Private Triptych (Solo)

[Alyosha Zratis]

SOMEWHERE IN THE INNER RIM HYPERLANES​

His name was Alyosha Zratis.
No - he was André Quell now, "Med" to his crewmates.

André finished replacing the transistor, reconnected the cable, and fastened it with his wrench. With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. Grease stained his shipsuit.

There was constant work for a mechanic on a rust bucket. Old, refurbished, and slightly tarnished parts were affordable. Reliability oft a luxury. It didn't help when the pilot put a little too much Corellian whiskey in his morning caf. Couple that with a trip through an asteroid belt and the result is gainful employment, or possibly death.

Typical spacer life.

The well-employed mechanic hooked the wrench on his belt. He closed the panel and gave it a soft pat for good luck. He dragged his tired body to crewquarters, collapsed on his bunk, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

[Alyosha Zratis]

MED! A distorted crackle broke the silence. Twilight receded. DID YOU FIX THAT DAMN CIRCUIT?

The sometimes mechanic, sometimes medic rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He brought the commlink closer. "Yeah, 'cap. Why?"

The captain sighed, his words became slower and softer. It sounded like defeat. It's the nav again. We're off course and accelerating. I don't know where we are or where we're going. A strong slurp of caf. Get your ass to Engineering. Oh, and be careful — the enviro-systems are spotty. Gravity, especially.

"Heading there now, 'cap." Words flashed in the young man's mind. Something about being a failure; something about never doing anything right; something about why couldn't he be like his sister. He wasn't sure if the words were his — or his father's.

André rose from his crash couch and steadied himself, adjusting to abnormal g's. His bunk wasn't far from the main engine deck. But MISS FORTUNE was a small cargo vessel, he could never really be far from anywhere. It made no difference — he wouldn't make it more than a step out of his room. Gravity shifted abruptly. Time stopped. No, the ship had stopped. From hyperspace to zero. Too sudden, too fast. He wasn't buckled. He was laying on the floor. He saw a splotch of red above him on the wall.

Then he saw nothing.

 

[Cithria Zratis]

ON BOARD GALACTIC ALLIANCE FRIGATE
ENROUTE TO COMMENOR​

Her name was Cithria Zratis.
She was a Jedi padawan and novice healer. Sometimes she felt more like a medic than anything else.

Days, weeks, months, and years she spent in the Coruscant Medbay. That was her life. Her routine. But when Commenor was brought into the Alliance fold, volunteers were requested to provide relief supplies. Injuries were tallied after pirates were hunted and eradicated from the local hyperlanes — medical supplies and personnel were needed. The Force called her to Commenor. She meditated on it, but the reason eluded her. Regardless, she trusted her instincts.

Cithria tucked a golden hair behind her ear as she sat on the GA frigate's bridge. The bluelight of a datapad lit up her face. She was reading about the ancient technique Morichro, wondering if — when used with restraint — it could enduce a coma to save a person's life.

A comm tech from across the bridge spoke up. "Captain, we're receiving a signal, a distress beacon. Cargo vessel. ID signature: the MISS FORTUNE. Looks like we're the closest ship within 50,000 klicks."

"Buckle up everyone," the captain confidently replied. "Duty calls early."

Cithria's heart fluttered. Her head swam; it felt like her brain was floating in zero g. She clicked her datapad off and tucked it into her robes. She buckled herself in.

Today was the day she might be more Jedi than medic.

 

[Cithria Zratis]

The GA frigate slowly exited hyperspace. Cithria awoke with a startle, snapping out of her trance as she stared out the transparisteel viewport. Hyperspace travel was relatively new to her. Warped space — stars stretched impossibly long and thin, time crawling to a stop; it was odd, it felt like falling backwards forever.

She realized she had nobody to catch her.

".... adrift, captain," the nav tech continued. He and the captain were talking about the cargo vessel. "Emergency systems are on. No power coming from engines."

"Response?" the captain asked the comm tech.

"No answer, it doesn't appear the comms are active. Or nobody's there to answer. Backup systems might be the only thing functional."

The captain addressed the nav tech again, "Before we reel her in, is there anything showing up on radar?" It could be a pirate trap even if it was unlikely given the strong GADF presence in the area.

"No readings, captain. Good to go."

The frigate engaged it's tractor beam and began pulling the small cargo vessel into one of the hangar bays. Cithria reached out with the Force. She sensed warmth around her — the crew. She pushed her senses further. Outside the confines of the ship, she held her concentration on the MISS FORTUNE. She felt a small flicker of warmth, but it grew brighter the more she focused. It was stronger than anything else around her. Something, or someone, was on board.

"There are survivors," Cithria blurted out.