Chapter Twelve

Two weeks passed before Hyperion and Menelaus truly needed to get a move on but the latter had decided to get on the road about three days after absorbing the specter. Aside from wanting to surprise Inoy and the other Jedi by being gone, it was also going to be a long walk across open fields where the gunship would hold advantage. The closer to town they were by the time that Inoy figured out that he and the others had been duped, the more likely they'd have to land the gunship in order to have a chance of effectively stopping the duo. To make time, the two resolved to travel in all the coldest hours and rest only during the warmest parts of the day. That gave them sixteen standard hours of travel time and eight in which they could set up camp, rest out of the wind, then travel again through the open fields.

Since the warmest hours were also the most windy, it made sense not to travel during them and instead move when the breeze was steadier. Plus, the friction of their movement (thanks to the planet's gravitational field) would allow them to regulate their own temperature. Menelaus, lacking a connection to the Force, needed more layers where Hyperion could use Force Temperance to keep no more than a light jacket on at all times. He also dropped it long enough to use Force Sight to make sure they were headed on the right path. Sure enough, two weeks of this brought them fairly close to the nearest town by the time there was any sign of the gunship coming.

On the bright side, the city that they were approaching the capital city of Ando Prime known as Elesa. It had a spaceport and it also had a safe that Hyperion had made payments for to last a lifetime on almost every remaining credit he'd had. Inside was his old armor and lightsaber which he'd hidden away about a year or so into his stay on Ando Prime, hoping he would never have to use any of them again. Even so, he had a lifetime guarantee to get his credits refunded if he ever changed his mind about using those items from his old life. Of course, the fact he'd shown up with unmarked credits meant that he might have been suspected of treason at the time.

Now, however, unmarked was the only form of currency besides Republic credits and thus not unusual to find. It was also a universal currency that could be marked for Republic use if need be. More important than that, it was generally marked only for the amount you intended to use during your stay in Republic space. They could also be marked with the local stamp of any planetary system outside the Republic that had any kind of advancement. Of course, Hyperion had always kept a trust fund that he could use to travel offworld if he ever needed to.

Give or take, he reckoned he had several hundred thousand credits in that fund now in addition to the payment he made on the safe for his old armor and lightsaber. He also had a few connections he could call upon whenever he needed to, especially on occasions like this. Most fortunate of all was the fact that even with a slight increase of several thousand visiting as a result of the Podraces, Elesa had never really changed since Hyperion first came. Even several of the people remained as hardy and loose-tongued as they ever did even if he doubted he'd be recognized by very many of them.

Aside from his connections, he probably appeared to be a long-bearded, scruffy, middle-aged nerfherder with a Zabrak son. Weaving his way through the mild traffic in the city, he came to a restaurant where Menelaus would be able to eat to his heart's delight while Hyperion discussed business with the owner. "Welcome to the restaurant, what can I get for you?" asked the first waiter to greet them.

"Get me your boss, tell him Code Red is asking for a blood sundae," Hyperion answered. The waiter shrugged and opened a door beside the grill which allowed him to visit the restaurant's inner workings. Within moments, a small and filthy looking Bothan emerged from the room to see if it was truly possible that Hyperion had returned.

"Well I'll be a son of a bantha! It's you... shit, you managed to get uglier too!" said the little man.

"And you've gotten fatter in my absence, Tyro. Tell me, you still think your farts count as a fragrance the ladies like? It'd explain why I saw a tauntaun out back," Hyperion retorted right back. Tyro's belly was sucked in and out so strongly that Hyperion knew he'd looked like he lost and gained thirty pounds with each laugh.

"You still got it after all these years. And you got a kid with you too! You teaching him to be every bit the badass you are?" Tyro asked.

"Only when I can get him awake long enough. I need a favor of you, old friend," Hyperion said.

"Now you know favors cost a bit of money, old buddy. Can't make no exception even for good pals like you," Tyro said.

"Save it, I haven't used my trust fund savings in eleven years. And I had a thousand unmarked credits in there when I came here. Besides, the favor I wanna ask isn't much: I need a fast, dependable ship with fuel to hit Dathomir and come back without the Republic's scrutiny. I think some old demons have finally caught up with me," Hyperion told him. Tyro looked around, making sure no customers were nearby to hear what he was going to say next.

"Why don't you and your kid step in my office? He can take his food in with him, don't worry," Tyro offered quickly.

"No way, last time I went back there I ended up spending a week cleaning out my clothes for eight hours a day. You find us a table or something similar and speak out here otherwise you speak here and now," Hyperion snapped. Tyro snickered then leaned in close before speaking to Hyperion about the ships he had.

"I tell you, I got a Corvette that just came in. Cleaner than a Human baby's butthole, never even been in it. Unblemished as a holy girl's pussy, you want it? I want ten thousand up front: your trust fund's probably yielded a hundred times that much since you left here all this time," Tyro said. Corvette ships, in his defense, were usually a little more expensive and Dathomir was quite a ways away.

It wasn't an unreasonable price but Hyperion couldn't be sure he wanted to pay it just yet. "Let me check my trust fund if you have a clean datapad to spare and I'll let you know if that price works. Come on, it's not like I'm gonna whip out a weapon while I'm looking for the trust fund information!" Hyperion replied. Tyro nodded and offered him one for use that was clean enough to use: admittedly, Hyperion's fingers were tainted with soot from years of fires as well.

As he checked his trust fund, he realized he nearly had half a million credits in reserve, making a ten thousand credit payment such as this seem like child's play. So Hyperion went ahead and made an offer that he couldn't refuse as far as the credits went. "I'll give you triple that offer in case I accidentally get the ship destroyed or something similar. Forty thousand if I can keep it for my own use, later on: I've got plenty more where that came from and it's likely to remain in pristine condition for longer with me than you anyway," Hyperion offered. Tyro leapt at the deal at once and offered to shake a hand but Hyperion pranked him at the last moment by yanking his hand and stroking his beard with it.

"You still got it after all this time, the little man is learning from the best with that attitude. Glad to meet you, mister..." Tyro said.

"Sparky, I was named that because I liked to play with fire when I was a toddler. Pop figured it easier to do that," Menelaus said, lying about his name. Tyro laughed it off with a wave and went to order the ship be ready for Hyperion and Menelaus to use. When they were far enough away, Hyperion began to lay into his son for what he had said about himself.

"Why did you give him a false name? He was a contact of mine that's always come through!" Hyperion whispered with a growl.

"Simple, if you die and I should escape, your killers will be looking for 'Sparky' instead of 'Menelaus'. Or any other alias I'd use with anyone else, relax pop. I'm just abiding by what you taught me," Menelaus said, fistbumping his father's forearm. Now that he mentions it, I did teach him that... clever boy! Hyperion thought silently.

"Good job, you remembered what we talked of before with names. But he is a trusted contact, I've used the Sight to see that in every encounter," Hyperion told him. They arrived to their ship, moments later and it was indeed a truly beautiful thing that seemed Alderaanian in design. Or else it was based of Alderaanian ships but either way, it'd have more than enough room for their supply needs. While Menelaus explored the ship, his first ever, Hyperion stashed their supplies in the hull and looked over the cockpit.

It was the first time he ever piloted a ship since he was originally dumped on Ando Prime then left for dead by the Jedi. Briefly, he swiped a finger over the controls realizing how he had been in his element whenever he'd flown among the stars. And even as he listened to the tutoring holograms, he briefly considered reacquiring his old armor and lightsaber, his more forbidden items. But he shook his head, vowing their legacy would die with him if anything happened on the way to Dathomir. The journey would be long regardless but he didn't think it would be so dangerous that he would need his old artifacts.

And even if he did, he knew better than to believe he would use them ever again. If he was to do this, he was going to do this as a man for Menelaus' sake. Not as the monster he had once been for the sake of those whose voices rose up now. And silenced when the ship launched.