Peace. Never again would it be so completely than in the first moments of his awakening, when he opened his eyes and stared around him in mute contemplation, without forming a single thought. Everything was perfect, everything was in its place, all was right and just.
Then he found he couldn't really remember why everything was right, or how had he come to be there, or even what was he doing in that place. Peace was shattered, never to return.
Should it mean something? That he was waking up in what seemed like a hotel bed in a cluttered room filled with blankets, turned-over chairs and a table so full of random objects there wasn't space for even one more datapad? Or that the room itself ended almost at the foot of his bed, with a bathroom so small he couldn't get in, or use, unless he left the door open?
Through the window, the sounds of the city filled the room with a cacophonic symphony that in itself explained why he'd woken up. Speeder cars and bikes of nearly every color lined up in dozens of airways that winded through thin skyscraper towers against a completely black sky, whose stars had probably been blotted out centuries ago by the huge 3-D outdoors and light posts littering the landscape. Only a large, yellowish disk shone above, too large for a moon of any safe size, which could only mean that it was a planet, and the city he was in lay on the moon.
Which moon, he couldn't tell. In fact, he could tell almost nothing save for what he saw. He knew nothing of what happened before waking up, or why he was dressed as if he had just been in a hospital. With growing terror, he found out that he didn't even know his own name.
Oddly enough, he knew what things were. The table, for instance, contained data cards and pads of various functions, many of which were credit chips. Taking all of those he could see, he managed to account for fifteen thousand three hundred and forty five credits. That seemed like much, but only in a dull, uninterested sense that he somehow knew that credits were useful, although he didn't really think they were that vital anyway.
Maybe he was a rich person. That would explain it. Maybe he had lived his whole life up to that point in luxury, and never had to worry about credits too much before.
More relevant than the credits, though, were the ID cards. At least twenty-five ID cards, though he noticed four more scattered around the place. That seemed like a lot of ID cards lying about. Too much, actually. In fact, maybe it could mean trouble. He picked up seven of those, the seven that had his face on them. Seven identities, seven names and likely seven backgrounds. Were all of them fake, or was his true identity somewhere in there? Some of the names felt wrong to him: Everron Malkran, Galrus Kalidor, Jyren Khurn, but others seemed to flow a bit easier in his mind's ear: Lui Kal Dana, Iven Lor Fan, Ean Van Tassel. No one name stood out completely right, though, as he would expect from his true name.
He needed a name, though, so he picked one at random. Ean Van Tassel. That's who he was going to be, at least until he found out what was going on with him.
Outside the room, narrow corridors made it almost impossible to walk without stumbling around a multitude of beings from nearly every sentient species, bumping into or pushing someone, yielding him a host of swearing in approximately twenty different languages. All door rooms were numbered, and by the movement of people coming and going he found it a safe assumption to consider this was a hotel. A somewhat run-down hotel, too, given that he himself could hardly fit in his room when lying in bed, and that more than half the people he saw smelled like bath was optional in their lifestyles.
The corridor opened up into a suspended passageway connecting two buildings, one of many such passages that crisscrossed the upper sections of town. Looking down, Ean measured the height of the passageway in something around three hundred meters until floor level, if that thing below was indeed floor level, and not just a very large passageway. Speeder cars passed over and below his passage, and people seemed to crowd everywhere.
So now what would he do? How could a guy with what seemed like a severe case of amnesia find out information about himself in a sprawling, utterly noisy megalopolis with fifteen thousand credits and seven probably fake IDs? Could he even trust someone? Anyone for that matter? He had to do something, but nothing he could do seemed at all effective. To be honest, he couldn't think of anything that would help him. He was more likely to get robbed than to find out any concrete information about himself. But then again, he had to do something. He just couldn't sit still.
A nearby sign read "The oily bantha, Nar Shaddaa's best stake underneath level prime". So, Nar Shaddaa's the name of the place. He knew about it. A city-moon orbiting Nal Hutta, capital of the galactic Hutt Space. Known for its indecent tolerance on crime and for being the preferred port of arrival of ten out of eleven smuggling operations. No deed was too low for Nar Shaddaa… and, maybe, to him as well.
At least now he knew something. He knew he had to leave this place. Anywhere in the galaxy was likely going to be better than staying in Nar Shaddaa.
Luckily, spaceports abound in Nar Shaddaa, both legal and illegal. It would actually be interesting to see what passes for an illegal spaceport in a place like this, but Ean decided to leave this academic curiosity for another opportunity.
One minute on an information kiosk had him enroute of a large local spaceport at walking distance for him. That, in itself, should probably mean something. Maybe he hadn't been long in Nar Shaddaa, and had arrived by way of that same spaceport. If that were the case, who knows, perhaps he would even find in there someone who had seen him.
Half way to the spaceport, Ean suddenly stopped walking. Something changed, though he couldn't tell exactly what. Everything around him still looked like a used-up version of scrap, people still walked both hushed and furtively, and the air still smelled like oil and piss, but there was an ethereal quality to the situation that suddenly changed, and for the worst. Ean halted, struck by a knowledge that simply popped into his mind.
You will be attacked. Now.
So he ducked, and as he did it, a blue blaster shot passed right over his head. People screamed, ran, as more shots followed. The raised passageway became a marathon for survival, and as Ean joined everyone else in darting away from there, a barrage of shots followed him from behind.
Ean jumped over a seat, only to have a shot pass beneath him. He ducked to the side, avoiding three more. Running as fast as he could, turning a corner, he risked a glance at his attackers.
Ten combat droids marched through the street, about thirty to forty meters away from him, but even from that distance, Ean could tell they were aiming at him. More than that. He knew which shots were going to hit him, so as they came, he shifted to his right, and managed to dodge them all.
Every shot he avoided, though, hit someone else. A rhodian fell beside him, shaking uncontrollably. A shot hit an ithorian in the eye and he went down screaming. A human girl who yelled as she ran, got a shot in her back and fell wordlessly.
Ean now ran through the large ramp that would take him into the spaceport. He veered to one side and avoided a shot, rolled to the other and one more shot passed him by. The sounds of the droids faded as he gained distance, but still they gave him chase. The passageways, now tinted in red light due to omnipresent alarms, became a stage for an upcoming all-out slaughter.
Only... not really, because no shot seemed to burn or even harm whomever it hit. Stun mode shots. Not only the droids were after him, they wanted him alive.
Security personnel and guard droids passed him by, and the droid army behind him now had to contend with whatever passed for spaceport security in Nar Shaddaa, likely hired thugs. They did open up space before him, and in the rush of panicked people, Ean ran past the spaceport's security checkpoints and into the gateway aisles. The blaster shots from the droids faded into the background to the point that the screams of panic drowned them. Maybe the droids wouldn't reach him anymore, maybe they would be detained by local security, but Ean would definitely not stay around to find out. He had bought himself precious little time to find a lift out of the planet. He had to use it.
Entering what seemed to be a waiting room with a small bar, he nearly stumbled into a human male that was just drawing his blaster. However, this human male seemed clean, wore a stylish jacket and carried a brand new blaster. Very out of place in Nar Shaddaa. Ean grabbed his arm and said.
"Are you a pilot?"
The human took a step back as he pulled his arm out of Ean's grasp, either because Ean almost charged into him or because the question came out so sudden. He blinked once and answered in a tone that sounded like he replied just because he didn't really had time to think about it.
"Yes."
"Help me." Ean said. "Get me out of here."
The man's eyes narrowed and Ean got the impression he immediately realized the droids were after him.
"I don't hand out free rides, kid."
"Please, you have to get me off this planet!"
"Kid, move along. Find a safe place."
The man shoved him aside and stepped outside the lounge.
"I can pay!" Ean screamed. Amid the carnage that neared them, his voice didn't even sound that loud.
"Really, kid, you should–"
Ean shoved every credit chip he had into the man's chest, and he stopped talking right there. The man ran his eyes through the credits, his expression softening, and even smiled as he looked back at Ean.
"Where to, boy?"
"Anywhere, really, but fast!"
The man looked out into the corridor. Blaster shots still sounded, closer and with less screams between them.
"Over there" The man pointed to a door at the back of the lounge.
"By the way" the man said as he strode though the hall "Name's Londo Zaani."
"Ean Van Tassel."
Ean and Londo shook hands in less than a second as they ran into the hangar bay.