The damn pests were built to last, Pepan had to admit. He remembered the first time he slaughtered one of those creatures. He had to change his vibro-saw blade twice; it would catch on the chitinous plates and snap. And knives, unless inserted through the soft, flexing pleats of the joints, only cracked or even crushed the armor if the blade did not possess a fine edge. Stabbing a Gand was usually ineffective, unless one knew precisely where to aim. Pepan chuckled to himself, returning to his work. Zuckuss would certainly be in for a surprise. Pepan had witnessed other inmates attack the Gand; they usually targeted the ubiquitous respirator. It was an easy target, the exposed air hoses could easily be severed and it did not require much effort to rip the face mask away. However, from observing the almost daily mess hall brawls, Pepan knew that Zuckuss would be expecting it. The Gand was certainly vigilant, choreographing his defense in order to better protect his respirator. Though, the cumbersome equipment still proved to be a hindrance; Pepan remembered seeing a fight in which the breath mask was knocked off Zuckuss’s face by a well-aimed blow from a swung tray and he was almost frantic while securing it. It was too obvious and thus too well-guarded a target, Pepan would need to resort to other methods to bring the Gand down. The chitinous plates on the thorax, in order to maintain flexibility, were segmented into a complex suit of armor, the soft joints permitting ample opportunity for a knife to slide right through. And, fortunately for Pepan, Zuckuss would not be wearing battle armor under his bright orange uniform. All Pepan would need to do would be to get close enough to the Gand to jam the blade through his thorax. Then he would feast. If he could smuggle the body into the kitchens. The ever-present guards would make this a difficult task indeed. Unfortunately, there was not a single Kubaz among the staff, no one with a refined palate who would consider the importance of not wasting good food. Pepan let out an irritated sigh. He was surrounded by uncultured swine. Hearing the locks disengage, Pepan hurriedly wedged the knife between the wall and the bunk and stood, seeing one of those intellectual midgets at the door. The uniformed man regarded him with a glance. “Pod time. You got one hour.” Pepan walked out of his cell and quickly made his way to a table in the opposite corner, joining with the other members of the gang. One of the inmates, Hardin, gave a nod. “Pepan.” Pepan returned the nod and leaned against the wall, his gaze immediately going to the staircase that led to the upper tiers, seeing the usual set of inmates gather around it. Zuckuss was with that small gang, along with his female Rodian companion. That Rodian rarely left the Gand’s side, she could become a problem. “Hardin. Who’s the Rodian there with the Gand? Quite a fetching catch for an insect to acquire…” Hardin folded his arms. “Some bounty hunter named Cami. Small-time. Don’t think she caught anyone here.” He shrugged. “You wanting some a’ that or something?” Pepan wrinkled his snout and shook his head. Intimate encounters with the Rodian were the furthest from his mind. Such crude and socially inept creatures to be thinking of nothing but procreation. This Cami, though, she seemed timid enough, Pepan mused, to be taken out of the situation if need be. Hardin would be particularly beneficial in removing the Rodian. “Don’t know ‘bout you, but I prefer the Twi’leks. Though, Rodians ain’t without their charm. That snout can work wonders, if you know what I mean.” Hardin sneered, elbowing Pepan in the side. Pepan glared at him. “Must you constantly concern yourself over that?” He stepped away from the wall, shaking his head. “Vile savage…” Hardin took offense, which Pepan expected from a being with such a one-track mind. “Man, you can kark yourself!” With a wave of his arm, he turned and stormed away, muttering under his breath. Pepan ignored him, leaning against the wall once more, his gaze returning to the gathering by the stairwell, his focus on Zuckuss. The Gand was engaged in a discussion with the Rodian, though combined with the voices of the other inmates and the cell block’s terrible acoustics, Pepan could not decipher what they were saying. It did not matter, though, as he was studying the routine. He noticed that at the end of pod time, Zuckuss would be led away by two guards to replenish his respirator’s ammonia supply. This would occur twice daily; in the morning before breakfast and after evening pod time before lights out. Once a day, Zuckuss would be escorted away from the shared showers to an air locked refresher to wash. And three times a day he received his medication. The Gand’s daily routine was almost the same every day, except for the times he was granted work detail. Pepan would watch from his cell when Zuckuss would mop the cell block floors, supervised by the corrections officers. Those ever-present corrections officers. Most of them human. That irritated Pepan to no end. Bedlam’s staff was primarily human, including the head psychiatrist who had the deluded notion that she could somehow make a difference in the inmate’s lives. Pepan had been meeting with the psychiatrist, Dr. Karastee was her name, for a few weeks now and he despised every moment of it. Karastee would speak to him as if he were a child, then throw around a diagnosis. It was utterly ludicrous, the lengths she went to in order to label a diet she just simply could not comprehend. Karastee was an unrefined human, the product of a media-driven society and processed meals. She acted pleasant, pretending to be genuinely concerned, but Pepan could see right through the charade. Pathetic creature, that Dr. Karastee. She never tasted the sweet, succulent meat of an insect, she had absolutely no way of ever understanding what it is like to be deprived of such decadent food, to be forced to subsist on government rations that had all the flavor of an old boot. As far as Pepan was concerned, Dr. Karastee was a moron. Though, Pepan surmised, it was not entirely her fault that Dr. Karastee was raised in a sheltered society. The majority of galactic social practices were to blame, particularly those in power. Insects were given sentient rights and it was the government’s fault. Somehow they had gotten the idea that the spineless vermin deserved such rights simply because they could speak. Well, if that were the only requirement, then why not grant such rights to the variety of domesticated avians that could mimic their owner’s speech? Such a ridiculous idea! The ability to speak does not make one intelligent. Pepan snorted, his gaze on Zuckuss. He would need a distraction to get the body to the kitchens once he struck the Gand down. And a better place to strike. The cell block’s common area was too well-guarded, fights here were usually dispersed rather quickly. An inmate could only get in a few hits before the guards were upon them. Pepan shook his head, his gaze going to the floor for a brief moment. He heard Hardin say something to another prisoner before coming up behind him. “Hey,” Hardin’s voice was a harsh whisper as he bumped Pepan’s hand with his closed fist. “Take this.” He handed a folded slip of flimsiplast to Pepan. “Mahlon got word from Dokk over in Hi-Max. Says don’t worry ‘bout the Rodie. She won’t be a problem.” He stepped closer beside the Kubaz. “But the bug… nearly tore another guy’s arm off. You know what you doing, man?” Pepan cast Hardin a sidelong glance. “I’ve crossed their kind before, brought each one down…” He nodded, trailing off, fondly recalling when he had prepared those Gands in a variety of exquisite meals, each garnished and savored. “And tasted their succulent flesh. Quite a delicacy.” He finally met Hardin’s suddenly-apprehensive and unsettled gaze. “So, to answer your question, yes, I know what I’m doing.” Hardin took a small step backward. “Kriff, man… Ate them…?” He shook his head. Hardin was just another of those unrefined creatures, unaccustomed to a finely-prepared meal with the most delicious of ingredients. Due to the media raising him, he held the belief that eating insects was somehow “disgusting.” Is it no more disgusting to slaughter and serve a barve? Or dine on a braised nerf roast? How the galaxy’s citizens decide what one should and should not eat was amusing at times. Surely Hardin had eaten some sort of crustacean during his lifetime. Such creatures are simply the insects of the sea. If Pepan prepared a Gand in the same way, he was confident that Hardin would be unable to tell the difference in the appearance of the meat. It was not that much different to eat an insect than it was to eat a crab. Pepan watched Hardin return to the table. Tucking the folded flimsiplast into the waistband of his pants, he folded his arms and resumed his observation of Zuckuss. The Gand was seated on one of the stairs, his Rodian companion handing him a cup of what was probably water. A corrections officer stood nearby, datapad in hand, asking Zuckuss questions that Pepan could not hear. Zuckuss coughed, shook his head, and held up his hand, palm out, indicating that he did not require any assistance. The guard nodded, replied, and then returned to his post by one of the locked doors that led to Visitation. Zuckuss drank the water, then looked to the Rodian, who had seated herself on the step beside him. They soon returned to their discussion. Pepan raised an eyebrow. So, the grub is ill? He chuckled quietly to himself. Hopefully whatever ailment Zuckuss apparently had would not spoil his flavor. Though, it would indeed work to Pepan’s benefit if the Gand was weaker than when they had first met. He would be easier to take down.
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