Kurik Otela – Jack of Trades
He pressed a couple of fingers to his datapad, reassuring himself of its continued presence. It had been easy enough to find once they'd located the storage room. The other clones had been busy stocking up on ammunition while the Jedi Knight held the position, and Kurik had simply run across it among a number of boxes whose Republic markings had been a little too perfect.
The Miralukan had confirmed the data quickly enough, no more than a few secret trading routes that the smuggler had intended to report to Jabba. Easy credits, something to just get his foot in the door with someone who had real power.
Kurik didn't know how—or indeed, if—he would break it to Dilt, but perhaps the captain would understand. He couldn't just hang on to a marketable pilot for so long, especially when there were plenty of people around who would pay him more.
He wanted to transmit the information, but it would take him some time while they were in hyperspace. Instead of immediately trying to send it, he merely retrieved a long-range transmitter from the helm and marched back through the vessel to make sure everyone was preoccupied.
Neria was resting in her room; he supposed that even the Jedi needed their sleep. The blue of her form was noticeably weaker, a a soft beat instead of vivid pulse. Given the ordeal she'd been put through, he couldn't blame her. He'd heard firsthand from Dreamer what they'd gone through before the clone had excused himself for their small bay.
The bay itself was overrun by the clones, as was to be expected. They still celebrated their victory, still shared stories to raucous laughter. Tank watched the squad with a smile, occasionally sharing a sip of ale with Dilt.
After all he'd seen of the clone captain, Kurik had to admit a grudging respect that he knew was one-sided. The clone had treated him as a liability the entire way, but he'd also been one of the most capable commanders that the pilot had ever seen. Someone he wouldn't want to serve under, but someone he would be more than happy to hear was coming to save him.
He moved on, looking next for Dreamer. He suspected he knew where he'd find him.
Kurik passed the Jedi Knight in the cargo hold, tending to the babies and children with the Force. He paid the pilot little attention, likely too busy with his task.
Sure enough, the clone lay in the medical bay, in a silence brought on by drugs trying to pull him into the black abyss of sleep. He may have achieved that blissful state were it not for the entrance of Kurik, his eyes lazily tracking toward the Miralukan.
"Hey, are you better?"
"A little, kid." Unlike Tank, there was a fondness when Dreamer used the name. "How are you? You were put under some fire."
"Not my first time in a gunfight, Dreamer."
"S'ppose not. Must've been your first time in an operation, though. Up against the soldiers of the Separatists rather than a bunch of thugs or pirates. That kind of thing is a little bit different, less explosions and more quick gunfire."
"I'm fine. More worried about your head."
"Gah, you're worried about my head, General Durel's worried about my head, Tank's worried about my head, the padawan's worried about my head, everyone but me."
"The padawan?"
"Ah, right, suppose it slipped out." He shrugged. "She's uncomfortable with the whole 'commander' thing. So I've been endeavoring to use it less."
"I suppose it's good, then, that I'm on a first-name basis with her." Kurik sat down next to the clone. "You know, Knight Durel has been giving me an awful lot of looks out of the corner of his eye. He's watching, evaluating. He's not planning to poach me from the crew, is he?"
"Look, kid, all I know is you're Force-sensitive. I've only ever seen those types with the Jedi or farming with the Agriculture Corps. I have no mind for the matter."
What he hinted toward was far more interesting to Kurik that what he'd said, the careful tone of voice telling the pilot that something was being omitted. The clone may have been an exceptional soldier, but he was no good as a liar.
"So he mentioned something, then?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." For all that his poker face was cracked and worried, he may as well have just answered in full. "It'd be a tough life, kid, especially at your age."
"Neria's about the same age as me."
"With nearly a decade more experience than you." He lifted his head from the pillow, and though Kurik was unable to make out details in his undoubtedly russet eyes, he was willing to guess at a clear intent. "Surely you wouldn't be interested?"
"I...don't know," he said, thinking of the datapad. "I have...options. Options that need considering."
"Want my advice, kid?"
"Might as well, I'm not getting any from somewhere else."
Dreamer's gaze sluggishly traced back to the ceiling. "Do neither," he replied. "This war is miserable, it'll be like this for you day in and day out. If you can avoid it, avoid it, and get away from this starship."
"It's an honest living," Kurik protested. When the clone turned a dubious look on him, he amended with, "It's a relatively safe living."
"Moisture farming is a safe living, the service industry is a safe living, freighter piloting is a safe living. Smuggling is not a safe living."
"I'd worry about yourself, Dreamer. This war doesn't seem like it's gonna get easier anytime soon. The Separatists seem to be picking up the manufacturing every day."
"Hah, they can throw all the clankers they like at us. Long as my brothers and the Jedi are around, we'll be fine."
"And what about after the war?"
"We back at this, kid?"
"I'm curious?"
He stared at Kurik some time, and the pilot could sense his weariness. Still, he offered up an answer after a tired sigh.
"Painting, I should think. I have a blank canvas, first one I ever bought with my earnings. I had it for two months and couldn't find anything worthy of it. So I continue to paint on other blank canvases, mediocre stuff I wouldn't dare inflict on a decent people. What about you?"
"Same as before, Dreamer, credits."
"Hmph, we'll see after a few years." He waved toward the door. "Go on, kid. Last thing you need is me falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Go on."
"Get better, Dreamer."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."
He yawned long and loud as Kurik left, and he counted everyone as ticked off his list before remembering one final member of their merry little band, one who often went forgotten in the heat of the battle.
Corporal Gebb-Ti was attending to their two apprentice assassins, leaning up against the wall of their detainment hold and watching the two Togrutans. He looked at Kurik, gave him a nod, then turned his attention back to their captives.
"So, who are they?"
"Abductees," the Bothan said, arms crossed. "Willing, they say. I don't think that's how it started."
"What do you know?" one of the Togrutan assassins asked. "Our masters made us strong. Stronger than we ever would've been otherwise."
"Fighting skill is not the only measure of strength," the Bothan said. Then his head fell back against the wall, and he laughed. "You weren't very effective there, either. Our padawan made you look like amateurs, and she's not even the most capable Jedi on this craft."
"Our instructor would show her. He's strong, he'd destroy—"
"He didn't get the job done." Kurik smiled. "To hear Dreamer tell of it, he just could not break through her defenses. We got you, the children, we even got to destroy the facility. Not a bad day's work."
"Shut it!"
There was nothing the Togrutan could do but slam the meaty part of his fist against the frame of the door projecting a shield in front of him. His sister looked at him, at the Bothan, then turned to Kurik.
"You," she said. "You, you're...not a Jedi?"
"Just a pilot."
"You seem...You seem in tune with the Force."
"All of my people are. We're blind, but we see with the assistance of the Force. I know little more about the Force than a Gamorrean in a sewer."
"You would be an excellent recruit," she said. "I sense ambition, confusion..."
"And disinterest." Kurik crossed his arms. "I saw the way those babies were treated by your master. I think I'll forego that treatment."
"But you'd start so much further. I can sense that you're already at the barest level of ability."
"Are you trying to recruit me from inside a cell?"
A slanted smile on thin red lips. "Perhaps," she said. "You wear a blaster, but imagine if you could wear a weapon far more powerful, something that would make people tremble at the very sight of you."
"And all he has to do is kill me, release you, then let you take over the ship," Corporal Gebb-Ti said. "Oh, and then you let him live afterward even though you have every reason not to."
"Can't blame me for trying."
That was all she said, returning to her cot and grinning as if she'd won her bout. Perhaps she was putting up a front, or perhaps she didn't truly believe that she'd face any consequences where she was going. Either way, it wasn't Kurik's problem, and his question concerning the corporal was answered.
That left Kurik home free, able to set up the transmitter without worry of interference. He made a quick exit back to his room, taking a seat on the deck. He closed the door behind him, then set up the transmitter, connecting it to the datapad.
He typed in the number he'd been given, waiting for the transmitter to connect with the datapad back at Jabba's Palace. Whoever was on the other end was quite attentive, returning the handshake in moments.
Kurik sent away the information, then waited patiently. There was a long pause, hopefully to confirm his data. Jabba was many things, most of them bad, but he didn't refuse to pay those who did his work.
Sure enough, moments later, the payment arrived. The young pilot started to verify the payment, then a familiar voice piped up behind him
"Is something wrong?"
Neria's presence came to him seconds later, easy to sense now that he was pulled from his singular focus. He turned to find her blocking the doorway, slim figure somehow managing to be menacing even if she radiated a warmth and concern.
"No, nothing wrong," he said, standing up and trying to ease his way out of the doorway. "I was just changing out my headwrapping."
He didn't have to see her reaction to know she wasn't buying it. "That's not what I felt," she told him. "Deception, worry...That's what I felt."
Kurik couldn't help but notice that she didn't budge from the exit.
"What, you think I'm trying to get in touch with the Separatists? Come on."
"No, I don't think that's what you're doing at all." A pause, a glance to the floor as if in contemplation, then she looked back up. "Do what you will, Kurik. But both Master Durel and I have come to like you, and I would be sad to see you in Jabba's palace in a few years, one of those murderers leering at me from the dark. Beware the influences around you, they may be a greater danger than any enemy you've faced."
"And what would you know? You live in a cloister with men and women who devote their life to nothing but self-righteousness. What do you know of people who don't have a temple to provide for them?"
"I don't know much about life on the outside, I'll be the first to admit," the Twi'lek Jedi said. "But I will tell you that I've been passed from teacher to teacher, and I'm on my last chance. I know what it's like to fear, to feel desperate."
"Not feelings I would expect of a Jedi."
"We're not impervious to emotions, and they've certainly made me a concern to the council. But I will say this: you have a choice in how you face that desperation. I choose to fight and uphold my better angels until I have no more fight in me. How about you?"
He had no answer, but she didn't seem intent on finding one regardless. She disappeared from the doorway, silently slinking down the corridor.
"Jedi," Kurik grumbled, turning his gaze back to the datapad.