Tap tap tap.

P-0's feet clinked as it stepped onto the catwalk. It trained it's single optics sensor on it's target, a data terminal overlooking the hangar. Once sighted, P-0 took off at a dead sprint.

"No! You're supposed to stay quiet!" Weram Vaair hissed through the comm channel.

The droid tried to stop abruptly, instead tumbling over and skidding along the catwalk on its domed headplate. It's parcel, a data spike, clanged directly into the terminal's durasteel pedestal with a hollow thud followed by the much louder thud made by P-0's collision.

The young Devaronian winced as rust snowed down on her from the reverberating catwalk. She offered a silent prayer to any deities that might be listening that she remain undiscovered.

P-0 sprung upward and righted itself, reclaiming the data spike.

"Quietly!" Weram implored.

P-0 instead took the data spike in both of it's grips and slammed it into the terminal's data port like a smashball player. The droid clasped it's grips before it triumphantly and turned a circuit on the catwalk, accepting imaginary applause for it's feat.

Weram rubbed at her face, then stiffened. She tiptoed toward the canopy of the speeder she was hiding behind and checked her reflection. Sure enough, she'd dislodged one of the synth decals she was wearing over her vestigial horns. She replaced the decal delicately, trying to avoid smudging the make-up that muted her usually intense pink complexion. Weram was confident she could sneak onboard the transport if all else failed, but uploading phony credentials into the passenger registry was easier. Easier still if she actually looked like the ident she uploaded.

Weram straightened the hood covering her long, pointed ears. Once again satisfied that she could pass for human, she returned her attention to her droid.

The data spike had sunk completely into the terminal port, indicating that it's payload had been delivered. P-0 reached toward the spike with it's arm and retracted it's clasp, revealing a modified interface port. The former pit droid connected to the spike and activated the comm channel, allowing Weram to access the terminal from her datapad.

"Good work P-0," Weram whispered. She thumbed through the terminal's directories until she got to the passenger registry. Once she confirmed that her uploaded ident was present, she accessed the cargo manifest.

"Let's see if there's anything useful here…"

She scrolled through the list quickly. "Luggage, luggage, luggage. I'm gonna look like a Wookie at a tea party if the other passengers are all this boring." Suddenly she smiled, pointed teeth glinting with the reflected light of her datapad. "Ooh, explosives aren't boring." She noted the location of the container in the cargo bay. "Surely the Empire doesn't need awholecrate of those."

All passengers for Transport OXU-11712 to Phorna Minoris please submit yourself for final security inspection before boarding.

"Time to go," Weram said, as much to herself as to her droid. P-O removed the data spike from the terminal, brandishing it like a sword. "I said time to go! Quit fooling around!" she stage whispered, patience thinning.

P-0 brought the spike before his optic sensor in mock-salute, then clambered toward the access ladder and slid down. The droid approached it's master and offered the data spike. Weram reclaimed the spike and rapped her knuckles against P-0's optic sensor in one fluid motion, causing the former pit droid to recoil into it's standby configuration. Glancing furtively, she snapped the spike in half. It has done it's job, and she couldn't afford to be caught with it. Fixing the diminished droid to her belt clip, Weram stood. She shouldered her pack, everything she owned, and joined the queue to board.

To leave the only home she had ever known.


The line to the security checkpoint was crowded. It moved through the stanchions slowly but inexorably. Weram tried to appear unremarkable, fixing her face into an expression of what she thought was casual disinterest. She soon realized she needn't have bothered. Several humans jostled one another for position in the queue. A Sullustan drummed his fingers impatiently on his bag. A woman argued with the security agent that she needed her bag in the passenger compartment while using it and her own body to prevent her screaming children from inflicting harm on one another. An Ithorian, annoyed at the three unit liquid size limit on board, consumed a 40 unit container of what appeared to be coolant to the revulsion of all witnesses.

Weram was so absorbed in the spectacle of sentient traffic that she was startled to find herself at the checkpoint.

"Name, citizen," the agent droned.

"Talmadge Almora," Weram replied.

"Almora, Almora… Ah, I see it." The Imperial said, opening the passenger entry on his datapad. The agent peered at Weram's face, then held up the datapad. "Say, are you well, citizen?"

"Am. Wha. Um. Pardon?" Weram sputtered.

"Well." The Imperial repeated, already beckoning for the scanning team. "You look… Ill."

Weram stiffened. Must have done more damage to my disguise than I thought. "It, it's just a skin condition," she replied affecting indignation.

"I must insist, citizen. I cannot allow you aboard if you are harboring pathogens," the agent intoned solemnly.

Weram bristled, preparing to make a break for the transport when she felt something jab her arm. She wheeled toward her assailant only to be greeted by the gleaming white armor of an Imperial Stormtrooper. Weram bit back her retort, but the trooper took no notice as he ejected the test probe from the scanning device. "She's clear, ma'am. No pathogens," the trooper confirmed.

"Ah, you see? Now you may board, quickly though, if you don't mind."

Weram fumed at the Imperial, her indignation no longer feigned as she stomped up the gangplank to the transport. Once aboard, she quickly found her seat. Throwing her pack down onto the floor she collapsed onto the worn foam and synth upholstery. Eyes closed and head reclined, Weram tried to ignore the safety holo and the din of her fellow passengers. She only opened her eyes again once she heard the thrusters fire.


A haggard looking woman dashed into the spaceport as the transport launched. The color drained from her pink face and her dark hair swayed as she sat suddenly on the hangar floor. She continued to stare after the craft as it lanced through the sky, staying seated on the floor long after it faded from view.


Weram placed her hand on the transparisteel viewport. Objects on the ground had already become indistinct as the transport climbed. She sat with her hand still on the viewport as the planet dwindled away. Her hand fell away after the hyperdrive engaged. Weram sank into her seat, her head bent low, and heaved great, wracking sobs until she fell asleep.