Session export: The Shame Corner: 012

“Excuse me, this tea’s gone cold. Could you make me another one?” asked Myra, who was sitting alone in one of the Golden Griddle’s booths. There was a brief moment of quiet after the server left with her untouched cup. That ended when Myra suddenly spoke again. “It’s rude to eat or drink before guests arrive.”

She glanced to the datapad sitting beside her right hand, briefly reached toward it with outstretched fingers, then decided against it. Where was Elo? She hadn’t known him to be late to a meeting.

<@244244163002892288>

Iphis entered the station with a walk that could be described as a slink, bordering on a slither, were she not an ostentatiously dressed, one-armed, two meter tall humanoid who had just flown up in a rather sad example of a 120m armed luxury yacht. Her affect was one of resigned distaste, an attitude of this might as well happen, if by this one meant coming face to face with racks upon racks of novelty bumper stickers.

Faced with the choice between whatever hell awaited under the sign of “The Golden Griddle Diner,” an assortment of spacer kitsch, and a bar, she opted for the bar.

The door to the Crew Reset Bay hissed open, and Nox stepped out.

He looked wrecked.

Eyes bloodshot, face pale, arms wrapped tight around a cloth bundle of BD-NE’s parts. His codepad blinked faintly in one hand, still open to half-read schematics. He hadn’t slept. Most of the night had been spent crying and studying droid OS partitioning protocols. His hands shook from exhaustion, but his grip never faltered.

The Golden Griddle was bright and spotless - polished floors, warm lights, and a crisp scent of lemon cleanser and fresh caf. Staff moved with practiced grace, and the gentle hum of conversation filled the space.

Nox barely noticed.

A Sakiyan woman sat alone by the window - datapad in one hand, untouched breakfast steaming beside her. He glanced at her briefly, then moved on.

He slid into a booth at the back and set BD-NE gently on the table.

From a crumpled paper bag, he pulled out cheap tools , off-brand, already scuffed. Didn’t matter.

He opened a panel on the droid’s torso, whispering under his breath.

“Memory core’s still there… if I bypass the integrity check, spoof a clean boot…”

The screwdriver slipped. He winced, then exhaled.

And kept going.

Behind him, the staff watched in silence - not intruding, just observing.

Something in the way he moved said this wasn’t just repair.

It was love. And a fight not to let go.

Something was off.

It was clear as he interacted with the staff. And yet, the Exarch had been keeping tabs on Station 0H40-S0, and was appraised to the business back-end administration.

Yet as his personal ship, the Encanis II, docked, and he stepped through the airlock and into the venue proper, he sensed something wrong. Something that did not belong in the Force that he had spent his life studying and mastering. Something other.

Knowledge was power, and he did not like it when someone showed up as a relative unknown but was clearly a potential threat.

His hands locked easily behind his back, his grayscale cloak not concealing the sabers at his belt. He was not here as Exarch, but the floating Envoy-droid over his shoulder and his general presence was hard for him to hide. Fortunately, he had years of dealing with that and his calm, netural expression made it easy for him to wave in greetings to the staff as he entered and took in the details of the venue.

The presense he was looking for was at the Bar. He would make his way there, in time.

Iphis sized up the Seven Sins. It could have been worse. It could also have been better. She made her way to the bar and took a languid seat on a stool, her movements betraying the long blade hanging from her left hip, hidden by the shadowsheath scabbard. While she waited for service, she skimmed the rules posted imperiously behind the bar. She smiled a bit at the threat of mass suffocation. Cozy.

The Exarch was momentarily distracted—as much so as one who paid attention to every little detail without intending to—by entering through what appeared to be the registers. He knew off-hand what revenue the retail element of the station brought in so he realized he did not have much leg to stand on. But there was a lot of lights, and trinkets, and bumper stickers that he had not seen before, and attendants and workers milling around all talking to one another or a stray customer.

Marick filed away and neatly processed each piece of information as he made his way towards the Seven Sins Bar. He was not a drinker, but the Force showed him that the person of interest was indeed present there.

The Force Lord entered the bar and was able to spot the woman with pale blonde hair idling. He could only see the back of her head, but somehow, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

Some called him paranoid. Sure, sometimes his instincts had proven too acute. Like the time someone Atyiru had (randomly) been talking to reached for a bundled Weyne to tickle the toddler while making a high pitched baby voice, and Marick “accidentally” broke their finger. Atyiru had, of course apologized, mended the injury, and likely made it so that the afflicted denizen completely forgot the encounter altogether.

He preferred the term “hyper-attentive”, the line was always left for others to debate while Marick had, somehow, managed to survive this long while dancing with Grand Master’s and demigods.

Especially when other Hapan were involved. Their weren’t many of them in the Brotherhood, and he could count on one hand how many he had encountered outside of the Hapes Cluster.

Alert but stoically calm on the outside, he approached the bar and politely leaned up against it to wait to order a drink. He didn’t turn to face the woman two stool down.

“You’re a long way from Lyspair,” the retired spymaster said casually, his voice a low, even monotone.

Without fanfare, or any visible sign at all, Iphis’ presence in the Force was gone.

“How delightfully punctual,” she drawled. Her tone did not seem particularly delighted. Iphis turned in her stool to face the newcomer, reaching with one hand under the florescent mess of a cape she was wearing. It reemerged with an envoy’s badge, which she slid down the countertop to Marick.

“I take it you’re the one I’m meant to speak to about this?”

Socorra huffed a soft breath through her nose, almost a laugh. He had said caf then. A simple two words. She was standing at the beverage machine anyway and turned to pour the Lion a cup. “Same way?”

Not that it mattered, it poured and spewed quick. It hissed and whined its last dying drop.

“I was sure you hated place like this. Too loud. Too bright. Chaotic. And yet-”

She handed him his cup and lifted her own slightly, not quite offering, just marking the moment.

“-you stepped off your palace anyway.” A slight smirk. Not that she cared for ships, but the Spear was a remarkably nice one.

Turi reappeared at her side, breathless and sticky, clutching a snack he hadn’t paid for.

“Mama,” he announced, turquoise eyes flicking between her and the Lion, “Dwoid dwopped it. I gived it my bug.”

“Hmm. Not sure how that be fair trade, sweetling. What bug supposed to do for droid?”

“It was lonely. No bugs.”

He beamed at Ashen, as if someone that big and important might ratify the trade. Socorra reached down, ruffling his black and white waves and slight curls that mimicked her own.

She looked up and shrugged. "No argue with that logic.“

Turhaya smiled at the approval and voraciously ripped open the snack as if he hadn’t just had one ten minutes ago.

She sipped. "Your cadre at the bar. Good people watching. Come see?”

<@284848346672136192> <@189568236201705472>

“How delightfully astute,” Marick replied. His tone did not seem particularly delighted. He did have to consciously make an effort not to fall back into the aristocratic lilt he had beaten into submission years ago. His glacial eyes flitted momentarily to the item she slid across towards him, then quickly returned to meet hers.

Anyone else might have missed it, or been distracted by the heart-shaped face and distinctive Hapan jawline, but he ignored all of that to see what he could learn from that window into the soul. He felt something inside him sour and sicken, though he knew not why. It did not change the placid, tired expression on his face, but deep down he knew that something was wrong about the woman’s eyes.

And it had nothing to do with her heritage, which he’d need to remember he’d overcome many years prior.

Focus.

“I was hoping to have a conversation, yes.”

Iphis smiled, a warm and pretty thing tainted by the malicious satisfaction of a tooka that just sussed out which visitor is allergic to cats. She lazily held out her gilded, mechanical hand, and the Envoy badge zipped into it from down the bar. Badge and hand vanished back beneath the nacreous cape.

“Well, then converse, dear boy.”

The shuttle landed and anyone close by would hear the resounding noise of something - possibly quite large - impacting the interior hull of the ship. Otherwise, everything seemed normal on the outside. Perhaps it was just the sound of the landing gear settling?

Miho leveled a finger at the small BD unit that was trilling disappointedly at her. “No, I don’t need a chaperone.”

A trill.

“Oh, stuff yourself, you little gremlin. I don’t always need someone to keep me company. Even the Twins leave me to my own devices every now and then,” Miho retorted, cavalierly ignoring the fact that the Twins less leave her alone and more sort of gave up trying to restrain the small Proconsul’s movements.

Pips stared at his owner with what could only be described as towering distrust in the optic lenses.

He beeped at her.

“Ugh. Fine! Whatever. Just come on then.” She grabbed her hat off the hook beside the ramp and jammed the broad brimmed article on top of her head. “All I want to do is have a frelling meal in frelling peace and this frelling droid is more frelling bothersome than a frelling nursemaid.”

From somewhere inside the ship came a soft laugh. It seemed Miho was just all about amusing the hell out of people today as even Pips seemed to whistle a laugh at the Odanite’s expense.

Marick felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. There was a brand of condescending unique to Hapan women, so this likely had nothing to do with Iphis’ study of Magik. He had almost forgotten what it felt like. Instinctilvely, he wanted to retort, to make a comment about the cape and concealement, but realized that he often did similar with his cloak.

Instead, he said, “I’ll get right to the point, then. That badge is something I both control, and can’t fully control. Once earned, it cannot be revoked. But it does mean something. It’s a symbol, and represents a…path towards a different, possibly better future than the one that people like us have been dealt.”

The bartender slid over a glass with bubbling, clear liquid in it. It was in a high ball glass. He bowed his head politely in thanks and took a sip, and looked to be completely at ease. Externally.

“So tell me, Iphis Melinoe,” he gestured vaguely to the Seven Sins and the larger establishment, “should the Envoy Corps be worried about a rogue lychtor in our ranks?”

He returned his gaze to hers, his iridescent blue orbs cold as ice while his face remained its practiced, stoic mask.

The look Savran gave their smaller, decidedly more skittish companion a look that could cut beskar when they pointed out the chicken feed. A slight roll of the eyes was enough to convey how they felt about it, but Savi decided to drive the point home further with a sharp retort.

“And somehow still more nutritious than what you find during your trash surfing escapades.”

“‘People like us,’” she repeated, as if swishing the phrase around in her mouth to evaluate its flavor and body. “Surely by that you mean ‘people who do a quick database search before a meeting,’ and not ‘people who can be intimidated by having their own name dropped at them.’ Because if you’re going to threaten a girl, Del'Abbot, you should have the self respect to do it properly.” She smiled a cloying, saccharine smile. “Examples available upon request, naturally.”

With that, Iphis settled back into her languid, ostentatious boredom. “As to your question, no. I don’t have the patience for diplomacy and I have no interest in sabotaging it, intentionally or through ineptitude. Call me when you have a problem you need terminally solved and spare me the mercy missions and we’ll get along just fine.”

Marick blinked once, the only motion that was visible across his blank expression. His body was not tense, or tight, but simply still. Eerily still, like a predator just before striking or fleeing a fellow apex. The opposite of the Lyctor’s languid nonchalance.

He was outmatched in a war of words, but not defenseless. He ignored the counter-name drop and the insult. He never hid from his past, it was all available in his files. His one truth had never been his wit or intimidation, but merely his unwaivering resolve. Her words were wind. Nothing more.

“Good enough for me,” he shrugged. His reply was toneless, but he gave her no satisfaction of her words finding any purchase. A minor thing, sure, but pride worked in strange ways when you lived through the things the Force Lord had.

He finished his drink, then slid it politely back towards the bartender. “This is where I point out that I’m just the desk jockey, and if you have an issue with the missions, take it up with Soren or the Emissary herself. Regardless, welcome back.”

He bowed then, a full dip and bend at the waist. It was more than would be required even at a member of the Hapes Consortium. But he did not smile, he did not smirk, and it was probably the closest thing to sarcasm that the Hapan bastard child could execute

“Nothing wrong with occasionally partaking in junk food,” they said while shrugging their shoulders, “And if you’re referring to my taste for people, well, that’s usually reserved for combat.”

“It varies, of course,” they explained, speaking about such a gruesome topic with all the aloofness one might expect of a true predator, “Sometimes, I’m forced to only take a bite out of them. Devouring someone whole does take time, yes.”

Their week long furlough had started off with an excellent meal and now the gang was back for another day of just browsing and fun, or maybe so well earned R&R drinking.

“Cheer up mate,” a soothingly smooth voice cut like a scalpel through a melon rind, almost canceling out the thick sounds of the bustling station around them. “You have to admit, it’s not the first time you’ve been rejected, and it certainly won’t be the last. Besides, I don’t think that lass was into soldiers boys like us.”

“If you ask my opinion…” Edi opened his mouth to continue, before the Raz interrupted him.

“Edddiiii.” Raz eyed the Ewok with a warning glance. The dark furred Ewok just glared at the Medic and then shrugged.

“I was just going to say, that you went into that situation far too stiff,” he chuckled a little as a thought crossed his mind. Before any of the other’s reprimand him, as he heard Krosk facepalm, and both Vam and Raz growl at him under their breaths, he quickly continued. “You needed to loosen up a bit, and be yourself. You shouldn’t be beating yourself up, cause you went a little too formal in an informal situation.”

“That’s literally my take on it bud,” shrugging, Edi fist bumped the sulking Cathar in the thigh. “Nothing a stiff drink won’t help in loosening up. Besides, you find one mate in life, if she isn’t all over you or wants to kill you, then they are not the right one.”

The Cathar looked down, a small smile spreading across his long face. Reaching down, he fist bumped his comrade and ruffled the Ewok’s fur.

“Thanks Edi,” Tigrus glanced around, finally realizing they all had stopped right at the Seven Sin’s bar entrance. “A drink doesn’t sound half bad. Let’s go.”

Vam, Krosk and Raz all looked incredulously between Edi and Tigrus, and then at each other, as the two led the way into the bar. All three breathed a sigh a relief and shared a chuckle between themselves before quickly following the Cathar and Ewok into the bar. They found a large enough table at the wall opposite the entrance for the five of them, as Vam gave the place a careful once over look, taking note of the patrons at the bar and around them at the other tables.

<@244244163002892288>

The tools clinked softly as he worked, his breath slow, shallow, each exhale fogging faintly on the gleaming silver of BD-NE’s chassis. Nox didn’t even notice the caf cup placed gently at the corner of the table by a waitress - black, no sweetener, just how he usually took it. He didn’t look up. Just nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

“Okay, little boltbrain,” he whispered, voice cracking, “I got your root access key mapped. You better not fry this board again or I swear—”

His fingers paused. His eyes stung. He blinked fast. A thin filament of copper wire dangled between two fragile connection points - one of them scorched. He’d already rebuilt the board twice with salvage-grade parts, the kind you found in trash bins and scrap drawers. BD-NE wouldn’t run smooth. Maybe not even stable. But it would run.

He sat back slightly and rubbed his temple. Somewhere, in a back booth, a child giggled. A tray clattered onto a dish return. He shut it all out.

One deep breath, then another. He reached for the soldering stylus. “Come on. Let’s bring you home.”

The heat bloomed against his knuckles as he bridged the final contact. BD-NE’s optic slowly lit, dim at first. Flickering.

Then still.

Blue.

Static scrolled across his codepad in a blur. Reboot logs. Sector pings. Memory map reconstruction. There it was - Unit BD-NE, designation confirmed. Behavioral archive detected. Restoring user associations…

Nox leaned closer, lips parted. Hope ached behind his ribs like a bruise.

BD-NE blinked once.

Then again.

It let out a slow, rising warble - uncertain, glitched, but real. Nox exhaled a trembling laugh. He dropped the stylus onto the table and leaned forward until his brow touched the droid’s dome. “There you are, scraphead. You’re late.”

A soft whir of servos, then the droid tilted slightly toward him. One of its manipulators lifted - jittery, miscalibrated- and tapped his chest twice.

Nox laughed again, rough and broken this time. He buried his face in the bundle of wires and scorched plating, shoulders shaking.

“You remembered.”

He didn’t notice the staff moving again, quietly shifting to give him space. The Sakiyan woman by the window looked over, then closed her datapad and turned back to her cooling food. Even the background music dimmed slightly, as if the place itself understood something solemn had passed.

For the first time in what felt like cycles, Nox allowed himself to breathe.

He didn’t care if BD-NE jittered, misfired, or needed constant rewiring. He didn’t care if the memory banks only held fragments or if the chassis fell apart at the seams.

He had him back.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was enough.

Leena paused at the entrance. Something had just happened, further in. She just knew it. Hekate bumped into her from behind, the body check knocking her left lekku down off of her shoulder. Again. She turned, annoyance blushing her cheeks forcing Hekate to freeze.

“Oh, excuse me, I’m…” Hekate’s voice echoed within itself, the tripartite choir murmuring in the din of the Shame Corner. They reached out with a tentative hand, angling toward the pale violet lekku, the thin scar running along the underside. Leena pursed her lips and jammed the box she was carrying toward her. Hands adjusted quickly, taking the crate from her as she gingerly placed her own lekku back onto her shoulder, thank you very much. “…sorry?”

Leena sighed, stepping to the side to let a particularly wide alien from a species she only vaguely remembered pass. Too many arms, anyway. She stepped forward, Hekate offering the crate back to her, expectantly. “No, you get to carry it now.”

“But I’m so clumsy…”

Leena just about snorted. She had seen Hekate wreak havoc with that alchemically enhanced blade, darting between blaster fire to take out enemies on the battlefield. Clumsy, they were not. “You just want your hands free for snacks.”

Hekate’s optical sensors spun, the lights shifting downward as they shuffled forward, a faint tinny groan rumbling from their vocal processor.

“Oh, settle down.” Leena rolled her own eyes this time, passing a stand full of printed shirts with frankly ridiculous slogans on them. She was unsure why anyone would feel the need to advertise for a brand of engine lubricant, but she imagined someone had to be buying them, otherwise they wouldn’t have them on display. She tilted her eyes back at Hekate, seeing her look a little too long at the same shirts as they made their way to the cafe. She should have figured as much. Chuckling inside her own head, she kept moving. “Once we see the guy, we’ll have time for snacks. But work first.”

“And caf?” Hekate stepped twice to catch up to her, the BD parts rattling around in the crate. A spare chassis, three refurbished wiring harnesses, a brand new neuralnet emulator, three sticks of active storage, and a mess of servos and actuators. It was probably far more than he needed, but still.

“We’re not savages.” Leena laughed.

Muz smiled at the tyke. He had missed when Sanjuro was that age. For more good than ill, he supposed when he thought about it clearly. Ashia had been right about a great many things, as painful as they were, even now in retrospect. He shrugged off the thought as if it were a damp blanket, lifting the mug to his lips, hoping the liquid would wash away the remnants. Black, pleasantly bitter, strong, and with subtle traces of… something behind the roasted flavor. Leena and Socorra were right. Good bloody caf.

He ignored the woman’s subtle jab. If she had thought the Spear was palatial, she’d never let him live down Kuroshin. He was fairly certain she had been to the Coruscanti penthouses when she was his Herald. He chuckled as the kid tore into the packet, spraying bits of deep-fried and unnaturally colored sweets as he stuffed a handful into his mouth. How long did they stay like this, he wondered.

Good people watching?, he mulled the thought over where she could hear. It wouldn’t take her but a moment before explaining in her own way. She was, after all, always listening. even to the unspoken.

Especially to the unspoken.

The scowling Miho stalked through the station, darkly intent on her path even as Pips rode along beeping out the riot act to his owner.

“Yes.” A beep. “No.” A more insistent beep. “Fine.”

The small droid whistled softly as the small Odanite walked somewhere in the vicinity of her brother, trilled insistently as the War Councillor dodged through patrons, aisles, and other things.

The Golden Griddle. A place where she had an almost zero percent chance of getting into anything but a good breakfast.

Little gremlin droid, she thought sourly.

She looked up as she entered the Griddle, pushed the brim of her hat away from her face a bit and gave a beatific smile, moving towards a booth and waiting for someone to come by for her order.

Pips, the little bastard, hopped off her shoulder and began to whistle, trill and beep intently. Miho, still smiling, ignored him this time.

She lifted her empty cup halfway toward Ashen, a dry little toast to nothing.

Let us go, then.

Socorra turned, then stopped. She had sensed Marick nearby and left him to his business. But their decade-old bond flared with tension. His zen-like calmness drove her up the wall some days, but to find it rattled here, on his own turf, was unsettling.

The woman beside him resisted her usual mental pass, not that many welcomed it. But this one was a wall of nothing. Her dark brows furrowed.

“Hold my caf,” she said to the Keibatsu, tossing her cup anyway. “Want whiskey? Turi, stay with ah…Uncle Muz for second.”

Socorra didn’t wait for his answer- of course whiskey. And no, now that Miho had told her his nickname, she was never going to forget it.

Turhaya looked up at Musashi while munching on his snack and without a word followed mom anyway.

She strolled toward the counter casually and slid onto the stool on the other side of the strange woman, who, for good or ill, clearly held Marick’s attention.

From behind: pale hair, perfect posture, a fine elegance. A little out of place for a dive. She tried for a cursory profile glance, but the woman sat on Socorra’s blind side- she had to turn fully to see her. And for a moment, she didn’t believe it.

…Hapan?

The caf still on her tongue turned sour. Here? An illusion perhaps? She might actually prefer that.

The ambush on Hapes after the insult-laden dinner had been well planned. The Force was gone. She’d shot out the chandeliers, trusting she could see enough for her and Marick both. It worked until the Hapans donned karkin’ night goggles.

Socorra had already clocked everything else. Now she logged every single light source just to be extra-extra.

She was flanking now, whether the woman realized or not. As she waited for the bartender, the mentalist turned inward. A clean, deliberate sweep across the stranger’s thoughts. She would likely know, so no point in being subtle.

Good people watching, part of her compartmentalized brain said to Ashen.

Turi climbed up beside his mother without asking, knees swinging, mouth full of sugar. Maybe he sensed her shift, maybe not. He rocked on the stool, boots thudding on the base. Then swung forward, and his turquoise eyes went wide as moons.

“Unca Mawick!” Turhaya chirped, voice clear over the bar’s low hum. He scrambled off the stool, small arms wide like wings as he started to run for his uncle.

<@189568236201705472> <@371402534973341696> <@284848346672136192>

Iphis’ posture stiffened. Her thoughts of annoyance that she didn’t have a drink yet ceased immediately.

“This is not a clever path to start down,” she said softly.

She turned to look at the intruder, softening ever so slightly at the revelation that she was beautiful. “My attention should not be received lightly. You have it. Speak.”

Marick ignored Iphis the second his nephew addressed him. He offered a rare, small smile and lifted the toddler up. He held him under one arm as his eyes shifted between Iphis and Socorra. The smile was gone quicker than it had appeared, and his face returned to its placid mask as he observed.

Good people watching. Socorra’s voice was different when it came directly as thought. Her abrupt shift and the wave of… it wasn’t exactly anxiety, but it was close enough that it drew his attention. The child’s happy squeal played counter to those notes, chirping a name he hadn’t heard in some time.

Fifteen Years Ago New Tython

The dark haired woman sneered as the thermal imploder rolled toward her. The armored figures of Clan Ordo had intermingled with that of the houses loyal to her clan, and it was getting sloppy. But grenades were sloppier still. An indiscriminate tool for an inaccurate task. She raised a hand, as they had shown her to do, her mind focusing and her eardrums throbbing even beneath the helmet. She called out for the Force, and it answered, her mind wrapping around the grenade and flinging it before it could explode and take her battleteam with them.

Her eyes slammed open, suddenly being aware that she had clamped them shut in focus. Head low from incoming blaster fire, she checked for the others, the explosions a few meters away reflecting off of her viewplate. The quaestor nodded at her, approval in the Hapan’s blue eyes. Black hair seemed perfectly in lace, even here in the chaos and mud of combat. How did he manage it, she wondered, watching him before he abruptly turned. And saw him. No guardsmen, no Nephilim. Just him and his nightmare eyes.

And he had seen that look before.

There was no time for that. Not here. Not at war. Not with his master somewhere here. And so Muz moved with purpose, a quick gesture flipping one of the mercenaries from behind a boulder, sending the body careening hard into the ground and corpsehood. Steps marched him forward, tight arcs of his violet weapon bouncing blaster fire back at their ranks. Another finger raised and a lobbed grenade stilled in the air in front of the thrower, threatening them with whatever they had planned to use against the Brotherhood.

His Brotherhood.

“Now!” The Hapan didn’t wait for an invitation, the chaos sowed in their ranks was more than enough. “For Sashar!” The words boiled over from his heart, his blade screaming as he deflected a bolt and followed through the movement to take the mandalorian’s arm. The dark haired woman picked off another, her own sidearm finding the gap at the throat between helm and gorget, then rushing to close the gap, her fingers throwing the dead man’s bandolier of grenades at their own ranks.

In slow motion, the blast was beautiful.

They panted as the others died, rough breaths through clenched teeth watching as a fountain of fire and ruin erupted behind the prefabricated wall. And then, a growing quiet.

Muz looked at the Equite, letting the Song of the Force sing in his ears for a moment. Dirges of loss, a keening of death, an ode to victory, and a movement of knowledge uncovered and utilized. All harmonized in ways that shook the base of his heart in time with the tapestry. Black eyes blinked. Such was the symphony of a Life. And beyond that, another song. Opportunity instead of ambition set the rhythm, heartache and violence provided the bass, silence and wrath the melody. Muz watched her for a moment, icy eyes hidden behind dark hair. He knew those songs. Both would survive. Both would be more.

“Rise, Hunter.” He spoke, a low and gravelly tone to his voice, a faint Coruscanti accent in his words.

Socorra blinked, her mouth working around strained breaths for a moment. “I’m only a…”

Marick put a hand on her shoulder, understanding him and stopping her. “There are many Jedi to hunt here.” He dipped his head a degree at the Grand Master, a gesture returned by Socorra as the roar of battle grew louder. Louder and closer.

Far more.

Now The Shame Corner

Even after the long years spent beyond the cursed iron, there was a reverberating sense of duty toward those who hadn’t wavered when it mattered. He considered options, processing her positioning before deciding that observation wasn’t his play.

Stealth was for prey.

With each pace, he could tell who had the sense and who didn’t in the fluorescent glow of the station. The wave of shifting emotions rushed across faces unbidden. Those without would twist confused masks at their friends that did, their subconscious mirroring them into darting eyes and unspoken questions.

Marick stood with the toddler under an arm, his hair shocked grey in the years since, as obvious as Socorra’s ruined eye and white streak. All things that they both could have easily resolved years ago, but were left, doubtless reminders of the fires that forged them. Hushed words flew between them and a willowy blonde he did not recognize, but Socorra’s body language spoke volumes about.

He moved to the bar, not waiting for their senses to announce him. They’d know soon enough, if they didn’t already. A hand grazed the bar-top, a casual nod to get the bartender’s attention before he tilted his head at them, putting all four of them squarely in the reflection of his eyes. Unspoken, the greeting carried much within it.

BD-NE’s optic flickered again - blue, then white, then nothing.

The little droid let out a garbled whine, one of its limbs twitching before it slumped sideways against Nox’s arm with a soft tchk. Its frame buzzed faintly, like it was trying to reboot and just… couldn’t.

Nox froze.

“Hey. No, no—come on, you’re fine. You’re fine.”

He shifted forward in the booth, cradling BD-NE with both arms now, fingers tightening as if he could hold the power in by sheer will. He glanced at his codepad - no errors, no power drop, but the droid’s core wasn’t stabilizing. Something underneath all the surface repairs was breaking down again. Maybe something he’d missed. Maybe something he didn’t know how to fix.

His jaw clenched.

“You just need a few more minutes. I just got you back…”

The waitress was gone. The one who said she knew someone. Someone who’d “worked on older units before.” She’d looked like she meant it. Like help was actually coming.

Nox swallowed and looked toward the kitchen doors, now closed and still.

Then he let out a breath and rested his head gently against the top of BD-NE’s dome. The metal was warm, buzzing weakly under his skin. Not enough.

“Please,” he whispered, barely louder than a thought. “Please let them show up.”

He didn’t even know who he was talking to.

He just didn’t want to lose him again.

Not today.

“There he is.” Hekate’s voice trilled, the resonant echoes catching up slowly. They shifted the crate in their hands, and gestured with their head, the hood sliding back off of their helm.

“There they are.” Leena nodded, a quickened step in her gait as she pivoted around a child bolting through with a trail of sugar powder. He was hunched over the chassis, arms cradling the little busted BD unit like it was his literal child. She paused for a second, her hand going to her Lekku, fingertips grazing the old wound. The parts from her lab as she had rebuilt…more like reforged Beater into a BD unit would be mighty useful to the work. Even if there wasn’t much but a corrupted personality core, she would… she didn’t really know what. But something. She had to.

A few more paces, and Leena took the crate from Hekate, whose optical sensors burned brighter in response. “Does this mean snack time?”

Leena sighed. “You don’t want to help?” She didn’t even look at the anodized apprentice. “Or get caf first?”

Hekate didn’t respond, just made a cooing sound, somewhere between a baby and a tired blender. Leena turned the corner around the little half-wall that separated the cafe tables from the rest of the merchandise, waving at one of the servers as she made a beeline for Nox and his woes.

Setting the crate down on the bench across from him, she managed a weak smile. “Express delivery. Had a pile of BD parts that I know work. Thought you could use some help.” She paused, watching him for a moment before setting her bag down on the table. His eyes were red. Was that tired or emotional, she had wondered. Either way, it convinced her more. “Or at least some company.”

“Darth Ashen.” Iphis’ tone carried a levity that her expression, eyes still locked on Socorra, did not. “Huge fan. Is this one of yours, then?”

Davin sipped his drink as he thought. The details of his last job were still weighing on his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t fully push it to the back of his mind. Then more people entered the bar. The momentary distraction proved to be just enough to shake free.

He had tried to pay no mind to the newcomers. The goings-on of the people around him, while sometimes a curiosity, was none of his business. But just the body language of the man with intense blue eyes and the blonde woman was enough to let him know that something was happening. But he didn’t want to know what. Not really. Sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong would lead to trouble more often than not. The kind of trouble that was best avoided.

On the other hand, he didn’t even need eyes to know that something was up. He could feel it, without really trying. The shifts in the air, the mood. The power. That one was key. More power kept coming, starting with what he assumed was a mother and child, then another man. A cold chill crept up his spine at the sheer magnitude of strength that was gathering at the bar. He suppressed a shiver and turned his face into a mask, doing his best to seem like he didn’t have an inkling as to the powers present. He didn’t know who these people were and, truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Best to mind his business.

He took another sip of his drink and drew himself inward. He pulled out his datapad and idly swiped through it.

What **is* this place? What have I gotten myself into here,* he wondered to himself.

Nox didn’t lift his head at first. Just stayed there, hunched, arms wrapped tight around BD-NE’s failing frame like if he let go, the little droid would slip right out of existence.

The quiet clatter of the crate, Leena’s soft voice - it broke something loose.

His breath hitched.

“It’s not gonna matter,” he mumbled. “You can bring all the parts in the galaxy and I’ll still screw it up.”

He finally looked up, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Not from sleep. Not anymore.

“Everything I touch breaks. Gets lost. Falls apart.”

His voice cracked, and he dropped his gaze again, brushing a knuckle under one eye.

“That’s why they call me Gravemark, y’know? ‘Cause stuff sticks to me just long enough to get cursed. Then it all goes dark.”

BD-NE let out a sputtering chirp, faint as a breath.

Nox clutched him tighter and shut his eyes.

“I don’t want him to be next.”

Muz turned his head slightly toward the unknown woman, and debated letting the Force change that. To see with a God’s eyes the ties that bound them to the Tapestry of Everything, the color of her heart, the scent of her mother. It was but a moment, pregnant with possibilities, dismissed just as fast. He had been too long away, far from the bitter words and sweet daggers of the Brotherhood. Those who he loved had reminded him that what was second nature for him was terrifying to those unaccustomed. And there was no reason to make this one feel that. His eyes slowly slid over to his last herald, though the scars betrayed no movement as he recognized her posture.

Yet.

He didn’t respond to her insult. He wouldn’t need to. Socorra was most certainly not his. Friends and allies were not property, no matter their involvement in the loom of his plans. He let the corner of his lip curl in a half smile, his hand collecting the glass of Whyren’s Reserve placed there a moment ago without breaking the plane of his vision.

“Charmed.”

She let out a long breath. The droid wasn’t the only thing damaged here. She waited for him to finish speaking, the words low and halting. Letting them out was better than keeping them in, festering as they bounced off the walls of his mind, amplifying and worse. She took the time to lay out her gear. First, the nonconductive workmat, self-healing and a shade of blue that would contrast well with the parts and boards. Then tools, a spare wiring harness, the diagnostic pad, a schematic she had downloaded directly from her contact at Behold-Urwar. The last took a major favor getting called in, but the skinny Rodian owed her one for that business on Nar Shaddaa. She queued it up on a different datapad, laying it on the workmat and spinning it in his direction. Handing the diagnostic spike to him, he seemed to barely notice until she slid it under his fingers.

“Words are magic.” Leena managed a weak smile, sliding herself directly across from him and leaning forward. Her left lekku slid off of her shoulder, grazing the edge of the mat and sending a twinge of pain up her spine. “Don’t use them against yourself.”

She turned to see Hekate as she flagged down a waitress. “Three cafs, please.”

“And both types of sweetener, please.” Hekate added, their voice humming between polyphonic vox processing. The waitress nodded and darted away as Hekate lowered herself into the booth next to Leena, who turned her attention back to Nox.

“You can do this.” She smiled. “Everything you need is here. You’ll make it look easy.” She paused, watching him for his reaction, and prompting him to connect the diagnostic spike. She flicked her hand across the screen, setting up the process, the startup subroutines playing out across the screen in flickering code.

“I believe in you…” She pointed at the screen, the vox output still warming up, but one word repeating, queued and spooling. “…and so does BD-NE.”

høpe

Leena handed Nox an autosplicer.

Socorra’s eye flicked to Marick as he lifted her son, his movements firm yet gentle. Safe. Fatherly.

Only once Turhaya was secure in his uncle’s arms did her pale gaze drift back to the woman beside her. Still a void. Not present in space. Not even beside her. She didn’t want to be seen, heard, or found.

But the timelines had their own gravity. No one hides from time itself. Everyone has paths, and the temporal operative could see them in staccato motion flickering by everyone.

She had thrown Marick to the light, shoved him through the only exit, knowing he’d hate her for it. But she had protected him out of duty. Of love.

And then came the sister.

The last female Hapan Socorra had seen tore out her eye, calling her a scarred, savage beast unworthy to look at him or herself. A bastard daughter and a bastard son, like swine mating in filth. The sister paraded her in front of him and beat her senseless, until she faded into silence, and was forgotten for years by the galaxy.

Socorra fell, and had lost everything, but she had not failed. Somehow, a decade later, the path led here, like a fever dream:

Marick holding her son - his nephew, by a brother neither had known existed. A Hapan woman beside her, staring - glaring? glaring, considering her beautiful despite the ruined eye. The Lion, her former boss, her mentor and friend, walking up beside them. Whom had plucked her from that timeline and its lost years to another one to fight forgotten wars alongside his family. And now Miho.

She sent the long-lost Keibatsu a flicker of warmth, because Miho could somehow cause her genuinely smile.

Hmm. Maybe t'is not wrong path after all, she thought to Ashen as he approached. The cosmos is karkin’ weird. And patience was never strong suit.

Socorra’s mind flicked back to Iphis, although not intruding anymore. She leaned in just a fraction, as if about to share a secret. Not enough to threaten, but enough to tempt danger.

“Most paths not clever,” she replied at last, her ‘savage’ wasteland accent thick and unapologetic. “But t'ey are necessary.“

Her pale eye swept over the woman again, slower this time. Measuring.

“I was not speaking. I was listening.” Her voice dipped, low and deliberate. “Words too slow for intelligent mind, when telepathy instant. But for attractive woman…”

The Sith’s ruby lips curved into something wicked. “Maybe…I slow down.”

Her cybernetic arm, fine personal work by a Regent, turned slightly to indicate the bar.

“I believe you wanted drink? What is poison of choice.”

Sykes sat back in the seat as the Lambda shuttle landed. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what may be to come. He had just been on a short trip working for the Wayfinder Society and honestly needed a drink.

Slowly he stood, the lack of armor making him uncomfortable but his wolf-skin cloak flowed behind him. As he exited the shuttle, all of his senses seemed to light off with the amount of Force user congregated in this place. I hate this already he thought to himself as he walked through the doors to the hustle and bustle of this over stimulation gas station.

His blue eyes scanned the area and he could recognize but not name some of the Brotherhood members he had encountered at one point in his long life. His first instinct was to feed, the lust to drain the soup of so many powerful Force users near him felt so overwhelming. No. Not here. Just get fuel, have a drink and see what intel you can get.

Sykes moved towards the empty end of the bar, sat down and ordered a beer and a whiskey shot from the bartender. As he sipped his drink he tried to listen to what was going on around him.

Nox didn’t speak at first. Didn’t breathe.

The spike was in. The console buzzed quietly under his palms, but the rest of the world felt hollow.

A single word flickered on the screen.

høpe

He blinked, and the past punched through.

The vault door was singing. Blue light. Arcs of electricity crawling like fingers over the durasteel.

“BD, isolate the breaker node. You’ve got this-“ A chirp. Willing. Brave.

Then… POP A scream of voltage.

He saw BD jerk back, frame smoking, limbs twitching like a dying spider. The lights cut out. The floor tilted. And all he could hear was the high-pitched wail from the droid’s audio array. Then nothing.

He doubled over the workbench, chest heaving, hands clutching the edge like it was all that kept him from drowning.

“I shouldn’t have let you go in,” he rasped, voice breaking. “I knew the charge was unstable… I saw it…”

He bowed his head, fingers brushing BD’s motionless chassis.

“I’m sorry.”

Another flash.

Before it all burned.

Nox knee-deep in a vent shaft, muttering curses, while BD-NE gleefully beeped behind him with every clang of his forehead against a support strut. “That’s not funny,” Nox had growled. The droid chirped louder. They’d laughed. Together.

Running across skybridges lit in neon pinks and oranges, BD skimming just behind on magnetic treads, bouncing off a rail, rebooting mid-flight, landing right back on Nox’s shoulder with a triumphant warble. “You little show-off,” he’d grinned, panting.

The two of them, huddled in a rain-soaked alley under a shattered billboard. BD-NE had deployed an umbrella subroutine. Nox, soaked, had chuckled through his teeth.

“Smartass.”

The memory faded, but the smile lingered—faint, trembling. His voice was soft now, barely a whisper to the console.

“You made me better. Just by being here.”

A breath.

“So… come back.”

The screen pulsed once more. Then…

ZZT A faint click from BD’s servos.

TWITCH

Just a fraction. But unmistakable.

Nox froze. Eyes wide. His heart stopped.

“…hey,” he whispered.

Miho raised her head at the interloper, violet eyes taking account from head to toe in a swift, slashing glance.

Pips turned and whistled at the avian-creature-being.

<<Friend of yours?>>

The stare was replaced by a smile, or at least a showing of teeth. “Hard to say.” She gestured with a hand, casually sliding Pips away from the newcomer. “Have a seat. Pips and I are both small and don’t take up much space.”

Pips trilled softly in a sound that was more disapproval than anything else. “I really don’t want to hear it.”

Socorra gave Sykes a cursory glance as a neat Corellian whiskey mysteriously appeared at her elbow. She recognized him from her various Scholae business but that wasn’t what drew her attention.

“Nice cloak,” she said idly, lifting her glass. Her voice remained neutral but carried, just a little.

She took a slow sip, her one-eyed gaze hidden behind the rim.

“Is that… wolf?”

<@189568236201705472>

Marick’s expression remained blank. More so than usual. It was a practiced mask. The only motion he made was to shrug a shoulder at Socorra’s question, instead focusing on distracting Turi by making his stylus float and bounce back and forth in midair as the toddler tried to snatch it.

No such thing as a wrong path. Muz lifted the glass of Whyren’s Reserve to his lips again as he watched the pair verbally spar. He wondered for a moment if he actually believed that. The things he had seen, the places he’d been, the things he had to do…. He looked at the swirl of amber in the glass as he set it back down. The other paths had been dramatically different. But wrong? He drew his focus back for a moment, letting himself take in the rest of the people, the swarm of emotions, the swell of heartbeats as they grew louder in his awareness.

Not wrong. Different.

In those dark moments, he had teased out the idea of those other paths. Ones without. Surely they had their own travails, their own mysteries, but none seemed….quite… There wasn’t a word for it, not in standard, anyway. It was more a feeling than a word. Meditation had taught him to reach a facsimile of it, no matter what was going on around him, but it was not the same. He could all but hear his old master’s chiding that this meant he hadn’t been doing it right.

It didn’t matter. Muz lifted his eyes from the glass again. That hunger, the drive to be what he must be, would not be leashed by mental opiates and breathing tricks. There was no sense in half measures, only wasted effort. He raised an eyebrow as his last Herald turned her conversation around again, engaging even more people. She was adept in these social scenarios, whereas he had fallen out of practice. Perhaps that was why his reputation had gone the way it had.

Muz chuckled, and took another sip.

Leena blinked as the little droid twitched, his whispered word loud in the silent throb behind her ears. She exhaled, realizing that she had been clenching her jaw, her hand. Wiggling her lower jaw to loosen it back up, she reached for the caf and let her eyes dart away to the lights above, the stand of colorful shirts not far away. Anything but at him as her eyes grew hot.

More sounds seemed to come from the metal as the animation sequences started to fire again, the man’s hands guided by love as much as by expertise. She let her gaze slide over them again, turning her head toward the luncheon bar against the far wall of the cafe. He was too focused on the work to notice, and she was too anxious to let anyone see.

“Are you hurt?” Hekate’s words warbled between voices.

Leena just grunted, then debated shooting Hekate a dirty look that she certainly knew they wouldn’t understand. “Bit my tongue, that’s all.”

Hekate nodded like they understood what that felt like, lifting the mug to their face and pouring more hot beige liquid down their throat. Leena distracted herself with the thought of the great caf being wasted by pouring so much creamer into it that it was an entirely different color, but shrugged it off. If that’s how Hekate liked it, she wasn’t going to stand in between enjoyment and experience.

Enjoyment and experience. The words bounced off the corners of her mind as she brought her eyes back to watch the man work, a precision boltdriver in one hand and fingers tapping code sequences in the other. She leaned forward, dragging a sleeve across her eyes and pulling her lekku back over her shoulder. She idly pulled a tool into her hand, spinning it between her fingers, feeling the weight of it, the solidness of it. It wasn’t something to hide from, despite her anxiety. Being present for this was an honor, an experience.

“There he is. You’ve got this.”

A raised eyebrow as she looked at Pips. A machine? Well, yes. She supposed that was true. It’s not like he was flesh and blood, but still. It seemed…disrespectful when put that way.

“Yes, I suppose I do. Pips has been with me for a lot of years. Seen our share of chaos, haven’t we?”

She smiled genuinely at the little droid who danced around on the table for a second. Was it in happiness or disbelief? Miho knew which it was. She always knew. Just as Pips tried to badger her without much success, she had learned just as much about him. “Pips is one of the few people I trust implicitly, if we’re being honest. He’s a little jerk sometimes, but he’s got good circuits.”

Miho nodded with a smile and touched the small painted dots on the top of his head. Six black spots. “Pips. Some people think it’s short for Pipsqueak, but it’s not.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and laughed as he danced a bit more. “He tries to make sure I stay out of trouble. What about you? Got anyone who keeps you out of trouble?”

She hadn’t turned to look back at the avian-creature-being and just shrugged, happily able to talk to herself if the need was there. “I’m sure you understand how much of a pain the can be if you do. But, Pips has earned the right to badger me.”

She shrugged with a grin. “Easily countable objects are sometimes called pips.” Miho gestured to the six spots. “Six easily countable spots. Pips.”

Pips whistled again at her. <<Always this chatty with strangers?>>

“You should know that by now. Strangers are just friends we haven’t met het.” She turned her eyes to the Shani.

“I would certainly hate to find that to not be the case.”

Nox didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

His world had narrowed to the mess of scorched internals and flickering data loops in front of him. Every motion was deliberate - repairs driven not by panic, but by sheer will.

BD-NE sparked again. Still weak, still fractured, but alive.

Leena slid the diagnostic pad closer without a word, her fingers moving in tandem. She adjusted the pulse modulation just as Nox stabilized the input feeds. A quiet sync.

The droid whined - barely audible - but rising.

And then- A soft chime. Power redistributed. Optics lit amber.

BD-NE blinked.

Nox exhaled shakily, for the first time in what felt like hours. He rested a palm gently on the droid’s chassis.

“…Welcome back.”

BD’s head tilted, a quiet questioning beep rising from its vocabulator. Nox smiled.

Still rough. Still in pieces. But still here.

He reached into his coat, pulled out a sealed case, and turned to Leena for the first time since the spike went in.

“Hey.”

He held it out to her. Not ceremonious. Just… real.

Inside: a custom-forged matrix slicer, sleek and dark, etched with Mandolorian-black encryption lattices. Tuned specifically for Inter-planetary Banking Clan vault frequencies. Priceless. Illegal. Beautiful.

“Designed it for this kind of job. Was gonna use it on the next run.” A pause. His voice softened. “You earned it.”

A nod. No more words.

Nox holstered his tools, lifted BD carefully, and stood.

He turned toward the door ‘ but stopped. One hand slid to his hip, fingers brushing the grip of his Maxalan Firepower FWG-5 Smart Pistol. He drew it in one fluid motion, cocked it with a smooth clack-thunk, and glanced down at BD.

“They’re going to pay for what they did to you,” he said, voice low. “I promise.”

And with that, Nox walked out into the station - shadows trailing behind, fire in his chest, and a droid’s soft whirring just behind his shoulder.

Out in the docking yard, a couple ships were in the fueling bay, which was a common sight in the station even if that’s a little slow for this time of day. A Kiffar woman leaned against one of the supported pillars for the rig with her arms crossed. Her gaze shifted around the hustle and bustle of the yard, idly following while she waited for the droids to finish topping off The Lady’s Flower‘s tank. Movement to her right caught her attention. A besalisk had exited his ship and was heading over to presumably sit on the bench nearby.

“An XS Light Freighter, eh?” Diy chirped after a whistle, grabbing the fella’s attention, “Don’t see them too often nowadays.”

“Big Green?”

The name was on point, she thought to herself in amusement as she glanced again at the large green painted freighter. The Besalisk gave her a large grin that may have bested her own. Diy was certain she may have just found her match in the gift of gab.

“I’ve had the old thing for nearly 2 decades, modified a bunch of things over time…” he lists off the various changes, upgrades and tweaks many of which Diy genuinely thought were intriguing. He jerked his head towards her craft, jowls jiggling, “A KST-100 Kessel, yeah? Some good colors on her.”

“Thanks, chose them myself,” Diy hummed.

“I was recently near Kessel, ran into a bunch of lane-blocking spice addicts,” Bax started, clearly he was charging up for some tale telling and that they had introduced each other at some point in their chit chat. “Tried taking some of the goods and threatened my co-pilot. So, I had to give it to them. Let us go really quick after that.” His shoulders shook with his chuckle, “Once they saw we were driving into the Akkadese Maelstrom, they didn’t dare to chase us down.”

…

Oh you motherkarker! .

Bax didn’t ‘give it to them’, he gave it to them – the cargo! A fifth of the shipment from Arx to Dajorra that was lost to the karking Kon D'irin. Diy didn’t know if she was annoyed at the Besalisk for spinning the truth or the headache that group of spicers were.

So she smiled and nodded, chatted a bit more before conveniently slipping away when a droid came and beeped at her that her ship was done fueling.

Davin shrugged slightly, mostly to himself, as he ignored the others at the bar. His attention focused on his datapad still, he actually checked it to see if there were any new messages or if there had been new job postings for him.

Nothing yet. Damn. Oh well, I guess I’ll be getting some rest after all. That’s something at least, he silently mused.

He slipped the datapad away and let out a soft sigh before finishing whatever was left in his glass. Slipping some credits onto the counter and nodding in thanks to the bartender, he pushed the chair back and stood, making his way to where he had noticed the sleeping pods were located earlier. He’d just catch a different shuttle than he originally intended. There should be plenty stopping by here. Then he’d finally be able to get to his own ship and head home.

It had only been a few hours since he had bought himself a used Star Communter shuttle with the profits he had made in the past few months. He had completed a few contracts and been paid for them over the last week or so. The work hadn’t been overly difficult, but the compensation he had recieved more then covered the cost of a shuttle and a new 3PO Droid.

But the problem now was, where would he fuel up and provision his new vessel. He found the nearest full service station with his nav computer and set a course.

25 minutes later, Docking bay

After landing his ship and seeing the dock attendant about refueling his vessel, Kalen then requisitioned some emergency rations, portable power packs, and some tools he might need to repair his new ride from the quartermasters desk. He was told the whole refueling process and requisition package would be ready for him in about 1.5 hours.

After he had secured his ship and recieved a chit for his requisitions Kalen decided to head inside the large station and see if he could find a bite to eat, and maybe pick up a new contract or 2 now that he had his own ship.

His last 2 contracts had been; taking an urgent contract as a pilot on a gunboat heading to discourage some marauders from pillaging an outlying colony, and a 3 week long medical/economic research study on the planet Uvul. But now with his own ship, the variety of contracts he could take on had multiplied.

Kalen wondering into the central section of the station and noted the wild and eclectic mix of species and personalities. Having been stuck, isolated, for so long with a majority human population, Kalen was still adjusting to the wide array of different lifeforms here in his ‘new home’ galaxy.

A Trandoshan who was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere had bumped into Kalen with his shoulder as he barged pass.

Kalen was not comfortable using his force abilities in public to defend himself yet, considering all the muttering he had heard

About the Sith, and Dark and Gray Jedi. So he casually waved in apology and kept moving past the large menacing auburn coloured furry alien.

‘Gonna have to get used to this at some point Kal’ He muttered to himself, as he spotted what looked to be an eatery.

He approached the dinner and momentaroly literally at the entry. Trying to gauge by the smells if he wanted to eat there.

Kalen replied ‘Uh yeah sure…is my Droid allowed?’ He said motioning at his polished silver 3p0 Droid. He was new and didnt talk much unless prompted or if it had a question so far.

The boys asked for the drinks to keep coming and stayed mostly to themselves. While they people watched the other patrons within the bar, the gang began a private Pazaak game amongst themselves, keeping the bets simple, yet each were totally invested.

“Awww come on, that’s the third security detail you’ve won, Vam.” Eddi complained as he shuffled the deck, before dealing them out again.

“Guess I’m just lucky. Besides with Mistress Tahiri out doing more missions, she’s going to need the muscle,” chuckle the Lasat as he waited for the cards to dealt again. “Besides that, Eddi, you know she doesn’t play favorites. She asks that we rotate every week. So, it’s not like I’ll actually be able to get the full three weeks straight of security duty.”

“Right, right. That true, but still how the frack are you winning so much?!”

“Give it a rest Eddi, it’s clear that Pazaak still isn’t your game.” Raz’s smooth melodious laugh was light and warm. A side effect that the alcohol was beginning to loosen him up a bit.

“Why don’t we play a few games of Sabacc? You in Krosk?” Tigrus was feeling better and hadn’t tried to hit on the golden Shistanaven here, even though he could tell that she wasn’t the one he had tried to impress before. He’d decided that he’d try another day, just not today.

“Hmmm? What?” Krosk had a small set of tools set in front of him and was tinkering on a tiny holo-transmitter.

“KROSK!” The other four moaned in unison.

“We’re here to relax, not work. Put you’re tools away, before I take them away,” Vam growled.

“All right, all right.” The Weequay quickly picked up his tools and set them back in his shoulder bag, along with the small project.

“So we all playing Sabacc now?” Eddi waited till everyone had nodded in agreement, before carefully putting away the Pazaak deck and bringing out the other deck.

After a few more hours of playing, drinking, and eating, the squad of five headed back to their ship for a good rest.

Kalen chuckled at the pictures and then proceeded to have a seat and look over the menu, most of it was written in basic. But some of it was written in scripts Kalen didnt even recognize, let alone be able to read.

‘Hey D, what does this say.’ He had started referring to the Droid by the first letter in his Model number. He had opted for an older but refurbished and experienced D-3PO Droid.

D replied gleefully ‘Oh yes sir, as you know, I am fluent in 6.3 million different forms of communication, I have quite alot of experience reading menus for me mast..’

Kalen sighed ‘What do the bottom 2 say’ the Droid complied and read the bottom 2 entries. Kalen decided the first sounded good and ordered one from the lady behind Shistavanen behind the counter.

‘Is there droid shop on the station at all?’

The Droids head swayed back and forth in excitement. He always enjoyed a good grease bath and having his joints greased.

‘Oh thanks. We’ll get you a tune up after I eat D.’ Kalen said.

After eating the succulent and enjoyable meal of mysterious meat and mystery vegetable, Kalen and D had paid their bill and departed. The refresher station had a short line up, and they had been able to get D his joints greased and his circuitry dusted off, they skipped the oil bath though. The line up for that was long as Paige had predicted.

After checking a local information computer he used the ‘Peacekeeper’ chit, to search for local bounties. After completing that first missIon as a pilot on the gunship, his contact, who had been with House Arcona had supplied him with the special identicard. This had been a welcome occurrence as his fraudulent identicard he had bought from a slicer had been starting to draw looks from customs agents.

He noticed that one of his ‘bids’ he had placed earlier had been accepted. He downloaded the information to his universal Bounty puck and made his way back to the hangar with D. Set for their next adventure together.