Chapter Fifteen
The door closed behind her with a soft hush, and it beeped, locking automatically. Sensors in the ceiling detected her and turned on the lights automatically, which were set to a soft illumination per her settings. She leaned back against the door and sighed, feeling tired not only physically, but mentally as well. Her head felt stuffy and ached dully, which was becoming a regular occurrence when she trained with Nilas; she had to exert iron control over her thoughts to keep him from probing its depths, and the effort was exhausting.
She hated when Nilas would attempt to provoke her anger by questioning her about Vader, sneering condescendingly at her answers. It was an easy target for him because of the humiliation she still felt at the loss of face she'd experienced in Vader's eyes, all because of that stupid abo Lieutenant Ramiro, a night that was burned in her memory as the night when all her dreams came crashing to their final demise.
Even now, she still covered her face in because it burned in shame with her role in what had happened, and what she had allowed to happen. Nilas had no idea just how that one moment had crushed out the light of her hope and rendered her life purposeless, nor would he have cared. He would have told her that such emotions made her weak, and that she needed to cast them off.
He was a kiffing sociopath, though, and she was not.
Nothing had really turned out right for her after graduating basic training on the back-rocket training facility of Ord Mynock. Her appointment as Adjutant to Inquisitor Nilas had merely been the culmination of an unfortunate series of events that began in the weeks before graduation, starting with her girlish crush on Lieutenant Ramiro, a fellow cadet, though he'd only been a private at the time.
It had started innocently enough. Smiles exchanged, glances from across a classroom—the usual stuff. Ramiro was rather pleasing to the eye, too, with a muscular frame, dark hair and eyes, and a devil-may-care attitude. Other female cadets would smile and giggle whenever he came around, but not her. She'd been too shy, an unsophisticated girl from a farm village on a back-rocket planet, and when he started smiling at her, the satisfaction she felt at being the object of his attention over the other female cadets was a heady thrill.
The more he paid attention to her, the more she found herself becoming infatuated with him. Soon, they were hanging out in the yard on their off time, what little of it there was, and they would exchange quick conversations between classes and training. The other female cadets would glare at her, and she couldn't help but feel a little pride that Ramiro chose to hang out with her rather than them.
During the last few weeks of their training, they had more free time, and Ramiro began bringing her to clandestine parties, some of which had glitterstim available. Of course, she swallowed her misgivings, and even let him convince her to try the drug a few times, and she liked it. A lot. From there, he began taking her to bed, often while she was still high. It was her first experience with a man, and thanks to the glitterstim, became one that was instantly addictive. Enjoying every moment of it, she'd let her infatuation and physical desire for both Ramiro and glitterstim clouded her judgment, and it eventually became a habit no different than her ryll kor addiction was now.
Choking back the regret and sadness, she went into her sleeping quarters and peeled off her sweat-soaked clothes, her sore muscles groaning in protest. She tossed the damp garments in the laundry bin, and not even bothering to put on her robe, stood naked under the air vent, sighing in relief as the cool air breathed across her feverish skin.
She knew she needed to heed the siren call of the heat soon; she was already hot and sweaty from working out, and needed a shower, but it would have to wait. She was exhausted from training, and instead stood there limply, eyes closed and head lolled back, relaxing in the cool air as she tried not to focus on the spice and the heat burning in her
Her mind drifted back to Prefsbelt. She'd fought to get to Carida, and did it help? Not at all. They'd given her the transfer papers, and when she'd read, "Prefsbelt," she was crushed. She'd known at the time that she was supposed to feel honored, but instead, she felt anguish as her dream began to slip from her grasp. She'd actually gotten into a yelling match with some of the officers on Ord Mynock over that, and tried begging the Commander to change it, but it was too late. So, off to Prefsbelt she went after one last night with Ramiro and glitterstim.
On Prefsbelt, she threw herself into her studies, and kept sending petitions to the Commanders for a transfer to Carida, claiming that she would be able to better serve the Empire there. It was all in vain, though, because every request for a transfer she put in was returned denied. She didn't care though; she would keep filing them until they either discharged her or gave her what she'd dreamed of since being a little girl.
She vowed to forget about Ramiro, and glitterstim, too. If she was to achieve a transfer to Carida, her record would have to be spotless. Ramiro, however, had become a Senior Lieutenant, and showed up on Prefsbelt as a Junior Instructor. Once she was face-to-face with him again, it was hard to resist his attention, and before long, she found herself back in his presence, sharing his bed and his drugs.
The parties became more exclusive, too, with attendees being comprised of the nouveau riche and well-heeled who found it a mark of prestige to have their son or daughter attend Prefsbelt. Moreover, the spice became much higher-quality, and far more addictive. She suspected he was stealing it from a research lab because of how high-grade it was, but by that point, was hopelessly addicted, both to the ryll kor and the attentions of Ramiro, and didn't care where he was getting it from, so long as she could have more.
Her grades began to suffer, then, despite her best efforts. By day, she would attend her classes, struggling to stay awake and keep the heat at bay, and by night, she would search for Ramiro for her next fix. He was only too happy to give it to her because it meant he kept her in his bed, though she didn't care. All that mattered by that point was the high; what she had to do for it mattered not.
Moreover, she began to grow excessively paranoid, convinced that someone was following her despite Ramiro assuring her that it was only in her mind. That was just the problem, though; the echoes were often whispers that carried sinister meanings, and she began to feel that everyone was looking at her, watching her every move. As a result, she became furtive in her movements, often taking circuitous routes everywhere she went, doubling back and leaving false trails. Ramiro told her she was out of her mind, but she didn't care. She wanted no one to have any chance of knowing what she was up to or where she was going.
She also became irritable and impatient, and while she was introverted, she had a fiery temper that resulted in demerits for getting into physical fights with other cadets not once but twice. She didn't even remember what the fights had been about; her memory of that time was hazy at best, and that was a mercy.
Taking a deep breath, she went to her closet and took out a towel, blotting her skin, then sat on the edge of the bed as the past came flooding back, sharp and clear. A tear rolled down her cheek at the memory of what came next.
After a year of getting high and spending much of her time with Ramiro, disaster struck. Looking back, she could see that it couldn't have ended any other way, thanks to where he'd been getting the spice from. Stupid abo, she cursed him. And yet, in a way, it was probably the only reason she was still alive because the amount of spice she was ingesting would have killed someone new to the drug.
Ramiro had invited her to a late-night weekend party at a private residence about a mile from the main academy, hosted by a friend of his whose father was a minor politician on some back-rocket planet. Ramiro's friend was a Junior Instructor, too, though she never actually got to meet him, which was just as well. The house was huge, located just off campus, and there were at least fifty or sixty cadets in attendance, plus dozens more civilians.
In the parlor just off the huge foyer was a large fireplace blazing with logs, and in the corners were suits of antique Clone Trooper armor. Couches were arranged around the fireplace, and on the kaf table in front of her was a bowl full of ryll kor, and smaller bowls containing dontworry, a powerful hallucinogen, and Algarine torve weed, a plant that when dried and smoked provided a euphoric sedation.
She could remember it like it was yesterday. The air was thick with t'bac and torve weed smoke, and the smells of beer and liquor, and the stereo was playing one of her favorite songs from the band Cold Star. She sat on one end of the couch, and a pair of cadets sat on the other, while a dozen more people stood around in various places, talking loudly and drinking or smoking or both.
She had just dusted herself with ryll kor, and was caught in the rush, slouched on the couch and unable to move but not caring that she couldn't. She was zoned out on the tactile sensations of the vibrations of the stereo, which she could've sworn she could feel through the air and not just the couch. Several people had looked at her and just laughed, seeing she was stoned out of her mind, but she didn't care about that, either.
Suddenly, there was a deafening boom, and wood splinters went flying overhead from behind her. What in blazes? she'd wondered, thinking something had broken up through the floor. Then she heard the sound of blaster rifles being fired, followed by the screams of cadets and civilians as they fled in all directions.
Managing to get it together enough to peer back over the couch, she began giggling uncontrollably at the sight of Stormtroopers pouring through the door, which had been blasted in. They shot down cadets and civilians alike with stun blasts as they fled. She was so high that she could barely move, and the situation struck her as hilarious, a somehow cartoonish satire playing out for her alone. She fell back onto the couch, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. The couch shielded her as blue streaks flew overhead, each shot taking someone down with unerring accuracy.
Above the fireplace was a mirror and she could see everything; when Lord Vader himself walked in, the laughter became hysterics as tears came to her eyes and her ribs began to ache. She knew on some deeper level that she, too, should be fleeing for her life, but to her drug-addled mind, it was the most comical spectacle she'd ever seen.
Ramiro showed up, then, leaping over the back of the couch and crouching down to avoid the blaster fire flying all around. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Come on, Jas! We gotta go!" he yelled over the noise.
A blaster shot took out the stereo, which exploded in a shower of duraplast and sparks as its circuits overloaded, and that, too, was funny. "It's too late!" she laughed breathlessly, tears running from her eyes.
"Stang, Jas! Come on!" he said, lifting her up. "Let's—" He froze, going rigid as he dropped her on the couch. He began clutching at his throat, gagging for breath.
That's when Vader walked around the far end of the couch, one hand raised as he Force-choked Ramiro, his boot-steps echoing in the sudden silence. The only other sounds were his mechanical breathing and Ramiro's gagging. She laughed even more, unable to stop herself. She was terrified, but couldn't stop laughing.
"Senior Lieutenant Jonn Ramiro," Vader rasped in his electronic voice.
"Stop!" she laughed, clutching her ribs and desperately trying to stop the giggles. "Please!"
Three Stormtroopers of the 501st came around behind Vader, raising their rifles and aiming at her.
Vader glanced once at her, then back at Ramiro, clearly dismissing her. "You have been stealing and selling Imperial property from the research facility here on Prefsbelt, and are guilty of treason," he continued. "You are accordingly sentenced to death."
Ramiro's eyes bulged as his larynx was crushed with a sickening crunch. When Vader released him, he fell lifelessly to the floor.
What happened next was a blur, but she did remember the feeling of the Force rushing through her. "No!" she screamed, the laughter suddenly replaced by white-hot fury. She reached for Ramiro's blaster, and it leaped to her hand from a meter away. She aimed at Vader, and the Stormtroopers fired, stunning her unconscious.
Now, here in her sleeping quarters, she found her tears bitter reminders of all that she had lost. Had it been anyone but Vader and members of the 501st, perhaps the shame would long ago have faded, but having been caught by the very person she'd dreamed of serving as a Stormtrooper, her shame knew no end.
She stood under the vent once more, eyes closing in pleasure as the cool air blew gently over here bare skin. Time to dust herself, then shower, then report to the hangar. After grabbing her leather valise from the hiding spot in the vent, she went into the bathroom and did a double-take at her reflection. Her ribs seemed even more gaunt than usual—was she losing more weight again? She rubbed the side of her ribs, biting her lower lip as the sensation rippled through her and made the heat inside her rage. She moved her hands down her hips and back over her stomach, the tips of her fingers leaving trails of tingling skin wherever they touched.
Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and what she was doing, and stopped, startled. She would not, not, become like those mindless glit-biters seeking only self-gratification! Lightning fast, she slapped herself hard, bringing tears to her eyes and making her head ring. The slap was deafening in the refresher's silence. "Snap out of it!" she yelled at her reflection, choking back a sob of frustrated rage. Stang, she hated this addiction, and hated that at the same time, she loved it so much.
She quickly filled the syringe with half of what was left, which was still five-one hundredths cee-cee more than a normal dose—enough to feel a noticeable difference. It would be nice to have that extra 0.3 cc left over for emergencies. She laid a towel on the deck and began drinking glass after glass of water until she felt bloated. Then, she drank some more. The water would help keep her hydrated, and would help prevent the tactile hypersensitivity that would otherwise be painful.
Then she sat on the towel and took her poison.
She shuddered in ecstasy as the rush hit, burning through her and making her whole body hum like a tuning fork. Her vision faded white as the heat seared her from the inside out, and she gasped and panted with the intensity of the electricity racing over her skin. She knew that this was how glit-biters grew worse, and didn't care. All that mattered was the sensation, the ecstasy of the rush.
As it began to fade after long minutes that felt like hours, the afterglow of the rush left her with a drunken grin on her face. She knew her skin would be hypersensitive to the point of pain, but didn't care. She knew that she was dehydrated and would probably need to drink several liters of water, and didn't care about that, either.
The towel had absorbed most of the sweat, and was growing cold, so she groaned and stood up, careful not to fall over. She put everything away, each step feeling like it was reverberating up her leg for whole seconds. She was so high that her vision distorted, too, and her depth perception was slightly off, giving everything a long-distance appearance.
She knew she was too high when she got in the sani-steam and the water flayed her skin. She had to bite the wash cloth to keep from screaming, even with the water set on the lowest pressure. The sensitivity wouldn't last long once she hydrated herself, but oh, stang, it hurt now!
She didn't even bother toweling off after showering; she didn't think she had the fortitude for that kind of pain. Instead, she just stood under the air vent and let the breeze dry her off instead. Putting on a pair of white micro-briefs became a monumental task, and the feel of the fabric sliding over her skin was like being rubbed with sandpaper. Maybe it was time to invest in some hisp-silk microgarments, she grumbled to herself as she sat on the edge of her bed to keep from falling over.
She finished dressing slowly, and then drank water for the next half-hour, skipping lunch and trying to get her high under control. Her muscles kept cramping, and the bulkheads looked like they were bowing in. After relieving herself, the high seemed to retreat to a more manageable level, and the echoes were no longer deafening her. Still, she took a couple of analgesic pills just to be sure.
She had a half-hour or so until she had to be in the hangar to meet Nilas, so she went to her lockbox and removed a file marked at the top with IMPERIAL PERSONNEL FILE—DO NOT REMOVE. On the side was VALENS, MIKAEL. She'd pulled the file from the Records department a few decks down, intending to look through it to get to know her new associate a little better, but things seemed to have a way of coming up and demanding her attention. She wanted to know as much about him as possible so that there would be no surprises down the road, ones that would require her to terminate their relationship.
She sat on her couch and opened the file.
Mikael Valens. Ensign. Graduated near the top of his class from the Duluur Sector Naval Academy. Received demerits on several occasions for unauthorized parties and gambling. "What a shock," she deadpanned, shaking her head in amusement. He'd been passed over for Intelligence, and according to the reviewing panel, it was because of "moral and ethical fluidity." That brought another snort of derision. The whole Empire was full of moral and ethical fluidity, from what she'd seen; it seemed to be a silent requirement for those in command.
This was his first true posting, and after being passed over for an Intelligence position, he seemed to have straightened out, though he did nothing to stand out. There was something about his file that struck her as slightly odd, but for the life of her, she couldn't put her finger on what it was.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and fought off exhaustion as she pored over his file. There was nothing special about him at all. It was the most mundane personnel file she'd ever read. There was little in the way of his background, too, aside from a few mentions of him being born on Delaya and being the son of a minor politician named Chiro Valens. That name sounded familiar for some reason, and she seemed to recall hearing about some kind of scandal a while back, but couldn't recall it's nature. Probably something like keeping a secretary as pillow-friend. Politicians and scandals went together like Star Destroyers and TIE fighters; where one was, the other was sure to follow.
Being the son of a politician would also explain Valens' knack for prevarication and trying to run a hustle on the ship. She would see how useful he would be; if he delivered on the MSE droid and heuristic processor, and the MechTech Illustrated magazines, maybe then she would see about giving him more privileges.
Her focus began to drift, and she found herself grinning and thinking about Valens in a decidedly un-professional manner. He was sort of cute, she supposed, and once he'd proven himself trustworthy—Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she was thinking about. She shook her head, disturbed at how her mind had wandered. She knew such thoughts came in large part from the ryll kor, stirring passions that were best left alone. She didn't need to take more risks than she already was, and with Nilas constantly trying to probe her mind, he would surely uncover something sooner or later if she allowed herself to become distracted by keeping pillow friends. The mere idea was ridiculous; she didn't dare risk any liaison with anyone here. She had one goal, and that was to finish with Nilas, then get posted somewhere remote where she could ride out her time with the Empire as quietly as possible.
And then…She sighed. Then, she would go home and pretend to be proud of her time in the Empire while hiding her shame. She would get clean, if her mind wasn't completely consumed by physical desire by then, and never set foot off Ywllandr again.
After another ten minutes or so, she began to feel a little better, though she doubted it was from the analgesic, not yet, anyway. She tossed the magazine down and stood up. Time to go. She wanted to be a little early.
She wondered if Valens had missed her at lunch; too bad, though. When he brought her something that she could use, or that actually interested her, then she might start giving a stang about his brown-nosing. "Damn these echoes!" she swore as she walked unsteadily down the corridor. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself as the echoes thundered in her head in a loud cacophony. Maybe Valens would finally get her an MSE droid that she could tinker with.
As if her thought summoned him, he stepped out of the turbolift just as she was approaching, a box in his hands. "There you are!" he said, his grin faltering as he saw her. HE LOOKS TERRIBLE, his thoughts boomed.
She winced. "What are you doing up here?" she snapped, in no mood for his poodoo. It felt like she was standing on a conveyor belt, though she wasn't actually moving. "This is a restricted deck!"
"I found what you were looking for, Commander," he said, somewhat abashed. I THOUGHT HE WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE EXCITED THAN THAT, his thoughts echoed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to deliver this personally as soon as possible. Wouldn't do to have it spotted in my locker."
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Come, fool," she mumbled, turning back to her quarters. "You are to stand in the doorway and go no further." She opened the door and took the box from him. "What is it?"
"An MSE droid. The motivators are shot, but I found a few spares, and I found a heuristic processor from an interrogation droid. There's a bunch of other minor parts in there for the MSE droid that will fit its connectors as I didn't know what you wanted."
She set the box on the kaf table and opened it. Her eyes immediately went to the two issues of MechTech Illustrated. "Well I'll be spaced." He'd actually delivered. "Not bad, Ensign. Not bad at all."
His rush of pleasure at the compliment was easily sensed. "Thank you, sir."
She exited her quarters and locked the door behind her. She'd recently changed the codes, too, though she couldn't disable the maintenance override without attracting undue attention. "Let's get out of here before you're spotted."
"You know, you could just give me an official pass," he suggested, pressing the call button for the turbolift.
"That is something you will have to earn, Ensign," she scoffed.
"You look ill, sir," he said, concern in his voice. "Been hitting the abrax without me?"
"Yes," she lied. "I've got a kiffing headache."
WHY DO I GET THE FEELING THAT IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ABRAX? He wondered. There was a flash of something else, but it was gone before she could perceive it; probably more brown-nosing, she surmised, dismissing it. He held out a bottle of pills. "Here. A drinker's best friend."
Did he have to think so blasted loud? she grumbled. "No thanks. I already took two. Besides," she said, wanting to distract him from his line of thinking, "it'll take more than a couple of pills to fix this hangover."
He chuckled. "Lots of water helps."
"I already feel like I'm floating." Although it's not from the water, she thought, and had to suppress a giggle that would have erupted into giddy gales of laughter. "Now, I can start building my MSE droid."
"What are you going to use it for?"
"That's none of your business, Ensign," she cautioned, then softened her tone. He had delivered, after all, and far faster than she'd expected. "However, it will make your deliveries to me a little easier."
He grinned and touched the side of his nose. "Mum's the word, Commander." He pulled out a datapad. "I did find something else you might be interested in," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. He pressed a button, and a holographic image of a starfighter appeared.
She stepped into the turbolift with him. "What is that?"
"This, Commander, is an example of quality engineering," he explained. "It's a Corellian-built starfighter that never went to production." He went on to describe it as a CEC R/AD 111-B, known as a "Raider." Only a few dozen had been built as prototypes to try to win the starfighter contract for the GAR during the Clone Wars, and was a rare example of starfighter engineering at its finest.
"That's wonderful," she deadpanned.
He laughed. "Yeah, I didn't think you would go for it. It's only forty-five thousand credits, but looks pretty rough."
"What in blazes would I do with a starfighter?" she scoffed. "And more importantly, where would I keep it? The captain certainly wouldn't give me permission to have it aboard the ship, and Nilas wouldn't, either."
He shrugged. "I just figured I'd show you. It's on Coruscant, and I think the captain would give you permission. You technically outrank him as Adjutant."
"I know my rank!" she snapped.
Somewhat abashed, he said, "It was just an idea, Commander. You could store it in one of the repair bays and use it as a shuttlecraft for yourself if the Inquisitor needed you to do something."
She sighed. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass. I'm no pilot."
He shrugged. "Not a problem, sir. They really are nice ships. It's a shame CEC didn't get the contract."
"Koensayr did, if I'm not mistaken."
"Them and Incom."
"We should be arriving at Coruscant within the hour," Valens said. "The captain said we get a day of shore-leave. Care to come with? I know this great club near the Uscru district where the girls wear nothing at all." I can't wait to see the little Togruta that works there, he was thinking.
She grimaced inwardly at his thoughts. What was with him and non-human women? He better hope he never got caught. "No thanks," she said. "The Inquisitor is taking me to the planet for a meeting. Boring, administrative stuff." She knew, though, that it was likely to be anything but boring. He was up to something, and today she would likely find out what. I wonder if Vader will be there? she wondered, shuddering in fear. She somehow doubted that Nilas was bringing her along to flaunt in front of Vader the way Mistress Kaida had done. It would be a wasted gesture, anyway.
"Oooh, mystery!" he laughed.
"Shut up. I have no idea what it's for, but it's undoubtedly unpleasant." Had she just said that about Nilas? She hurried down the corridor. "I have to go."
"Yeah, me, too," he said. "Enjoy your visit, Commander." He saluted, and turned down another corridor.
As she walked down the corridor, she thought about that ship. Would Nilas give her permission to get it? At the very least, it would give her more reason to be away from Nilas on missions for him. She didn't know how to fly, though. Yet, there were the simulators down on deck 22 that all the pilots hung out by that she could use. She wondered if she could reprogram one for that variety of ship? She would never be an ace pilot, but an astromech could make up for a lot of errors on her part. Maybe she would ask Nilas about that, she mused.
In the belly of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer were two hangar bays: a large, main hangar bay where TIE fighters were launched from and captured ships were tractored into for boarding, and a smaller, forward shuttle bay near the prow of the ship where high-ranking officials were received and shuttlecraft were berthed. Both hangars were protected by atmospheric retainment fields, and the main hangar bay, which contained a variety of landing craft and bombers, was protected by armored blast doors that slid along large tracks.
The main hangar's opening into space was about two hundred meters across, and the hangar bay was just as wide; the forward shuttle hangar's opening was only seventy meters or so across, and there were two adjacent hangar bays, each about thirty meters wide.
Nilas' shuttle was in the starboard hangar bay of the forward hangar, a dark red Theta-class shuttle named Gorsha after a fast, falcon-like bird found on Eriadu. It was berthed in the back corner, with several stormtroopers posted nearby to stand guard.
So, when she walked through the open blast doors on the side of the hangar bay, she looked for the stormtroopers, who were nowhere to be seen. She looked around and caught sight of the swirls of hyperspace beyond the edge of the hangar bay, and quickly looked away. "Stang," she groaned as a wave of nausea passed over her.
Yeah, that's all I need, she thought, walking towards the Gorsha, me hurling all over the deck. Thankfully, the pills were kicking in, and she didn't feel like a ninety-year old woman with a migraine anymore, but she had to get to a refresher soon; the pressure in her bladder was growing noticeably uncomfortable.
The boarding ramp for the shuttle was down, and at the base of it, she could see into the main cabin. Nilas was sitting up front. "Come aboard, Paradas," he said, not looking up from the book he was reading. "We will be arriving at Coruscant shortly."
"Yes, my lord," she said, glancing over at the empty berth on the other side of the hangar bay. The Raider would look real nice over there, she thought and headed up the ramp.
Nilas looked up. "You have some idea of procuring a shuttle?" he asked, sounding amused.
In the main cabin, the bulkheads were paneled with greel wood, and illumination was provided by recessed lights to create a warm ambiance. Built into the portside bulkhead was a double bunk, next to which was a large armoire, also of greel wood. In the back corner on the starboard side was a tiny refresher unit with a built in sani-steam. Thank the Light we're not going to be on a day trip, she thought sourly.
"Ensign Valens mentioned an old ship for sale on Coruscant that needs a lot of work."
"What kind?"
Surprised by the direction of the conversation, she said, "A Corellian R/AD One-Eleven Bee."
One of his eyebrows went up. "That is old."
"Indeed. Besides, I don't know how to fly. It was a dumb idea, anyway."
In the starboard corner where Nilas sat reading a book was a small desk with a holo-plate built into its top, and in the middle of the bulkhead was a small grav-couch upholstered in bantha calf-leather. Above the couch was a long shelf that contained actual books, datacards, and other miscellania, while emergency and field supplies were stowed under the deckplates.
In the area between the main cabin and the cockpit was a tiny galley had been built into the starboard bulkhead, though this was really only accessible when the boarding ramp was up. To the right was a small countertop with a few food prep appliances and a sink, while on the left were food storage lockers.
After relieving herself in the refresher and washing her hands, she came back out and sat on the couch. "Who is flying this shuttle?"
He grinned, though his eyes were cold. "Worried I'll ask you to?"
She shrugged. "Not really. Not unless you want to crash land."
He chuckled, and some of the ice left his eyes. "Unfortunately for you, this isn't your Raider," he chided gently. "Besides, you have no experience on the simulators."
"So…?"
"Go see." He returned to his book. I have no time to enjoy reading anymore, he sighed to himself.
Shrugging, she stood and went into the cockpit. The avionics had been updated with more modern analogues, including a holographic heads-up display that was currently being observed by an old, Clone Wars-era FA-4 pilot droid.
"Greetings, Commander," it said from the pilot's station.
"Uh, hi," she said, then returned to the couch. "So, why are we going to Coruscant?"
"We are going to pick up a prototype." Power, he mused.
"A prototype? I don't understand."
"It's a weapon of sorts," he explained. One that Twi'lek won't be able to resist. "It's for capturing Jedi." Your time of glory draws to an end, Vader, he chuckled inwardly, though his face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. "And I actually like the idea of you having a shuttle, though the Raider is more of a starfighter, wouldn't you say?"
Startled, she looked up. "Excuse me, my lord?"
"Get ahold of your new lackey after we pick up this weapon to take delivery of the ship. Our on-board manufactory can fabricate any replacement parts you need. You will be expected to spend time in the simulators, though, not locked in your cabin like you have been doing lately."
A thrill of fear passed through her; had her movements been so closely scrutinized? "Yes, my lord," she answered, knowing she would have to go pull Valens away from the Togruta he'd been lusting after somewhere in the Uscru district, and time it so that she didn't miss her contact to get her next shipment of ryll kor.
Moments later, the Star Destroyer came out of hyperspace, and the shuttle's boarding ramp raised, shutting with a soft thump as the engines whined to life.
I know, I know, it's been months since my last post. I'm working 12 hours a day, seven days a week as a Kirby rep, though, so I have a valid excuse, right? No, I haven't abandoned my readers, either. This chapter was such a royal pain in the choobies, and I hate that there is so much exposition, but I think I am done with that style of writing with this character from now on, in large part. I will try to be more frequent in future posts, as well.
Love it, hate it, want to tell me to go to hell, please feel free. Still have only 2 reviews since I first posted this back in October or November, so either it's so good that no one wants to tell me, or-yeah, I don't believe that, either. The only other option is that people read it once, think it's terrible, and don't write to tell me what's wrong. I can only fix it if you tell me what's wrong, people!
Thanks for my followers who have been patient enough to wait. Hope you enjoy. I promise more action in upcoming chapters.