The mid-way space port between Avada and Torren was a small, grimy place with only ten launch pads, contrasting miserably to the usual hundred of even a small-level port, located on-orbit of Mira-Day, a beautiful but poor Mid-Rim world. This port was usually used for cheep-fare transfers from the Mid-Rim to the Outer-Rim. Most ships departing from said port were cargo ships, with the exception of those docking on the two pads in a cut off section, molded and shaped to fit nothing larger than a fighter. These pads were usually booked ahead of time by wealthy customers, most of them pirates, slavers, or shady businessmen, usually in the dealing field, who arrived in their small, agile, silent ships in order to make an unseen transfer. They would come and leave within an hour, having settled their business in one of the back rooms. The next thing the HoloNet would report would be the coordinated attack of a passenger ship, or the kidnapping of a child from a wealthy family by suspected slavers. This was a new trend: kidnapping children from aristocratic families not for ransom but to be sold into the "pleasure" field of slavery.

The waiting areas teemed with passengers who would later be crammed into small rooms, usually four people per room – a couple per room was rare and private rooms were usually too expensive for anyone traveling in this manner – and shipped off to whatever their next destination was. It was no secret that the few private rooms that did exist on board these ships were usually occupied by slavers; their slaves stored below in the cargo hold where they would be counted as another bag carried on board rather than a passenger. They were harder to trace for authorities this way.

The thirteen year old boy crowding in line for a transport with the rest of the dirty, odorous, cursing beings was a strange sight. He stood as though isolated from the on-going chaos with his traveling bag hanging over his shoulder, dressed in a tightly fitted black jacket – it was well kept but somewhat worn, mostly noticeable by the faded color of once-shiny silver buttons – blue denim pants, also somewhat worn, and long necked boots which were new but cheep. He was clutching his ticket and identification documents in one hand and holding a newspaper in the other. He scanned the headlines: murder, assassination attempt, peace conference, sports' latest, kidnapping... The boy's eyes stopped on the kidnapping headline and he was about to start reading but was interrupted by a shrill voice calling for the next batch of passengers to come through the tourniquets into the boarding area. The boy rolled up the newspaper and stuffed it into his bag.

"Ticket and identifications documents," the large oaf of a Fuatt, a close cousin of the Tatooine Hutts, demanded, eyeing the thirteen-year-old with a predatory kind of suspicion and contempt.

"Fedia Dmitriov. Destination: Torren. Traveling privately," the boy intoned flatly but not without a defiant self-assurance glinting in icy blue eyes.

The Fuatt looked over the documents with a cursory, disinterested glance – no one in this port cared much about forgeries or "borrowed" papers – and looked up sharply when he heard that the boy was traveling "privately." A sickeningly sugary smile pasted itself on the Fuatt's face. "Will there be cargo, young gentleman?"

Fedia grimaced at the implication. "No."

"Very well. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Dmitriov. "

Fedia snatched back the torn off stump of his ticket and his identification papers and headed toward the ramp in a huff. Kriffers, he thought with venom unusual for a boy of so few years. They hear I have a room all to myself and they instantly think of human goods. Vile brats. I'd almost rather take a normal shuttle…if it wasn't for the cost…oh, damn it all!

At least he was going home. Back to his mother. Back to his sister. After all these months! He merely hoped Gale hadn't gotten much worse; his mother wouldn't speak of her illness to him much while he was away. But now it would be alright. Now he had actual money. In gold too.

Fedia's gambling and card talents had taken him across the galaxy from his current word of residence – Elnore – to Solsages, known as the gambling capitol of the Outer Rim. Coming straight across the galaxy through Coruscant would have been the fasted way of getting home and the easiest at that. However, Fedia knew that Inner-Rim transport prices were ridiculously high, especially with anything that went through the Core Worlds. He had the money for it now but he wanted to save it. For Gale. Force knew they didn't have much money back home. So he took the longer, more demanding trip around the Outer Rim. From Solsages he took the shuttle to Marabeth and then another transport that took him to the mid-way port between Avada and Torren. Here he left the transport which was continuing on to Naboo and took the transport to Torren. From there he would only be a parsec ftom home and would take a regular passenger transport, given that the fare hadn't come up in price since he last looked. It was all thought out and as cheep as he could make it without the trip being unreasonably unbearable. He was of a good family after all. Two things Fedia hated the most: a lack of privacy and being considered by anyone as third class. There he drew the line.

His mother hated it that he had taken to gambling and cards. She said he went after his father who was the reason for their financial woes, according to his mother. But Fedia knew – was convinced – that his father had been an honorable man. A man who died defending his honor and his family's honor. Fedia remembered very little of the circumstances surrounding his father's death. It had been several years ago and he had been very young. He knew his father died in a duel with a snobbish aristocrat but even that snip of information he had gotten from what he was able to overhear from the conversations of grownups while standing outside the kitchen or parlor door. His mother gave him little explanation of his father's death; she merely said it was his "choice of entertainment and friends" that led to the tragedy. Fedia knew that there were things that his mother wasn't telling him and as long as she clammed up he wouldn't abandon the only way he saw to help his family – cards, gambling, and all that wild poodoo.

Fedia would have headed for his quarters but he hadn't eaten since that morning and he decided to head down for something to eat. The ship food, thought it tasted like plastic most of the time, would most likely be safer than the suspicious looking meat sandwiches they sold at the port bar. The ship was made of four levels. The top two levels were for passenger quarters with the smaller, more private, rooms on the top floor. The second level was used for the cafeteria, bar, escape pods, a small hanger bay, and one of the four large cargo holds on the ship. The lowest level held the cargo holds, engine power cores, and food and supplies storages. Fedia took no notice of the people passing him, took no notice of the excitement that seemed to penetrate the air, as at all departures. The shop cafeteria had not opened yet and that fact only sharpened Fedia's overall annoyance. He was sick of the Outer Rim. Sick of the sordidness of life here. Even Elnore – though rich in nature and soft spoken in customs – has that taint of a lawless, dishonorable environment. Staying at Solsages bad proven to him once and for all how harsh the galaxy was. You couldn't get anything in this life through honestly, loyalty, honor. The only thing that mattered was power and money. Mainly money because one with money would always have power. Attaining money was best done by the most sordid means, of course: lies, betrayal, depravity. A man with little means has only two choices in life: live by a code of goodwill and be trampled or throw moral to the wind and rise above them all. Maybe the rich could afford sentimentalities and to indulge in the game of wrong and right. The rest would have to decide how low was too low.

All this frustrated Fedia to the most. He wasn't dishonorable by nature but the driving need to support his mother and sister, to achieve something in life, pushed him beyond morality from time to time. He knew what he wanted and he would stop at nothing to get it. Solsages had completed his immersion into the world of the Outer Rim that he hated so much. He had gambled, he had played cards, he had dueled, he had settled deals in back rooms. He had lied, calculated, cheated, betrayed allies… But in the end his reward was money. The money that he needed for Gale.

Gale. His dear, loving sister. He would sell his soul for her. In a way, he already had.

The corridor leading up to the repulsor lift that would take him up to the fourth floor was crowded due to a hold up that had occurred at the cargo ramp. Fedia pushed through the crowed of gawking spectators to see what the commotion was all about. The stairwell leading to the bottom floor was filling with the ships live cargo as they were escorted from the cargo ramp down to the holds by a convoy of guards. There were not a lot of passengers on this level as the boarding ramp led to the third level and most beings were busy settling in their rooms, but the few people that had come down for one reason or another to the second level stood gapping at the procession of human positions. Most came meekly, their heads down and eyes staring blankly at the floor. There was a young boy among them, though, who seemed to be causing the hold up. He was crying and protesting, shouting something in Francian in between sobs and attempts to wrench himself out of the guards grasp. Fedia new a good amount of Francian yet the boy's words were so slurred that Fedia couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He obviously hasn't realized yet how useless it is for him to protest, went through Fedia's mind as he watched the boy fall to the ground as one of the guards struck him across the face.

As soon as the thought came, an intense anger filled him. How could all these no-good, scummy, idiots stand here and watch this? It was one thing to not do anything about it if nothing could be done but to watch this? And with such interest? His anger spiraled as the unspoken protests gushed from his heart only to be clamped down on once they reached his throat. His hatred spread then not only to the spectators but to the child as well. Why must the damn kid make a scene? Doesn't he realize it's useless!

Finally, Fedia's patience exploded. "What are you all staring at you…" No appropriate word in Basic came to his mind so he settled for a Rushanian insult instead. "You rezyebai chortavi!"

The small crowd turned on him with an ominous hum but Fedia didn't care for a fight. He elbowed his way through the remainder of the crowd and marched past the cargo ramp where the guards were restraining the still struggling boy and toward the lift. As he passed, the boy tried to grab Fedia's sleeve, but Fedia shook him off, dumping the sobbing child to the ground and marching off.

No, there was no justice in the galaxy. No decency ether. But what concern was that of his?

How old was that kid? Eight? Seven maybe? Fedia shook his head. He had more important, more personal things to think about than some random kid. He couldn't possibly save all the slave children of the galaxy. Force knew there were hundreds of them on Torren and Tatooine alone. That one kid didn't matter in the scope of things. His family – that mattered. A trusted friend or two – that mattered to an extent. This kid? No, no, Fedia thought to himself, shutting his eyes briefly, I won't think about it. I'd go crazy if I started thinking about everything like this that I came across. I won't worry about it.

And for the time being – he didn't.