Pax Velloran
Character
The first warning came from a pressure sensor three levels beneath the western approach, one of dozens monitoring the pipes and transfer lines feeding Sleheyron's spaceport district.
No one noticed.
That wasn't particularly unusual. The refineries tripped enough warnings during an ordinary shift that most disappeared into maintenance queues before anyone looked closely. Pressure fluctuations, temperature changes, valves drifting outside their preferred tolerances - Sleheyron's infrastructure had been repaired, expanded, and rerouted for longer than most of the people maintaining it had been alive. One amber indicator among a field of green and yellow hardly qualified as an emergency.
Thirty-two seconds later, another sensor registered the same discrepancy farther down the line. Then a third. By the time the maintenance system pushed the pattern high enough for someone to look at it, pressure inside the transfer line had climbed well beyond what its aging seals were designed to tolerate.
The rupture announced itself across the industrial district with a low concussion that rattled windows several blocks away.
A seam split along an elevated conduit outside the western spaceport, releasing tibanna in a pale, violently expanding cloud. Emergency shutters slammed across adjoining lines, klaxons rolled through the refinery complex, and automated announcements began directing workers away from the affected sector.
Traffic control followed. Incoming freighters were diverted into holding patterns while ships already on the ground were ordered to stay there. Those preparing to depart were left stranded on the launch aprons, engines spooling down as ground crews cleared the pads. The western concourse closed first, then two neighboring pads, and from there the disruption spread through an already congested port network. Nobody seemed particularly surprised. Annoyed, certainly.
Several districts away, Pax Velloran felt his datapad vibrate against the table.
He had been reviewing the last of his notes from the morning's meeting, mostly to reassure himself that there was nothing he had overlooked before leaving the planet. The business itself had been almost disappointingly straightforward. His contact had delivered what was promised, Pax had paid what they had agreed, and the meeting had concluded without either of them finding a reason to reach for a blaster. On Sleheyron, that almost qualified as exceptional service.
A notification had appeared across the top of the display, marked PRIORITY by the local transit network.
Pax opened it and read through the advisory while the datapad continued displaying his unfinished notes beneath it. A refinery incident had forced the temporary suspension of civilian departures from his terminal, with several surrounding sectors restricted until emergency crews could determine the extent of the damage. There was no estimate for when normal operations would resume. Travelers were encouraged to monitor official channels and exercise patience, which struck Pax as the sort of advice usually offered when the people giving it had nothing more useful to say.
He glanced toward the broad windows overlooking the commercial strip. The effect was already spreading beyond the port. Travelers who had been moving toward the terminals were beginning to turn around, many staring at their own datapads while others had stopped entirely to argue with transport companies that were presumably receiving several thousand versions of the same complaint. Traffic along the pedestrian levels had thickened noticeably in the few minutes since the warning appeared.
Pax looked back at the notice and scrolled far enough to confirm there wasn't anything hidden beneath the polite language. His departure was suspended, the terminal was closed, and whatever plans he'd had for the rest of the day had acquired all the certainty of an undealt sabacc hand.
He shut down his notes and slipped the datapad into an interior pocket as he stood. There was no reason to join the growing crowd around the terminal entrances. The port authority would reopen them when it reopened them, and standing nearby with an increasingly irritated expression was unlikely to make any difference. Fortunately, Sleheyron was a commercial world, and commercial worlds had long ago discovered that stranded travelers were considerably easier to tolerate when somebody sold them alcohol.
The nearest cantina sat recessed beneath a tangle of old signage and ventilation ducts not far from the transit route. It was close enough to the port to attract spacers and dockworkers, but apparently not close enough to have adopted terminal pricing, which Pax considered an encouraging sign.
Inside, the light was dim and the air several degrees cooler than the street. The place smelled faintly of cooking oil, recycled atmosphere, cheap liquor, and whatever residue the refinery workers carried in with them. It was already filling with people displaced by the shutdown, some resigned to the delay and others still treating it as a problem that could be solved by explaining it loudly enough.
A pair of freight crewmen pushed past Pax toward the bar, one insisting that the port authority clearly had no understanding of how tibanna systems worked. His companion had the expression of someone who had heard this argument before and expected to hear it several more times before the evening was over.
Pax let them pass.
He found a small table along the edge of the room, far enough from the bar to avoid most of the crowd while still offering an unobstructed view of the entrance. He didn't consciously choose it for that reason anymore. Some habits became preferences if you kept them long enough. His datapad found its way onto the table. By the time he sat down, another update had arrived. The wording had changed slightly, but the information hadn't: departures remained suspended until further notice.
Pax dismissed it.
A server passed near enough for him to order a drink, and once he'd managed that, he reached inside his coat for a slim cigarette case. There were only a few left. He selected one, put the case away, and brought the lighter up beneath it.
The flame caught after the second click.
Pax leaned back in his chair and drew in the first breath of smoke, watching the crowd continue to grow around him while Sleheyron rearranged several thousand people's plans beyond the cantina walls. The drink arrived a moment later, a short glass of amber liquor that smelled faintly of smoke and something almost medicinal. Pax took a cautious sip. It was better than he expected. Sharp at first, then warmer, with a trace of spice underneath that reminded him of a bottle he'd once shared in a cramped apartment on Coruscant while rain worked steadily against the windows. He couldn't remember what they had been celebrating.
Probably nothing important.
Another sip softened the memory before he surrendered it completely, and Pax let the conversation around him blur back into the general noise of the cantina. For the first time since the alert had appeared on his datapad, he stopped checking the time.
Last edited:
