Disclaimer: Don't own SW. Belongs to Disney and Lucasfilm.
While not a being of infinite patience, it took a lot to agitate Sidon Ithano. Among treasure hunters, the feared Crimson Corsair had a reputation to keep calm in tense situations. Others also knew not to prod into his personal business nor ask for any "favors." Those often led to the worst kind of trouble, and that was what Sidon feared when his crew brought a stranger aboard his ship.
His first mate, Quiggy, swerved in the chair beside Sidon. The giant head, as large as his body, bobbed towards the stranger limping into the main hold of the Meson Martinet. "Who's dis?" Quiggold asked gruffly while blinking each green eye on either side of his rigged nostrils.
"New prospect," Rev murmured. She flexed her mechanical left arm before she sat on the torn cushion beside Quiggold, placing. "We found 'im outside the Dune Sea."
"And whose idea's it to bring him here?"
Squeaky squealed his answer upon entering the main hold and slamming a bag on the table. Sidon and Quiggy caught on the somewhat dazed look of the Gamorrean, and the latter then glared at the man following behind in his dark cloak. "What we say on mind tricks, Jacen?!" Quiggy barked, large frowning lips flapping about his amphibious face.
"They only work on the weak-minded. Besides, it didn't take much to convince them," Jacen calmly replied, his eyes on the tired Gamorrean and Twi'lek.
"And what's that be?" Quiggy stabbed his left pegleg onto the creaky floor.
Rev's prosthetic arm clanged on the bag. "Well, a droid for one," she said, then pointed at the newcomer, "and 'e's a Stormtrooper."
Quiggy blinked his thick eyelids. "They all gone," he almost growled.
"There's the Remnant..."
"Don't count!"
Behind his red mask, Sidon softly groaned. A Stormtrooper, of all things? He didn't want to know where an old relic like that came from, let alone what a Stormtrooper was doing on Tatooine. Though, it gave a hint as to what happened to their contact in Anchorhead, as well as to the rest of the settlement.
Sidon eyed this supposed Stormtrooper. He clearly could see the Stomtrooper trying to stand on a bad leg, his frightened expression on everyone talking. Not surprising when Quiggy kept his frown and said, "... I tell ya keepin' him 'round's dangerous." Squeaky squealed a suggestion, one which Quiggy shot down. "No one asked ye!"
From her seat, Rev glanced over. "Well, Jacen? What do you s'ink? You brought him 'ere."
His eyes glaring through his dark hair, Jacen crossed his arms over his chest. "As I said before, he's a Stormtrooper. With the knowledge he has, he can help us find places not discovered by the rest of the galaxy. We could be the first to find new treasures."
The rest of the crew looked to one another. In the following silence, an exhausted Rev sighed. "Look, why not keep him around for a bit? He might help out now and then? Right, cap…?"
The Twi'lek's words died when the captain stepped forward. Sidon kept his eyes not on the stares but on Jacen. The captain gestured for him to follow and Jacen did, right outside the main hold.
Once outside and out of the others' sights, Sidon drew his pistol at Jacen's chest.
"You know that won't work on me," Jacen said without flinching.
Sidon knew that too well. But he knew Jacen's mind tricks wouldn't work on him.
Aware of that himself, Jacen asked, "Are you angry about me manipulating your crew?"
Sidon shook his mask. He clarified when his freed hand tapped on his helmed scalp. Questioning Jacen's sanity required no words.
"It is not insane," Jacen said with a frown. "I know what I'm doing with him."
Sidon answered back by angrily jutting his blaster into Jacen's chest. He didn't need to be some ex-Jedi like Jacen to know something was off. Whatever it was, Sidon wasn't going to let some Stormtrooper ruin his ship.
"Um…" spoke the said Stormtrooper watching the entire thing.
"Sometin' goin' on?!" asked Quiggy from the main hold.
Without looking, Jacen called back, "This is nothing. Just a dispute with the captain, that's all."
When Rev and Squeaky's heads were about to pop over, Sidon hid his blaster under his cape. There was no need to scare his crew over this.
At last, he turned to the Stormtrooper by the mainhold's entrance. He wore a frightened expression as Sidon stood in front of him, blackened eye slits staring at the newcomer. The young man stank with sweat, but Sidon was too used to it on his ship.
At the same time, Sidon read the Stormtrooper like an opened book. Mouth opened, unable to say anything; brow furrowed in worry; and the eyes, most of all, filled with fear. He also noticed those eyes turning towards Jacen for an answer.
"The captain is testing you," Jacen said. "He wants to know what you want out of this."
The affirmation brought the Stormtrooper's gaze back to the captain. Sidon tilted his masked head, slowly and slightly, to beckon the younger man to speak. He did, slowly and softly, in a raspy voice, "I... I just want to get out of here."
It was a truthful answer, if Sidon ever heard one. He waved his hand over his shoulder in a gesture. Then, he turned towards the other doorway for the cockpit. Only a tiny sound left the Stormtrooper. "What…?"
"It means he tolerates you," Jacen had explained.
'For now,' Sidon thought loudly while he turned for the cockpit. He hoped for Jacen to sense the words and relay them to the new passenger.
If Jacen did, Sidon didn't hear it. He only heard soft boots behind and Rev asking, "So, how long, cap'n?"
At that, Sidon held up four fingers on his right hand.
"Days? Huh, longer than 'sual," Rev murmured. "Then 'gain, I guess this ain't 'sual."
Sidon agreed. That was why he made a slight change to his usual policy: 'Four days. Sell him after that.'
If Jacen ever found out-which he would-he would object. He was only a new crew member, not the captain, so Sidon didn't care.
XXXXXXXXXX
'… Activating.'
The word appeared over the display BB-8's lone eye, a second after everything shook. The droid slowly whirled from a mechanical sleep, rolling atop a flat metallic surface, not the rough Tatooine desert. Before registering what happened, BB-8 beeped wildly at the massive snout of a Gammorrean.
The droid's circuits and body whirled off the table. A screech dropped with it, followed by a loud CLANK. The body bounced and the head veered to one side while trying to escape. BB-8 barely got a few rolls away before the Gammorrean scooped the droid up in one large hand.
The snout snorted, spewing out specks of green saliva. The sounds were obvious enough for BB-8 to understand. He was telling the droid he wasn't getting away that easily.
With a tiny taser popping out, BB-8 did just that. The shock forced Gabordin to let go, and the second CLANK of BB-8's body on the ground drowned his yelp. Data fed internal processors, searching for any way out of this mess.
"Woah!" someone cried to the side, and BB-8 barely saw Eight-Seven by an arched doorway.
BB-8 didn't pay attention. The frantic search for freedom ended with it bumping into a black boot. The same boot rose and slammed on BB-8's chassis, holding the droid down before it could escape. Squirming wasn't possible, so BB-8 could only look to its captors.
Off to the side, the Gammorean squealed in annoyance. Whatever had been said, the man wearing the boot replied in clear Basic, "Not so much now. Get a bolt on this, before it escapes again."
The Gammorean grunted, hobbling off. To the side, Eight-Seven said, "Wait, what are you doing?"
"Something to restrain it," the man said. "We'll need that if we're going to sell this droid."
If BB-8 had a heart, it would be pounding with fear. There had been old stories of droids taken to be sold off, some as spare parts to never be reassembled again. Those had to be old stories to make little droidlings jump with fear… right?
As the thundering footsteps faded, the prone BB-8 had a good look of the boot-wearer. The preceptor zoomed in on the bearded man, catching the sharp chin, piercing eyes, and hair as dark as his cloak. It was…
BB-8's inner processors whirled again. Data bits were coded and sequenced in a secret message. In two-point-three seconds, it was done and ready to be sent out.
The man, as if he read the droid's intentions, called out, "Do you have that restraining bolt?"
The Gammorean squealed back, returning with his quaking steps. Then, his snout snorted from a chuckle.
Seconds before the Gammorean tagged on a restraining bolt, BB-8's eye blinked several times. The message was sent on a coded frequency, sending all the images BB-8 had recorded in the past thirty seconds. With them came a message of urgency:
'Target found. Transmitting coordinates. Send help. QUICK.'
XXXXXXXXXX
The journey back to the Finalizer had been oddly quiet. Rey expected some chatter to cheer up the shuttle's flight, but no one else spoke a word. She herself said nothing, not even when she arrived on the ship and went to the bridge on the captain's orders.
The familiar cold fell over Rey, freezing the sweat to her face. It didn't hide her surprise upon finding the holoimage of her master. "Come forward," Xa-re commanded from the waiting console.
The obeying Rey unstuck her boots from the threshold. Her steps should've been loud and triumphant like the pair of Stormtroopers behind her, but they were soft, as if dulled by the recent experience. Was it because some of the men under her died? No, that was to be expected. Maybe she hadn't yet received the praise she wished for.
It came from the giant by her master. "Congratulations, apprentice. You have done well," Captain Phasma said after dismissing Rey's escorts.
Rey cranked her neck to meet the captain's shiny and chrome helmet. "Thank you, captain," she said. "I'm afraid a few of your men did not make it back, though-"
"It doesn't matter," Phasma cut her off. "You have drawn Jedi blood, perhaps the first among us. That is worthy of recognition."
As much as the statement surprised Rey, she held her tongue back. Whispers of nearby crewmembers pierced through the slight hum in her ears. Their gossip, filled with shock and awe, drew Rey's gaze to survey the bridge and find every few officers turning away from her.
"Apprentice," Xa-re spoke, drawing Rey's attention. "Give your report."
Standing tall, she did just that. Captain Phasma dismissed herself, and Rey noted how irksome her mentor had felt for it. Xa-re let it slide and turned to Rey who finished her report. The girl waited with bated breath for any praise to allay her sudden uneasiness.
"Hmmm… most troublesome," Xa-Rey's voice rumbled.
Rey blinked. "Master?"
"Did you wonder why would that man be interested in a few deserters?"
"Well, the Jedi-"
"You didn't face a Jedi. If you had, you wouldn't be here. Now, explain to me why that man was so interested in the deserters."
Rey blinked again to gather her thoughts. She tried to focus on her master in front, not the officer who approached Phasma off to the side. "I… I thought it was to gather intell on the First Order. There would be no other purpose in risking one operative for such a small group." Upon Xa-re's silence, she asked, "Master, why are you asking this-?"
"It's your uneasiness. I've felt it," Xa-re whispered, and Rey shut her mouth. He continued in that low, almost secretive tone as his projection came closer. "I am uneasy about this myself. This mission only gives more questions, not answers. A part of you knows this."
Rey didn't argue. To an extent, her master had been right. Something inside didn't agree with the mission, but it only showed up after she had killed that pilot. Perhaps, she had realized her misgivings?
Stowing away any hesitation, Rey turned to her master. "What can I do?" she asked quietly.
"What is Phasma doing?"
Rey briefly glanced to the captain, still in the main bridge. "She is just standing there, talking to an officer."
"Close your eyes." To Rey's bewildered expression, Xa-re repeated, "Close your eyes and focus on her…"
Rey obeyed. It was easier to fall into the Force with her master around, now more than ever. She suppressed the emotions from her victory to quiet her mind. She sifted through every voice and computer in the background. With all other noise out of the way, Rey heard a tiny gasp behind the captain's helmet, followed by three words.
"They have him."
Rey opened her eyes. "What…?"
"Hush," Xa-re cut her off, backing away. "Wait…"
Focusing again, Rey listened to Phasma continue. "Keep an eye on that ship. And do not fire upon it. We'll need it to track him."
"But marm," said the officer with Phasma, "it can easily be shot down-"
"Under no circumstances are you to fire! No, capture is the only way to be sure."
"Marm, if the New Republic has been informed, as they most likely have, then they will try to find the ship."
"I am aware. For now, keep track of that ship."
Rey at last opened her eyes to Phasma now walking back to the console. The pupil glanced over to her mentor, expecting orders to help her manage this swelling anxiety. All Xa-re said was, "Anything captain?"
"No," Phasma said, "nothing we cannot handle. Your pupil will be sent back to headquarters, as we discussed."
Phasma's odd choice of words took Rey aback. It was so much that the pupil broke her silence. "I can't go yet!"
Rey froze, realizing what she had blurted out. She wasn't sure why she had said it, but it was too late to wonder now. Her confidence died, and she shrunk under both helmed heads staring at her.
Phasma's helmet jittered when she spoke with an edge as sharp as a lightsaber, "What do you mean?"
Rey swallowed, unable to fully look at the other woman or Xa-re's masked gazes. "I… I meant the deserters…" she slowly began. "There is still one left, correct? He escaped on a ship you're tracking?" Any attempt at stoicism had been laughable, and Rey cursed herself for her weakness.
To Rey's surprised, Phasma relaxed her tense shoulders. She then held out a datapad, showing the ship on it. A boxy vessel, almost shaped like an arrow with two thrusters on either end. "We've intercepted a New Republic signal emanating from that ship. We believe there the Jedi you encountered may have an ally aboard," the captain explained. "And we believe this ally to be aligned with our last deserter."
"And you plan on tracking it," Xa-re finished in a-matter-of-factly tone. "The New Republic has no doubt been informed."
"That is why we can't afford any mistakes. It would be better to have a missing trace than a corpse for anyone to follow."
"Then, we must be quick and find them before the New Republic do. My pupil has already proven herself capable. She will join your mission. Personally."
The words surprised Rey. Phasma too, if her body language showed anything. "She has," the captain admitted, turning to Xa-re's pupil. "If you're joining this mission, then you follow my orders directly. Is that clear?"
Rey nodded immediately, her mind filled with pride. Her master actually praised her, and in front of a captain in the First Order! At the same time, there was a silent command that came with it. Knowing Xa-re long enough, Rey had a good idea of what he wanted: Learn Phasma's real mission. Once all information has been gathered, report back.
"Well, apprentice," Xa-re said. "Do you accept this mission?"
Breathing in, Rey nodded again. "I do, master."
"Very well," Phasma went on, unaware of the plot. "You will depart immediately with a platoon of troopers. You will track his movements. Find him, but do not engage. My troops will bring him back."
Phasma left, this time heading out of the bridge altogether. The captain's stomps echoed until the door closed behind her, leaving Rey's question. "You planned for that, didn't you master?" she asked.
"And if I had?" Xa-re asked back.
Rey pushed back the grin tugging at her lips. A petty officer had come by. "E-excuse me, sir, ma'am," he stuttered. "I need to record the entire conversation for the log. I-If you could please…"
Rey stepped back to let the young man do his job. Xa-re, being Xa-re, intervened. He ordered the petty officer, "You will delete my private conversations with my apprentice then forget this order."
The petty officer blinked at Xa-re and droned, "I will delete your private conversations with your apprentice. Then, I will forget this order."
Rey whipped over to Xa-re. He merely told her, "I suggest you go, apprentice. You must make yourself comfortable in your new home."
The tiny grin returned in full force and tugged at Rey's lips. It stayed on, earning a few looks when she left the bridge behind her.
XXXXXXXXXX
Eight-Seven learned the Meson Martinet, as it was called, was a shoddy old ship. Its inner hull was filled with scratches and worn paint. Power cables ran loose on the rusted walls and glowed dimly enough to look like they could explode at any minute. None did, but a lamp went out when Eight-Seven passed by it.
Unlike Eight-Seven who spared a startled glance at the dead lamp, the Twi'lek ahead ignored it. "Just down 'ere," she said. "It's 'round ze corner. Tiny, but we have no more space."
A squeal startled Eight-Seven, stuck in a narrow and cramped corridor. Now reminded of the Gamorrean behind him, he drew in a sharp breath at the scent of a used refresher lingering in the air. Immediately, he covered his nose and mouth. At least Starkiller Base always had room and never smelt this bad…
Eight-Seven shook the thought away. He was too far-gone for regrets. 'Just live with it,' he told himself.
"And here we are," the Twi'lek announced, opening the last door on the left.
Eight-Seven stopped, looked to his host, then popped his head inside the dark dwelling. He could barely make out the frame of a bed enough to fit him. The sheets may have been half his size, but the sight made Eight-Seven realize the wave of fatigue he had been holding back. He almost swayed inside, ready to collapse-
Then, his foot banged against something metallic and hard.
"Ah, forgot 'bout that!" the Twi'lek told a cursing Eight-Seven. After kicking aside a power conductor, she glared to her companion. "Squeaky, I thought you cleaned this up!"
Eight-Seven ignored the squealing outside, preferring to go to bed. The Twi'lek grabbed his arm to stop him. "Careful. There be more lying around. Used to be fer a Jawa we had. Always left stuff lying 'round. Had to space 'im when he tried stealing all our money." She glared again to the Gamorrean by the door. "We still clean up now and den, though."
His arm freed, Eight-Seven stared warily at his hosts. Spacing crewmembers? Shooting unarmed strangers? Just what kind of people were they?
"How…?" Eight-Seven finally asked, the question rising in his throat. "... how do you live like this?"
"You live," the Twi'lek shrugged and added, "I'm Rev, by the way. And that there is Squeaky."
Glancing at the Gamorrean, Eight-Seven's hand went to his aching shoulder. There was a wrap he had not noticed before. Maybe someone put it there while he was out. "Yes, I…" he said, "... I know."
Rev's red face winced with guilt. "Yeah… sorry fer knocking you out. And Squeaky here's sorry fer shooting you." Hearing a squeal, Rev glared at Squeaky. "Yes, you are!"
Eight-Seven almost stood up to attention. "I'm FN-2187."
Looking at him, Rev commented, "That sounds like a droid number. They didn't let you keep your name?"
Eight-Seven paused to search for his memory. He had a name. He was sure he had one. Now, it was a blank, so he shook his head.
Rev blinked then said, "Well, you'll need a better name. We'll think of something by the time we get there."
"Where-?"
Eight-Seven's question stopped when the floor rumbled. He recognized it immediately. The ship's engines had turned on. Soon enough, it will leave the atmosphere and take him away from Tatooine.
Away from the First Order.
"We should go. Captain will want us on the cockpit," Rev's voice cut in as she left with Squeaky. She stopped at the doorway and her lekku seung with her head before she whispered, "Oh, one thing. You might wanna get on a new ship. Captain wants you off in four days."
"Understood," Eight-Seven said automatically, like a good soldier would. He only realized the habit after Rev fisted the control button with her metal limb.
Eight-Seven sighed and sat on the floor once the door had closed. For the first time in days, he felt the sliver of relief. It was no exciting triumph, but a solemn calm that eased his nerves. He didn't even care about the power converters right beside him. At the same time, there was a new worry. Four days? It wasn't enough time to find a ship. He had no money, and no one would give it, let alone a free ride to freedom.
Eight-Seven rested his back and head on the bed. Maybe he'd think on it later. Right now, he just needed… some… sleep…
Eight-Seven's eyes snapped open at a sudden shake. He recognized the drop out of hyperspace and thought he was back on the Finalizer. The messy room reminded him otherwise, especially when the door opened to unveil Jacen's looming stare. "What-?"
Jacen threw a jacket and pants at Eight-Seven. "Put these on," he instructed and turned to leave. "You'll need them if you want to fit in."
Fit in? Did they already arrive? For how long had Eight-Seven been out? Following Jacen out, the ex-Stormtrooper collided his foot against the wall of the cramped corridor. Jacen, already far ahead and heading for the main hold, was indifferent to Eight-Seven's pain or the new pants he slid on.
Left alone, Eight-Seven sighed and slid on his new jacket. It was a ragged old thing and felt too similar to his black bodysuit. Eight-Seven would've mistaken the jacket for it, if not for the blue color or the two Basic letters of 'herf' and 'senth' imprinted on it. Whatever it was, it certainly smelled old. Just a necessary step to fitting in.
"Fitting in…" Eight-Seven whispered to himself, almost humorous yet hesitant at the same time.
With that, he took his first steps towards freedom.
XXXXXXXXXX
Freedom, Eight-Seven learned, was very crowded. After stepping off the Meson Martinet's boarding ramp, he was bumped and blocked by a devil-horned Devaronian, tall and scaly Trandoshans, two furry Wookiees, and five skinny technical droids. And that had been the repair crew in the hangar bay, who had been waiting to check on the ship.
"Keep movin'," said the Gabordin named Quiggy "Ain't got time lollygaggin'."
The ex-Stormtrooper obeyed. He stuck close to the back of his new group, just behind Rev. He made the right call because even more people surrounded his group once they passed the hangar bay's exit. It was a large hall, dirty like the vast crowd of aliens and humans in front. The place looked less like a space station and more like a rundown bazaar, and the Meson Martinet was a mere microcosm to all of this.
Among the crowd, a blocky droid hovered by. Unlike BB-8, who was in the bag that Squeaky carried over his shoulder, this one's voice waved up with the tiny arms, greeting any and all newcomers. "Welco-oooome to Axis Station! At the crrrrrrossroad of the Outer and Inner Rrrrrims…"
The crowd drowned the stutter in the droid's voice. In the sounds, a squeal drew Eight-Seven to Squeaky walking beside him. "He said 'nice jacket,'" translated Rev.
"Um… thank you…" Eight-Seven said.
"Watch yaself," Quiggy said from ahead while lumbering his large legs forward. "If anyone eyes what ya got, then they try to steal it. Prob'ly from ya corpse."
Eight-Seven noted how true those words were when a pair of children rushed past with a slightly bloodied towel in hand. He didn't want to know where that came from.
"They should think otherwise, though," Jacen said from Eight-Seven's other side, the other man walking like some wraith with his hood and cape. His posture definitely scared the two kids away.
"What about the ship?" Eight-Seven asked. "Would someone try to steal-?"
"Don't worry 'bout it," Rev assured. She turned around, walking backwards to continue. "You need to focus on your new life. Speaking 'boot that, Squeaky and I came up with a name-"
The captain grabbed Rev's arm, stopping her before she could bump into a figure in armor. The silver segments of Mandalorian iron told anyone nearby to back off, including Rev. The figure in plain view and the chatter dying down, Eight-Seven almost shivered at the dark T-shaped visor staring back.
"Corsair," the Mandalorian nodded, and the captain nodded back. "I came over as soon as I heard your ship was in. What brings you here?"
Eight-Seven jumped when the captain thumbed at him. Fortunately, Jacen spoke on his behalf. "We found this one. We need shelter for a couple days to get him situated."
Glancing at the taller man then at Eight-Seven, the Mandalorian told the group, "Alright, will do. Head over to the south quadrant. You can pay the owner there. She should have some space."
The captain nodded again in thanks. The Mandalorian stepped in front though. "Try not to make any trouble. We've had some issues with security 'round here. That goes for all of your crew," warned, his visor falling on a certain red Twi'lek.
"Will do, officer," Rev muttered and waited for the Mandalorian to be out of earshot. "Sleemo."
A sharp tap from the captain told Rev to stowe it. Eight-Seven had seen such movements many times on Starkiller Base, and he correctly guessed the meaning behind the captain waving his hand. "Will do, captain," Rev nodded, and the crowd went back to their chatter. "And don't worry. Squeaky and I'll take good care of him."
Before Eight-Seven could question it, Jacen joined in. "I'll join them. I want to ask him some questions," he said, earning what Eight-Seven swore was a stern glare from the captain. To that, Jacen replied, "Don't worry. It is just friendly talk. Nothing that would… be harmful."
"Tell the blasted station 'bout 'im, why don ya?" Quiggy muttered, his eyes scouring around the muttering crowd for any suspicious activity. "The cop's keepin' all them on us now!"
"They'll know anyway. Our friend here will be of good use. I'll be sure of that."
Jacen's low tone sent a shiver down Eight-Seven's spine. Quiggy, on the other hand. huffed. "Only why we keep 'im 'round," he said and followed the captain. Before disappearing into the crowd, Quiggy shouted, "Hey Squeaky! 'Member to scrap the droid! And save the money this time!"
Eight-Seven flinched from the Gamorrean's horrid squeal, then he felt Rev's metal hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Skyler. We gotta go," she said.
As Rev and Squeaky went on, Eight-Seven blinked several times. 'Skyler?' He would've looked to Jacen for answers, but the other man had already gone on his way. Not wanting to be left behind in a crowd whose eyes were already on him, Eight-Seven ran after his 'hosts,' especially when Rev called for him.
XXXXXXXXXX
The newcomer surprised Ivie. For a woman who had been on Axis Station for ten standard years, she had seen all sorts of new people coming in and out of her little corner. There had been aliens, orphans, alien orphans, and much more. There had even been a few times when New Republic troops hung out for a drink or two. Those days could be really be rough.
Ivie knew today and tomorrow would be rougher when she recognized the Stormtrooper with Rev and Squeaky. The black undersuit was a dead giveaway, even if it was covered by dust and a dirty old jacket. A deserter, if Ivie ever saw one, and he easily stood out in the main lobby where everyone ate and drank.
Ivie hid her shrewd nature behind a tuft of curly black hair and a kind smile. "Evenin', Rev, Squeaky! Who's ya new friend?" she called from the safety of her bar.
Squeaky said something in his native tongue. Ivie tried not to choke against the putrid smell or Squeaky shoving a patron aside for a free seat. Rev fortunately translated as she took the next spot. "Some guy we found on Tatooine. Lost 'is home to some bandits. Silver-top said to come here for a place to stay."
"Did he now?" Ivie mused outwardly.
Alarms went off in her head. The station's constable sent them here? And with the deserter? Did that mean he was onto her? No, that couldn't be the case-
Ivie froze when the man in the dark cloak walked behind the deserter. Jacen, Ivie recalled. She also remembered her orders to keep an eye out for that one. And he was here at last after so many months.
A smile creased Ivie's scarred face. "I'll see what I can do, luv. Need a drink, first?" she asked Rev.
One by one, Ivie took orders from her new tennents. She kept any alcohol from Squeaky-she knew him and enough Gammoreans about their drunken tendencies. Jacen and the deserter whom Rev called "Skyler," would get the best drinks Ivie had. Preparing in a slow manner also kept Ivie on the latest gossip.
One bit of gossip rang from Rev, who pulled out a tiny thing from her backpack. "... And this right here is the skyhopper model that once belonged to the famous Luke Skywalker!"
"Ah, is it really?" Ivie said, looking at the thing in Rev's mechanical hand. "Looks a bit dinky, innit? You'll need more than that to pay, y'know?"
Frowning, Rev glared to Squeaky who was too busy stuffing himself with a plate of Mon Cala eels. The bickering fell on deaf ears, especially when Ivie's peripheral vision caught Jacen shifting uncomfortably on the far end of the bar. By him, Skyler glanced around like the newbie he was, often catching the attention of other patrons. Well… until Jacen whispered a word or two to him.
Ivie drew a free finger behind her ear. It looked like a normal gesture to scratch at a tiny itch. No one ever noticed she flicked a tiny implant to record everything, less so when she slid down the bar with a drink in hand. "Here ya go, fellas! Drink up!" Ivie told Jacen and Skyler. After the duo looked at their drinks and not touch them, she went on, "Don't worry, it ain't poisoned."
"You can't be too careful," Jacen mumbled.
"That is true," Ivie smiled wryly, while hiding the truth serum she snuck into the drinks. Jacen's friend hadn't noticed and slowly sipped at his drink. The perfect time to start a conversation. "So… Skyler, right? You're from Tatooine. I bet you've seen a lot there."
After almost choking, Skyler replied, "Uh, no. I… moved recently."
"Really? Why even move there, then?" At Ivie's question, Skyler flinched his eyes over to the frowning Jacen. Not wanting to blow her cover, Ivie said, "Alright, say no more. I get it. But you gotta tell me about that jacket."
"Well, Jacen gave it to me."
The answer came out very easily. Playing the act of a business woman, Ivie leaned in and grinned between the two men. "Really now…? Tell you what, throw in the jacket and I can skim a bit off any rent."
"It's not for sale," Jacen said gruffly.
"Come on," Ivie pressed. "Stars know, Rev and Squeaky here ain't coughing up the credits to cover for it. Trust me, I've seen how much damage they cause and…"
Her voice faded under the slight wave of Jacen's hand. "You don't want the jacket. You will forget this conversation has ever happened," he droned.
For a long moment, Ivie's mind went blank. A small part of her wanted to resist against the nudge on her memories. She couldn't as she turned from Jacen and Skyler, only hearing a tiny whisper "Do not drink anything" from the former. Given her state, she would've forgotten the conversation…
Ivie stopped, her back turned to Jacen and the deserter. The implant behind her ear whirled to life, rolling over her prosthetic lenses: Rebooting memory file…
It only took a few seconds. In those seconds, the entire scene Ivie had been told to forget played out. She may have forgotten, but she had what she needed. With that information, Ivie had to be careful. She couldn't repeat the same thing, lest Jacen would wipe her memories again.
"Hey, Ivie!" Rev called from the side. "Did you find any free rooms?!"
"Gimme a sec," Ivie called, snapped out of her daze and went behind the bar.
She would have gone deeper into her private hovel acting as a kitchen and a communications room. The flat and tiny console for said communications blipped from the far wall. The code blipping was a specific one that stopped Ivie's walk.
With great patience and a heaving sigh, Ivie pressed the button on the console. "This is IV-89, receiving your transmission," she said quietly. "Is there something you need?"
Ivie's speech crackled into code, sent across hundreds of parsecs. More crackles traveled the way back and spoke back through the console. "... seeking… with Knight of Ren… sending mission profile…"
The next minute passed with new information scrolling down the console. Words like "deserter" and "target" flickered one after the other, and it all ended with: "Provide confirmation."
Ivie bit her lower lip. A Knight of Ren meant more trouble than the entire crew of the Meson Martinet mucking up her hotel. Did she really have to do this so soon? Especially after what happened a few minutes ago?
"This is IV-89... I confirm their existence. Rendezvous at the docking bay 113," Ivie reported and ended the call to go back to her fake job.
AN: That's it. Hopefully, this will be the last SW-related thing I put here for a while.
And if there's any SW fans reading this, fuck off. Thank god I'm no longer one of you.