Lilla Syrin
A great leap forward often requires first taking t
“It is an energy field and something more. An aura that at once controls and obeys. It is a nothingness that can accomplish miracles.”
– Obi-Wan Kenobi
The old Cerean walked up to the counter. “Do you work here?”
Standing behind the counter, the woman didn’t look up from her datapad. “No, I come in here and do inventory in my spare time.”
“Just a second. They need me in the cantina.” Her apron whirled as she spun and walked the metre and a half to where her sundries counter turned into a bar. She picked up a glass that a sleeping prospector had knocked over and then returned to the cloaked Cerean. “I’m back,” she said but immediately turned her back on the customer.
The Cerean glanced around. “Is there someone else here I can talk to?”
“Don’t mind Chelik,” Lilla interjected. “She’s just playing with you. It’s what passes for customer service around here.” The smile on her face suggested this was friendly banter and it put the elderly Cerean at ease.
“Now there, of course I can help you,” Chelik said. “What do you need? Directions and a little blue milk?” At the puzzled look that the Cerean offered, Chelik smiled. “It’s an old joke. A very, very old joke. And it’s not funny now I come to think of it.”
There was a pregnant pause before the Cerean spoke again. “I’m looking for someone.” He held up an admonishing finger before Chelik could retort with another wisecrack.
The cloaked figure pulled a battered flimsi out of his pocket and showed it to the woman. Chelik glanced up at Lilla before looking back at the slightly faded image. “Not seen her, not in my time at least. But I’ve only been here a few months.”
After setting the glass in a basin, she stepped out through a gap in the long counter and walked to one of the back tables, where a Duros huddled silently over his morning caf. Chelik clapped her hand on his shoulder-an act that he seemed not to notice in the least. “This is Mitel,” she said.
The Cerean studied him. “Does he work here?”
“We don’t know,” Chelik said. “But he’s here an awful lot.”
“Thank you just the same.” The elderly Cerean headed for the front door.
“That’s Chelik,” Lilla said. “Retailer of the year. Customers can’t stay away!”
“Sure they can, Lilla.” Chelik orbited one of the luncheonette tables, cleaning it off without looking at it. “Anyone can stay away for a while. Until they remember that it’s thirty kilometres to the nearest working keg. Then they never want to leave.”
In truth the place was the largest facility of any kind in the Pika Oasis. Two of the domes had been there since before anyone could remember, part of some ancient farm. This one had been added on, connecting one of the domes with an oblong sales area beneath a rounded roof.
And all around: the oasis, a wide clearing shielded from the wind by gently rolling sand hills. Once a basin for a prehistoric lake, the area and its clumpy soil gave rise to flowering pika plants and a few hardy debdeb trees – and something else. Cylindrical vaporators rose all around, producing water for delivery in the vast tankers that sat parked outside the garages. Most of the harvest was bound for faraway parts; the locals drank what they needed and little more. They knew what they had, and its value.
– Obi-Wan Kenobi
The old Cerean walked up to the counter. “Do you work here?”
Standing behind the counter, the woman didn’t look up from her datapad. “No, I come in here and do inventory in my spare time.”
“Just a second. They need me in the cantina.” Her apron whirled as she spun and walked the metre and a half to where her sundries counter turned into a bar. She picked up a glass that a sleeping prospector had knocked over and then returned to the cloaked Cerean. “I’m back,” she said but immediately turned her back on the customer.
The Cerean glanced around. “Is there someone else here I can talk to?”
“Don’t mind Chelik,” Lilla interjected. “She’s just playing with you. It’s what passes for customer service around here.” The smile on her face suggested this was friendly banter and it put the elderly Cerean at ease.
“Now there, of course I can help you,” Chelik said. “What do you need? Directions and a little blue milk?” At the puzzled look that the Cerean offered, Chelik smiled. “It’s an old joke. A very, very old joke. And it’s not funny now I come to think of it.”
There was a pregnant pause before the Cerean spoke again. “I’m looking for someone.” He held up an admonishing finger before Chelik could retort with another wisecrack.
The cloaked figure pulled a battered flimsi out of his pocket and showed it to the woman. Chelik glanced up at Lilla before looking back at the slightly faded image. “Not seen her, not in my time at least. But I’ve only been here a few months.”
After setting the glass in a basin, she stepped out through a gap in the long counter and walked to one of the back tables, where a Duros huddled silently over his morning caf. Chelik clapped her hand on his shoulder-an act that he seemed not to notice in the least. “This is Mitel,” she said.
The Cerean studied him. “Does he work here?”
“We don’t know,” Chelik said. “But he’s here an awful lot.”
“Thank you just the same.” The elderly Cerean headed for the front door.
“That’s Chelik,” Lilla said. “Retailer of the year. Customers can’t stay away!”
“Sure they can, Lilla.” Chelik orbited one of the luncheonette tables, cleaning it off without looking at it. “Anyone can stay away for a while. Until they remember that it’s thirty kilometres to the nearest working keg. Then they never want to leave.”
In truth the place was the largest facility of any kind in the Pika Oasis. Two of the domes had been there since before anyone could remember, part of some ancient farm. This one had been added on, connecting one of the domes with an oblong sales area beneath a rounded roof.
And all around: the oasis, a wide clearing shielded from the wind by gently rolling sand hills. Once a basin for a prehistoric lake, the area and its clumpy soil gave rise to flowering pika plants and a few hardy debdeb trees – and something else. Cylindrical vaporators rose all around, producing water for delivery in the vast tankers that sat parked outside the garages. Most of the harvest was bound for faraway parts; the locals drank what they needed and little more. They knew what they had, and its value.