Prologue: Transient
Yeah, she definitely smelled.
Not having spent a minute in the refresher before rushing to catch the shuttle right after her final shift, Solande Can'ast was beginning to regret not taking just a little more time to prepare for travel. A few discreet sniffs down her shirt revealed one of her greatest fears: the beginnings of ripening humanity.
One year on the dirty, rough, and corrupt surface of Eriadu was enough. She had no desire to waste a second more than necessary lingering within the cheap and paper thin confines of what passed for accommodation at work. Solande wasn't particularly fussy; years of roaming the oft slipshod conditions of the Outer Rim had taught her much of rough living. Night after night listening to the sounds of 'heightened' enjoyment coming from as far as three units away, however, was enough to drive even the hardiest of journeymen insane.
What happened to that finicky slip of a girl from not so long ago? she silently asked. Heh, she died along with everyone else, after all.
Grinding her teeth at the bitter moment of reflection, she angrily pushed away the self-pitying sentiment that was threatening to stimulate her tear ducts. A glance up at the chronometer revealed that yet another twenty minutes had passed; forty minutes past arrival time, and her transport off this rock had still not appeared. Figures I'd be just in time for the shuttle only to be stuck on this station with nowhere to clean up. And it's bloody cold. With no time to unpack something heavier and too lazy to do it now, she just sat there and shivered, only an old tank top and drab polymesh warm-up between the chill air and her thin body.
Bored, hungry, and annoyed, Sol decided to start asking questions. Swiping up her duffel bag, she turned and nearly collided with a disheveled old vagrant, who reeked of stale beer. She swallowed a gasp of surprise and scowled at him. "Ah, there now lass. Could you spare a few credits for a stranded old fella?" he asked, peering up at her with watery old eyes. Solande grit her teeth in irritation, really not wanting to give the beggar anything. Resentfully, she dug through a pant pocket and fished out a few credit chips that she dropped into his outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she brushed roughly past him and walked briskly towards a nearby ticketing office.
"Odd," murmured the Twi'lek at the desk. Deftly tapping at her console with long, sharp looking nails, she navigated through menus and scanned entries, lips moving as she silently mouthed what she read. Solande tapped out a beat with an index finger on the desk and glanced around, waiting for a response. A tall and hairy fellow wearing grease smeared maintenance coveralls wandered around the corner, wiping his nose. He coughed, hawked loudly then spat a large gob of phlegm onto the dull steel floor and licked his lips. Get me the hell away from this place. She shot him a disgusted look that he didn't see and probably would have ignored if he had.
"Soland Canast?", said the Twi, giving her an inquiring look. "Sol-ahnd Can-ahst," was the absent reply. Facing the Twi, Soli caught a brief arching of the clerk's brows at being corrected, and felt her face warm a little. She hadn't meant to come off sounding rude. "Yes, well, it appears there was a mistake made with your boarding pass," and Solande felt a brief stirring of panic. "It's all right, though, you're listed here for a ship departing in about eighteen minutes. Gate nine," she added before offering the pass back with a small, uncertain smile. Relieved, Soli smiled with warmth. "Thank you very much," she said with genuine gratitude, and was pleased to see the Twi's smile widen. While Solande didn't suffer fools and made that plain in her daily interactions, the poor clerk had been nice, and deserved a little good will.
The walk wasn't a very long one, so Solande strode along at an easy pace, brain going into auto-pilot as her mind started to wander. She hadn't decided where she'd go, exactly; the Rimma Trade Route offered several opportunities to a wayward traveler such as her. Sluis Van, with its cleaner, more professional tech industry and less corrupt infrastructure seemed the most attractive. Over the past couple of years, however, the oppressive loneliness that comes with exile had begun to take its toll. More than a few red eyed sleepless evenings curled up in bed and stim-induced benders had contributed to a feeling of sad longing, longing for a place to belong again and perhaps feel loved. Various intimate encounters she'd had over the years had been just as empty and soulless as her journeys, and pride had kept her from trying to find the kind of intimacy she wanted. But it wasn't that kind of belonging she had in mind right now, even though the prospect of settling down somewhere with a family was a painfully warming image. She'd pondered stopping at Sullust and finding a ship bound for the Core. Her father had passed away long ago, and as far as she knew her mother had moved back to Anaxes alone. After all these years, perhaps she'd be welcomed there.
Homesickness. Hah, enough pride stripped away to allow that bit of insight.
Nearing a junction where a large number nine was painted on the floor, she eyed four men lounging around talking and laughing with one another. They were wearing Republic Army uniforms. Republic troopers? Here? Her pace slowed imperceptibly while she studied them, covertly looking for sidearms. They weren't carrying anything- they weren't even sporting their teardrop-shaped helmets, and they seemed completely engaged in their raucous discussion. Dismissing them momentarily, she continued past and entered the Gate Nine walkway. A tiny kernel of suspicion formed when further down the deserted passage sat a figure that appeared to be the tall phlegm-hawking fellow Solande had noticed earlier. He was leaning against the wall, sallow cheeks contracting as he puffed away on a thin cigarra. He coughed violently and hawked again, this time swallowing whatever nastiness his lungs had expelled and grossing Soli out even more than previously. As before, he completely ignored her. Brows furrowed, she peered out one of the large viewports located closer to the actual gateway and was greeted by a sight that made her stop in her tracks.
A Hammerhead-class cruiser.
There was no mistaking the red and white markings; the large sensor and communications arrays; the imposing bridge-mounted turbolasers. A Republic warship docked at a minor orbital transit station? Something is definitely wrong, and belatedly she wondered at the maintenance worker's presence. Stepping back, she turned around and bumped right into the old vagrant from before. She stared at him, this time unable to suppress a small yelp of surprise. Confusion turned to fear as the tall cigarra smoker stood up and regarded her calmly a few meters away, a small blaster gripped in one hand.
With friendly, watery eyes and a reassuring smile, the vagrant spoke. "Aye there lass. Not to worry."
He was amazingly fast. Soli had only managed to raise her arms in a futile gesture of self-defense before a gloved hand shot out from beneath his tattered grey overcoat and gripped her neck. Gasping in shock, she grabbed his wrist with both hands, then felt something pierce her skin. Nausea gripped her stomach almost instantly, she was overcome by dizziness, and her limbs turned to jelly.
Soli dropped to the floor like a sack.
The last thing she saw through blurred vision before passing out was the polished boots of Republic troopers walking towards them.
No homecoming for me...