Sanctuary: Be Bop a Daiya

[Micah tol Powl]

| CEC XR-95 Luck's Revenge
| The Outer Rim

Corellian craftsmanship was a legend. From hyperspace lanes through the Core, the Rim, and even Wild Space -- fringers, senators, the extremely wealthy, and the most impoverished junker traversed a sea of stars on the trustworthiness of a brand that had come to represent the wanderlust and work ethic of an entire star system and its people. Corellia. It was even in the name. When you flew a ship bearing the brand of the Corellian Engineering Corporation, you had a right to trust and believe in the quality of manufacturing that you were about to receive. And faith to anticipate that the journey to follow would be one hell of a ride.

...well, to be fair, it was one hell of a ride.

Smoke still clouded the interior of the cockpit, the evidence of a small electrical fire that had sparked when the hyperdrive controls had overloaded. Burns and soot marred the G2 repair droid, as it's stalk-like neck peered over the top of the console. The small extinguisher capsule was still releasing thin streams of vapor, adding to the fog.

Thankfully neither of them breathed, otherwise the cockpit would have likely been quite toxic.

"I saw it!" the other droid exclaimed, answering the repair bot's earlier exclamation.

The other droid however seemed something of a misnomer. The G2 had bare plating covering most of it's obviously metal and artificial body. Bolts and servos made up it's joints, with exposed wires visible in-between the seams, fueling articulation with hydraulic fluid and circuitry which conveyed electrical impulses. In contrast, the other droid was nothing if not human. A dark mahogany tone permeated his flesh, which was warm and pliable to the touch. Padded with what felt like fat and muscle in all the places where one would have expected to find such soft tissues. His eyes, darting from one console to the next, were a golden brown that was eerily alive to behold.

"Great, when you're done solving that navi-link problem, we've also got an imbalance in the hyperdrive core," G2-M9 deadpanned. A loud clang echoed through the cockpit, as the droid chucked the extinguisher capsule so that it's arms were free to begin attempting some level of damage control. Or, if nothing else, at least damage mitigation.

Thousands upon thousands of trustworthy Corellian ships in the galaxy, and the pair of droids were on the one lemon in the known universe.

"I know, I know!" the deceptively young-looking automaton spat, his own hands working in a blur as he multi-tasked piloting the space-going jalopy. One thing was certain, where ever this ship of the damned was headed... hyperspace wasn't how it was getting there. "Next time our friends want to steal a ship, let's remind them to check that the navicomputer works."

As he said the last bit, the boy's bright irises darted up as though contemplating the many and sundry inadequacies which he was now laboring to address.

"...and actually knows how to compute," the droid amended readily.

As he worked, the boy ran a series of 'what if's' through his own processors. Analysis of available options, statistical likelihood of success or other outcome with plausible actions and remedies. No, no, and no. No matter how he crunched the variables, this ship simply wasn't going to make the trip. Not like this anyway. "Hang on, I'm taking us out of hyperspace."

"Shouldn't we ask the fleshlings before doing that?"

Drawing his legs up into the pilot's chair, the child-like droid stood on his knees as he reached up to toggle the overhead controls. "They're sleeping," the boy remarked simply, as he reached forward across the flight controls to grab the three trottle dials of the hyperdrive. As the boy rocked the dials forward, the mottled space beyond the canopy became a stream of light and, then, the familiar backdrop of stars. Sitting cross-legged in the pilot's chair, the afro-headed youth turned to look at the G2. "And I don't see any of them up here trying to navigate this mess," the boy added pointedly.

The eye-stalk of the repair droid bobbed, as though to indicate his agreement with that sentiment. As the droid looked up, and out into the starry expanse, the droid asked, "So where are we?"

Leaning to the left, even as the young droid worked to answer just that question, the young boy fired back, "Do I look like an astromech to you?"

"No," the swan-necked repair bot noted succinctly.

"Astromechs are taller."

Without comment, as he continued to re-calculate the navicomputer data, the dark-skinned droid simply kicked one leg out, catching the repair droid in the neck and toppling the droid over.

The boy's face was illuminated blue as something finally came up on the screen. "We're in the Calamari Sector," the small droid stated, ignoring the strain of servos that marked G2's clumsy attempts at straightening himself up from the floor. "Near some planet called... Sanctuary."

Well, it sounded inviting anyway.

A stolen freighter. Five broke blokes. A chick. And two droids. On a planet full of salt water. This... didn't sound like a disaster at all.

Shifting around in the oversized pilot chair, the small droid worked to navigate the Corellian ship toward a blue star in the night sky. By the time the fleshlings awoke from their noctural recharge cycles, the ship ought to have even have landed.

Assuming there was enough land on that planet to land on.

Which, he hoped there was. Otherwise repairs were just going to be a total Hutt.

 

[Saran Drast]

Rolling her neck, Saran looked over the men in the GLC's Early Warning Sector. "Why didn't you hail it?" she asked, as one of the techies explained what just happened.

"Ma'am, the comm didn't connect. Seems it's out." he responded. "IFF matches one registered with the Republic and Protectorate Governments as a CEC freighter. Privately owned, older model. No reason to be here."

"But here they are." Hopefully the ship would land on the island. It would make it much easier to find out who they were. "Ready a scouting team.I want to know what they want. And see if you can find the owner."

[member="BB-4001A"]

 

[Daiya]

Her knee bounced as her leg jerked quickly, moving up and down in rapid strokes. Her teeth chattered softly. She could feel the blood throbbing through the veins of her head. They pulsed, echoing their loud refrain, announcing her nervousness. She inhaled slowly, deeply, but it was like sucking air through a straw. Drowning.

She tightened her grasp on the blaster in her lap, holding onto it like a life ring.

He slid into the seat across from her, his dark features showed no hint of surprise. A wide smile appeared on his wide face, and he fingered one of the many rings upon his fingers. He settled back into his chair, his chair, leaving no doubt over the identity of the house's master.

Brown eyes watched blue, neither willing to turn away. Neither willing to back down.

"So," a soft voice began, a haughty lilt underscoring the words. "This is how it ends."

A sharp thud woke the girl from her slumber. She drew a quick breath, glancing around at the darkened cabin around her. The weight of the sheets, the slightly metallic taste of the air, the soft rhythm of the machinery vibrating through the hull, they were all there to remind her that she was still alive, after all.

Daiya lay in bed for a while more. At first, she closed her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep. But sleep had left her for the night, leaving her alone, deposited roughly back into the harsh world of reality. Forcing her eyes wide, the girl heaved her chest in a sigh as she reached an arm over her head to touch the light switch. The room blazed into being, bringing with it a yelp of pain as she closed her eyes against the harsh adjustment. When at last her pupils had adjusted to the new ambiance, blue eyes opened once more.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, careful to avoid bumping her head against the low clearance. Above her, the unused bunk contributed to the emptiness of the room. It was as she had left it last night, her bag draped over the chair in the corner and clothes dropped where they fell on her way into bed. Remembering how quickly they had left reminded the girl that she was going to need some proper nightclothes. And, she added another mental note as she took a whiff of the air around her, some fresh daytime clothes, too.

Their departure had been a whirlwind of activity. Daiya still wasn't sure what exactly had transpired to net the ship that now carried her. Or the extra crew. It was supposed to be just herself and Tawrrowaldr. But she couldn't just leave the slicer, whom she knew as Scorpius, stranded there on Antecedent to deal with the aftermath. Before too long, their entourage included a bunch of aliens, too, lead by an Ithorian named Mir. By the time the ship was out of dock and everyone was settled, the full crew compartments and the odd run-ins with wandering crewmates made the ship feel very crowded.

Even crowded, the ship was quiet in the early hours of the morning, or at least what passed for it onboard. Dull, metal hull, unordained walls and grey deckplating gave the impression of a tomb. The padding of her feet echoed slightly in the silence, and Daiya couldn't stop the chill that slithered down her spine. The eerie sensation hastened the girl as she dressed in her clothes from the day before, wrinkling her nose at the state of the unwashed material. She begrudgingly donned the attire anyway, as the dirty outfit was her only option. The alternative wasn't even under consideration, even if Tawrro could walk around with nothing but his own fur.

The thought of the Wookiee prompted Daiya to knock on the door to his cabin, only to be met with silence. A cautioned peek inside the room told her little more than she had already surmised, her guardian was not in his room. The girl shrugged to herself and replaced the door closed. She gave the nearby door to the slicer's cabin a sidelong glance, and then deciding against it, turned to walk away.

Daiya moved through the winding corridor of the ship's heart, the base of the sideturned Krill that mirrored the ship's layout. The space before her opened up into the cavernous ship's lounge, a kind of great room for the aging CEC freighter that seemed to offer all the crew amenities besides bed and hygiene. Cushioned seats ringed the exterior of the room, which held a shape patterned after the ship's own. Inside, tables and chairs were strewn about, easily stabilized in various locations by a hole and peg system for modularity. Looking forward to the ship's front —bow, she recalled, reaching into the depths of memory for the nautical term so disused on a planet of tall buildings— two exits could be seen. To the left side of the ship —port— was the open bar of the galley, bolted stools ringing the outer edge of the Qek-shaped counter top. To the right —starboard— stood the darkened hallway leading to the cockpit, the angle of the entrance offset from the cockpit's, obstructing the means to see it clearly.

Scoping out the deserted galley, the girl explored the cabinets to find something to serve as breakfast. Whoever had sold Tawrro the ship had not done a great job of stocking it. Daiya could only find a few boxes of cereal, all past their expiration dates. Picking the newest box, which was dressed in a colorful mural of cartoon characters employing their regular antics, she sat down at the bar counter with a relatively clean bowl and a spoon. There was no milk, blue or otherwise, so she crunched the dry cereal between her teeth miserably as she studied the artwork on the cereal box. Pulling out the holojournal from the bag slung over her shoulder, Daiya removed the stylus and turned on the device.

Some minutes later, the girl felt a presence behind her, and she whirled around, blue and pink-streaked hair whipping her face as it came to a halt. She brushed back the offending locks and peered down at the dark-haired boy standing before her. The slicer, Scorpius, she recalled after a moment of surprise. As she exhaled, the girl realized she had been holding her breath, and her face broke out into a warm smile. "Want some cereal?"

Daiya gestured to the box before her, quickly shutting off the holojournal to obscure her attempt at copying the box's drawing. The crude approximation was nowhere near the level of detail of the food's advertisement, and the girl hated seeing the comparative disappointment on the looks of those who viewed her work. Turning back to the boy, she chattered away pointedly, directing his attention away from her approximation of artwork. "So, where are we now? Something woke me up, did we come out of hyperspace or something? Did we land? It feels, well, heavier in here, if you know what I mean."

 

[Mir Nehrahn]

Walking is an incredible thing. The ability for a being, composed of innumerable disparate parts, to not only coordinate their inherent components into functioning in unison but also to be able to perceive the patterns of their surroundings and not only recognize a safe path to travel, but also to orient themselves in the direction of least resistance and provide force for forward, reverse, lateral, or diagonal locomotion is a feat to be recognized as nothing short of a miracle. These were the thoughts that Mir had as he lay himself down on his less-than-comfortable sleeping palette. The Ithorian had these thoughts as a negative reaction to rushing about in trying to obtain the ship where his current palette was located. The lack of value given by some beings to the wonder that was walking, especially in comparison to the overuse of forms of movement that did not allow the mover to properly observe the path along which they moved, left Mir once again disappointed in his fellow organics. Disappointed and exhausted. He groaned as he rolled over on the palette. Mostly just exhausted.

Less comforting than the surface he attempted to rest upon was his assumption that their vessel was missing some of those inherent components necessary to conduct locomotion. While boarding, Kur had mentioned something about the bravado of Corellians and their flawed ship designs as a matter of pride or something foolish along those lines, but Mir could not recall the exact quote. Unfortunately, they hadn't the time to gauge the durability of the ship in great enough detail before needing to make distasteful haste in order to preserve their livelihoods. On the bright side, they were no longer on Antecedent. These were the thoughts that Mir carried with him to sleep.

He felt as if he had just closed his eyes when he opened them again. Having spent his first thirty-three years on hyperspace-faring starships, Mir knew when a ship was traveling by hyperdrive or by sublight, and they were most certainly using the latter mode. If the ship was at sublight, they were either at their destination, or something had happened to the hyperdrive and were somewhere else. Either way, there was likely something to be done about their situation. And anything was better than trying to lay prone on a less-than-form-fitting, not completely hard, not completely soft mattress which Mir could only assume was stuffed with not-quite-hardened clay. He glanced briefly at a chronometer on the room's control panel before opening the door, wishing that the actual amount of sleep he had just undertaken reflected his general level of energy. It did not.

Plodding down the corridor to the common area, he found himself with two of his would-be crew mates. He gave them a polite nod of acknowledgement and began rummaging around the storage receptacles. <<What kind of pantry doesn't have tea?>> he mumbled in Ithorese.

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Spoiler

@[member="Saran Drast"] @[member="Daiya"] @[member="[URL="http://starwarsrp.net/user/7415-mir-nehrahn/"]Mir Nehrahn[/URL]"]

Cereal?

The big-haired youth just stared at the teenager with a confused look on his face.

Oh, right. The human hadn't yet discerned that the slicer she had hired was a droid. What, was he supposed to be some ten-year old youngling with mad slicing skills and the freedom to just jack a freighter with a group of people he'd only just met, to go roam the galaxy without fear or care?

The was most likely the very definition of stranger danger were that the case.

"Uh... no," the small automaton replied hesitantly. He actually could use a power down cycle to clear his cache and catalog all the information he'd been processing for the last seventy-two hours, which he supposed might be somewhat analogous to 'breakfast' in the sense that it allowed a droid a means by which to recharge their internal systems in the same way that breakfast enabled the biological metabolism to re-calibrate itself. "Thank you?" the boy went on to add, hesitating again for a surprising lack of familiarity with human pleasantries.

Since he'd started working for the Hutts as a slicer, most of his clients didn't offer him anything beside credits.

But, this job had turned into something other than what the advertised scope of employment had detailed. Variation was probably to be expected. Another reason to ensure all information to date was properly cross-referenced and stored for ready access, so that the droid would be able to make the most informed decisions possible when spontaneity was the required course of action.

In a way, slicing was actually much easier than the task of working with computers. As machines, the data computations were logical, and proceeded according to behavior attributed to parameters established by programming. There were random integers in any equation, but so long as the slicer understood the underlying code, it was improbable for a computer to genuinely 'surprise' a hacker.

Biological beings, however, were not nearly so precise with their computations.

As he had been engaged in conversation, the droid's faun brown irises stayed directed at the girl, his programming adding nuances to his body language. He nodded his head as she spoke, to give indication that he was directing his full attention to what she had to say -- even though it would have been impossible at this distance, and with the general lack of ambient noise, for his audio receptors to have not captured her speech.

At the same time, the droid was reviewing past experience with social interaction around a dining table. Coming closer, the boy pulled out a chair near where the girl ate and joined her -- as his memory indicated would be considered polite given that she had engaged him in the social exercise known as conversation.

"That was probably the landing that woke you," the young droid remarked, having analyzed the girl's interrogative. "We dropped out of hyperspace six hours ago, and are now located on Sanctuary, a world in the Calamari Sector which is claimed by the Galactic Liberation Collective. We are currently at landing pad C-5 on the third largest island in the..."

<<What kind of pantry doesn't have tea?>>

Upon hearing the musical, stereo notes of the Ithorian language, the boy's mind immediately supplied translation. Pausing from the topic he had been discussing, the youth pulled out his VersaPad and typed in a quick search. "There are several markets near our present location, which are likely to have food stores and beverages," the youth offered, looking over at the Ithorian before turning his head back toward the girl.

What had he been saying?

Nevermind.

"We need a new navi-computer."

No sense talking around the big issue of why they were here. "The one installed on this ship is defective, and I can provide a more technical analysis of specific faults if you like. Suffice to say, when I dropped us out of hyperdrive, we were four parsecs off from the course that the navi-computer had computed. So... it's pretty much farkled," the boy outlined neatly, his head turning so that he divided his attention between the Ithorian and the human. "As we're in Calamari space, it is unlikely we will be able to find parts compatible with Corellian design; however, I should be able to pair a Calamari data system to the hyperdrive core by using a binary data interchange through the ship's computer..." the youth mused aloud.

New data point. On the topic of being in Calamari space...

"I should also note that the commlink is malfunctioning," the youth brokered. "If you like, I can give a summary of all known technical issues with this craft in alphabetical, chronological, or order of most logical priority for repair. But, in any case, it is possible that someone from the GLC may be en route to our landing point to determine our intentions."

 

[Daiya]

As interested as she was in what the slicer kid was saying, the girl was hungry. If he wasn't going to eat, she was. Another spoonful of the dry cereal entered her mouth, and although the taste was stale and the texture just wrong for the meal, Daiya ate it anyway. Her teeth chomped on the dry clusters of shaped rice and wheat malt smothered with artificial flavorings and a pinch of sugar from someone with extremely large hands.

The consequence of this meant the boy's words were a bit hard to hear.

Munch, munch, munch. "..out of hyperspace.."

Crunch, crunch, crunch. "..pad C-5 on the third largest island.."

Munch, crunch, crunch. "..several markets near.."

Crunch, munch, munch. "..ship is defective.."

Munch, crunch, munch. "..parts compatible with Corellian.."

Crunch, crunch, munch. "..binary data interchange through.."

The spoon clattered into the empty bowl, obscuring the afro-headed boy's words, but she was sure they said something about commlinks and repair. She was no gear head or engineer, but she was pretty sure that was going to be a problem. "So," she began, trying to parse what all he had said. "we're stuck?"

It wasn't supposed to end this way. Stuck on an island on a world only a few hours away by hyperdrive. Tawrro said he was going to get her away from them. The Hutt Cartel was nobody to trifle with, but she'd done it anyway. She thought it was safe, she'd checked over every variable, every measure, the plan was airtight. But Tawrro said he heard chatter about her anyway, talks about arrest warrants and posses. The Hutts had a massive empire, a short hyperspace jump wouldn't be enough to fool them. And if the ship was disabled, they wouldn't be able to run when the goons came, and she'd be dead!

Her head spun with the thoughts of her demise, and Daiya rubbed her forehead in grief, only to find it already slick. She wanted her Wookiee guardian, Tawrrowaldr. She wanted to hug him, to lose herself in his shaggy arms. To have him purr soft reassurances to her, to tell her everything would be alright. And it always was, Tawrro always made it right. Where was he now?

The girl looked up, her youthful eyes finding the deep, black eyes of an Ithorian. She started back in shock, nearly falling off her bar stool, a fact she owed entirely to the sturdy bolts holding it to the deckplating. "Oh," Daiya uttered quietly, embarrassed by her own surprise. "Hi. It was Mir, right?"

"Wait!" She wasn't sure why, perhaps prompted by the Ithorian's appearance in her eyesight, but the girl's eyes suddenly flicked back towards the boy she knew as Scorpius. He had mentioned something about a market, she was sure of it. Visions danced in her head, thoughts of new outfits, trendy tops, and skirts that would have made her mother frown. Of real pajamas and undergarments that didn't smell like the ship's engine. It couldn't really replace what she had lost on Antecedent, but it would be a start. Daiya hopped off the stool in anticipation, barely able to contain her excitement, "There's a market here? I'm going with you!"

Spoiler

[member="BB-4001A"] [member="Mir Nehrahn"]

 

[Mir Nehrahn]

Paying attention to trivial conversation was not one of Mir's strong suits. Even among those he deemed friends, focusing on the singular communal act commonly referred to as "chat" often left long stretches where Mir could not partake as he had nothing worth contributing. He was good at spitballing ideas concerning biological matters of research and experimentation and spewing the correlating data from said research and experimentation. The Ithorian knew quite well that the intricacies of his obsessive fascinations were, generally, of little concern to his friends, let alone far above their level of understanding the natural world around them. However, upon being asked: How was your day?, Mir still struggled to settle on small talk without going into the extravagant detail with which he was so enamored. He had gotten better at weaving his medical trials into appropriate tales and anecdotes over the course of time that he had been conversing with Kur, Tel, and Stannon, but his verbosity, tangential thought processes, and dramatic timing still needed significant conditioning.

These reasons, accompanied by Mir's generally nonplussed disposition towards other sentients, often meant that Mir simply didn't listen to the things people said. He tuned in and out as it pleased him, often with his mind quite well occupied with other matters, and his being quiet around those expecting a response meant that those expecting a response the first time would not expect a response during further encounters. Being unable to speak Basic, or really any language besides Ithorese, without his translation device was an excellent excuse to excuse himself from most situations where these expectations occurred. His speaking under his breath was a direct result of a lack of interactive integrity, to the point where Mir hardly noticed that he did so.

So when the little human girl introduced herself, Mir paid her little mind. His nod was enough of a greeting, and even if he were to offer a response in the midst of the racket of her chewing, she was incredibly unlikely to understand a word he said. As the little boy spoke, Mir continued his perusal of the cabinets in the hopes of finding any sort of addiction-free, health-beneficial stimulant, though he had little hope, it was simply another way of avoiding awkward interaction. As such, he nearly missed the boy's direct response to the Ithorian's rhetorical question. Mir only caught it because, as the boy spoke, he looked directly at the Ithorian.

Mir blinked. Did this adolescent human actually respond accurately to Ithorese? More importantly, how did a child manage to interpret one of the more notoriously difficult languages in the known galaxy? The Ithorian pondered this as the boy rattled off a considerable amount of technical detail that passed right over Mir's head. Despite having spent so many years in space aboard his herdship, and many more aboard Corusca, he had learned very few of the details necessary to understand how space-faring vessels functioned. Besides he was much more focused at that point of trying to figure out why a human would comprehend Ithorese. Still not really having heard a word that the boy had said, Kur rounded the corner.

"What an awful landing," the Duros stated plainly in his nasal tone. Mir began speaking to Kur as soon as his companion appeared, abandoning his fruitless search for tea. "What? ... Huh? ... Slow down ... I don't ... OK, fine. I still don't ... Yeah, yeah, Mir, I get it." Kur waved off the rest of whatever Mir babbled to him, moving over to the girl and boy sitting at the table. "Lots of thuds, too short of a hyperjump. Stuck, huh? So how should we go about getting this bucket of bolts off whatever rock we landed on?"

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Neither the Ithorian, nor the human, seemed to appreciate the situation that their collective being now occupied.

Propping an elbow on the table, the small boy learned in so that his head was in his hand as he sighed as he watched the teenage girl proceed to follow the Ithorian at the prospect of markets. Shopping, it seemed, was a higher priority than star travel.

To be fair, perhaps the droid ought to be having this conversation with the Wookiee. It seemed as though he was in charge. At least, in charge in so much as anyone could claim such a title.

So the child perked up slightly when the Duros brought the conversation back to a functional discussion.

"The problem is the navi-computer," the young-looking droid repeated for the sake of the newcomer to the conversation. Clearing the display on his VersaPad, the boy dialed up a schematic and then reversed the display device in his hand in order to give the Duros the benefit of the information as he spoke. "The onboard processor has several faulty circuits that make proper configuration impossible to maintain. I don't believe it's an authentic Corellian Engineering piece, but an after-market part sold under falsified branding."

Pointing to several different points of connection on the display, the automaton added, "The circuits are improperly interpreting input from the sensors, so it is calculating location based on erroneous data analysis." With a touch of a button, an animation then scaled out to trace the connections from the navi-computer to the sensor cluster and the hyperdrive. "Further, the irregular signals from the navi-computer to the hyperdrive core are creating an imbalance in the engines," the droid went on to add, before clearing the display and tucking the device away.

"It is statistically unlikely that we will find technology on this world that is fully compatible with this ship," the youth ventured, broaching the logical next topic with the appropriately selected factoid with which to steer his actual point. "The differences between Calamari and Corellian design are too divergent -- however, I am already working on concepts for integrating the two using a binary intercharge."

And, that, was basically the short answer to Kur's question.

A longer, more detailed analysis was of course available... should Kur inquire.

 

[Mir Nehrahn]

Kur crossed his arms as the afro-ed boy spoke. He had never been a fan of Corellian designs. Many pilots had egos the size of suns but the bravado that Corellians displayed were better compared to supergiants; or better yet an entire solar system. It went to the point where you couldn't pilot a craft made by the CEC if you didn't have first hand knowledge of every system, engine, component, nut, and bolt, and all just so some drunken fool could stumble into a cantina and boast how his bucket of bolts was faster than everybody else's. Well those tin cans were unstable, unreliable, and not worth the price of their shoddy construction.

And if this merry bunch was lucky enough to have picked an even cheaper knock-off of a Corellian design, so much the worse for them.

The Duros looked behind him, having seen enough of the holographic display, to find Mir leaning against a countertop. He seemed partially fixated on the human boy and partially in some other frame of mind. Kur shook his head slightly. Well, he'll be useless for any of this. Kur turned a little further and just barely made out a small tuft of hair holding on to a corner of the wall from the adjacent corridor, just out of a direct line of sight for most everyone in the room. The human finished his explanation of the situation and the towering Duros offered something between a sigh and a grunt in return for the detailed description of the rather irritating situation they found themselves.

Kur moved his gaze back to the boy. "Fine. We split up. Either work on the ship, or go find the parts and supplies we need. Can I borrow this?" Kur asked, though he did not wait for a response before grabbing the boy's datapad with the schematics still on display. He half-turned the corner and, as Kur had figured, found Stannon shivering nervously on the other side. Kur handed the Tynnan the datapad. "Have a ball, kid." He then disappeared from sight down the corridor, hands shoved in his pants pockets.

A few moments later, Kur reappeared with a tired looking Ortolan. Tel rubbed his eyes and yawned as he waddled into the living space. "Right. Shall we?" Kur offered to the group.

 

[Daiya]

The blonde-haired girl rounded the dull, grey hallways, reaching the loading ramp ahead of her new companions. Passengers, she reminded herself, along for a short ride until they arrived at a world more well-trafficked than this one. Then it would just be Daiya and Tawrrowaldr again. The two of them against the galaxy. Just as it always had been. Just as it should be.

Just as—

She put her hand against the metal wall to steady herself. The other hand flew to her temple, pressing against her skull. As if that would help. As if anything could halt the impending nightmare. The curse that had followed her from the depths of Antecedent, pursuing her like prey, haunting her. Her vision swam as the world around her was replaced by another, and the girl shut her eyes to resist the rising wave of nausea as the images collided.

At first, there was just black. Black as night, black as the void between stars. It stayed with her, moving as she moved, banishing the light. It gnawed at her soul, devouring her, revealing all that she was. She could not fight it. She could not run from it. She could not move. She could not breath.

Then the blackness parted, a curtain drawn back. Beyond the blackness, beyond the veil, they stared at her. Eyes. Eyes of milky white, yet they pierced her. Eyes that did not see, yet they saw her. Eyes more terrible and terrifying than the blackness ever was.

And a voice was saying, "I see you. I know what you are."

Then she was alone with just her breathing. It came in gasps and sputters as she reeled from what she had seen. She was suddenly cold, though the temperature had not changed. Her knees were weak, and she steadied herself against the wall, leaning against it for support. Her cheeks were damp, but the girl had not even realized that she was crying.

Behind her, Daiya could hear the footfalls of the passengers as they drew near. Propping herself up on two feet, the girl headed back towards the group as she wiped her eyes. As she rounded the corner, she broke into a run, hair streaming behind her like a yellow-gold, blue and pink banner. Headlong in between the group of companions she hurled herself, ignoring their looks and attempts to stop her.

There was only one person who could stop her right now.

"Tawrro!" the girl from Antecedent cried as she burst into his room. The flood of lights revealed what she had already known. The room was empty. Her Wookiee guardian was not here.

"Where are you?" the words tumbled from her mouth in a clumsy manner as the teen explored the nearby rooms. The bunks were as dark as Tawrro's own, devoid of the life she sought. With each disappointment, her heart pumped more furiously, adrenaline flooding her already-heightened sense of awareness.

"Tawrro! I need you!" The words echoed back to her in the cavernous cargo bay.

Taunting her. "...TAWRRO, Tawrro, tawrro..."

Mocking her. "...NEED, Need, need..."

Leering at her. "...YOU, You, you..."

Fresh tears tumbled forth as she reached the forward end of the ship, a sturdy bulkhead barring her way. She slammed her fists into it, railing at its cruelty. When she was spent, Daiya sank to the floor, her legs drawn against her chest as she hugged them tightly with her clasped hands, savoring their warmth. Her head rested against her knees, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't Tawrro.

Minutes passed in silence. Not even the gentle hum of the ship's machinery could be heard at the vessel's bow. Alone with her thoughts, Daiya relived the imagery of the vision again and again. Each time she closed her eyes it was there. And each time she opened them, Tawrro was not.

Eventually, the girl unfurled herself. The vision was growing weaker, and her heart had stopped threatening to break down the walls of her chest. Letting out a breath, Daiya reached into the bag she wore at her side. From it, she pulled the holojournal, the diary of her nightmares. Activating the device, she flipped to a new page.

And then Daiya began to draw.

---

[member="BB-4001A"] [member="Mir Nehrahn"] [member="Saran Drast"]

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The small automaton merely nodded to the suggestion from the Duros.

Splitting up suited the droid just fine. He'd already extended the contract for what had been intended as a small job on Antecedent way beyond the description of work. Dividing the work would allow what needed to be done to be broken into more efficient tasks. Of course, the most important decision would be the selection of the navi-computer -- a task which would precipitate his own efforts at bridging the language gap between Mon Calamari-based computer design systems and Corellian hardware.

A minor, somewhat related point being... who was fronting the credits for a starcruiser navi-computer?

Speaking for himself, the droid was broke.

He had one Hutt calling in some old debts, and another Hutt claiming BB as his own property. In the space between, the droid was bleeding credits in the eternal chase to try and break even in a galaxy designed to subjugate people into modern indentured servitude.

A universe in which your ability to shoulder debt determined your value to society.

Of course, Colyn didn't exactly have that problem. Ninety percent of the known cosmos didn't even consider him to be a person. He was just a droid. A collection of processors and servos, with some software that gave him the illusion of personality.

Sliding back from the table, the small automaton stood and then stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jacket as he started making his way toward the loading ramp.

Another day, another credit, another debt. One step forward precipitated two steps back. And now he had a navi-computer problem to try and deal with.

 

[Mir Nehrahn]

"Come on, Rolls," Kur said to Tel, shoving his hands as far back into the pockets on his trousers as they could go. "Time to get stuff." The lanky Duros moved off after the human boy and girl towards the ramp.

"Oou," Tel pouted softly. "I'm hungry." Tel stood there a moment, one hand on his belly, the other scratching his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Stuff includes food, ya know," Kur called back behind him, not even turning around to do so.

"Ooou!" the bumbling ball of blue fur exclaimed, suddenly elated at the slightest mention of obtaining more of anything delectable to munch. The Ortolan started after Kur, but paused a moment, catching a glimpse of something on the table. Seeing the box of dry cereal there that had been left behind, Tel assumed that whoever had done so had no intentions of finishing, as he often did with any foodstuffs or meal not attached to another being's hand or utensil. Tel grabbed the box and happily started crunching and munching away as he walked, thoughts already beyond his current snack to whatever tasty treats lay in wait on whatever world they found themselves.

The Duros shook his head again, holding back something between a chortle and a grunt. So easy to please. As he hit the top of the ramp, the little girl shot past him back into the bowels of the ship. He raised his left brow as she raced past but didn't turn to see where she was going. Probably doesn't want that pet Wookiee of hers getting left behind. Kur doubted that Tel spared much of a glance either, too content and oblivious plodding along. We were already an odd group. Add a couple of kids and a walking carpet and we could apply to be a carnival act on one of those space-faring circus vessels.

The ship they came in on was set down amongst a small series of open air landing pads. Probably for the best, Kur thought. If our landing was as rough as it felt, I'd wager to say that anything with an enclosed space would have hampered the landing. Then we'd be paying property damage fees and landing fees. Peering back at the vessel that had ferried them thus far, he pursed his lips in something between a smirk and a frown, clearly disgruntled with their choice. If they were just going to steal a ship anyway, why not steal a good one?

The Duros returned his attention to the rather quaint spaceport. He hadn't caught the name of the system or of the planet. Regardless, Kur had never stepped foot on the world before. It was humid, too much so for his tastes. He had grown too used to recycled air while living on spaceships and too used to general haze and smog while stuck on Antecedent. He could feel a cool breeze that angled in gently from behind him. In the distance he could make out a body of water of some sort, and the buildings all appeared to be constructed of sandstone or limestone. Hope we can find what we're looking for here, Kur pondered, not hopeful of their chances in such a backward seeming place. Maybe he was too used to the ships and ports of his past. Guess it isn't always going to be easy here on out. He shook his head yet again. When was it ever easy?

"Hold on," Kur announced to the other two as they started to approach what looked like the town proper of the port. "Have you creds for a navi-computer?" Kur directed to the boy. "We've enough for some supplies, maybe the landing fee. Not much more."

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Creds?

If he had enough creds for a kriffing starcruiser navi-computer, then he wouldn't be in hock with the Hutts. Let alone trying to come up with enough to 'purchase himself' from one.

What kind of messed up, reversed prostitution was that? Just because he was a droid, someone could say that he was their property. And who was going to argue? It wasn't like BB had a property tag tattooed on his ass.

"Are you kidding?" the small automaton asked in retort. "I went out everything I owned just to get to Antecedent," the boy stated flatly.

That much was true. His original contract with Daiya had promised a nice payout -- had everything gone to plan. Which, it hadn't. Even still, the boy had thought that he'd have wound up on Antecedent with any number of potential contacts, clients, and more available work than he had processing power to handle.

Maybe it was programming. Maybe it was just some subroutine in a human behavioral simulacrum. Maybe he was just a mechanical fool. But a droid had dared to dream.

And here he was. First freighter to no where, and breaking down en route. Some dream. Welcome to the nightmare. 50 credit cover, two drink minimum, and please observe the no screaming sign.

"If finance is the only issue, I can probably get us an advance on the credit," the boy offered. It wasn't a perfect solution. Hell, it wasn't even the second-runner-up solution. But it was a solution. And that was pretty much it. "But... we won't want to stick around afterward."

One for the credit, two for the getting the hell out of here.

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Spoiler

(OOC: Joint post with [member="Mir Nehrahn"])

---

Kur crossed his arms, clasping his hands on his biceps loosely slung below his chest. Who the heck was this kid, giving me sass? Kur might not be particularly keen on recognizing age when it came to humans but he was pretty sure he was older, considerably older, than the boy. And the Duros was not to be out-cheeked. Kur offered the boy something between a scowl and a smirk. "Already stole a whole ship. Think it's gonna make a difference if we steal a part for the whole ship? Or, better, steal the creds to buy the part for the whole ship?"

The small droid analyzed the input from the Duros. There was the obvious risk involved, but the Duros' remark as to the substantial risk which they had already undertaken was not without merit. "A valid point," the small boy acknowledged, before turning his head to gaze up at the near-human. "If you will negotiate a purchase price on an acceptable replacement, I will fabricate the necessary funding for the transaction to be completed," the droid supplied, already constructing different possible scenarios in order to achieve the stated goal.

The towering Duros cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrow at the young human boy. "Might be more efficient to take more than we need for an estimated part. Negotiations will take too long. Why be picky on an amount when we're guilty either way?" Kur looked around. He was leaned against the corner of a building and, though the marketplace was still well out of earshot, it was certainly visible from where they were standing. He was thankful the place they landed was less than a popular spot for star travel. "Might also wish to purchase those other supplies before committing grand theft... again."

The droid seemed to think about that for a moment, then produced a small datacard with a slot for a credit cube. Shutting out the visual input for a moment, the boy tapped into the remote slicer within his body. As the wireless networking card came alive, the droid was made aware of any number of transmissions taking place on frequencies all around them.

An automated credit transaction machine was located nearby, communicating through a series of transmissions that were carefully encoded by way of a secondary data processing unit -- which employed the best data handling security that the banking clans could afford. But the data transfer protocols themselves need not be bothered with. With that thought in mind, the droid articulated his attack through a minor diagnostic system which few software engineers would think to consider.

Heat sensors.

Any computer design included heat sensors, as part of power monitoring and effective cooling of a unit to prevent damage as electrical currents build up heat as a byproduct of the electromagnetic fields produced. Those sensors then relayed information to the computer processor to adjust power levels or cooling as appropriate. Meaning, there was communication to the processor through the heat sensor.

"What amount would you like on the cube?" the droid inquired, having made a connection.

 

[Mir Nehrahn]

Spoiler

[OOC: This joint production brought to you by the lovable NPC's of Mir Nehrahn and [member="BB-4001A"] ]

Kur watched the boy work with a certain amount of curiosity. Having served on crews across the galaxy, on both legal and illegal terms, he had a certain amount of familiarity with how an adept slicer worked. Their fingers flowed in, on, out, and around their displays of holograms or datapads at what most onlookers would consider blistering speeds. Since Kur was a longtime pilot, he felt he shared a certain affinity with the hacking experts, though instead of a slicer's invasive craft with computers, Kur's expertise was exercised on an external level. However, as he watched this boy work, the Duros had difficulty in ascertaining just how the slicer seemed to achieve his inevitable goal. There were moments where the boy seemed to stop, as if to think, but some sort of action was still taking place. Had Kur not paid as close attention, he would have assumed that the boy was a prodigy. But something else was off about the process that Kur couldn't place.

"Haven't bought ship parts in some time. Whatever works."

The afro-headed boy nodded, even while not opening his eyes. After a moment, the boy opened his eyes and withdrew the credit cube. Passing it toward the Duros, the youth added, "There's twenty thousand on this cube. A small enough transaction to avoid raising any immediate red flags, but it won't escape notice when they run the daily inventory of transactions."

With luck, they would be good by the time the accountants scrubbed the transactions for the day.

Kur pocketed the cube and returned his hands to the pockets where he felt they belonged. "Should get the part first. Get it installed quick for a faster exit. Waste time with provisions later."

"Ooou. But what about food? When are we going to get food?" Tel rocked impatiently from front to back on his feet. He was starving and only half paying attention to anything the other two were talking about. He was sure he hadn't heard anything regarding food and the dry, flaky snack he had been munching had been empty for at least a half hour.

Kur uttered something between a groan and a sigh. "Didn't ya hear me? Part now. Food later." The Duros started back towards the market, making sure to avoid anything that looked remotely like food. "Don't wander off either," he called behind him to the Ortolan shuffling sadly along in the rear of their party. "Not interested in getting kicked out from the market for ya sticking yer mitts where they don't belong."

The small droid nodded as he fell into step behind the Duros, as the group ventured through the market streets and various shops there in the city center. As the droid suspected, everything was Mon Calamari. Anything Corellian or Imperial had a mark-up that wasn't worth the price, and was usually ridiculously outdated. But, in one of the shops that the group had wandered upon, the boy found a Calamari navicomputer that seemed adequately adaptable to the hyperdrive on the Corellian hunk of junk that they had flown in on.

"It's seventeen thousand, but seems in good condition," the droid remarked, looking up at the Duros. He would leave the bargaining to Kur.

Haggling was something that the Duros had a decent amount of success with in the past. It wasn't too difficult to convince someone that a straight man's disinterest was actually disbelief. And Kur was great at displaying disinterest. On top of that, any shopkeeper worth their weight would mark every item up considerably. There were plenty of fools out there that just didn't know any better, and those fools were the folks that kept most of these scrap heaps in business.

Unfortunately, there was only so much one could do against quality. Good shopkeepers also knew how to get items of quality, and those items always fetched a price, regardless of the salesmanship of the owner or the savvy of the customer. Fifteen thousand credits later, Kur handed the newly purchased used part to the not-quite boy. "Here. Head back to the ship. Tel and I'll finish here."

"Food now? Ooou," Tel pleaded. Some would have thought Tel was making his sadness like that of a pet in an effort to cajole Kur into getting what Tel wanted. Kur knew quite well the Ortolan didn't have enough forethought to even plan that far ahead. Tel was just being adorable because that's what he was. Luckily Kur was unfazed.

"Yes, Tel. Food now."

Tel squealed and made for the nearest food stand, arms extended in front of him as he waddle-ran.

 

[Daiya]

She walked for a time among the crates and boxes scattered throughout the cargo bay, running her fingers along the cool metal forms, tracing the outline of a company logo or product name, the sharp edges of the letters bringing definition back to her world. The vivid images that had tormented her were now faded from view, though not from memory. Dust filled air entered her lungs as she breathed, but the girl breathed in anyway, feeling the particles tickling the inside of her nostrils as they passed, breathing life back into her soul.

As she emerged from the haze that accompanied her visions, Daiya began to realize that she was not the only occupant of the ship's cargo bay. Across the way loomed the lumbering Ithorian, pausing between boxes as he went, as if in search for some treasure hidden within the durasteel containers. Whatever innate curiosity the girl might have had for the outcome of the treasure hunt was overshadowed by the alien's intrusion into her space.

"Umm," the blonde-haired girl began, hoping to draw the Ithorian's —what was his name again?— attention to his misstep. Nothing so far. Undeterred from the vehement defense of her temporary sanctum, Daiya went on, "Excuse me, what are you doing?"

Of all the ways a being could express wisdom or intelligence, Mir had no way to assist in mechanical affairs. Despite having traveled the stars for almost his entire life, he had never had interest in the machinations and devices used to power the ships he sailed. Spaceships were a means to an end, a way to traverse mass voids to arrive at a new and unique bright spot of light and life. The Ithorian's knowledge of technology only went so far as what was necessary for his research into biology and the medical sciences which he practiced as a method for obtaining credits.

As such, he knew quite well when he was needed, and when he wasn't in a practical sense. Was there a necessity for the ship to plan, fabricate, and maintain a hydroponics station? Mir was capable of doing so. Were injuries incurred under whatever duress their party faced? The doctor was capable of healing those wounds. Was a thing-a-ma-jig that Mir couldn't quite remember the name of busted? Forget it.

So, when the conversation had steered towards a practical situation that required the expertise of starship technicians, the biologist excused himself, having found no tea to quench his desire for a caffeinated, liquid-form stimulant. He was then faced with impending idleness, and Mir, in such situations, often lost himself in thought and wandered about aimlessly. Somehow, he managed to realize, he had ended up in a cargo bay. In their hasty retreat from Antecedent, Mir hadn't the time to grab most of his research equipment. He had a few datapads containing his research and cranial meanderings, but no samples or tools with which to work. So he busied himself with perusing the crates for anything he might find interesting, though his hopes were not high.

As he searched, he mumbled to himself. <<The best genus of tea leaves are assuredly those found on Cardooine. Woody and nutty in smell but surprisingly sweet, almost like a kind of berry. What was the name of that genus again? Hmm...>> He did not hear the girl approach behind him.

As the Ithorian drew near, the girl felt her own irritation growing. So many newcomers in her life, so much change. It had all been so simple on Antecedent. Just her, Tawrro and then everyone else. While she considered Shenn, the proprietor of their usual hangout, to be a good friend, he wasn't family. In times of need, when she was scared, there had really only been one person there for her.

So where was Tawrrowaldr now?

His absence compounded her frustration, not only over their recent lot, but her own growing fears over the inability to control her own thoughts. The visions that came to her were increasing in frequency, growing in intensity and vividness. Was she alone cursed to suffer these nightmares, this eternal torment? Would it ever end?

So perhaps it was frustration, or irritation, or simply a product of being thirteen —and the emotional state that accompanied that age— that made Daiya twist her mouth into a cruel line and hotly demand of the alien, "Can't you see I just want to be alone here? Go away!"

The more Mir browsed, he found himself less and less interested with attempting to simply find tea yet more and more determined to find anything remotely interesting at all. The biologist was always confounded that those who chose to travel the stars also chose to remove themselves completely from nature. They wrapped themselves in their metallic and synthetic tubes and shot off from place to place with their over-processed, dietary supplements and as soon as they arrived in a place where they could appreciate even just a little bit of life, those ignorant spacers got right back in their ships and shot off again without the least bit of concern of a living, breathing environment. <<Their loss,>> Mir thought. Or did he mumble it?

Amidst his perusal, he heard some sort of loud noise emanating from somewhere. Since he had assumed his services were not required for anything in the immediate future, he simply put the noise out of his mind, not recognizing that the yell had originated from the girl, scant meters away. So when he finally turned his search around in the direction of where the noise had come from, completely by happenstance considering his lack of a short-term memory, Mir, hunched a bit more than usual thanks to his browsing, found himself face-to-face with the human, female adolescent. It took a moment for him to register at what, or rather at whom, the Ithorian was looking. When, after that brief moment had passed, he recognized that the thing in front of him was animate, as opposed to the bland crates surrounding them, he blinked a few times, cocked his head to the side, shrugged, grunted, and returned to his absent-minded searching. <<Humans. Inquisitive species. Selectively inquisitive. Lots of variables, but still predictable.>>

As her view filled with the pall mass of the Ithorian's face, the girl recoiled, losing her balance in the process. She caught herself on the edge of a crate, the durasteel ridge digging into the palms of the hands keeping her upright. The words tumbled from her mouth without thought, their rough connotation a relic of a childhood beneath Antecedent's skyline, "Sithspit! What the feth is your problem, haven't you ever heard of bubble space?"

Daiya rose, dusting herself off as the alien ambled away, muttering something in a language with which she was unfamiliar. She had heard the tongues of many worlds from spacers and traders who braved the reaches of Wild Space, but never this one. Rudeness upon rudeness, the indignant teenager remarked to herself. Having put a sufficient distance between her and the Ithorian, she shot another, likely futile, question at him, "Are you understanding me?" After a moment, she rephrased and inquired once more, "Do you even speak Basic?"

"Um," came a small voice from out of sight. "I-I-It's not s'much that h-h-he doesn't h-h-hear ya. H-H-He's just n-n-not payin' attention." Stannon held on to a crate as he peered around it. The fingers of one furry paw and the top of his cocked head, just past the eyes were all that could be seen. He recognized the girl, or at least he thought he did. Stannon remembered her from Mr. Rosham's cantina on Antecedent. Or at least he thought he did. He only went there a few times, and there had been so many people, so many tall people. Even this girl, a girl that he knew he was definitely, probably, older than (possibly), was a foot and a half taller than he. He shivered a little bit, the hair on his tail bristling, though still remaining out of sight, protected.

The appearance of the gentle creature cooled the fire behind the girl's blue eyes. A sound of realization escaped her lips at the Tynnan's explanation, a thought she would not have entertained alone. As she regained her footing, Daiya lowered herself to one knee, ignoring the unforgiving metal deck plating beneath it. Instead, she gestured to the timid form huddled behind a cargo crate, cooing softly, "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

A sense of recognition washed over her as she peered at the Tynnan. He had been in the Blue Flame before, that was where Daiya had first met him. As the memory replayed in her mind, she noted he was friends with Tel, the jovial, blue chef who was almost more round than she was tall, and their meeting had occurred around that mutual friendship. She could feel the Tynnan's trembling, a state she recalled him being in the last time they had met. "It's Stannon, right?" The girl asked in an effort to calm him, much like she would a small child, "See? It's okay, we're friends, remember?"

"F-F-F-Friends?" For a moment, his eyes darted around the room, nervously reassessing his surroundings in the cargo bay. The crates, all taller and wider than he, offered plenty of good hiding spots if the Tynnan needed them. Reluctantly, he shuffled his feet laterally, coming out from behind his cover, staying just out of reach of the girl, now at eye level with Stannon. "Y-Y-You're name is Daiya... r-r-r-right?" The swiftness with which the words passed through his lips were slowed only by his nervous stuttering.

The girl gave a simple nod in response. Stannon blinked then made as if he was looking sheepishly at the ground. His eyes, though, stayed fixated on Daiya, still unwilling to trust her enough to break his gaze completely. What had he come in here for again? Why was he having to talk to someone? He realized that nothing had been said between them for longer than what was socially acceptable and he jumped a bit, as if startled. "S-S-S-S-So'd ya need Mir f-f-fer somethin'."

"No," Daiya began, trailing off before she could get too far. The furred alien's question found the girl stymied. What could she say, she had run off to find a quiet place to go crazy? She couldn't very well tell Stannon about her visions, he wouldn't understand. No one did, except the absent Tawrro. So when Daiya opened her mouth once more, the words that issued forth were decidedly not about things that she had seen, "I was looking for Tawrro. You know, big, hairy, brown guy, very Wookiee-like, seen him around?"

"Um... no. E-E-E-Everyone left 'cept fer you , Mir, a droid, 'n' me," Stannon said. "They w-w-went to get a p-p-p-part fer the ship. I'm tryin' to help fix it 'n' I-I-I was lookin' for some things in here w-w-when I heard you shout." Stannon fidgeted with his padded feet on the floor, turning them over into various positions as he began to recount what he knew to the human girl. The Tynnan quickly realized that he had not been helpful to Daiya and recoiled slightly. "S-S-Sorry I don't know where y-y-your friend is!"

Daiya's face took on a plaintive expression, the hint of a frown spreading over her pink lips. On such a small starship, it seemed impossible to lose such a large Wookiee. He had not appeared before the shopping entourage had left, and his presence was still missed by the girl now. For a moment, she feared he would be lost forever, leaving her with this ragtag assortment of companions. With a shake, she banished the though from her head, seeking the exit instead.

Feet propelled her quickly towards the narrow corridor, and the outside world beyond the ship. Driven forward by the thought of joining the shopping trip, her earlier enthusiasm returned. Daiya turned as she went, offering an apologetic explanation to the Tynnan even as her body moved in reverse, "I'm sorry! I just remembered I was supposed to go with them." A lie, but not completely inconvenient. She could use some new clothes. "If you see Tawrro, tell him..."

But the words drifted away as she vanished from view, heading for the exit ramp.

---

A joint effort with [member="Mir Nehrahn"].