Char Elryth was awakened, as most residents of Dakuur were, by a distant roar echoing through the town, slowly growing louder. Nobody liked it, even though it was a less disagreeable sound than that of the steam whistle from the durasteel refinery, though that wasn't due to sound for another hour. He slid on his trousers and tunic and grabbed a couple credit chips from the bowl on his kitchen table. Seddyn was coming.

He finished his meager morning breakfast of milk and nutri-paste. Not much to offer in the way of taste, but every saved credit went to getting him off Saleucami. There was no telling if Seddyn would raise protection costs on a whim. The roar, which was coming from Seddyn's gang's swoop bikes, was one that the townspeople set their chronos by, reliable as it was. The entire town of Dakuur was built around the durasteel refinery, all its people either working in it or working jobs to support those who worked in it. Saleucami had never been a tourist destination, even before the Empire, and the smell of impurities being blown out of molten durasteel made Dakuur the least popular city on Saleucami. It didn't even have a spaceport. Just a small transport hub connecting it to Taleucema, where transports often left full and returned empty. Someday, Char told himself, he was going to get on one of those transports, chat up a freighter captain in Taleucema, and tell him or her to hit the hyperlanes.

That day, of course, would not be today, as Char was so painfully reminded when the sound of the swoop bike engines was right outside his door. The life-worn Duro sighed with resignation and strode outside, credits in hand. "On time as usual, Seddyn," he looked at the gang's leader. "Expecting any Imperials today?"

The gang leader grabbed him by the wrist. "Are you getting fresh with me, old man?" he growled, turning the hand over and squeezing the wrist, catching the handful of credits that fell out.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Char gritted his teeth, not daring to show the slightest bit of pain on his heat-callused face. "Just wanted to know if I should take a different route home today."

Seddyn stuffed the creds into his pocket. "What, are you saying we can't keep them at bay? You've got a lotta mouth on you. Or do you know something we don't?"

"Nothing at all!" Char gasped, "I just want to make sure my credits are put to good use!"

The gangster tilted his head, then released Char. "They always are. I wouldn't be around if they weren't. Be careful you don't run into any more accidents, old man. Might cost me extra to keep you safe if you did. Wouldn't that be a shame."

The gang moved out, hopping on their bikes and heading to the next house. He inspected his wrists. No signs of bruises, but that was only to be expected from years of tilting crucibles full of molten durasteel.

Seddyn's temper was no secret, which Char reminded himself should have been incentive enough to keep his mouth shut. Down the block, and the next after it, the gang would be pressing one resident after another for a cut of their hard-earned creds in exchange for keeping them safe from the Imperials that the gang never found an opportunity to remind them could come back any day. More good-natured folks like farmers or city-dwellers would have capitulated immediately. The factory workers fought back at first, but were no match for Seddyn's gang. Every single one, without exception, who openly fought back against them wound up dead, alongside anyone suspected of collaborating with the Empire, trying to get them a way into Dakuur in the faint hope that they'd restore the sort of order they'd always told the galaxy they gave.

Not that Char cared about any of that. The Empire was rapidly dying, the New Republic was hampered by bureaucracy, and Seddyn didn't control anything beyond Dakuur. He'd be gone soon enough, and good riddance to this planet with grey skies, the stench of rotting eggs, volcanic landscape as far as the eye could see, no forests, and one woman for every ten men.

"Remind me why I'm here again?" The Shock Trooper fiddled with the red strings of her hooded pullover. Far from her usual wardrobe, it hindered her mobility, which was about the worst way to start off a drop. Still, Commander Dalynn had insisted.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten your objectives already," the wideset grey-bearded man looked down at her.

She pulled her hood down, applying a small amount of concealer over the Republic logo placed beneath her left eye like a teardrop. Anything else felt like it was clogging her skin. "Infiltrate the city, locate the Imperial presence, rendezvous with our informant, take out the Imps, whoever they are. Just like always."

"Not technically wrong," he conceded, "Though this time we're working with less. That's why you need to go in disguise.

"Why? Did Alliance intel drop the ball or something?"

Dalynn nodded slowly. "That's one way to put it. Our last informant sent us a single transmission, then was found dead in the Dakuur transport two days later. Single blaster shot to the back and stripped of his datapad."

"And I'm guessing you don't have a clue who's responsible?"

"Most likely whoever's maintaining the Imperial presence there. We figure if they're afraid enough of us to murder a single Rodian spy in cold blood, they can be taken out by a single Shock Trooper. But you need to be quiet as you enter the city so they don't go into hiding...or worse." Kill you, he didn't add out loud.

"With all due respect, Commander," she said the last word in a tone that sounded like anything but respect, "I'm not the sort of person you can sneak up on. Aren't Shock Troopers supposed to be used for operations that require speed?"

"That part comes later, Dune," the Commander ignored her impertinence. "I know intelligence-gathering isn't part of what you signed up for, but our resources are still thin. They're growing with every world we liberate from Imperial control, but we still have to shoe-string a lot of operations. Let me put it this way: If we didn't have faith in your ability to handle this on your own, we wouldn't have sent you in the first place. That's what sets us apart from the Empire: We value our own."

"If you say so," she shrugged.

"You signed up with us, Dune. If you're so skeptical about our intentions, why do you stay?"

"Honestly?" she rose to her feet as the transport began to slow, "Because I have nowhere else to go."

Char slid his lunch box into his locker, putting on his protective gear. Before he covered his back with the thick layers of wool and synth-leather, something prodded him in the back. "Hey Char, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He knew that voice anywhere, even though it sounded like the voice of anyone else in Dakuur. "Is it important? My shift's about to start, Leth."

Leth Gien was a grey-faced Zabrak who looked younger than all the employees of the refinery, but who was older than half of them. She had been lucky enough to get a job in the personnel department, far enough from the smelting room to never have to endure the scorching heat, close enough to know all the employees by name, and powerful enough that they couldn't get away with ignoring her when she wanted something. Her non-stop disinterested monotone made it all the harder to not ignore her. She was holding a datapad and standing next to a human (man or woman? He couldn't always tell with humans) in full protective gear. "Char, we've got a new kid here. It's your turn to take care of her for the day."

The human rolled her eyes. "What, do we have a lottery system for trainees now? I trained another pusher last week!"

"Look, I know it's not fair, but that's just how things work. Now be nice to her and tell her what she needs to know for her job."

The human raised a hand in greeting. "Hi. I promise I'll listen so you don't have to repeat yourself."

Char sighed. "Alright. Come with me, new kid, and remember: If this work ain't for you, there's no shame in calling it quits." He led her to the door. "You got a name?"

"It's Cara," she answered, "Cara Dune. And yes, there is."

"There is what?"

"Shame in calling it quits," she echoed his words. "What good am I if I can't even do a job like this one?"

Char swiped his ID card at a pad in the wall, gesturing her to do the same. "You'd better drop that attitude now. It's the only thing that could possibly make living in this town worse. There's nothing romantic about what you're doing here. All you'll be doing is sealing crates of durasteel for shipment to Force-knows-where. There's nothing noble of philosophical about it. It's just a job, and the sooner you realize that, the better you'll be at dealing with the endless disappointment of living here. Understand me?"

She shrugged. "I mean, I get what you're saying, but I'd rather tackle my work-life balance in my own way. I'll listen to you when you tell me how to do this job, I can promise that much."

"Your funeral," Char decided further discussion wasn't worth his time. "Anyway, here's where you'll be. And you'll be using this." He handed her a blaster-shaped object attached to a hose trailing to the ceiling. "This is a pneumatic sealer. When a crate makes it here on the line, you hold it like this... and pull the trigger for each seal you want to put in it. Each corner of each crate should have at least four seals in it. As soon as you're done, press this red button, and the crate will load onto the elevator, and once it's gone beyond the ceiling, it's not your problem anymore, as long as you did your job right."

"Simple enough," she nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, that's basically it," Char shook his head. "I don't know if you'll stay on my line, and I honestly don't care, but whatever line they assign you to, tell them you're a pusher. Don't let them assign you to another job unless you're willing to train for it first."

"Wow. Fastest training of my life," Cara remarked.

"That's because the job is boring. So boring, you might find yourself begging for death at the end of your shift if you don't know how to shut your brain off."

"And how long have you been working here?"

"Five years. But we're done talking now. Boring as this job is, mistakes will make it even worse. Just focus, don't think more than you have to, and you'll be fine."

The job certainly turned out boring for her. By the time of the first break, Cara looked ready to scream. Not Char's problem. He walked briskly to the break room without a backward glance, lit up a cigarra, and took a long drag. To his annoyance, the new hire had followed him. "You do know those things will kill you, right?"

No need to soft-pedal it for her. "When?" Her lack of an answer prompted him to continue. "Kid, I've been dead ever since I got stranded here. This is the only thing that keeps the feeling from getting to me. You'll probably end up hooked on these, too, if you don't want to go insane."

She stepped a little closer to Char. "I've heard they take the amount of time you smoke them off the end of your life. You make it sound like that's part of the appeal."

"I'd be lying if I said it weren't. I just wanna get off this rock, find somewhere nice to settle in the Core Worlds, live out what few years I have left in something resembling luxury, and let a few desk jockeys fight over whatever's left," he took a rather long drag. "These things also take off the edge of life. They make it almost bearable. So, if for some reason I will never be able to figure out, you're so determined to get me in better health by getting me off cigarras, you'll have to either teleport me away or speed up the production cycle to when my next bonus is due. Last I checked, humans don't have either of those abilities."

"No, I don't," she kicked at a small rock lying on the ground. "I'll probably be here a little while myself, and it's already taking a lot out of me. Could I try one? I'll reimburse you."

Without hesitating, the Duros reached into his pocket and pulled a stick out. Cara slid it between her lips and he pulled out his lighter. "Inhale. It needs oxygen to light up." The flame flicked to life and Cara drew some in. Immediately, she started coughing and sputtering. Char cackled. "Not for beginners. Don't worry, you'll get used to it soon enough. Soon, you'll even start convincing yourself it's the burning in the back of your throat you crave and not the iotine you're gonna get addicted to."

"Sure, if I'm around here long enough," she took a second drag and powered through it, fishing around in her pocket for a credit chip. "Here."

"Nah, you keep it. I got you into a lifelong addiction, I don't deserve to be rewarded for it."

"If you want to make it up to me, maybe you could provide me a bit of information."

Char sucked on his cigarra a bit longer this time, blowing the smoke out entirely through his nostrils. "There's hardly anything happening around here, but sure, what do you want to know?"

"I heard there was a murder here recently," Cara got straight to the point. "A rodian named Geega something or other. Do you know anything about that?" The cigarra stayed in place in Char's mouth for a moment as Cara felt a flutter in her gut. Why could you never tell where a Duro's eyes were pointed? "Don't worry, anything I find out, I didn't hear from you."

Another drag, and he exhaled. "You're smarter than you look. No, I definitely didn't know a rodian named Geega Hogan. He definitely didn't work on the cooling line, and I'm absolutely certain he didn't ask too many stupid questions about Seddyn and pay the price." Before she could ask, he clarified. "Seddyn may or may not be a local troublemaker. Doesn't work here at the factory, but still comes by the workers' bar every night. He's tolerated because he always pays his gang's tab, and what a tab it is."

"How does he get by?"

The cigarra had been burned down to the filter, so Char dumped it into the repository nearby designed for such a purpose. "Who knows? Maybe he had a rich uncle he inherited from after Alderaan blew up...what?"

"Nothing," Cara was clenching her jaw, looking like she was struggling not to grind her teeth. "What else might it have been?"

"Well, he probably doesn't charge every single person in this town a quarter of their wages in protection, oh no. That would be illegal, and we'd all hate him for it."

"Does he have any weaknesses?"

Char groaned, standing upright. "Look, I've done enough guessing out loud for you. If you're that desperate to know, go to the bar tonight. Right across from the factor entrance, you can't miss it. But he's bad news. Seriously, stay away from him, or you'll regret it."

Cara took a drag, now fully used to the sensation. "I'll handle the consequences. And again, I didn't hear any of this from you."

"Good," he smirked, "That means we're done talking."