Sitting at a table with an bent leg, he sat quietly and waited for the bartender to return. Absentmindedly rocking the table back and forth, he looked around the shabby tunnel system that led to the interior bulb of small vendors and smugglers, peddling their wares. He thought that port control had misspoken when they announced the name of the port, like a slip of the tongue shifted cavernous and canverous. But now, based on the sort that were congregating here, it was either intentional or an accident in the original naming.
He was betting on the latter.
“Whatcha want?” A gruff of a man approached in the low light, rusted lamp of pale yellow rocking above. “We got drinks. Tons of drinks. You check the menu?”
“This thing?” Maud flicked the parchment with his freehand, resting his walking stick in one of the sectionals of the wrought iron circular table. “Yep, I checked it. I think I’m good for now.”
“You sure? Beer here just barely flattened out last week.”
“Enticing…” Maud smiled as he set the menu down. “I’m good.”
The man shrugged and moved off. Maud leaned back in the chair, either a feature of the device or the artifact of it rotting out from time. The flight in had been surprisingly sparse and the lack of legitimate security had surprised him. This process was the epitome of his existence, meaningless wandering in search of meaning. And out from columns of rust colored sandstone that cast shadows across the planet, a quarter kilometer in length, he found an entrance to a shadowport with minimal traffic.
He was following his nose at this point, though he had heard there was someone here who was trading in a particular cactus that caught his eye. Juice from this plant was rumored to ward off radiation sickness and prevent melancholy. Could make a good addition to the family garden. He paid no mind to the fact that he had to navigate through Sith Empire territory to find this place or that off in the distance, a great sickness vibrated out from the interior of the Corva Sector.
Now wasn’t the time for those thoughts. Not when there was such ample opportunity for people watching. Like the man with a spiraling mustache, trading dusty pelts. Or the woman with missing teeth, ironically selling bones and teeth wind chimes. And back in the shadows, men threw dirty dice with stomachs rumbling from laughter. It seemed a happy enough place, despite the dilapidation and barren exterior.