With a yawn, Captain Marikk leaned back in the pilot's seat, arms crossed back behind his head as he stared lazily out the front viewport at hyperspace. After they had departed from the Retributer and were safely in transit to their destination, the crew began to part, going their separate ways and spreading out across the ship to both relax and prepare. Despite this, he still wasn't alone there on the bridge. One solitary figure, the ever-loved Commander Mereel, sat quietly over at the forward weapons, shields and sensors station where Sillek generally worked. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head was slightly down and not a sound had escaped the stony military officer, but Marikk wasn't sure if he was napping or keeping watch to make sure no double crosses were going to be pulled. Perhaps a little of both.
He had been tempted to speak with the Imperial several times since they had launched, more out of curiosity than anything, but he had yet to make a move. At only 11 years of age by the end of the Clone Wars, he was still old enough to remember the videos of the Clone Troopers over the Holonet News. They inspired a sort of… awe, he supposed. So honed; so well trained. Though they were men, they moved like machines. He had always wanted to see what ticked within those stark white helms, and though the Commander had to have been raised in the more recent Imperial-era, considering how young he generally appeared in relation to how long ago the Clone Wars had taken place, he was still a clone from the same make as theirs. This man might be a completely infuriating person and a being he wanted to spend as little time with as possible, but, since they were forced to be together, he might as well try to see if he could get beneath that hard surface.
"So, being a Stormtrooper. That's gotta be some job, though I suppose it's in the blood. I mean, you being a clone and all…" Inwardly, the Duros winced and wanted to smack himself on the forehead as soon as the words escaped him. Oh, that was smoooooth… What shall I say next? 'Oh, are you a better shot than most Stormtroopers? I was just wondering since, well, most of them couldn't shoot a flower stuck in their carbine's barrel much less an enemy combatant.' Yeah, that'll really get him to warm up and talk!
"I am what I am," replied Mereel suddenly, in the midst of Marikk's mental chastisement. The fact that he even bother to reply was enough to bolster the Duros' ego to continue.
"So where have you served in your career? There must be some exciting places you've seen."
"'Places' do not get me excited, Captain. I have been from the most opulent of palaces to the most rundown, disreputable of slums to the wilds of known space. They are all the same to me, though some may be more tolerable on the senses."
Marikk was on a roll. Though Commander Mereel's answers were anything but scintillating, he was speaking. Perhaps there was still some tiny sliver of a chance to keep the conversation going. How bizarre. If you had told him the day before that he'd be sitting down to chat with an Imperial Officer on board his own ship, he'd probably say you'd been snorting too much spice. Yet here they were…
"What about your troops? What can you tell me about them?" He inquired again, almost cheerfully now.
"Despite what you might think you know, I pride myself on being…an individual amongst those others who were born from our template. I relish solitude and I do my best work alone. I am not one for idle chatter, or much for even general conversation at that. Now, unless there is more you would like to add to this interrogation, Danar, I will be in my quarters. Until we arrive or unless this ship comes under attack by anything larger than a Star Destroyer, I do not want to be disturbed."
The Captain sighed, his hopes deflating like a gas-filled worrt punctured with a spear. Staring up idly at the ceiling, he listened as the Commander's footsteps distanced until they finally disappeared down the lift tube. At the very least, he could now nap in solitude.
"I wish there were stars…"
The undulating lights of blue outside the ship did little to soothe the fire in Abras's soul, not like the peace of the stars could have. It was an odd habit, but ever since he was but a boy, if he was ever uneasy or angry, all he would have to do is go lie down and stare up at the stars to quell whatever roiled within him. Perhaps his anger right now was supposed to remain, for reasons he could not know.
Resting with his head on his arms, he was lying there sprawled out across the length of his bed within the corner of his darkened quarters, the sounds of some Jizz wailer or another floating in the air in another effort in trying to relax. That, too, was having little effect. As long as that Imperial was on the ship, there'd probably be little relaxation for him.
He shifted where he laid, putting his face towards the wall which his bed rested against, and flinched slightly, out of annoyance rather than physical pain, as the door buzzer called out to him.
"If you're either Imperial or Neimoidian, go away or you'll have a smoking hole in your gut! For anyone else the door is open!"
Abras didn't budge as the door hissed open, figuring if whoever it was had something to say, they could do it just as well with him lying like this as if he was sitting up and facing them.
"You really know how to make a girl feel welcomed, Abras," Shalla called out in a playfully exasperated tone as she leaned in the doorway, light from the corridor flooding the darkness. "Sillek had mentioned you were in a foul mood when I saw him in the lounge earlier. Thought I'd come and see how you were doing, but by the sound of things I don't know if I should come in without a suit of blast armor on."
For the first time since they left the Retributer, the young human chuckled under his breath as he sat up and leaned back against the corner of the room and made available a little extra space on his bunk. "Don't be ridiculous. I may be in a bad mood, but you should know me well enough by now to know that you're always welcome in here."
Both observing his movements on the bed and taking in his comments, the Twi'lek nodded in response to both the spoken and unspoken comments and took up the latter offer to join him. At the side of his bunk, she slipped off her shoes and flopped down onto the offered spot besides him, laying her head at the foot of the bed and placing her feet on the pillow.
"After the Captain told us about our little Imperial 'adventure', I figured you'd probably be fuming and would probably take refuge in here to avoid any… unnecessary confrontations."
Abras glanced down at her at the foot of the bed, one of her lekku falling back over the edge and the other draped over his closest leg, and cracked a small smile. "I swear sometimes I think you can read my mind, my aola."
"After eight years, if I hadn't learned some of your habits by now I'd be quite the unobservant vapor brain," she returned, her face flushing to just off-orange upon hearing aola, the name he had given her not long after they met, meaning 'flower' in Twi'leki.
"You lose track sometimes through the rush of day to day life, especially on this ship. Has it really been eight years already?"
Shalla nodded as best she could while starring up at the ceiling. "As hard to believe as it is, yup. Eight years since that day in your parent's clinic on Commenor, near the starport. I was 12 and you were 17."
"Maybe I'm the vapor brain, then," he chuckled. "I still remember the day clearly… the little yellow Twi girl in her dusty white sun dress hiding bashfully behind her parents as they entered the clinic. I still remember that nervous smile on your face when you peaked out from behind your dad." All at once, the tension seemed to lift from his body as he laughed, remembering those wonderful days of his childhood, though not to say that he was overly advanced in age now, but still, back when he was home with his parents, helping out in the clinic, those were some of his best days. Time passes, though, and things change, too often for the worse. The sudden release dissipated and his forehead furrowed once more as he looked out over the shadowed confines of his slightly unkempt quarters. "We were happy, our families together, working to provide comfort and healing to whoever might need it. Regardless of who they were or whatever their beliefs or standing, if they needed help, they could find it. Not everyone liked that, though."
"The Imperials…" Shalla responded, almost unconsciously, with a sigh, to which Abras nodded grimly.
"Those they called 'rebels' were reported to have come through to be treated as they arrived on Commenor through the starport. Being the closest and most reputable med center in the area, of course they would come to us for help. It's not like they were actively seeking to aid the Rebellion or something. They just wanted to reach out and heal, like any good doctor should. Those dirty….schuttas didn't care, though. They slaughtered them all…without mercy. My parents….your parents….the entire clinic staff there before closing time. They shot them; brutalized and killed them like worthless animals!" His teeth clenched until his gums began to fade white and his face contorted into a sinuous mask, something trapped between seething rage and pitiable, bitter tears. "Those bastards….I will never forgive them for what they have done! For what they continue to do! Animals kill to survive, but they…they are worse than beasts! Even calling them demons would not truly express the hatred that I hide in my heart towards the Empire."
There was a tense silence in the room between them as they both sat caught in the stinging grips of the past. Their emotions hung heavily and mingled wordlessly between them there as they sat in the quiet, but feeling Shalla lay her head against his legs, as if she were looking for comfort, ebbed his own dark side a little at a time back into its cage.
"We would be dead now, too, dear soul, if you hadn't taken me to the trading outpost to shop that day. And even if we had been there, what could we have done?"
"We…I….could have done something," He muttered, almost breathlessly. "Maybe I could have saved them…"
She lifted her just slightly, enough to catch his attention, and looked over him with comforting eyes. He knew what she was saying with words even being necessary. What could two children have done in the face of such horror? As she had said before, their survival was their destiny. There were still things left for them yet to do in the great tapestry of the history of the universe, but to take hold of their future, they couldn't be stuck grasping onto what-if's.
"We were alone in the world after that day, but you took charge and protected me, provided for me. You gave yourself to the shadows of the galaxy all to save me from seeing it myself." She paused momentarily, deliberately, before continuing. "With your feelings of hate for the Empire, have you ever considered ever joining the Rebellion yourself, Ab? Fight the Imperials head on?"
"I won't say I haven't considered it before. I've known a few friends over the years who have packed up and joined up with the rebels, but it's not for me… not yet, at least. I don't want to fight in this whole grand idealistic cause their organization is going for. Besides, if you think about it… most of the leaders of this rebellion were former Imperial bigwigs itself. It seems too much like internal squabbling and petty power struggles. It leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth." Glancing over towards a small chair of the far side of the room, his eyes caught a glance of his leather jacket, holster and blaster slung over its back. "Anyway, Captain Marikk needs our help, and for all that he's done for us in the past, it's him that deserves our loyalty now. He and everyone else here hold no love for the Empire either, just like billions of others across the galaxy. Our story is just a little more personal than the others' are. I can't turn my back on Marikk now. We'll continue to stand together and take the fight to the Imps in our own way, the way this crew always has."
Shalla smiled lightly and caught eyes his gaze once more before pulling herself up closer to him and laying her head down again on the comforter. "Whatever you decide, Abras, know I'll stand with you and follow you regardless of the consequences. I just can't wait 'til this whole situation is over."
A cascade of palm-sized metallic food packets cascaded to the deck plating in a silent avalanche. Setting the front of the crate down at his feet, Dormanin began to rifle through the inside of the crate and its contents, as he had done more times than he could have counted thus far, before inspecting all sides of its outer walls.
"This one, too, is clean," his translator declared with a hint of a strident whine in its speech.
And with that, the inspection continued. No, that was not entirely correct. Though it was true that the distrust of anything Imperial warranted the close inspection of the crates to make sure there wasn't anything suspicious, be it tracking device, explosive or what have you, it was also true that the Nova Hound wasn't a large ship. They needed every inch they could get and if they were being given a large supply of rations such as this, they might as well take inventory of what they received before storing it away. So, while inspection for danger was their primary goal and the inventory but a secondary reality of their situation, it also provided a feasible alibi if the Commander decided to come down and poke his nose around.
Finished with his current crate, Dorm lifted the panel he had removed for its side, placed it back firmly in its place and glanced about to Leda and Obbeo as they went about similar procedures before he moved on to the next. So far they had made their way through about three-fourths of the supply so far with just a small stack of ration crates remaining.
"Oh, this is just horrible! The Imperials are cruel task masters indeed! How horrid!"
Pulling his head back out of his current crate and with upraised eyebrow, the Vurk mechanic glanced over towards Obbeo, who held a ration packet in one stubby blue hand and a datapad in the other, all the while wrinkling his trunk in an overdramatic display of grief. "What? What is it? Did you find something wrong in the inventory?"
"No, no, the inventory is going fine. It's this," the Ortolan proclaimed as he waved the packet about in the air, "that is the source of my grief and my ire! How, by the kitchens of Coruscant, am I supposed to incorporate these substandard ingredients…these rations… into my fine cuisine! It's unthinkable! It's…it's heresy!"
"Surely it can't be that bad, Obbeo," chimed Leda from behind the last stack on the far end of the vestibule."
"Oh, it's that bad! What in space am I supposed to do with," he paused momentarily and squinted as he read the package, "'Dehydrated nerf meat'? I'm a highly respected culinary artist, not some slop chef on Nar Shaddaa!"
Both Dorm and his droid companion exchanged quick glances, the former letting out a sigh and heaving his shoulders. "I truly feel for your…. 'plight', my friend. I know first hand that working with substandard parts while trying to make an optimally operational machine is a frustrating endeavor. An exercise in futility, perhaps, but we must make due with the lot that has been placed before us and hope that brighter days, or in your case finer food, lies ahead of us at the end of this operation."
There was silence as the Ortolan chef took in those words, glancing down at the datapad and the packet and sighed to himself before returning to his inventory. "To think, I had such an up and coming career all those years ago, and now look at me."
"You know, you almost sound like Loon talking like that, Obbeo."
The Ortolan's blue brow furrowed deeply as he glanced across the vestibule, yet at the same time there was a bit of play in his voice. "Please, bite your tongue, Dorm."
Again, there was a brief silence as they once more focused on their individual crates, but it didn't take long until a pair of chuckling voices echoed within the chamber's confined space. Cocking her head, Leda glanced over and observed the two of them as they laughed to themselves, bemused, and then let out a chortle of her own. If things continued on with the same intensity as she had observed amongst the crew thus far, this would be a rare sight indeed for the foreseeable future.
Even with his jacket, the air was surprisingly cold when the doors of the lift tube hissed open to reveal the bridge corridor. Stepping lightly as he exited, Craeldo glanced about curiously as he made his way towards the cockpit. He'd been on this bridge countless times before over his tenure, but with the lighting dimmed as it was now, the space had a most… unnatural ambience to it. It was hard to explain, even to himself, but with the soft glow of the monitors from the ship's systems, the small amount of lighting still on along the ceiling and deck, and the ambient aura of hyperspace coming through the front viewport, the bridge lost its usual comfortable atmosphere. Maybe it was just the overall uneasiness present on the ship and amongst its crew, but something was off… and making him feel incredibly anxious.
The Rodian made his way quickly into the cockpit at the forward end of the bridge, keeping his scaly obsidian long jacket pulled tightly around his form. There, in his chair centered squarely to the ship's main console, Captain Danar was sprawled out in his chair asleep, his mouth hanging open and a small dribble of saliva running down his chin. At the sight of this, Crae was hard-pressed to keep himself from falling over laughing and didn't know whether to wake his friend so that he couldn't straighten himself up or take a quick holo for use as blackmail later. Out sympathy and respect, he decided to forego the holo, for now, and gave Marikk a firm shake on the shoulder.
"Wakey wakey, Cap'n. Time to return from sleep to the harsh wonder world of reality."
"Such a wonderful greeting, Crae" the Duros grumbled incoherently as he began to almost slither up straight in his seat. "What? What's wrong? Did we crash into a super nova?"
"No no, nothing quite so extra crispy as that." Craeldo smirked slightly, pointing one suction cup-like finger towards the dribble on the Captain's chin, which was quickly wiped away by one blue jacket sleeve. "To the contrary, I have some rather good news. I managed to book as a new gig on some planet called Dubrillion after this Imp hunt is over."
One brow lifted curiously as Marikk glanced up toward the dark blue-hued Rodian. "What kind of job is it?"
"Just the usual retrieval-type operation. Nothing to write home about, but at least it should bring in a good wage."
Slipping his hand into his jacket, Crae withdrew a small datapad containing the details of the operation from a pocket within the lining and handed it to the Captain. With considerable haste, Marikk scanned over the file quickly, nodding to himself, before switching it off and squeezing it down beside him in the seat.
Caught off guard by the almost lackadaisical way that he had gone through the material, a slightly concerned look flashed across the Rodian's features. "Something wrong, Marikk?"
"Have you had the chance to meet him yet?"
"You mean Commander Sunshine?" Crossing his arms, Craeldo turned and leaned back against the side of the chair. "Yeah, I saw him in the corridor near the lower staterooms earlier carrying two rather large metal cases. Even for a Stormtrooper he has such a sparkling personality. I've probably met feral Akk dogs that were more inviting."
"Mmm, his interpersonal skills do have much to be desired. I tried to be friendly with him and strike up a conversation some time ago, but the way he reacted, you think I had a spotlight in his eyes and my pistol in my hand. He barged off the bridge, stating that," Marikk cleared his throat and contorted his face into an unusually terse expression, at least for him, as he went into his imitation of Mereel. "'I'm going to my quarters and I don't want to be disturbed until we arrive' because I'm a slope-browed, fang-toothed warrior supreme who simply can't possibly be bothered with such lower life forms such yourselves."
Snout wrinkled up and wriggling as he tried to contain his laughter, Craeldo's eye began to water until he just couldn't hold it any longer. "Ah yes…yes….that definitely sounds like the guy I saw earlier. Most definitely!"
"I'd seal him in that room if I could without getting us vaped," Danar quipped, a wry grin crossing his lips.
"No doubt, Cap'n. No doubt."
"Hey, Crae," Marikk interjected suddenly, throwing the conversation into a one-eighty. "Have you happened to hear from Dorm or Obbeo- -"
"Captain Marikk…"
Before Marikk could finish or Craeldo could respond, the synthetic voice of the Vurk's translator called out over their comms.
"Speak of the Sithspawn," joked the Duros Captain as he reached down and snatched his commlink from his belt. "This is Marikk, go ahead Dorm."
"Yes, Captain, I just wanted to fill you in on our progress thus far. Leda and I have finished inspecting the crates and have found no signs of suspicious materials. Unless they hid something in the food itself, we are clean. Obbeo is making headway into the inventory and we're about to join him. It should take us half an hour to an hour or so to finish, sir"
"Though it'd go faster if some blue buffoon would get off his duff and help us!" Leda barked from the background, wanting to get her barb in before he master finished speaking.
Marikk and Craeldo exchanged glances and laughed slightly in self-defeat at the repair droid's comments. "She's got your number, Mare."
"Aye, I always wonder how long it will be before I find her standing over my bed in the middle of the night with a laser welder." Glancing at the comm quickly, he made sure the call button wasn't pressed down or else he might have given Dorm's unstable assistant any ideas. A wave of relief went over him when he found that it hadn't been activated when he made his comment, and then went on with the conversation at hand. "Get all that done as soon as possible, Dorm, and get it stored away. We shouldn't be long out of the Varsene system and I want everything organize before we arrived."
Almost as soon as the words escaped his lips, though, the navcomp began to bleep rapidly and a slow whine sounded from the ship's engines as the hyperdrive disengaged and they found themselves soon reverting back into real space. As the waves of blue peeled away and the sight of stars soon recaptured their surroundings, both Marikk and Craeldo stood there slack jawed at what they saw sitting squarely ahead in the near distance.
"What was that, Captain," came Dorm finally, breaking the tense silence that had taken hold of the bridge. "It sounded like the hyperdrive just shut down."
"That's because it just did. Dorm, I'm afraid the inventory is going to have to wait for now. We've got trouble."
Glancing up towards Craeldo with a look of surprise and perhaps a bit of anxiety in what were generally cool, composed features, the Rodian almost seem to anticipate the Captain's request and sprinted back to the communications station, nearly leaped into his chair and activated the ship-wide comm system while Marikk prepared himself at the navigational controls.
"This is Craeldo to all aboard, we have a bit of an emergency, people. All crew members to their stations immediately, if not sooner! Also, Commander Mereel, please report to the bridge!"
The comm officer craned his neck back into the corridor and looked up towards Marikk, who also managed to glance back at him while working frantically at the controls before both returned their gazes out at the front viewport. It looked like the fun and games were going to begin a little earlier than expected.
Thin plumes of steam rose from the ceramic cup that sat square in the center of the chamber's floor, performing their dances of death until they at last faded into oblivion. Eyes closed and hands on his knees as he leaned down upon them in a meditative pose, Sillek let a sigh escape him before slowly inhaling and taking in the scent of the herbal tea.
Ever since he locked eyes with that man, if such a being could even be called a true man, his mind and his being had been locked in unrest. Too many bad memories… a past bloodied with idealism and deceit, and the gleaming sword he carried that was key to it all. It had been decades since he had seen one of the clones' ilk and this was far too soon to see one again. Just the sight of him caused that hidden specter within to try and reach its obsidian tendrils into the present. Thus, it was best if he stayed here, alone, and tried to seal that ghost of the past back into oblivion.
Again, with a steady rhythm, the Quarren begin the two-step process: exhale; inhale.
There was one point in the past, when he had first picked up his sword, where he had meant the man from which these clones sprang, the hunter Fett, and his young son, Boba. Despite the light in which his profession was held, there was something about the Bounty Hunter… a nobility to him. There was an old saying that seemed slightly appropriate for him. He was "a good man that did bad things."
If Jango was a slice hound, though, these clones were nothing more than house broken lap dogs. Bred to be obedient; killing even if it went against what they personally wanted. They were biological droids with a spark of ingenuity, that's all. No more human than the blasters they carried. In his thoughts, anyway.
Pausing in his thoughts, Sillek began once more to exhale when the peace of the moment was broken by a violent rocking that took hold of the Nova Hound. Wordlessly, his eyes snapped open and he rose to his feet, quickly slipping on his boots and taking sword and sheath to his side. As soon as he was prepared, Sillek made his way towards the door when another quake tossed the ship about. Glancing back, his eyes locked once more on his cup of tea, now lying on its side, its contents bleeding onto the floor.
Tentacles held tersely and eyes narrowed as he looked over the pool, he turned and quickly made his way into the corridor.
"I have a bad feeling about this."