Menyoo begins getting his gear together, while Sbeit and Mill stay sat in their bunks, ignoring the pilot's call that they had landed. Mill nonchalantly tinkers with a small transceiver in his hand, while Sbeit fingers through a book propped up against his knee. Menyoo concentrates in silence on what he should bring and how much. As he tightens the strap of his bag around his waist, he notices Mill and Sbeit have not moved. "Uh, guys what happened to in and out?"

Sbeit looks up at Mill, but Mill continues playing with the small device in his palm, so Sbeit asks, "Do you want to explain it, or should I?"

"Knock yourself out," Mill drawls to Sbeit dismissively.

"Well Menyoo, here on Socorro, we don't park, get out, then wander the streets in the light of day. That would paint a big target on our back that says, 'Hey! Mess with us! we have money or valuables and don't know how it works around here.' What we do instead is wait until somebody knocks on our door, we open said door, and give some brawny show-grunt money. They then allow us to park in this illegal smuggling port until, uh, dawn?"

"Yes dawn," Mill answers, with the same disinterested tone as before, staring intently down at his fingers.

"Yeah until dawn, which is not a long wait on Socorro. This planet has a pretty short day-night cycle. So we wait for night fall. Once it is dark, we head about, what like ten blocks?"

Mill corrects him, "they don't do blocks here. It's about a half a kilometer in."

"Yeah, he then talks to Plank, and we leave right after, making it back here before their sun rises. Anyway, that is how it's supposed to go. Because Mill is leading, we'll stop at 15 places along the way, almost get into five fights, at least, and make it back a couple minutes passed the nick of time, leading to a fight with the guards over money."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. Don't exaggerate."

Sbeit and Mill begin arguing back and forth, annoying Mill enough for him to put down the transceiver so he can fully invest himself in bickering with Sbeit. Menyoo watches them go back and forth, before interjecting, "I don't understand. Mill is this place special to you or something?"

Mill stops, taking his finger out of Sbeit's face to then point it at Menyoo and smile, "It is. This is where I grew up."

Mill tells Menyoo about how he was born in a town not far outside the city they are in now, Vakeyya, and about how his father would take him here on jobs. He then details all the little shops and dens to be found throughout the city, and explains the way people here live, along with the common trades and commodities—mostly smuggling— and how nice the people can be, so long as you don't owe them any money or favors. He arrives on the topic of food and his face lights up with excitement. Because the city is a smuggling den, there are many delicacies, both legal and not, from the outer rim that people have smuggled in to cook for people with extra cash and exotic appetites. Because his father was in the business, they used to get free meals all the time. Mill further mentions that he was trained as a Jedi on Socorro. The Jedi academy on Socorro is far enough from Vakeyya that the Jedi hardly come around unless they need information— another popular commodity to be bought or traded.

Mill keeps talking, getting increasingly excited about the city, when two hard knocks rattle the side of the ship. The three of them drop what they are doing, along with their conversation, and stare at each other. Then Mill, with child-like exuberance, says "Ooh! I'll get it! Sbeit hand me my bag." Menyoo watches as Mill lifts the side door to a slim crack and slips out underneath to pay off the muscle.

Menyoo says to Sbeit, "I think you're right, Mill seems a little too excited to be here. I haven't seen him this giddy about anything, we'll be lucky if he only stops for food. Why do we have to travel at night?"

Sbeit chuckles to himself, then answers Menyoo, "Because the only people who walk around at night are people who can defend themselves, and because of that, people are less likely to mess with you. It's backwards I know, but it works. I've seen the difference it can make. Oh, and also because Mill's shady friend only works at night. He says it is a Neimoidian thing, but he is full of it. Plank is just as bad as everybody else around here. If I were Mill, I would never step foot on this rock again, especially after what he went through."

A concerned look crosses Menyoo's face, "What he went through?

Sbeit bites his tongue, but before he can backpedal, Mill steps back onto the ship, "Alright, sundown is approaching fast. Get your stuff together, we leave in five. And keep anything precious on you and hidden well.

The Jedi get their gear ready: Menyoo brings extra layers, expecting it to get cold fast; Sbeit keeps on what we was already wearing, too proud to bring contingency gear; and Mill brings a backpack, loaded with the notes left for them at the temple, extra layers of clothing, a snack and water (even though he already knows he is going to stop somewhere, he always does,) and he sneaks the Sith book that Sbeit could not translate, hiding it under the loose clothing. Mill leaves TC instructions to leave the doors locked and to not answer anybody unless it is one of the three Jedi. Then as a group, they all step out of the ship, to an assortment of alien aromas.

Mill warned Menyoo to not let his eyes linger on any one subject for too long; On Vakeyya, staring invites trouble, and sometimes what you are looking at may not look illegal until you realize your mistake too late. Both Menyoo and Mill immediately break the rule as soon as they step out to the port laid out ahead. They are docked in a spot at the edge of the port, where the roof hangs low, sheltering the bay from the harsh, plummeting sun. The port is tucked away into the crevice of a gigantic rock formation piled high into the sky; the same structure the city of Vakeyya, capital of Socorro, is nestled into. Looking out over the edge one can see the vast, bumpy sea of reddish-black sand that sprawls out as far as the eye can see. The only sign of life from this vantage point, far below and many kilometers away, is a small settlement equipped with white roofs across its handful of buildings, so small at this distance that they look like the last bits of melting snow being swallowed by an empty expanse of black—a visual effect resulting from the famed black sands of Socorro.

The ship to the left of them has an awning spread out from an open door, with several exotic animals for sale, tied to leashes and prowling the boundary of the salesmen's space. They are shaped like hounds, but taller, each about half the height of the salesman while on all fours. They each have blue scales that look like they are in danger of chipping off, with bones jutting out from their sides, shoulders, and cheeks. The tips of their long, triangular faces feature a beak protruding from underneath their long, narrow eye slits. Many more ships line the outside of the ovular dock facing in. Each peddles wares just as strange and ominous as the first man's: A cauldron with rising smoke colored coral orange is the centerpiece to one; while at another, several operating tables, oriented vertically, lean onto their edge, ornamented with bloody armor pinned with price tags. Marked fabrics, jars of spices, kegs of unknown liquids, used machine parts, star computers, electric policing staffs and riot shields, and much more. The center of the port features even more parked ships, their back ends wedged up against one another in the middle, with more merchandise spilling out from their fronts into the walking lanes winding between the various ships and shops. The fading red sun of Socorro bathes the seedy port in the last flush of crimson the long day passed has to offer.

Sbeit looks around briefly and makes no attempt to hide the disgust painted on his face. Mill and Menyoo sniff, look, and point around with enthusiasm. When Menyoo says, "This is all pretty cool, I can see why you get distracted so easily," Mill answers back with a laugh, "You have not seen anything yet! The port is full of all the low-quality stock the smugglers are trying to offload after they failed to sell it in the city. The good stuff is sold first through those doors back there leading into Vakeyya. That is where we're headed." Mill points to the far end of the port, "Tunnels bored through rock lead smugglers to whichever ward contains the shop that they sell their goods to. The shops then sell those goods with jacked up prices as 'special merchandise' to people who know what they are looking for, or who just happen to have too much money and stumble upon it. This stuff out here is junk."

A voice from behind speaks with a shrill, strained breath, "Watch what you call junk, stranger. Some people may take that the wrong way. Me included." The group turns to a man three quarters the size of Mill. He is hunched and leans on a broadsword, with plastic protectors running down the sharp ends, and a small cone at its tip for stability. He leans heavily down on the militaristic cane, forcing weight down on its tip, causing the plastic bits to flip open, revealing the sword's sharp teeth.

Sbeit steps ahead of the group, "He didn't mean anything by it, and didn't even look at what you sell before he said it. I'm sure your things are nice, he just got caught up in the moment. We'll leave you to yourself sir, good day."

Sbeit executes a quick bow and begins to walk away, grabbing the side of Mill's robe to drag him along beside him, when the elderly man stops him in his tracks, "wait, you said it yourself, you don't know what I sell. Allow me to show you my goods, then all will be forgiven." The old man lifts his cheeks in a forced smile, then turns abruptly and hobbles over to a tent jutting into the walking path that loops around the merchant stalls, slipping the broadsword into cracks in the concrete below him.

Menyoo steps behind him, "With all due respect sir, we are on a tight schedule."

Ignoring Menyoo, the man yells, "Behold! A treasure lost to the ages!" The old man stabs his broadsword into the concrete below, with a strength he clearly hides with purpose, and lays another sword across the top of its flat pommel. The smooth, polished blade is wide and slightly angled on both sides, meeting at opposite edges that run down the length of the black, cortosis blade, absorbing the last glimmers of red light escaping from the slit between the overhang and the edge of the port. The hilt appears to be constructed out of a single pocket of stone left untumbled. The guard curves down passed the handle, and is sharpened to a barbed point on each side, with rust extending several centimeters from the tips. The sword has Menyoo's attention.

'Wow, I have never seen something like this before. What era is it?"

Mill grabs Menyoo's forearm, "we should be going." Then he looks up at the man, avoiding eye contact, "Good day to you."

"Wait!" The old man tries to hold them longer, "It is clear you are not buying today, but the boy wants to know more about the sword. Allow me to share with him its history."

Sbeit interjects before he has the chance, "It is a Sith sword, I can tell by the guard. A barbaric, primeval weapon."

The old man's eyes widen with interest, "Aww, it seems you can. Have you studied the ancients before? You know many think them a myth. Something tells me you think different. Do you know what the guard is for?"

Menyoo lets out a pretentious laugh and answers, "to guard the carrier's hand in combat. It's a guard, of course he knows what it's for. Who wouldn't?"

Sbeit corrects him before the old man has the chance, "He is referring to this guard in particular. It isn't to protect the user's hands, actually quite the contrary. During a fight, a sword will naturally bob up and down in a fighter's palm. These guards are designed to cut and anchor into the wielder's wrists while he fights. That's why it aged the way it did, years and years of stained blood from use. As I said, barbaric."

Menyoo aggressively tilts his head to the side in a fit of confusion, "Why would they want to hurt themselves while they fight? That makes no sense."

The old man smiles, "Well my friend, it may not make sense to you, but that is because you do not understand the way they fight. That pain was a means to anger them, enrage them, and elevate their abilities. This anger powers more than just the blade, powering the user himself. Drawing from that pool of anger, pain, hate, makes them unstoppable. A handicap sure, but not for the Sith. It is a tool, much like your flimsy lightsaber. Except your kind did away with the guards. A poor decision, but who am I to judge such a sleek, gentlemen's weapon." The old man flashes a final, vicious smile.

Menyoo stumbles over his next utterance, "How did you…"

Mill interrupts Menyoo, 'We are leaving. Now." Sbeit grabs Menyoo by the shoulder and steers him toward the port exit behind Mill, weaving and bobbing through small crowds in the path ogling over the tawdry merchandise on display. "Do not look back," Mill commands as they march to the set of doors at the far end of the port. They reach the port exit and Mill huffs the extra air he was holding onto during their escape, "Let me add to my rules, don't talk to strangers. Follow me."

Mill raps on the doors. A large, purple hand with three fingers pushes it open for them to walk through. Mill puts his arm out to stop Menyoo, then says to the large man inside, "nothing special, just looking for information."

The man leans down, revealing his ugly mug. Blackish red circles decorate his right cheek and surround his eye—the largest of three eyes across his wide forehead. "In the bag?"

Mill responds, "papers, books, nothing to be traded, nothing taxable. On my honor." He puts his right hand into the air.

The giant grunts, then leans back against the tunnel wall, making way for the three to pass, "We'll be watching you human, and others."

"I know the drill, thank you." The group work their way through the tunnels. The path is tight and decorated with small fliers, legible only if placed near one of the occasional lights that keep about a fifth of the tunnel lit. No others walk by them in the opposite direction, which is good, because there is barely enough room for one person to fit. Menyoo wonders to himself how the big oaf travels through these tunnels, especially parts where the tunnel shrinks vertically, leaving only a slight bit of extra room for Menyoo to pass under. In two of the tightest areas of the walk, the sound of Sbeit's head crest scraping against the stone roof continued intermittently for minutes at a time. The posters are cheesy and clearly advertise for things other than what are explicitly stated and pictured on the fliers. "Have your droid reprogrammed at the chop shop near the cradle! Many programs available, but not found nowhere else!" Or another one that reads, "Come by Skid's for a refreshing treat! We serve everything iced, so come in if you want something iced. We ice things. Knock first."

They walk for some time in the fluctuating darkness, across tunnels that undulate among drastic peaks and dips, branch off in multiple directions, and snake through increasingly dense and stuffy rock. Menyoo asks Mill, "You have memorized your way through this system?"

Mill continues leading the way, speaking ahead, his response echoing forward through the tunnel and rebounds back to Menyoo with a delay, "No, but I know how to get to Plank's and back. These tunnels cut through a section of the large rock that the city was built into. Each fork leads you to either a district smuggling entrance, which are usually the back entrances of a general merch shop, or continues further into the rock. We're close."

Menyoo thinks more about the city as they walk and asks another question that has been bothering him, "Mill, what is the point of all the secrecy with smuggling, if it isn't policed here? I can't imagine it is this big of an operation and kept from city officials. So what is the need for secret ports, tunnels, codes, guards, etc?

Mill laughs to himself, seemingly unaware of his lack of privacy while encased in the sound-reflective stone, "Well, the city used to be better patrolled, back when people cared. Routine stops, random waves of enforcement, and lots of beat downs. Honestly, the police were just as brutal as the thugs, if not more. But things have changed. Now it's all a scheme to control the smuggling and get coin out of every stage of the process. Even these tiny tunnels aren't necessary anymore, they have a much wider one several meters wide and tall that leads directly into the heart of the shopping district. It became worthwhile to make new ones when they had to turn around good business because the goods, or smugglers themselves, wouldn't fit. We're taking these because surprise, it costs money to take the big one. The docking fee, tax on smuggled goods, protection fees, bribes if an official does catch you. All of it goes to the same place.

"Which is…?" Menyoo asks.

"Good question," Mill answers, "Oh, this is our turn."

The Jedi work through the final section of tunnel, wider than the rest, ending at a tarp stuck closed to the tunnel wall with a re-applicable adhesive. Mill peels it off from the wall, then brushes open the barrier and steps out onto a grated floor. He breathes in the smog ridden, rancid city air and exclaims, "Ahh, I'm home. Kind of."