For what felt like the ninety-ninth time today, Eryn wriggled out from under the elevated concrete slab and propped herself up on her elbows, pulling out the broken binocs she’d swiped from the trash three buildings over. She closed one eye over the cracked eyepiece and dragged a hopeless, practiced gaze across Abilene’s surface with the other.
Nothing new. No ships. No way out.
Oh my god. What a surprise. She just couldn’t even.

Disappointment had died days ago for her. Couldn’t even muster annoyance anymore as she dropped the binocs back on the tarp next to her and shimmied back under the makeshift slab shelter like some kind of crab returning to its shell. It wasn’t comfortable, but finding the concrete outcrop atop one of the only three story buildings in this dusty outpost had been a much needed shot of luck for her. The area was undisturbed, playing wall-less closet to a collection of old mining gear long past its expiration date, and with the way the slab had shifted over the top of the building, it offered her a vantage point without risk of being seen. Not a bad protection from any elements, either. From there, laying on her stomach with binocs in hand, she could track anything coming into Abilene from land or sky, and track she did.

So far, the only thing even remotely interesting going or coming past the town’s edge was the young couple sneaking off to make out undisturbed every other night.

Stupid teenagers.
She stared up at the damp concrete above her, running a finger across the multiple slashes in the arm of her leather jacket. Traced how wide and jagged each one was. Felt the dried blood still flaking off the leather under her touch. Brushed at the thick scar marks now knitted into her flesh.
Remembered the screams of her old captain.

Really stupid teenagers. They knew what was out there, and they still snuck out.
Not like she actually cared, though. Not her problem. They’ll die or they won’t. No one here mattered unless they were a way off this rock, and Abilene definitely wasn’t bustling with off-world activity.

“Not. My. Problem,” she breathed quietly as she scratched another line into the tally above her head with a bit of metal, a shower of concrete dusting her like snow.
Thirteen days.
Thirteen karking days and no end in sight.
A very, very small part of her had hoped at the beginning that whatever crew had survived and taken ‘The Wyvern’ would realize she was still alive and come back for her. They’d seen her during the chaos, she knew a few had.
After day four, that hope fizzled out, replaced by vivid, violent scenarios of what she’d do if she ever saw any of them again.

A rogue gust of wind rushed over her hiding spot, toying with the edge of the tarp she hadn’t dragged under the shelter. The sound drew thoughts of the instant noodle packages she’d stolen from one of the kitchens down the street, and the way her stomach growled, there was no denying it.
Time for dinner.

The one problem with this slab-shelter thing? You couldn’t sit up. Or, it would have been a problem for someone else.
Eryn contorted like a worm folding in on itself, her flexible Sorrusian bones briefly turning her into something out of a horror film as she reached around her feet to grab one of the brightly colored noodle packages.
It was gone in under two minutes, raw and crunchy, and the tiny heating pack included for cooking was activated and tucked into the breast of her shirt. The tiny bloom of warmth felt nice.
Eryn tucked the ripped packages into the stack at the edge of the shelter, stacking the rocks atop them like paperweights just in case of wind, and flipped herself back around to war-crawl towards the outcrop once more, enjoying the heat of the spice at the back of her throat. Felt better than dust. Tasted better than dust, which was all Abilene had to offer her up here.

Soon, she was perched, binocs in hand for the hundredth time today. Maybe this time. Maybe this time, someone would come.
She panned down out of habitual movement. There they were, sneaking out again. Stupid. Ugh.

Maybe this time.

The man who had adopted the surname ‘Fel’ sat heavily at the console behind the copilot’s seat. For the moment at least, he was alone, though he wouldn’t have put it past Jet, or hell, any of the folks aboard the UA, to pop into the cockpit to see how the conversation with Abilene went. He could’ve locked the door. But no. He’d never locked Wrench out of anywhere. Jet neither. Not even his cabin. He wasn’t about to start now. He breathed for a few moments, until the navacomp alert sounded. This was it. Stretching toward the main console, he cut in the sunlight engines, and right on schedule, Abilene sprang into reality, filling the viewport. The grey-green rock was barely the size of an average class-Zee lunar mass. He breathed deep, collecting himself. Keyed in the ident tag. A male voice, sounding very far away, badly static-laden. Fel boosted the signal, knowing there was little they could do, planetside. The atmo was thin, which did them favours when it came to broadcasting comms, but their tech level was so low, he knew this was as good as it was liable to get. The voice got stronger, closer.

“...dentified vessel, state your business, over.”

”It’s Fel. Unfair Advantage. I’d give you some hull registration number but we both know it’d be a bunch of numbers I pulled out of a hat. Need to talk to Abilene.”

There was a long pause. Long enough for Fel to start thinking they had lost the call. The ever-present comms ionization and ever-present static, like waves crashing on a beach someplace warm, didn’t help.

”Wait.”

He acknowledged, but the line had already gone dead. Now the waiting was killing him, and he started to turn the words over and over in his mind, which was usually when he ended up eating them. But just when he believed they had switched off, her voice, aged and weighted with experience and tough as nails, pierced the cockpit. The image was poor, but he could make out her shock of white hair, braided.

”Galdaart Fel, you doleadote Scrabjack – didn’t think I’d see your ugly mug around these parts anytime soon. What in the seven suns are you doing in my yard, son?”

”Good to see you, too, Abilene. And don’t go handing my thrusters to me. If you’re half the Harpy I took you for, you’ve already heard that someone paid Lotho Minor a visit. a pause for effect Figured I’d bring your druk back to you. Sure as a mudscuffer’s pant-leg ain’t worth nothin’ to nobody else. Now… you ain’t interested, I can just…” he mimes reaching to shut off the viewscreen.

”No! No.. we can deal. So that was you, handed the Buckets their daily dose of poodoo up the recharge port, huh? she cackled, devolving into fits of coughing, before coalescing into a wet chuckle. ”I would’ve paid good creds to see Kara’s face when you pulled the rug out from under him, and aboard his own rig, too. Seems I had you pegged wrong, kid. Never in the Typhoidic Nebula thought it’d be you bringing my world back to me.”

”You still got what we discussed, last time we was face to face?”

He couldn’t make it out too well, what with the bad picture, but her voice told him she was smiling as she replied. ”See you in the world, kid.” She killed the transmission, letting him eat static.

“Yeah. Yeah…” He killed the comms, and got up, transferring to his usual seat, and angled the UA toward the thick depression in the moon’s surface that was known locally as ‘Walden’s Scar’ and marked the closest visual landmark to the Abilene settlement. The thin atmosphere made travelling planetbound easy, and Fel spotted the settlement more than thirty seconds out at their current rate of descent. He cut thrust, and pulled in low, over the settlement, the cluster of small buildings battered by the UA’s repulsors, moving slow enough that it would be unmistakable to anyone there that the ship had arrived, and then banked South by a little over four miles, setting down atop a low rise, a steep canyon drop at their backs. It was a good spot. They’d see anyone coming, and their back was protected by an almost impossible climb.

Jet slapped the panelling above the doorway, a gesture signaling he had tasks to attend to. He gave Fel a firm nod, accompanied by a smug grin. He hoped the spacer picked up on the pride he felt and the unspoken confidence he had in him as a pilot. Turning on his heel, Jet began his trek through the ship, making his way toward the cargo hold where he had stored the crates from their last escapade.

As his boots echoed through the corridors, Jet's mind wandered to how quickly things had shifted. Just a few hours ago, the trio was stealthily descending into Lotho Minor, aiming for a quick and quiet operation. Now, they were on approach to Abilene with nearly a full crew. Jet shook his head softly, a grunt and a smirk escaping him. Life out here had a way of changing at lightning speed, but looking back, he wouldn't alter a single moment. The mission had been successful—they got what they came for, and everyone made it back in one piece. Even though things had gotten a bit dicey… All’s well that ends well.

He grasped the handle of one of the two crates he had stored earlier and pulled it out, walking over to a nearby bench. Popping open the crate, he found that he was lucky with his choice; the emitter lay there, ready to be assembled into a single cohesive unit. Jet sighed and muttered under his breath, "Alright, let's see what we've got here..." He laid out the various components on the bench, mentally mapping out the assembly process. It was a complicated piece of tech, no doubt about it, but he'd tackled worse.

Elsewhere in the U.A., Zane was taking the time to alter his “acquired” uniform. Now that he was no longer trying to impersonate an Imperial tech, it seemed only logical that he didn’t want to be seen with the markings on his jumpsuit. He found himself a quiet part of the ship - well, quiet-er, given that this place creaked and shuddered more than some of the buildings back home. Once he was by himself, he slipped the jumpsuit off and used some of the tools in his technician’s pack, improvising their use to remove the patches and identifying marks from the garment. By the time he was through, it had become nothing but a dull grey jumpsuit. Once he slid it back on, he left the top half unzipped, tying the sleeves around his waist after buckling the toolbelt back on. After all, it was still useful for carrying certain items, like the holdout pistol and the tech’s kit. Even if the boy didn’t know how to use the variety of tools, they could still come in handy. So could the patches, which is why he stowed them in one of the pouches on his belt - in case he ever needed to impersonate an Imperial again.

So, now Zane looked like a slightly more at-ease version of himself, with the white, long-sleeved undershirt and tied-off jumper making him seem more easy-going. He hated the fact that he still hadn’t addressed some of the wounds on his body. There were a few spots on the pristine white shirt that had already been made dingy by the open sores, but the kid wasn’t a doctor. So, for the time being, he just went about his business, trusting there would come a time where he could get it all taken care of.

On his way back to the common area, Zane stepped out of his hiding spot in the work-bay area into the central corridor, and heard Jet going through some of the crates within the cargo area. Thinking back to his previous job of “inventorying” the bags, he peeked inside to see if the big guy was going back over his work, instead finding that he was opening up one of the crates that they had heisted from the Imperial ship. Curious to figure out what was inside, he slid into the cargo bay and craned his head to the side to watch what Jet was getting himself into, quietly-observing his actions as the elder gentleman went on.

As Zane stepped inside, Jet gave him a wide smile, he couldn’t help but notice how the jumpsuit look suited him, reminding him of himself back in the day. “You wanna help me piece this one together, kid?” He nodded his head towards the collection of parts, leaning on his palms.

Folding his hand behind his head and scratching the back of his neck, the kid gave a nonchalant shrug, ”Uh, sure man. This seems like it’ll be more of a two-person job anyway, huh?”

Jet stuck his hand deep into his pocket, searching around a little while before ripping out a hydrospanner. “You’ll need yourself one of these, here,” he said, holding out the tool toward the lad. “We’ll get started with the base unit.”

Zane nodded, taking the tool into his hand and deftly flipping through its different settings. As a scrapper, he’d used a ‘spanner several times to disassemble and modify certain items, so it wasn’t really anything new. Except this tool seemed to be in much better shape than what he was used to. Once he was done, he moved around the crate to start working alongside Jet to get everything done, waiting to hear his instructions.

“The base unit keeps the whole thing still, stops it from shaking itself to bits, basically, Make sure those bolts are tight or we’re gunna have a problem.” He said, pointing to the bolts in question. He picked up the power core, handling it with a steady and practiced hand. “This’uns a tricky one, let me.”

The youth nodded, making sure to patiently observe the seasoned technician’s steady hands as he began to work on the unit. Zane took care to move in where the housing was on the emitter itself, using the ‘spanner to ratchet the bolts into place and ensure they were nice and tight while also doing his best to stay out of Jet’s way. He felt his thin muscles getting tired quickly from the effort, but kept going to make certain he was doing the proper job for his “instructor”.

Seeing Zane work made Jet's heart sink a little, it had been a while since he had the chance to work on something with someone, the last person being Nova. His mind wandered a little about her, wondering where she was, if she was okay, if he'd ever see her again… snapping back to reality, he picked up the field generator modules and placed them in front of Zane, “Allign them up around the base–here” he said, pointing towards the base of the power core. “Make sure they're all aligned proper or our fields not gunna be worth a damn.” He smirked, giving a cheeky wink Zane’s way before getting to work connecting the control circuits. Now wasn't the time to teach the intricate ways the wiring needed to be done, it had to be right or the whole thing would simply fail.

Zane followed Jet’s instructions, his eyes laser-focused on where the technician was instructing him to align the mods as he took each of them and placed them along the cardinal points of the emitter’s frame, right near the base. It reminded him of his days in the field, taking apart radomes and projectors that had very similar structures. The modules seemed to click into place, allowing Zane to place the pins right through the holes at the head and base of their seats and secure them properly before dusting his hands off in satisfaction and looking back to Jet. ”Think that should do it, Chief…what’s next?”

Jet watched the kid work as he finished up with the modules, he took to machinations pretty damn quickly, Jet mused it must have been all that time deconstructing that helped him figure things out. He picked up the outer shell and began sliding it over the skeletal emitter they had constructed together. “You mind grabbing some remote detonators from storage–should be over there?” He indicated with a flick of his head. Lowering the shell down, he twisted it into the slots and tightened the last bolts.

”Uh, yeah…one sec!” Zane’s head swiveled about, trying to find where Jet was indicating. Rising from his haunches, he jogged over toward the shelves and moved a couple of items around until he came across the aforementioned detonators, which were in a labeled case marked with all sorts of hazardous signs. The kid popped the latches on it, looking inside to make sure they were within before securing it again and taking it under his arm back over to where Jet waited. Holding onto it, he gestured with a half-shrug with his carrying arm, ”Got ‘em!”

Jet eyed the completed emitter, a three-foot-tall marvel that would keep those feral creatures at bay. He wrapped his fingers around the emitter's legs and hoisted it onto his shoulder with a grunt, feeling the weight of the device. It was heavy, but manageable—just another challenge for him to overcome. Jet smirked to himself with confidence. He carried the emitter over to the offramp and set it down gently, making sure it was secure. With that done, he knew the crew would have one less thing to worry about.

The kid followed along, carrying the small case with a careful hand to where Jet had set the completed piece of tech near the off-ramp. His brows furrowed with a bit of confusion as he saw Jet sort of stop there. ”Wait…that’s all for now? I thought we needed to get this thing set up or whatevs?”

Jet turned to Zane, nodding at him softly. “Yeah, it'll need to be set up but wouldn't want that in here, I'm pretty good with this sort of stuff but kriff if I know what sort of crazy that'd set off on-board.” He ran his arm across his face, softly mopping up a few dregs of sweat. “Nah, just need to get them attached and jobs a good'un, for now.” He spoke, again pointing at the detonators cradled under Zane's arm. “You good getting them attached–Sure you've messed with explosives tons back on that scrap planet?”

Zane looked at the case, his eyes widening a bit in fear as he considered his past luck with excavating and the like - the particulars of which were…less than stellar, from his memory. Grinning sheepishly, he felt a little bit of a shake enter his voice as he tried to convince Jet of the benefits of working together on such a task, ”Uhm…actually…? I think you might wanna keep me as far away from these dets as possible, if I’m being honest. Or, if you think you could help me figure them out, I’ll know how to do it if it ever comes up again? That…would be great, thanks…”

The next hour or so, Zane listened intently as Jet patiently took the time to show him how to properly install the charges and rig them to the detonators, putting the youth’s mind at ease as they managed to expertly place them in a concealed position. The boy was able to learn a new skill, and “many hands made short work”, or so it seemed. By the time they were done, they had rigged the explosives, but Zane watched as Jet chose not to sync the remote to the charges themselves. Zane was a bit puzzled by the spacer’s choice, but didn’t want to put too much thought into it. Maybe there was something that the Captain had in mind when choosing to deal with this “Abilene” lady that was just beyond the boy’s understanding. He’d simply have to trust that Jet knew what he was doing.

The two of them finished up, and then walked back toward the common area of the ship to report back to the rest of the group, ready for the long day that they surely had ahead of them.

She was up and moving long before the arriving ship’s metal touched the ground, leaving behind a mess of tarps and empty noodle packages stuffed into a corner of her shelter-pipe.

Watching the aircraft break clouds overhead after such a long stretch of waiting felt like hope again as she slid nimbly down her planned escape route, tempering the rising bubble of relief and elation in her chest. Best not to get ahead of herself. She hadn’t even seen the thing up close yet, nothing to be relieved about until she was hidden inside.
If she could even get inside. Personal starships and smaller freighters were tougher to get into than the huge star liners or refugee transports. The bigger they flew, the more space to go unnoticed. Run-of-the-mill spacers were either paranoid with great security, or stupidly overconfident with none.
Hopefully, this crew was the latter. Guess she’d find out soon enough.

Still. It was a chance off this rock. That alone felt good enough.

Adjusting the black mask over the lower half of her face, Eryn hastily stuffed her dark greasy hair into her hood and pulled it up over her head, sticking to the shadows as she looked for her opening to join the sparse flow of beings along the main causeway. A handful of them were armed to the teeth, probably looking more intimidating than they actually were. Much like her old crew, actually. Overconfident and focused on personal glory. ‘Gotta look the part’ kind of people. One or two were wearing long necklaces with what looked like a giant tooth at the end.
The same kind of tooth she’d seen buried in the captain’s face as the rest of ‘The Wyvern’s crew scattered in every direction.
Eryn curled her lip in mild disgust at the amulets. Far too clean and way too white to be something they’d actually ripped from the skull of the creatures prowling outside the city limits. Probably bought them in souvenir shops or paid for them from crafters.

She took a moment to glance at the small datapad she’d swiped from a bar patron days ago, scrolling past various galaxy-wide bounty postings to the more local information available to all. And there it was, right at the top.
Wanted: Dead. Credits for intact creature heads. Make money protecting the colony! Prices negotiable based on size of head. [Active]

The whole reason ‘The Wyvern’ had landed here in the first place. Crowing about how it would be easy money, how they could taste the credit chits already, ‘we’ll make this colony worship us by the end of the day’, etc.
Karkin’ dumb lot o’ trash. But, trash was easy to fool, and easy to control if you knew how. No one bothered her after she dismembered the Mon Calamari galley ‘cook’ who’d attempted to throw hands after accusing her of stealing ‘more food than she was worth’. She displayed random bits of him outside the small corner of the cargo bay she’d claimed as her own, and never walked the ship without both weapons drawn.
Certainly didn’t make her popular, but Eryn wasn’t there for buddies and comradery.

She tucked the screen back into the small pack on her back, eying the passing armed ‘bigwigs’ as they clinked and clattered past her, bristling with the same measure of cocky attitude that had seen ‘The Wyvern’ crew to their deaths.
Idiots.
She joined them, pulling smoothly from the shadows and blending unnoticed into the lineup, matching their stride and their attitude.
See? Easy to fool.

Her hunch was right. They were headed towards the exit, and by the looks of the groups they were joining up with, they were there to hunt.
If she could tail them safely, they’d make fantastic bait for what lay outside the city, and with the beasts distracted by such a large party, she’d have a chance at making it to that ship without too much risk.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
It was plan-as-you-go, fly by the seat of your pants for now.

“We want what he’s got. Don’t forget that. So don’t go to blowin’ up the ship. In fact, if we got to have his fireblasted ship after it’s all said ‘n done, I’d be fine about that. But don’t underestimate him, or forget what he is, neither.’ Someone from the assembled group of fifteen asked, the voice sounding like it was farther from the main group – mayhap one of Abilene’s hired guns – what he was, exactly. She scowled, scanning the faces for a source, but falling short. Pulling the wide brim hat off her headful of grey braids, she slapped the hat against her calf, letting the cloud of dust drop to the wooden flooring around her. ”A liar. A cheat, and a murderer. The reason your father raised you by his lonesome, Crim Kalpana!” she bellowed at a young man who was busying himself loading a rifle with vicious-looking hollow-tip rounds. ”And you there, Milla Olphen, he’s the reason your mother has to feel her way around your house, wearing a kerchief to cover her sightless eyes and rad-blasted scarring!” she called out, and pointed to an attractive young woman checking the load in her blaster.

She holstered a pistol nearly as long as her forearm, and shouldered a scattergun. “He’s ex-Imperial. And he’s a bastard no-good gravel maggot Hutt-spawn, who deserves more pain and sorrow than our blasters can rain down on him, and don’t none of ya forget it.”[/i] She spat on the floor, the hatred writ large on her face, and stepped down off the wooden riser that served as town square and crier’s hub, complete with a small wooden lectern and backed by a notice and job board, currently filled with missing persons pics.

She led a path through the assembled townsfolk, who parted, making way for Abilene to walk by, and paused only at the near-seven foot tall Wookiee, and his horned companion. ”...you know what to do.” The Wookiee grunted, grabbing up his blaster carbine, and moved off, away from the assembled group, followed by the Zabrak and two more outlanders. She turned back to the group of a dozen assembled colonists. Some looked at their shoes, fumbling with weapons they were clearly unaccustomed to wielding. Others met her piercing gaze, cocking and loading their mixture of slugthrowers and blasters. Abilene mounted a dapple-grey horse as others mounted up, or climbed aboard swoops, speeders or hover-skiffs. ”We take what’s ours. And we bury Fel where he landed. If’n I have my way, in an unmarked grave where our grandsons’ grandsons can piss on his bones every year at the anniversary. ‘Far as I’m concerned, the same goes for every sonovabitch he done brought wit’ him.”

They moved out into the dark, on a collection of a half-dozen horses – some with plassteel barding, some just with the tack and harnesses they took from the fields – a few swoops and speeders, and a single skiff with an E-Web mounted amidships, big enough to carry the cargo. Of the dozen souls that marched out on that barren scrub-land, maybe half had the hardened look of killers, or the look of hatred that showed they believed in the old lady’s words.

In stark contrast, one young lad, yellow eyes peering out from under a similar wide brim hat, long tongue tasting the air, cradled his pistol in nervous hands, watching for Prowlers. He hopped up on the skiff, sitting beside the young woman Abilene had bellowed at, a moment before. “I heard your ma say, day ‘fore last, Milla – that she ain’t got no fight with him. So which is it?” The young blonde pulled her hair up, and into a high ponytail, several strands wisping about her features. She pulled the blaster and scanned the edge of the darkness. ”I reckon it’s somewhere between Abilene and Mama. Not sure I’ll know till I see his eyes, Pol.” She laid a kind hand on the young alien’s leg, calming him some. ”stick close to me, ok? You’ll do fine…”

---

Fel powered down much of the cockpit, letting the dimming light of Abilene and her clear skies dominate the scene. Switching off, letting the horizon and the day come into sharp focus helped him grow accustomed to a new planet, a new vista, a new day / night cycle, a new sky. This one had only a thin atmosphere, and the stars, the nearby unnamed planetoid, the asteroid field, all seemed thrown into stark relief against the black void. Before shutting down, of course Fel had picked up on short range scans. They were coming. The swoops could be on their landing ramp in minutes if they wanted to be. But they were moving at a snail’s pace, compared to what was possible. Must be walkers, Fel surmised. Or horseback. Either way, it bought them a few minutes.

He rose, cracking his neck, and stepped out, into the avionics bay – really just a tiny vestibule between the flight deck and the entryway to the main crew space. He slapped a hand on Wrench’s radome. “You stay put, ‘wheels magee.’ Don’t need you getting caught in the crossfire. Got it?” The little astro droid mentioned that he had no intention of being deactivated, today or any time soon. It was only after Fel had disappeared into his quarters to retrieve his gun belt that he added a few bleeps and whirrs that said ‘be careful.’

Fel strapped on the gun belt, checking the load in his Power5. It slid easily in the oiled leather. (too easily?) He pulled on fingerless gloves, and his coat, the threadbare charcoal flight jacket devoid of any unit patches or insignia, but it was fairly obvious where they had once been sewn. He walked down the landing ramp, nodding at Jet and Zane as his boots touched Abilene soil. ”They’re coming. We’ve maybe got ten minutes.” He noted where the emitter had been erected, maybe ten feet off the landing ramp, and nodded, speaking loud enough for both to hear him, over the ever-present wind. “Jet, you pass me that detonator. And you both keep your distance from it, y’hear?” He had no intention of using it as anything but a threat. But it was a card to be played. He checked to make sure both were armed. ”I don’t want us shootin’ first. And if it comes to that, only shoot to defend yourselves. These folks didn’t do nothin, ‘sides from believin’ in Abilene.” He pulled the pistol, checked its load for the fifth time. He wanted it to go well. Willed it to go well. But he had a bad feeling about it. Almost like it was fated to go South.

Zane’s mind was reeling, trying to figure out what all he needed to do. He likely needed to arm himself, find a defensible position…but, first things first - he walked over to Fel, his voice calm, despite the fact that every nerve in his body felt the tingle of adrenaline starting to course through his system, ”Hey, uh…that det? It’s not synced up to the things that go ‘boom’. Just figured you’d wanna know, in case you needed more than a bluff to pull this off. Imma go and, uh, grab one of those stun sticks and that rifle I got off the Trooper. Prolly hole up in the machine shop or somethin’...” He gave Fel a nod, more to reassure himself than anything, and began making his way back up the ramp into the U.A.

Fel nodded in reply, but when Zane was halfway up the ramp, turned and called out to him. ”...might want to rethink being aboard the ship. I mean, I’m all for it if you wanna make yerself scarce for what’s headin’ our way. But if they torch the ship, I can think of a few places better to hide, with fewer chance of getting crisped. Also, if they win, and we die, they take the ship… you get to be passenger to a whole new crew of trouble.” He breathed deep, realizing he was doing nothing but giving the kid options he didn’t need, and was likely doing his poor head in, for the umpteenth time in a day. He also glanced across the horizon, seeing the telltale sign of dust rising from over the next rise. Maybe a mile off. ”Jus’ keep your head down, Zee. And wherever you pick to lay low – just make sure it’s far from me. I’m gonna be a durn magnet for stray blaster bolts.” The spacer smiled, almost as an afterthought. ”And hey – kid… check the small white box in the ‘fresher before you go diving in the dirt. Slap one ‘a them pads from in there, on anything that’s still bleeding.” He glanced over at Jet. “You ready, partner? Fates know what the old lady’s willing to do…” He realized he was still holding his blaster loosely by his side, and holstered it once more.

---

She crested the hill where Gunnar Fil’ix had been jumped by two of the ‘local residents’ early in year two; the sand-blasted and weather-stripped board that bore his name still stood a few feet out of the parched earth. She reigned in her dapple grey, calming the horse, which knew all too well what lay out beyond, in the darkness. Fel’s ship perched on the next rise, it’s back to the gorge, maybe a couple minutes ride, looking for all the world like a gaudy house of ill repute, lit up like a Coruscant sign-post. Hmph. She cursed once more, spitting on the ground, and kicked at her mount’s ribs, adding her voice to spur the old mare on. It wouldn’t be long now. And as the speeders and swoops moved ahead, stirring up the dust, she could taste victory in the air.