Chapter 3

"Hey." A rough voice made him look up sometime later, when his tears had dried. It was a dark-skinned Zabrak with angry orange eyes. "You shouldn't be hanging around here, human. Get lost."

Hobbie, angered at being spoken to this way and nearly bursting with pain and agony, jumped to his feet. He was nearly glad to be interrupted and to be able to turn the grief threatening to overwhelm him into fury.

"As far as I am concerned," he said concisely, "this is a public area and I am allowed to hang around here for as long as I wish to."

The Zabrak growled, showing sharp rows of teeth. "I am sorry to disappoint you, human," he replied aggressively, "but around here the laws of the New Republic do not apply. Here only the survival of the fittest counts, human."

Hobbie smiled thinly. His blood was boiling and he knew that it was a stupid thing to do, but right now he was itching for a fight, if only to keep his mind off of other things.
"Bring it on, then," he said and lifted his blaster.

The Zabrak sneered, drew a blaster of his own-

"Stop!" A loud voice from another side. Hobbie, never taking his eyes of the Zabrak, saw a human male come from the left. His hands were raised in a placating manner. "Down the weapons, both of you."

The Zabrak growled yet again, but obeyed. Hobbie held the blaster calmly in his hand. He sized the newcomer up- about his height and his age, dark brown hair graying at the temples, a thin scar running across his left cheek and dark eyes underneath heavy-set brows that stared at him challengingly.

"We noticed you before," the man said finally. "What are you doing here?"

Hobbie weighed his words carefully. If a fight with a Zabrak had been a bad idea but one that he would have seen through nonetheless, he stood a much worse chance against the two of them.

"I was sightseeing," he lied.

"You lie," the man told him. "You lived here once, didn't you? There is no other reason for anyone to come here otherwise. After Lord Tion cleansed Ralltiir of all the rebel movements, this area was abandoned, left to its own devices."

Hobbie lifted an eyebrow, darkly amused. "Imperial sympathizers, are you?"

The man smiled unpleasantly. "And I assume you are a Rebel."

Hobbie chuckled mirthlessly. "I am in fact an officer of the New Republic, you Son of a Bantha." With that he delivered a kick to the shins of the Zabrak, swiped his legs out from under him and used his momentum to launch himself at the human. The latter managed to land one or two blows at Hobbie, but he was at disadvantage in the end. Hobbie had been trained for this his entire life. Bashing the man's head hard into a wall- not hard enough to kill him but hard enough to ensure that he would have a healthy headache upon waking- he jumped up and leveled the blaster at the Zabrak who was just trying to rise.

"Don't. Move." He told the Zabrak, then slowly started to back away, his hands finding the opening to a small alley nearly grown over by weed and old vines. He knew the streets here like the back of his hand. This alley had been where he had hidden whenever his father had been in one of his moods- and oh Sith, his father had often been in one of his moods, after Mother had died. It had always been a good idea to be as far away as possible by then.

This alley had been abandoned for a long time- it had been half-way grown over by the time Hobbie had been a youth, yet someone had sometimes made a half-hearted effort to ensure that there was at least the possibility to get through there to the other side if you were willing to squeeze yourself through some tight spots.

Now, however, that option was effectively gone. Hobbie stared at the thicket in front of him and shook his head. Sithspit. His eyes found a tree growing at the side of a house, its branches clinging to the wall. That could work. A few minutes later and a lot of scrapes more, he was located on the roof of a derelict house. Shouts from the street made him pause. He inched carefully to the edge of the roof, tensing upon hearing an ominous creaking sound from the roof and looked down.

A small group of Non-Humans and Humans had gathered around the Zabrak and the man who was still lying on the ground, unconscious. So it was a group of thugs. Wonderful. Hobbie very nearly rolled his eyes. Something that his Mother had once told him came back to him in that moment.


"Please leave the light on, Mamma," he said one evening, blanket drawn to his chest. His Mother's hand hovered over the switch. She let it sink and turned around to him.

"Why, sweetheart?"

"I don't like the dark;" Hobbie said, face burning. He was a big boy and admitting to be scared of anything wasn't one of his favorite things to do. But this was his Mother and so it wasn't so bad. He still reddened a little.

"Everyone is afraid of something, Derek," she said gently, recognizing his look of shame. "That's nothing to be ashamed of. Even the big people are afraid of something, each and every one of them."

Hobbie looked at her with wide eyes. "You too, Mamma?"

She sighed, sitting down at the edge of his bed. "Yes, me too, sweetheart."

"What are you afraid of, Mommy?"

She stroked his hair. "Oh, of many things, Derek. Of losing you, for instance."
His face scrunched up in confusion."I am right here, Mommy."

She laughed a little, tweaking his nose. "And that is a wonderful thing, my boy."

"I will leave the light on for now," she said, getting up.

"What about the noises?"

"Which noises?" his Mother asked, bending down to him in concern.

"The noises of the bad people trying to come into my room and taking me with them," Hobbie whispered.

His Mother mussed his dark blond hair up and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. "There are no bad people, sweetheart. It's just the noise of some speeders passing by in the night. Nothing to worry about, my dear."

She turned to the door, giving him a leaving smile. "Goodnight, Derek."
"Goodnight, Mommy," Hobbie mumbled, somewhat comforted, and snuggled under his blanket. And when the noises came later that night, he recognized them as what they were- just some speeders in the night, passing by.


"Sadly," Hobbie murmured grimly, "those are real villains, no mere speeders passing by this time, Mother."

He crept back quietly, seeing that the group of beings was having an avid discussion. The Zabrak was pointing to the back alley. Hobbie didn't need to hear what they were talking about in order to know that they were looking for him.

He got to his feet carefully and made his way to the other side of the roof. Thankfully the alleys in this part of the city were small, the houses old, remnants from a time when transparisteel wasn't being used excessively for every building. Instead, these houses had been made from opaque stresscrete with few windows or any other translucent areas- thus they provided a measure of cover. Over his head, the buzzing speeder traffic provided a sort of cover, too- his footsteps weren't as loud as they might have been if not for the constant speeder traffic buzz above. Hobbie sighed and eyed the distance between the rooftops. Down on the street, the excited shouting got louder.

Hobbie finally gathered his feet- and his courage- and jumped.

He arrived at the edge of the other house's roof, but only barely. "Oomph," Hobbie gasped, as the wind was knocked out of him. He was literally hanging on to the edge of the roof. Eyeing the ground underneath him that seemed to be very far away suddenly, he grunted a "Well, this is bad," and pulled himself painfully up. His face was hurting from where he had hit the building. He was sure it was going to be a very unattractive shade of purple later on.

The voices had faded in the distance, but Hobbie knew that he was anything but out of danger. Thus, he broke into a run and was quick to arrive at the other side of the house. There was a window ledge visible from the rooftop. Hobbie knew that he had no other choice. Carefully, he lowered himself on said ledge, praying that there was no-one in the room that belonged to the window. Thankfully there wasn't; the windows were blind. Again, he had no option. He eyed the ground below- too far to jump- and finally holstered his blaster, taking a deep breath and hanging on to the ledge. Then he swung forward, crashing through the window with his feet first. He had not planned on being so gung-ho first thing back on his home planet, but this was entirely not his fault. Hobbie came to his feet slowly, checking for damage. Apart from a shallow cut on his hand that stung but was nothing serious, he considered himself lucky to be relatively unharmed.

Why did he always have to run into the bad guys wherever he went? It was just not fair.

But first things first. He took a quick look around- the room he was in. It was shabby and hadn't been used for a long time, judging from the dust that covered the ground. There had been a door at one point, but it had been torn out one day. Hobbie was thankful for that. He had been soldier for long enough to never underestimate the opponent and he knew that, unless they had been sitting on their ears, they must have heard the sound of breaking glass. Thankfully he was as much a home player here as they were and thus he quickly ran down the old-fashioned staircase and out on the street again. Once outside, he broke into a run heading as far away as possible from the thugs. Once he had entered one of the quarters that reminded him of the Cambrielle of his youth- streets clean and impeccable, people meticulously-dressed and houses properly-kept, he allowed himself to slow down.

The Ithorian at the front desk of his hotel stared at him when he finally arrived there, limping and covered in cuts and scrapes, but he handed him some bacta plasters without asking any questions. Thanking him quickly, Hobbie was happy to arrive in his hotel room after that strenuous day. He changed into some other clothes and patched his injuries up the best he could, then sat down in front of the holonet terminal in his room to call Wes.


Wes sounded happy to hear his voice. What on Ralltiir had the guy been thinking? He had never tried to chuck himself out of a window before! Alright, there had been the one time he had in fact fallen out of the window, but that had involved a lot of alcohol and a none-too-pleasant Bothan female- and never mind.

"How are you, Hobbs?" Wes was entirely too enthusiastic. Humoring the crazy man, Hobbie thought sarcastically.

"I am fine." He winced a little and remedied his earlier statement, when he looked at his assortment of cuts and bruises. "Well, not doing too badly I guess. I just nearly got into a fistfight with an entirely too aggressive Zabrak and nearly broke my neck on my escape involving rooftops and windows…but I am not bothering you with that now."

"You did WHAT?" Wes' voice was incredulous.

Hobbie sighed, readjusting one of the bacta plasters. "It was a very interesting day apart from that, Wes. These things happen you know."

"Fistfight?!"

"Yeah. But it was a short one."

"And you threw the first punch."

"Yes."

"Hobbs."

"I know."

"What did Tycho say 'bout that 'relax-stay-calm- even-if-he-is-a -nerfherder'-thingie some weeks ago?"

Hobbie grimaced. "I know."

Wes paused. Hobbie could envision him shaking his head at his antics. Then a few moments later, he said hesitantly: "Hobbie…are you alright? Are you doing fine?"

Again, lying was so easy. Lying to Wes was always a bit harder, but not even Wes could detect the lie over the audio-only channel.

"Of course I am."

"That's good."

No use in telling Wes about what he had learned today. And there was definitely no use in telling him that he kept seeing his dead Mother every time he closed his eyes. Wes didn't even know that Mila Klivian had killed herself when her son had only been ten years old- Hobbie had never told him and he wasn't about to do so now.

"I guess I'll hear from you."

Hobbie sighed. "If I won't get hit by a speeder in the meantime-"

"-Well keep away from speeders then-"

"-or end up as Rancor food-"

"Are there even Rancors on Ralltiir?"

"-or get chased by an angry mob and end up having to go into hiding for at least a month-"

"Keep away from people then!"

"What, Wes, you want me to become a hermit?" Hobbie smirked.

Wes snorted in mock irritation as he realized that he had been caught at his own game. "Sure, Hobbs. You can become a hermit but only if you allow me to sic Shalla on you."

"Shalla?" Hobbie asked, half-way impressed. "Now that's a real threat." And it really was.

"I know." Wes sounded smug. "Now, Hobbs, hear from you tomorrow."

"You will, although y'know, even a hermit can tumble down a ravine and break his neck."

"Only if the hermit's called Hobbie Klivian."

"Wes, you-"Hobbie spluttered in indignation and then ended with a defeated: "You will hear from me. Tomorrow."

Wes laughed: "I am already lookin' forward to it."