ONE YEAR LATER
Lorna stood behind the bar of Evo Chum's Tavern polishing glasses, waiting for the last remaining customers to leave. She meticulously wiped each glass inside and out until there wasn't a single smudge to be seen. Not that anyone but her would notice if there was.
Evo's was a decrepit establishment located in the Gorit Slum District on the 1223rd level of Coruscant's underworld. Outside it was lit by a broken holographic sign on which so many letters were unlit that it now appeared to read "E—- Chu—- Ta—".
Evo, the rail-thin and garrulous man who owned the tavern, once told Lorna he didn't mind the vulgar phrase illuminating the street front in place of his name; in fact, he found it hilarious, as did most of his patrons.
Lorna didn't give a damn what the sign said, but if one more patron tried to impress her with a clever quip about it, as if she hadn't heard it a million times before, she would lose her mind.
Inside, it was obvious that no one cared to properly maintain the place. Evo seemed to think the blaster holes in the walls and stains on the booth seat upholstery just added to the character of his bar. Since Lorna started working there, she managed to keep the surfaces relatively clean, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, the tables retained a sticky glaze of unknown grime.
As she prepared to close the bar, Lorna counted the minutes until she could collapse into bed. Less than a month after fleeing the Temple, Evo had found her digging through his dumpster for scraps. Unlike most in the Gorit Slum, he'd shown a shred of compassion, offering her a job and a room—no questions asked.
"A nice-lookin' gal like you shouldn't be on the streets," he'd said. "Keep my customers drunk and happy, and the room's yours. But you work double shifts 'til you can pay rent—I ain't runnin' a charity."
Evo's patrons were even less savory than the tavern itself. All manner of criminals and low-lives could be counted among them, but it was especially popular with smugglers. Crews from all over the galaxy came through Evo's when they needed a place to meet that was off the Empire's radar. Where people minded their own business.
Lorna looked up to see a young man with a dark scruffy beard and a blaster strapped to his hip enter the tavern. He gave the room a once over and when his eyes landed on her, he flashed a cocky smile and sauntered his way over.
Lorna offered a feigned smile but cringed inwardly. She knew his type.
"We're closing soon," she called as politely as she could manage.
"Aw, no worries, sweetheart. Just need a couple of drinks to take the edge off my day." He grinned at her as he leaned on the bar, flashing perfect white teeth. "I'll take a mug of your best ale."
"We only have one kind of ale," Lorna said flatly.
His smile didn't falter. "I'll take one of those, then," he said, lifting himself onto a barstool.
Lorna poured his mug in silence and slid it to him, then went back to closing the bar.
"Aren't you going to ask why my day's been so rough?" he asked, taking a sip and then suppressing a grimace at the taste.
"If you're from around here, I don't need to ask," Lorna grumbled without looking up.
"Fair enough," the man chuckled, taking another sip of his ale. "The name's Niko, by the way. And I'm actually not from around here. You're looking at the captain of the Crimson Comet . Best smuggling ship in the galaxy, if I do say so myself."
Lorna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Smuggler, huh? That why you're in this part of town?"
Niko leaned back, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Got a job lined up. Can't say much more than that, of course. Gotta maintain that air of mystery."
Lorna tried not to roll her eyes. "Right. Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."
"Exactly!" Niko grinned, pointing at her with his mug. "See, you get it… uh…" he gestured to her, hoping for her name.
"Lorna."
"Lorna. Beautiful name." He winked at her.
She looked away, her smile withering as unease twisted in her chest. Flirtatious advances always set her on edge, for men's reactions to rejection–and she always rejected them–were unpredictable. Some bore it with a joke or an impolite jab, but others proved more… volatile. She hoped she didn't have to find out which reaction Niko preferred.
Lorna eventually adjusted to the attention she received, but when she'd first arrived in the Underworld, it had taken her aback.
She was not naïve; Trilla had been more than happy to describe to her the ins and outs of human (and some nonhuman) attraction. There had even been a fellow Padawan who had taken a liking to her when they were teenagers. But she hadn't been interested. Her loyalty was to the Code, the Jedi. She would not compromise her place among them.
No, the Jedi Order had not completely sheltered her, but it was exhausting having to contend with it as often as she did. Especially since she could not afford to be drawn into any conflicts.
"So, what's a pretty thing like you doing working in a place like this?" Niko asked, unfazed by her withdrawal.
She scowled. "Just trying to get by, same as everyone else."
His expression softened. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Times are tough all over."
Before Lorna could respond, a female Zabrak with pale orange skin and a crown of small horns peeking out of short, side-swept white hair entered the tavern. Intricate tattoos framed her austere features which were set in a grim frown. Her stony gaze quickly found Niko and she crossed the tavern in long, stiff strides, sitting down next to him at the bar.
Niko turned to her, his grin returning. "Sinya! I was just getting to know our lovely bartender here. You've gotta try this ale it's…" he sipped his mug and winced, "fantastic."
Sinya rolled her eyes and glanced at Lorna. "I'll have a shot of Ryloth. Don't pay any attention to Niko. He thinks he's the galaxy's gift to females."
"Hey, I can't help that the ladies love me," Niko quipped, raking a hand through his thick black hair.
"Ladies love you? Is that why you're always the first one back to the ship after a night out?" Sinya shot back.
The pair's good-natured banter made Lorna smile despite herself, her guard slowly lowering as Niko and Sinya fell into easy comradery. It reminded her of the way she and Trilla used to tease each other. A pang of longing filled her heart before she pushed it aside.
"So, you're a smuggler too?" Lorna set Sinya's shot down in front of her. She downed it in one gulp before replying.
"I'm a logistics coordinator specializing in supply routes and material handling."
"What she means is, she's the brains in this operation," Niko interjected, gesturing to Sinya with his thumb. "I just look handsome and fly the ship out of the way of prying Imperial eyes."
"And yet you barely manage either of those," Sinya rolled her eyes again and gestured to Lorna for another shot.
"Hey, I got the Comet out of there in one piece last time an Imperial patrol ship detected us on their scanners.
"They wouldn't have detected the Comet at all if the captain had remembered to engage the signal-cloaking device."
Lorna poured into Sinya's glass and asked, "Do you have a lot of run-ins with the Empire?" She was careful to keep her tone slightly bored, though, in truth, she was always eager for news from those customers who had been throughout the galaxy.
It was through her well-traveled customers that Lorna had slowly pieced together what had happened to the Republic and the Jedi. She was always careful never to ask too many questions lest her interest look suspicious, but through her eavesdropping, she had discovered that Chancellor Palpatine claimed the Jedi had attempted to overthrow the Senate. He had branded them traitors, demanding their execution and simultaneously declaring himself Emperor of the newfound Galactic Empire.
None of the rumors mentioned Anakin Skywalker.
"They give us some trouble from time to time," Niko was explaining, "but they don't come after smugglers as heavily as the Republic did. So long as we stick to the established routes through the Kessel Run, we usually steer clear."
"Kessel Run. So, you smuggle spice, then?" Lorna asked.
The spice trade was practically the heart of the Coruscant Underworld. Lorna guessed over half of the inhabitants of the Gorit Slum were addicted to the stuff. Many pilots who came through complained of the hazards of the Kessel Run, the hyperspace lane used to travel from the Kessel spice mines to the rest of the galaxy.
"That's the usual cargo. Sometimes the occasional slave shipment," Sinya explained.
Lorna's face contorted in disgust at the mention of slavery. "I see the Emperor has revived that abhorrent practice…" she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could catch herself.
Niko and Sinya exchanged a puzzled glance, their eyes apprehensive as they slid to where Lorna stood behind the bar.
"Well, I didn't mean… it's just that slavery…" she fumbled for the right explanation for her outburst, averting her eyes as she began wiping a non-existent spill on the bar.
In recent months, crackdowns on public dissidence meant that openly expressing disapproval could get you reported to the Imperial Security Bureau. Lorna doubted that smugglers, operating outside of the law themselves, would report her, but still–her bold comment was ill-considered. It was reckless to draw such attention to herself.
Sinya frowned slightly, her intense orange eyes boring into Lorna. Lorna felt as if she were being measured against some unknown standard, but Sinya kept her expression unreadable. They held each other's gaze until at last Sinya pulled a handful of Imperial Credits from her pocket and slapped them down on the bar.
"We've got work to do, Niko. We should head out," Sinya said, getting up from her seat.
"Don't worry about her. She takes a while to warm up to people," Niko said reaching his hand across the bar towards Lorna. She reached out slowly and shook it, her grip hesitant. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lorna. I'll be sure to stop by again next time we're in town."
Niko sauntered out the door, leaving Lorna alone in the bar at last. Relieved, she finished her closing duties and shuffled up the stairs to her room above the bar.
The charmless living space she claimed as her own was sparsely furnished–her kitchenette consisted only of a hot plate, a kettle, and a sink that doubled as the washbasin. A micro lavatory was tucked to the right of the entrance while a small cot hugged the far wall beneath the room's only window.
Lorna washed the stickiness of Evo's Tavern off her skin in the washbasin as best she could and glanced at her reflection in the small mirror above it. Thanks to the complete lack of sunlight—she had not even seen the sky once in the last year—her subtly freckled olive skin looked pale and lackluster, missing its usual warm glow. Her hair had grown longer, but remained an uncooperative mane that framed her features. Her eyes had always been her most striking feature—wide-set and a luminous pale green—but her trials in the Underworld had done little to alleviate the stubborn dark circles that rimmed them.
She really needed to get out of this place.
She missed the sun. She missed the Conservatorium. She missed Trilla and Master Junda. But most of all, she missed her Master. Secura's final desperate command twisted in her gut like a knife.
Flee .
And she had, but immense guilt, grief, and fear had followed her. Without her Master's guidance, she felt adrift in a vast, dark ocean, struggling to keep her head above the churning waters of her own mind.
She settled on her back on the cot, staring at the vent on her ceiling. Despite her exhaustion, sleep didn't come. Her interaction with the smugglers weighed on her. How long before someone suspected what she was? How long before she was exposed?
Too fearful of discovery to venture to the surface levels of Coruscant, Lorna had watched footage on a holoscreen at a cantina the day the enormous statue of the Emperor had been erected in the newly christened Imperial Plaza. She had shed a silent tear while Coruscant celebrated the man who had ordered the death of everyone she cared about.
She refused to believe she was the only survivor. There was a chance Cere and Trilla had escaped with the younglings, and surely the great Masters on the council could not have been killed by a few clones.
That day she had vowed to find a way off Coruscant, find any other surviving Jedi, and expose the Emperor's lies. She had unwavering faith that the Jedi were no traitors.
She closed her eyes and reached out to the Force, seeking its reassuring presence to help calm her nerves. Her connection felt tenuous, as if the strong, flowing current of deep water had dried up and her hand met only sand that slipped through her fingers.
She curled herself inward on her cot as a fresh wave of pain and regret washed over her. A hymn she had heard long ago sprang to her mind, a woeful lament that had made her shiver the first time she'd heard it. She could not recall the lyrics, only the haunting melody that glided comfortably in the lower register of her voice.
She began humming to herself, allowing the melody to lull her at last into a dreamless sleep.