journey
Lor spent much of the afternoon after accepting the mission to Bespin considering logistics. There was no way he could travel under anything other than the utmost secrecy and cover or the mission would be blown. He knew other Jedi who frequently used tramp freighters and refugee ships, but those always proved problematic in his experience. You inevitably ran into someone aboard who either knew you, no matter how well you tried to disguise yourself, or later ran into someone who’d been on the ship and who blew your cover.
Better, he felt, to go with something even more discreet. Mulling a few options he picked up his communicator and keyed in a frequency he hadn’t used in quite a while.
“Lor, it’s been a while,” said the voice that answered his call.
“Granu, how have you been?”
“Well enough to know this isn’t a social call. What can I do for you, old friend?”
The pilot was someone who had helped Lor on a number of occasions in the past. He was good at what he did, though what he did was only occasionally legal.
“I need transport to Bespin. Not just incognito but with zero awareness a being is aboard. The sooner the better.”
“Hmm,” Granu grumbled. Lor could hear whispers from whomever else Granu had in his crew at this moment. The thought that one of them might betray him and his mission had occurred to him but Granu only hired people he could trust, and Lor trusted Granu, so he therefore had to trust those others. “I could swing by Ord Mantell a week from now and find a reason to go from there to Bespin.” Ord Mantell was a trading world infrequently used by any but those most desperate to avoid any attention. It was quite ways from Coruscant, but Lor felt the week was plenty of time for him to get there casually.
“That’s fine. Your standard rate…”
“Which has increased…”
“…will be paid as always.”
“Deal. I will see you in a week at Ord Mantell.” The line went silent. Not for the first time, Lor pondered just how much official Republic or Jedi business required going outside legal methods, a whole debate of its own and certainly another point to consider when pondering the relationship between the two groups.
Within an hour Lor was ready to leave. While his natural state was meditative contemplation, once he decided to act he was restless and ready to get about the business requiring his attention. He packed no bag and removed a tunic, jacket and utility pants from his closet, some of the sparingly few “other” clothes he owned. In a belt under the jacket were pockets containing the essentials: Food and water rations, an obscene amount of money in Republic credits and a few other currencies favored by criminal elements and a handful of other useful supplies.
Because he hoped to keep his identity as a Jedi secret for as long as possible his lightsaber was strapped to his back in a harness he himself had developed. It wasn’t as easy to access as if it had been at his side but it would help him remain incognito longer. Plus, he reasoned, if a situation got to the point of requiring lightsaber work, maintaining his cover was likely the least of his worries.
Lor decided to take one more meal at the Temple’s commissary and leave straight from there. As he exited his quarters and made his way down several levels he moved past several dozen other Jedi, many of whom were known to him. To each he bowed while wondering what missions they were being sent off on. Many had destinations they were heading toward while others were returning from some far-off planet, having completed what they were sent there to do.
Too few, he thought, were here – or anywhere – simply for the pursuit of knowledge, much less wisdom. The idea stuck in his throat.
Like many of the support staff in the Jedi Temple, those serving the food in the commissary were Force-sensitive, though not enough to be trained in the Jedi arts and traditions. Where a Jedi through off a radiant aura that rippled the air around them, these others were like a bulb turned to its dimmest setting, casting off just enough light to deepen the darker spaces around them. He approached a counter with trays of dried sweet fruits. Lor picked up a spoon and scooped some into one of the dark wooden bowls available on the side.
“I never understand it,” said the quadruped behind the counter.
Lor chuckled softly. “I know, Tian.” This was a conversation they had often.
“You know, Master V’Tars, that the Force is not a finite resource to be conserved.”
“Even the infinite can be abused,” Lor said. “In fact I’d argue that the infinite are more likely to be abused. The more you take, the less inclined you are to think twice about doing so the next time. Every resource should be viewed as if only a few precious specimens remained.”
“It’s good to see you, Master,” Tian said as he nodded, conceding the point only until the next time they saw each other. “You’ve been well?”
“As well as the universe will allow me to be.”
“May the Force be with you, Master V’Tars.”
“And with you, my friend.”
Lor took the bowl of food and a similar cup of stim coffee to a table near the windows. There were never very many Jedi here and he exchanged nods of greeting with most of the room’s other occupants. He didn’t need the coffee, but he wanted his breath to smell of it while traveling. Sometimes the simplest details were the most effective in affecting a disguise.
As he sat there he couldn’t help but think of all the other Jedi he’d known who had been lost over the years. There was cruelty in the universe, he knew, and having too little time with those he considered not only exemplary Jedi but good friends was just one way that was evident.
As he finished his simple meal he looked out to the window and down into a courtyard where stood what many called The Great Tree, an ancient Force-sensitive growth that had been there for untold years. There were things both known and unknown about the tree, a twisted but simple specimen, and Lor always chose to believe that it reflected whatever the individual viewing it brought with him or her. If you were tired, the tree appeared to represent youth and vigor. If you were young and headstrong, the tree showed you patience and wisdom. There was no empirical evidence to base this belief on, yet anecdotes and his own experience cemented it in his mind.
Right now the tree, a few dozen stories below him, seemed to be showing him a new hope for the universe. It disturbed him that this, of all things, is what The Great Tree felt he needed to be told.
Collecting his bowl and cup he took them back to where he had gotten them, ignoring the droid cleaning tables and clearly waiting for him to be done. He put the dishes on the counter where they would be taken for cleaning and walked toward Tian again.
“May I?” he asked, pointing toward the kitchen. Tian was momentarily confused but soon motioned for Lor to pass as he saw fit. The Jedi entered the kitchen, ignoring he looks he got from both droids and staff as he poured spices into his hand and rubbed them into his clothing. He wanted to smell of a strange concoction, as if he’d been living a hardscrabble life for some time and this was as close as he was going to come to it in a short period of time. It would hopefully do to get him on his way.
After a few more odors had been added to his persona he apologized to everyone for the inconvenience, bowed to his friend Tian and lett the commissary. As he walked down the hallway he considered again whether he needed anything additional to begin his journey. Satisfied he was as prepared as he would ever be, Lor took a lift down to what in this part of Coruscant was several floors below what would be considered “ground level.” It took him half an hour to then walk the distance to a small door seemingly unconnected to the Temple, one Jedi used occasionally for clandestine comings and goings.
Within moments of exiting two different youths – including one Algorian no older than three standard years – attempted to sell him Death Sticks, offers he firmly rejected without resorting to Jedi mind tricks. Instead he simply moved away, affecting the demeanor of someone already hooked on another substance and seeking out their next fix. Lor moved several kilometers away from the Temple and went down a half-dozen levels of the endless city, the scenery never changing much even as each neighborhood seemed to have its own distinct character and tone.
In each he found beauty and cruelty. Families were families no matter what planet they were on. Each had their own dynamic and relationship but they were still connected. Babies cried out for their mothers. Siblings vied for affection, fathers were warm yet aloof. The details changed but the themes remained the same. So too there were heartbreaking scenes of someone cast out by society and forced to fend for themselves, of those addled by dependency on some elixor or drug to the point of destitution. Squalor was everywhere, relieved occasionally by the moments of sacrificial kindness.
Jedi, Lor thought, liked to think of themselves as the champions of the galaxy. Yet they too often played on a macro level, looking to solve big conflicts and save whole populations. There were certainly those Jedi who had taken on more ground-level, philanthropic callings, but they were few and far between. How much, he wondered, could the galaxy be changed if those who devoted themselves to the preservation of life focused their time and energy on those beings who found themselves falling through the cracks of society? Why weren’t the Jedi spending their time educating the destitute and providing a way up instead of running off to fight the Republic’s battles for them?
There was no answer he would find at the moment and so he concentrated not on hypotheticals and philosophical questions but on the mission at hand. He walked for another hour, putting more ground between him and the Temple before finally feeling he was sufficiently removed. He found a gap between two air refreshing units that offered a cool spot in the heat and humidity that was so pervasive the further down you went on Coruscant and, determining it was not claimed by any other squatter, claimed it as his own for the night.
Lor made himself small in his hiding spot. He wanted to be as unremarkable and unnoticable as possible, both physically and in the Force. There were always individuals around who were Force-sensitive, though to an even lesser extent than those who served as the Temple’s support staff. They were too weak to even be on the Jedi’s radar and would never be able to access the power of the Force at all. Instead they would simply be a bit better at some things than other beings. They might have slightly faster reaction times, able to turn a corner or dodge a punch more often than someone else, never so much to be questionable but just enough to gain a slight edge. Still, sometimes they caught an aura of a true Jedi who wished to remain incognito and would stare, unsure of why they were doing so, in a way that attracted others’ attention. Lor wanted to reduce those occurrences.
He maintained just enough awareness as he faded off to sleep to warn him of approaching danger. As he slept his mind continued probing the Force for insights and hints about what was to come once he made it to Cloud City. He’d need to secure transportation to Ord Mantell tomorrow if he were going to get there in time. That, though, was tomorrow’s concern.
When Lor awoke he did a quick inventory and found that he retained all his belongings, including the lightsaber strapped to his back. He stood up and stretched, subtly placing a caff stim tablet in his mouth to help wake up and going through a series of moves that seemed like random flailings but which actually worked out the knots in his muscles from sleeping in such cramped, awkward quarters without the help of the Force.
As he walked out into pedestrian traffic he found no one paid him any attention whatsoever. There were more people around now than there’d been the night before, more shops open and dealers on the street trying to sell their wares, many of them either handmade or stolen. He walked past two beings selling what was clearly Republic military tech but also 10 times as many selling items that were much better than anything that came through official channels and suppliers, a testament to the ingenuity found in individuals throughout the galaxy. How much of this, he wondered, would be used to commit various crimes? How many of those crimes were be for personal gain and how many for simple survival? What, then, constituted a crime?
He bargained for a piece of fruit and a slice of bread from a vendor about an hour away from where he’d slept, mostly because he knew paying the full asking price would be an instant tell that he didn’t belong here. For the first time since leaving the Temple he used the Force to cloud the seller’s mind just enough so she didn’t notice the amount Lor handed over was three times the bargained-for amount. Still a pittance but it was what he could do in the moment. He looked around and found an uncrowded cafe and leaned against an outside wall to eat his meager meal while also eavesdropping on those inside.
It wasn’t long before his presence was noticed. A massive Ithorian walked over and stood menacingly close to him.
“Seems you’re being a bit nosey, friend,” the Ithorian rumbled at Lor.
“Minding my own business, friend,” he replied.
“You sure about that? Some might not take it kindly if they felt their private conversations weren’t private?
“No one here has any interest in what you or anyone else is doing.”
“Hmmm…” the brown, hammer-headed alien snorted. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.” Lor knew that what he actually meant was “smell.” He hadn’t smelled him before.
“And I suppose you’re the social leader of the neighborhood, greeting everyone by name and maintaining a list of outsiders?” It was better to be challenging in these situations, Lor knew.
“I make it my business to know who doesn’t and doesn’t belong, friend. And you clearly don’t belong. Let’s go.” He grabbed Lor by the jacket and pulled him inside the cafe, where a couple of humans sat sipping their caff seemingly oblivious to the world around them. The Ithorian brought Lor right up to their table.
Without turning around, the one on the right said “If you’ve come to his attention you’re already in a very bad way, so explaining yourself would be advantageous.”
“I was just trying to find out about off-world travel,” Lor said.
“And where would you be wanting to go, sir?”
“It’s the planet None in the Of Your Business system.”
The same figure chuckled slightly. “That’s…not going to endear you to anyone here.”
“Didn’t know this was a popularity contest, I would have worn a better outfit.”
“Why are you here,” the human on the left asked.
“Like I said, just looking for a way off-world,” Lor responded.
Left Guy turned his head ever so slightly, not enough that Lor could make out any distinct features, but as if he were trying to catch a whiff of a scent. Was that one Force-sensitive in some way, Lor wondered? He hoped if that were the case that his cover wasn’t about to be blown.
“Toss him out on the street, he’s harmless,” Left Guy said. Before he could fully react Lor was being hoisted by the Ithorian and dragged to the opening of the cafe, where he was fully thrown. Luckily he’d taken enough physical training to be able to land relatively injury-free without having to soften the impact with the Force. It still hurt, but nothing was broken.
Lor made it look worse than it was until the Ithorian went back inside the cafe, then got up and hobbled down the street a bit until he was safely out of sight. He leaned against a wall and caught his breath, considering his next move. The hope had been he’d quickly overhear or come across someone heading to Ord Mantell, but time was beginning to become short.
Out of the corner of his eye Lor saw a young human woman approaching him slowly and cautiously. She seemed ready to take action of some sort and Lor knew he should have been worried for his own safety, but something convinced him this was alright and he had nothing to fear. He stayed where he was, still pretending to nurse some bruises and other aches from his forced exodus from the cafe.
As she got closer, Lor prepared to flee or fight. There was no need, though.
“Off-world?” she asked timidly.
Lor nodded. “Yes, I’m trying to get off-world.”
“You have cash?”
“A little. Enough, I hope.” He tried to strike the right balance of hopeful and cautious.
She looked around, scanning for either law enforcement, criminal elements or both. “This way.”
She lead him for over a mile through the kinds of twisted walking paths that were common on Coruscant, the result of being fit in where they could between buildings that were constantly being built, destroyed, built and again and so on. Eventually they walked out from a narrow path and into the kind of open market that was relatively rare down here. Smells from a dozen food carts wafted through the air and the darkness of being underground was dispelled by neon signs on the shops that lined the circular area.
They headed toward one decent-sized cantina, a simple wooden sign hung above the door in a way that seemed to discourage curiosity while also marking the establishment’s existence, though in the least noticeable way possible. There was no bouncer or other security at the door, though Lor suspected eyes were on them both at all times since coming near to the bar. Surprisingly, they walked up a flight of stairs and not down one, finally arriving at a main serving area virtually indistinguishable from thousands of others in the galaxy.
His guide had never given her name, nor had Lor asked for it. If he had she would have suspected something. Anonymity was coin of the realm in almost every grey and black market. They walked past a few tables until she stopped and nodded toward a table against the wall farthest from the door. It wasn’t particularly inconspicuous and not in one of the intentionally-darkened corners where truly shady business was conducted. She must believe he wasn’t up to anything illegal, just someone hoping to avoid the usual process of identity verification and such that was part of “official” travel.
“Thank you,” he said and started to fish around in his pocket coins until she shook her head to indicate she wouldn’t – or more likely couldn’t – accept payment for her service. Whoever she reported to probably kept her from any additional income, the better to keep her under their thumb. Lor couldn’t do anything about that now, as much as he yearned to. “Thank you,” he said again and walked over to the table.
He waited there for the better part of an hour as various beings came and went around him, not a single one so much as glancing in his direction. The cantina was filled with business being transacted and everyone’s was their own, the best policy to make sure you didn’t become a liability to an operation you had nothing to do with. Lor kept his eyes on the empty chair across the table from him, falling into a form of meditation that allowed him to refocus his thinking on the task at hand as well as put aside the lingering aches from his earlier tussle with the Ithorian.
“Destination?” asked a gruff-voiced Jawa that walked up beside him without preamble. Lor looked the short being over quickly, surprised to see one like him or her – it was hard to tell – this deep in the Core.
“Ord Mantell,” he answered. “I need…”
“Don’t care. Wait here.”
This was unlike any other clandestine travel Lor had arranged. It was as if he were at a short-order diner ordering a meal, not a seedy bar trying to get transportation off-world. There was no option but to run with it, he thought. Unlike many around him, he had the means to extricate himself should the situation turn dangerous, which he realized was a privilege he could never take for granted.
After another round of waiting a tall human female dressed in flight cargo overalls sat in the empty chair. “Ord Mantell?”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible, please.” The last was added as an affectation, part of his guise as someone unfamiliar with off-the-books business who’s still clinging to the norms of polite society. It seemed to have worked.
“Hmm…” she said as she ran her fingers through her hair. “You’re actually in luck. There’s a transport headed to Ord Mantell tomorrow morning, assuming you can make it to The Wilds in time. And that you have sufficient funds, of course.”
The Wilds, Lor knew, were a district of Coruscant with an unsavory reputation even among the unsavory. It was a section of the city planet that was always in flux not because of progress but because of the fight against progress. As soon as a developer moved in to build a new high-rise and try to tame the area it was destroyed by residents less than eager to see their territory compromised. Even official government projects with heightened security couldn’t move forward very far, nor could ventures from powerful underworld figures. The natives were determined to keep the neighborhood as their own. Getting there in time would be difficult, but not impossible.
“That would be wonderful,” Lor said, his voice full of excitement. “And yes, of course I’ll pay.”
The pilot considered him once more before pushing a datapad with the details of time, docking bay and payment toward him. Lor moved to pick it up but she quickly slammed her hand on top of it. “It’s not polite to touch things that aren’t yours. Look, memorize and be there. I’ll take 25 percent now as well.”
Lor feigned embarrassment. “Oh, that much? Sorry, but how do I know you’re actually connected with these people” he motioned at the datapad “or that the ship will really be there? I could give you 25 percent now and they could claim they’ve never heard of you and demand the whole amount.”
“You want a receipt? If you don’t like the arrangement you can keep walking and get tossed out of another cafe by another Ithorian tough guy, but it’s going to be a while before you find anyone else heading to a slug den like Ord Mantell.” How had she known about his earlier incident? Perhaps his young guide had seen and reported it to her. He stroked his chin in thought, as if he were someone still hesitating at the idea of engaging such services. The pilot started to collect her datapad and get up but Lor stopped her.
“Alright, I agree. Are Republic credits alright?”
“Not ideal if you have anything else.”
“I don’t, at least not that much.”
She exhaled dramatically. “Fine. Let’s have it.” Lor turned his head and saw that no one was paying them any attention whatsoever before digging in his pouch for the necessary amount, which he then slid across the table. The pilot inspected the credits and calculated they were sufficient for the time being. “Any questions?”
“Heh, several,” Lor said in his best naive persona.
“I’m sure, but I’m not the one who’ll answer them. Be there tomorrow morning.” With that she moved away from the table while Lor pointedly didn’t watch where she was going. He needed to start moving if he was going to make The Wilds in time and so left the cantina for the long walk.
It took several hours to get to where he needed to go and when he finally arrived he had about two hours to spare. Ever since crossing over into The Wilds he felt eyes monitoring him, though he rarely actually saw anyone. Those who did pass by him viewed him suspiciously, marking him as an outsider though one who was hopefully in such a hurry he’d walk right out again as quickly as possible.
Lor had the sense, both from intuition and his knowledge of the area, that to loiter in The Wilds as a stranger was a poor decision to make. Now he had two hours to kill before the transport’s scheduled departure. He stopped in front of a street vendor to buy a glass of water and a small packet of Calamarian seeds, hoping the expenditure would buy him time, if not also goodwill among residents. Somewhat refreshed he thanked the proprietor and kept moving toward the docking bay he’d been instructed to find. The door was code-locked but, after entering the appropriate sequence of symbols, it slid open.
When he entered he immediately looked up. An underground docking bay was a rarity, particularly one this deep in the bowls of city-planet. They were 38 stories below ground and the shaft to the surface had all manner of spires and debris jutting out of the walls, making any approach or departure tricky at best. Many of those, he assumed, also contained explosives that would detonate should something come in contact with them, the better to deter unwanted guests. It was a safe guess the floor on which he stood had been covered in charred ship remnants on more than one occasion.
Refocusing on the scene in front of him he immediately hoped this wasn’t the ship he’d be taking. It has characteristics marking it as a Corellian dreadnought, but it was as if someone had shrunk what should have been a massive vessel that blotted out the sun when in orbit and shrunk it to one-tenth size. It had to have been custom built and, Lor calculated, could hold no more than 30 reasonable-sized beings. Depending on how many other passengers there were going to be, this could be a tight and uncomfortable ride.
“Hey!” Lor looked around to see who was shouting and saw a Bothan standing on a ladder propped up against the ship. Odd…several blue streaks had been dyed into the Bothan’s stark-white fur. Did these denote some rank or class Lor was unaware of? He wasn’t going to ask right now. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I’m sorry, I’m supposed to catch a transport to…”
“Oh shut up, will you? The walls, ground and air have eyes and ears in The Wild and we don’t need someone giving away our whole itinerary.”
“Sorry,” Lor said, “I’m just anxious.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, always a first-timer on these things. You’re early.”
“I got here faster than expected and didn’t want to…” Lor gestured back toward the door.
“Hmph. Not the friendliest crowd, no.”
Lor made a show of digging around in his pockets. “I don’t have a ticket or receipt or anything.”
“No,” the Bothan said, “I don’t suppose she’d have given you one of those. If you entered the correct code at the door it means you’ve paid her the upfront fee and are on the list.” He considered for a moment. “You been walking all night?”
“I have.” This at least was the truth.
The Bothan looked at Lor and then at the ship. “She’ll skin me alive for it, but why don’t you go catch some rest in the guest quarters. Just be back down here in 90 minutes.”
“Much obliged, thank you.” Lor walked toward the entry ramp before the Bothan could change his mind. When he entered the ship he was surprised at how spacious it actually was, much bigger than the exterior would indicate, until he realized he extra room had come at the expense of backup life support systems, additional shielding and other features. It was essentially a tin can hurled through space by powerful engines that would fall apart at the slightest stress, leaving the passengers exposed to vacuum. The Jedi guessed the cockpit – a ship this small wouldn’t have a bridge – was better protected to give the core crew a fighting chance at survival.
This would be an interesting trip.
He found the guest bunk and found it as minimal as the rest of the ship, just cots stacked three high and placed as close together as physics would allow. There were 45 beds all told, which told him how tightly packed the travelers would be. He found one and flipped the small switch on one leg of the bed to indicate it had been claimed, something he hoped the others who eventually boarded would respect, before climbing in and attempting to get some rest.
When Lor woke a little over an hour later he heard voices arguing down the passage and strained to make out what the heated conversation was about. Not much was audible but he caught someone complaining about how this particular trip was under-booked, which would make profit even smaller than it would have otherwise been. He recognized one of the voices as the woman from the bar, the one who had turned him on to the ship in the first place. The realization came to him just before the door to the guest quarters opened, revealing her.
“You can stop pretending to sleep now. Passenger meeting outside in two minutes.”
Lor sat up and looked at her. “You didn’t mention you were recommending your own ship.”
“Would it have mattered?”
“No, not really. I still need to get to Ord Mantell.”
She stood to the side of the door to encourage him to get up and leave immediately. “Then let’s move past it. Come out. Out.”
He walked past her and down the gangplank to the docking bay, now more fully lit as dawn had fully risen, though the sunlight that made it this far down was still minimal. A collection of two dozen or so other beings milled around and looked suspiciously at him, some clearly wondering why he’d been allowed on the ship already. The Bothan’s act of kindness had inadvertently created some tension in the group.
“Alright,” the female pilot announced, “we’re about to get going. By now you should have given your gear to Devan here” she indicated the blue-and-white Bothan “to be squared away. My name is Elle Nock and I’ll be your captain for this trip. Quarters are simple, as are the meals. You’ll be expected to stay in those quarters except for trips to the ‘fresher and at mealtimes. Anything beyond that you hail Devan for permission, which I’m happy to give so long as it’s requested and not taken for granted. So I hope you all brought something to entertain yourself with as well as your good manners. We have a three day trip to our first destination, then another two to the second stop and two more to the final port. Any questions?”
Lor had several, including why she pointedly didn’t name any of the planets they would be stopping at, but wasn’t going to ask them here. No one else spoke up or raised a hand.
“Good. We’ll be in the air in 20 minutes. There are vendors right outside the docking bay where you can get any last minute provisions or food you may have forgotten, though I should warn you the markup on those items is going to be substantial.” She turned around and went back into the ship, leaving Lor and the rest of the passengers milling around.
Little small talk was made as the assembled travelers wanted to know as little about each other as possible. If all you could give the authorities, should you be asked, was a vague description of a average Nemodian who kept to himself and didn’t say anything about why he was going to wherever he didn’t say he was going, you mostly stayed out of trouble. Still, Lor wondered at what had pushed so many beings to desperate, clandestine measures.
He wandered, with a few others, out toward where Elle had directed them should then need any additional items but didn’t intend on buying anything, certainly not at these prices. There were goods and materials appropriate for most common species, as well as food, but the cost was often triple what you would pay in a reputable shop 50 stories above where they stood. If ever there was commonality in the universe, it was that those with lesser means would be disproportionately taken advantage of.
As the time approached to board the ship Lor thought of the looks he’d gotten when the others saw him emerging from the ship. He didn’t want to alienate those he’d be spending days with further and so reached out ever so slightly with the Force to unflip the switch on the side of the bed so it would no longer be marked as claimed. The last thing he needed was more resentment, which only increased the amount of attention he was trying to avoid. As they all boarded and claimed a bunk he saw some glance in his direction as if ready to hurl an accusation but finding none of the beds claimed there wasn’t the opportunity.
Averting small crises, Lor reminded himself, often had large payoffs.
He was in the middle of the pack but made his way to the back of the quarters and selected the top bed, obviously inconveniencing himself from having easy access to the door to further assuage lingering resentments. As everyone else settled in some sat and read, some pulled out dice or card games to lure fellow travelers into some light wagering (a bad idea when you’re going to be cooped up with someone for days) or immediately sprawled out and tried to get to sleep. Lor retrieved a small datapad from his pouch and feigned reading the news. It wasn’t long before he felt the ship’s engines engage as they rose from the ground and through the narrow shaft to the surface. There were a few audible bangs as, Lor supposed, they hit one or another of the obstructions along the walls, though thankfully none of them were of the explosive variety.
Seconds later the ascent smoothed out as the ship cleared the shaft and made it out into open air, or at least what passed for open air on Coruscant. Suddenly Lor felt a series of banking maneuvers even the inertial dampeners couldn’t mask. The ship shuddered from what he knew was blaster fire. Who was shooting at them? What had he gotten himself into? The metal of the bedframes rattled against the walls as the engines strained to execute the twists and turns Nock was putting it through. Finally, a minute later, the unmistakable sound of the hyperdrive engines activating echoed through the ship and everything went still and silent.
Half the passengers seemed to be completely oblivious to what had transpired, still either sleeping (or pretending to do so) or absorbed in their own personal entertainment pursuits. The rest looked around as if waiting for someone to ask the question on all their tongues: What had just happened?
Devan’s voice came over the intercom in answer. “Sorry about that, folks, there were a few complications with our departure but we should be clear from here on out. Next stop: Ord Mantell.”
Lor looked around the cramped quarters and saw no one else was going to, so he stood up and went over the intercom. “A few complications?”
A pause likely indicated Devan and Elle looking at each other, wondering what was behind the question. “That’s right,” Devan came back eventually. “We just needed to get past some friends who insist there’s unfinished business between us.” His tone tried to sound light and jovial, but it was obviously forced.
“Do we need to worry about the shields or life support? There are a lot of people back here eager to get where they’re going in one piece.”
This time it was Elle responding. “We’re fine, everyone. No need to worry or ask further questions. You’ll get where you need to be on schedule and without further incident.” Her voice did not invite further conversation so Lor let it go and walked away from the intercom. The other passengers looked at him quizzically, wondering why he would risk sticking his head up when that was usually a sure way to get it shot off when trying to maintain a low profile.
He knew this of course, but it was a calculated action on his part, one meant to draw more attention toward himself, something counterintuitive to most making their way through illegal channels. He intended to bring as much attention his way in order to draw it off everyone else, protecting them while doing so. The more detailed everyone’s recollection of him, the fuzzier their memories of the others. If they were ever questioned for any reason, even a Jedi would know their claim to not remember to be true.
Slowly Lor made his way back to his cot and lay down, still feeling everyone’s eyes on him. He closed his eyes and ignored it, hoping the shields would indeed remain intact and that they all wouldn’t be sucked out into vacuum the next time one of Elle’s “friends” expressed displeasure via laser cannon.
To his surprise he was shaken awake by a fellow passenger, a short blue-skinned being whose species he couldn’t immediately identify. She pointed toward the door without saying a word and he saw Elle standing there, motioning for him to follow her. He checked the chrono in his pouch and saw he’d been sleeping – meditating – for nearly a standard day and got up to see what Elle wanted with him.
She turned and walked down the passageway, him following a pace behind her. When they’d gotten a few dozen yards from the passenger quarters and stood in front of a storage unit she turned toward him. “You’ve been awfully quiet after asking so many questions when we left Coruscant.” It wasn’t a question, but it was a question.
Lor stretched dramatically. “Yeah…apparently I needed more sleep than I thought.”
“Strange, though,” she said, taking her helmet off to reveal a shock of close-cropped green hair, “everyone else has slept plenty but had to use the refresher at least twice each. That kind of control usually indicates someone who’s well-trained in certain arts.”
“Honestly, I could use a break here,” Lor said. “I just didn’t drink a lot before leaving because I didn’t know what the situation would be.”
“Mmm hmm,” Elle said skeptically.” “Look, I’m sure you’re up to something moderately shady, but that’s none of my business. But you’ve seemed like a wild card since the moment I met you in that bar and I can’t wait to get you off my ship.” Lor returned her steady gaze, dropping the naive act but also not admitting anything. “You can use the ‘fresher” she pointed just a few more steps down the hall “and then I’ll escort you back to the quarters. I definitely don’t trust you roaming about unattended.”
Lor simply nodded and went where indicated, returning a few minutes later to find her unmoved from where she’d been standing. She started walking back to the passenger quarters. “You’re getting off at Ord Mantell, right?” she asked.
“That’s right,” he responded.
“Do you have transport from there arranged? It’s not the kind of place you want to loiter about sans agenda.”
“Is that concern? Aren’t you eager to be free of me?”
“I am” she said as she stopped again and turned toward him “but you seem like a good person. I know your questions about the shields were out of concern for others, not yourself. And you probably have the means to take much better transportation wherever you’d like. The universe has precious few people who are looking out for people they don’t know and I’d hate to see one come to a bad end.”
“Thank you,” Lor said kindly.
They got to the door, which she opened. “Just stay here and don’t mill about. We’ll be at Ord Mantell in 15 hours. Go meditate or something and keep out of trouble.”
“That rarely works out for long, but I’ll try.” He stepped in, the door shut and he went back to his cot.
Fiction By Thilk 