Sometimes Obi doubted the wisdom of his plans, he always looked with skepticism at plans concocted by other people.
"Who came up with this stupid plan anyway?" he complained, staring glumly at the game board before him.
"You," Sister also studied the game, "It's your turn," she reminded him.
"Here we are, stuck in this tiny, hot, cramped, sweltering, dingy, sweat inducing ship that Chex borrowed—"
"You borrowed," inserted Sister.
"With nothing better to do than sweat and pretend I understand the rules to this overly complicated game—"
"Guess who chucked the instructions out the garbage shoot in a fit of confusion?" interrupted Sister. She was out of sorts also, susceptible to heat and long repeated lists of annoyances.
"And all for what?" Obi decided to ignore her intrusion into his rant, "Why are we doing this? So Maverick can find some fancy shmansy, worthless and completely useless jedi cube."
"Holocron."
"Whatever." Obi moved one of his pieces, but the game board flashed red as a buzzer sounded.
Slapping the table in frustration, Sister raised her voice, "You can't move that piece diagonally, how many times must I tell you? It's the pointy ones who move that way." She undid Obi's move and the game-board fell silent. Now Sister leaned back, her energy spent.
Obi's hand strayed to the box, wordlessly asking if the game was over. Silently they cradled the pieces in the correct foam slots. Unexpectedly, Sister tensed, "Someone is coming."
Matching her quiet, low tone he asked, "What?"
Correctly assuming he meant something along the lines of, "How do you know that?" Sister replied, "I can feel the vibrations," and looked at where her arm came in contact with the metal beside her.
Doubtfully Obi reached out to touch the wall, then slid his fingers up to the ceiling; he could feel someone cautiously walking across the roof towards the only functioning entryway, a narrow circular hatch reached by a rusty ladder.
"You felt that?"
Sister nodded.
"What do we do?" the young man whispered, knowing that as Sister was the designated pilot, she had final say while aboard their borrowed craft. Naturally, he also didn't give a hill-of-beans as to whether she held command or not, he would do as he saw fit. Still, it didn't hurt to ask.
Now Obi could hear someone fumbling with the hatch, and he wished that the ship had a better anti-intruder system. Before rushing to arm himself, Obi stopped to take note of what surrounded him, what he could hide behind, what he could use. In his peripheral vision the young man saw Sister reach for the two blaster-pistols strapped to the underside of the table. She set them to stun, extending her left hand to place a gun in his open right palm. Inwardly, Obi rolled his eyes. The Siblings were gentle by nature, and now was not the first time he wondered what had pushed them into this harsh reality.
"Don't fire until you see who it is," instructed the girl.
"Just great," though Obi, "I really wanted to give the other guy another advantage. I guess it could be—"
Unexpectedly, his brain told him that his eyes were watching Sister clamber up into an empty overhead luggage rack near the working ceiling hatch. "What are you doing?"
"Positioning myself in a location providing a good vantage point, an unexpected location, and a clear shot."
"Obi could hardly hear her over the ever increasing noise emanating from the hatch. Above him, he guessed that the person was bashing the door with a hammer. A moment of absolute silence came unexpectedly. As Obi's ears stopped ringing he heard and recognized a sound, yet couldn't place it. Moments later the hatch fell to the floor of the ship with a startling clang, its red hot edges reminding the young man that the soft sound was that of a cutting torch…