Sometime Today - 01
Title: Sometime Today (1/5)
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Words: 3384
Fandom: Star Wars - Orig!Character
Pairings: None
Warnings: Language
Beta: mechamagina
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or anything in that universe. I'm not making money. Etcetera. :|
Summary: She's just a not-jedi. What can she do?
EDITED - 01.09.08 10.05.2009
(Fan Fiction List)
There was nothing she could do for them now. Intellectually she knew this. The young not-Jedi MedCorps healer came to that conclusion approximately thirty four times in the past half standard minute. But she continued to stare at the bodies in front of her with hands knitted in her lap and lips pressed in a thin line.
Bad luck, she thought.
Yain remembered clearly her days as a padawan learner in the Coruscant Jedi Temple. She recalled the years of training to tap into the force, her innate perception in manipulating life to mend wounds and heal lasting damages. Many people had passed under her hands, tended to while in the Medical Hall of the Temple. And though she failed as often as she succeeded, her skills had grown.
Yet even then, she recalled the judgment-her connection to the Force too weak, her heart too strong-that obliterated her chances to become a Knight. Instead the Masters sent her away from the Temple-away from her friends, the only family she had left-to work on Hoth not as a Jedi but a less-than-Jedi almost healer.
Sure, they didn’t call it that, but it didn’t change what it was. Glory does not make a Knight, were the words of comfort they offered her. Everyone has a purpose. Apparently Yain’s purpose was to work a thankless job for three long years with the AgriCorps’ Med division, and eventually freeze to death.
Just like the poor saps on the ground at her knees, no longer bleeding out because it was just too cold.
Her eyes slid shut. It was unnecessary for her to reach out when the bodies in question were so near, and the black void aching in her chest only reinforced her first assumption. Death left a heavy mark on its surroundings and she felt it now. It occurred to her to say a few words, but nothing came to mind. Nothing ever did.
With what felt like the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, the young woman brushed the snow from her padded pants and drew her white vest closer as she stood. The bulky clothes disguised the body armor resting underneath, though she wouldn’t have needed to keep it hidden if she had only managed to acquire the plasteel layers in white.
For the hundredth time she cursed the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. War wasn’t innate to Hoth, a desolate wasteland of snow and ice and more ice, but the fighting inevitably found its way to them and no one could avoid it. Disaster was an eventuality that the AgriCorps had no contingency plan for, and she was one of many left to pick up the pieces… or, in her case, corpses.
“Hold,” she breathed, forcefully organizing her wayward thoughts as she dragged her eyes away from the bodies. “Get yourself together, kid. Stand around too long on Hoth and you’ll turn into an icicle.”
A cold wind chose that moment to cut through the ice tunnel and whip across her face. Uncontrollable chills broke out along her limbs as though she were stark naked rather than strapped under several layers of padded bantha wool. Her breath puffed out in dense clouds of milky white for one last time. With a snap of an adjustable band, she secured a gray filtration mask over her face to protect it from further abuse, and then dragged her hood over her unkempt braided black hair. The straps of her survival pack dug into the cloth above her shoulders as she attempted to coax her joints into moving again. Another blast of icy wind sent biting cold to her bones, reminding her of the hazards of her idleness.
Yain heaved the pack and tightened the straps, then briefly touched the modified BlasTech blaster strapped to her thigh. The action renewed her confidence and gave back the motivation she needed to keep going.
“If you stand around too long, you’ll turn into an icicle,” she repeated softly as she ventured deeper into the tunnel.
In the confines of her mind she could still hear the voices of her superiors warning her of the numerous hazards of the Hoth’s dangerous weather. Never travel alone, no matter what, they repeated a thousand times. She fought the urge to laugh. What if the grounds were overrun by droids you couldn’t see? What if your entire team was wiped out while on reconnaissance by well placed trip mines in a highly unstable mineral cave?
Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Somehow she got the feeling that most Jedi felt that way, too. But what did she care about how Jedi felt? They weren’t there, but they had brought their shavit with them.
Despite the icicles she could feel forming along the edges of her visor, she pushed forward. Turning back was impossible, unless she wanted to eat droid powered blaster rifles for her late breakfast. And despite her cheery personality, the suicidal prospect began to have its positives the deeper she traveled.
Enormous stalagmites reached up from the ground like the gaping claws of an overturned acklay, while their razor sharp stalactite counterparts hung from the curved ceiling and threatened to fall at the slightest disturbance. Darkness clung to every iced curve and mineral enriched wall. The ceiling grew less and less visible, disappearing entirely in solid black shadow. I have a bad feeling about this.
Her second thoughts about her choice of traveling soon became third and fourth thoughts. At least it’s a little warmer in here. The optimist within acknowledged that her chills had stopped, and her joints no longer groaned with every movement. The pessimist, however, reminded her that the air felt heavier, weighed down and stagnant. Though she doubted the possibility of being poisoned by untested air, the shadows and her bad feelings worried her.
Pausing by a wide stalagmite that stretched far above her head and, she assumed, connected with the ceiling, Yain pulled out a glowrod. The device hummed to life, casting a beam of bright yellow light across the ground directly ahead of her.
The healer instantly regretted that decision.
“What the brix…” she breathed, gray eyes widening in horror. The snow covered floor lay painted with the multicolored tones of blood from different races. Black streaks of oil cut across the canvas in violent streaks, accented by the numerous unmoving bodies in the severely limited light. Rusted metal parts once belonging to droids littered the ground, twinkling softly as her glowrod’s beam passed over them.
Terror cut through her shocked state, pumping adrenaline into her veins as she quickly assessed the situation. For one fleeting moment she almost wished she were a Jedi, but quickly smothered that thought in anger. Jedi brought this… this…sleemo publiko kagwa killee hatun’chul.
Instead her hand drifted to her weapon and she palmed the hilt of her blaster with uncertainty. If the fight was not over she would need it… but if any further trauma caused the cave to collapse, not even her trusted blaster could dig her out of an early grave.
And no one would be coming to save her, of that she was sure.
Yain cautiously stepped forward. The glowrod’s beam bounced off the bodies in thousands of refracted sparkles. Faces of different species, frozen in a multitude of emotions ranging from fury to blatant surprise, stared up at her from the ground. The Force ached, permeating the cavern with a dark and painful shadow. And though she sensed no danger her heart continued to pound wildly in her chest. Each step was a struggle, each breath cut her lungs. Her stomach rolled as nausea gripped her, but she dared not remove the filtration mask while trapped with them and the undisturbed air.
By the time she passed the gruesome scene, it felt as though a lifetime had come and gone. A soft breeze tugged at her clothes, pointing her down a different path. She followed the temptation, eager to put the disaster as far behind her as possible.
The dense shadows of the cave lightened gradually. Instinctively she picked up the pace, half running half stumbling over loose snow and chunks of ice. Soon the light from Hoth’s midday sun broke through the exit of the cavern, shining harshly in her eyes. The glowrod switched off in her gloved hands and returned to its place within her vest.
An almost untouched landscape spread before her, the entrance of the cave leading to a rolling hill that sloped down to a small spaceport. Despite the harsh light reflecting off the smooth, snow covered ground, Yain managed to make out the shapes of several ships resting on the platform. Her heart jumped into her throat and she struggled with the flood of emotions racing so suddenly in her veins. Tears sprang to her eyes as fear was replaced with relief, and then anguish.
Yain’s strength wavered and she stopped at the opening of the cave, resting against a curved wall. She gulped down several breaths through her filtration mask, using the brief few seconds to clamp down on her emotions and get them back under control. “Yes, let’s celebrate,” she choked harshly. “As if there aren’t any droids down there waiting to blow your head off.”
Rumors among the camps of survivors claimed that a Jedi Master had come, had saved a few that were near enough to be saved. But that was on the other side of the planet, and her hope for some kind of rescue had died as quickly as her friends did. She could still see the Kel Dor twins writhing on the ground, wrapped in flimsy blankets as their lives faded away.
“Huttspit,” she spat out suddenly and slammed shut the door to her memories. “If you’re going to die, you better do it before you freeze to death, koochu.”
Seemingly in agreement with her statement, a gust of wind whipped across her vest and sent a thousand sharp spikes through her body. The ships as the spaceport were far from an assured salvation. But better than back at that camp, huddled in the cold, acting like a beacon of clustered body heat for all the droids in the area while the Kel Dor twins lay unburied. She bit down the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to burst into uncontrolled, hysterical laughter. Her lungs seized harshly, forcing her to bend over with her arms gripped tight around her midsection and her eyes clenched tight.
Minutes turned to hours as she stood frozen in that position, staring at the solid white and struggling to suck in one breath after another. Her gloves attacked her mask, clawing at the band until the gray cover fell to the ice and exposed her bare face to the weather. Shoving her gloved fist against her mouth, she clamped down on the leather as the wind roared in her ears. Blue-tinged faces of people she didn’t even know flashed behind her eyes.
And then the hysterics passed and she sagged slowly to the ground. Her hands shook violently as she reached for her filtration mask and struggled to return it to its original position over her face. For a few standard minutes she stayed perfectly still, breathing in the chilled air until she could be sure the… attack had passed. Then she rose on shaky legs and began the slow trek to the spaceport.
Snow crunched under her boots and forced her to take it slow. Gusts of wind rushed down the slopes and stirred the recent snowdrifts into the air, dropping visibility dramatically the further she traveled. Her joints ached. The young healer flexed her fingers within her gloves as she balanced the heavy survival pack on her back and eased down a tricky hill. The whining scrape of her heavy soled boots meeting ice, muffled by the howling wind, was Yain’s only warning before the slope dipped at a dramatically steep angle beneath her.
Her arms shot out at her sides and wind-milled as she struggled to keep her balance. The snow white world rushed past her on all sides and the bottom of the hill approached way too quickly. Her knees felt the impact first, followed closely by her body and face colliding with rough, densely packed snow. Disbelief jumped to the forefront of her mind. What in space am I doing? The young woman wasn’t sure anymore, and that revelation was not a pleasant one.
She could feel the bruises blossoming all over her body. Her mind drifted as she forced herself to continue, imagining a warm blanket dancing just beyond the end of her journey. Her eyes eased closed and the healer visualized a small room with a warm bed. A heater sat below a window that looked out to Coruscant. She felt the device pumping out loads of hot air as she settled under the blankets of her cot and sipped a towering mug of scalding hot stimcaf. The liquid scorched her tongue and throat, burning its way down her esophagus. It was heavenly.
Then Yain opened her eyes and her vision was gone, replaced by an empty spaceport with three ships and far too many familiar droids. Someone out there hates me, she decided.
A few crates of nondescript parts served as good cover while she tried to plan her next step. With a shrug of her shoulders she eased her survival pack to the ground and rummaged through her limited stash of supplies. After a few minutes of searching, she pulled out a second blaster. Shielding her weapons from the wind, she rechecked the power cells and estimated they were both full or near maximum.
I must be crazy; she thought as she peeked over the edge of a crate. Twenty small droids littered the bay, hefting their weapons and moving as if unaffected by the weather. Two of the three ships did not seem to receive any attention from the droids, though she briefly wondered what they came for on Hoth.
Several droids paced the small spaceport while a few guarded the single ramp of the ship closest to her. She recognized the vessel as a YT class Corellian freighter, due to its saucer shaped hull. While another set of droids loaded large unlabeled cargo boxes onto the ship, their thin orange bodies disappearing into the faint glow of the ship’s interior, she identified one of the other ships as a Mon Calamari Shipyards’ freighter. Though she didn’t recognize the third ship, its imposing shape-all angles-was enough of a warning to stay clear.
If it wasn’t so cold, I could just wait them out. Yain knew it wasn’t possible, but it didn’t stop her from wishing. The droids continued on their business, oblivious to the young woman deliberating her next plan of action.
Taking on twenty droids with flimsy cover on a good day with adequate rest and energy was little less than a poor pipe dream. She lowered herself to the ground and pressed her back to the crates, closing her eyes to envision the layout of the port. If she could just get to one of the ships she could… what? Fly away unscathed? There was no guarantee that either of the two untouched ships had any fuel, let alone continued to function without the help of maintenance droids, of which the spaceport seemed to be severely lacking.
Her future looked bleak. She clenched her gloved fists a few times in frustration, unable to accept the outcome of her observations. I can’t have come all this way for nothing. But it seemed she had, and that thought nearly broke her resolve.
“Ukubati!” slurred a deep green skinned Rodian suddenly. “Me yarga, pateesa. Andoba yocola.”
Yain frowned, her mouth snapping shut in clear irritation as she abruptly cut her story short and ducked behind the grimy bar’s counter. The dull clank of filled containers echoed hollowly beneath the bar, punctuated by sharp curses in a language that was definitely not Huttese. The two men whom had been listening to the tale with growing interest shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they waited for the woman to reappear.
“Call me pateesa again, shavit moojpuck,” the young woman snapped as she slammed down a chipped mug. Liquid sloshed along the sides and a few drops showered over the Rodian’s outstretched hands. Despite the thinly veiled threat, the Rodian slurred in confusion and offered an apologetic shrug as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the drink.
The bartender scowled for another moment, anger clearly displayed across her face, before she sighed and turned back to her two original customers. The scarred features of two battle hardened men returned her stare. One arched an eyebrow while the other drummed his gloved fingertips on the counter, offering her a half smile and a shrug.
“You were saying?” the gloved one prompted.
“Well…” she trailed off. It suddenly dawned on her that she did not know their names, and yet she was weaving them a tale of her great escape with much enthusiasm. Sure, some details were omitted or changed, but she had shared her history with no one, even after she had settled in her job in one of the many grimy Cantinas in Nar Shaddaa.
“You seem hung up on not being one of the jetiise,” the gloved one added sardonically.
Yain gave a rueful smile. “I don’t know whatever gave you that crazy idea.”
“You only referred to yourself as not-Jedi a hundred times…”
“I have a question,” the other man interjected patiently, his eyes twinkling like a man enjoying a personal joke in full swing. “What was the… not-Jedi Agri Medi Corps sector division quadrant doing on Hoth? That planet is far out in the Outer Rim Territories.”
Yain fought the urge to snap at him. His close cropped crimson, red hair and absurdly blue eyes were deceptive. She sensed tightly controlled violence swirling around him. Dangerous didn’t cut it; he was beyond the scope of that word. Angering him was probably not wise-angering regular customers never were-and since he always seemed to enter with him, if she chased one away she was sure the other wouldn’t return. And they always leave such nice tips…
She swallowed down her apprehension and smiled.
“I lied,” said Yain with a shrug. Lowering her voice, she leaned in closer to the two and added, “Months later and I still have no intention of advertising the planet. You’ll just have to figure it out on your own.”
The two men glanced at each other, apparently sharing the hidden amusement she didn’t understand. It made her uncomfortable. Yain looked between the two of them, her gray eyes fluttering back and forth rapidly as she realized she missed something incredibly important.
Before the pieces could click in her mind, the gloved one raised a hand. “But why pick Hoth? From a tactical standpoint the Hoth System is worthless to the Separatists. Your lie is obvious.”
Again with the questions! She smothered the urge to groan. “It’s an Ice Planet,” she replied, sounding as though that explained everything, and scooped up a shaker to mix a Blue Milk drink for her self. Sugar was suddenly, desperately, needed.
“Is that relevant?” the redhead asked.
“I don’t know, is your hair supposed to be that color?” she snipped.
Instantly the unsteady calm in the Force charged with a flurry of activity that belied the calm façade of the two men at the counter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, followed closely by a dulled sense of fear curling in the pit of her stomach. Thankfully, however, it didn’t last long.
“Hey, barkeep!” a human with a gruff accent hollered from the other side of the rounded bar. “Some service?”
“All right, all right,” she snapped. “Suffering Sullorians, I get all the friendly customers today.”
The gloved man laughed, his fingers making strangely solid thunks as he rapped them against the counter in amusement. Beside him, the red haired man grinned cheekily and turned on his barstool to rest his back against the edge and look out over the rest of the Cantina.
“I’ll be back,” she promised, and went to serve yet another ungrateful jet juicer.
(Next)
Possible Points of Reference
not-Jedi - refers to those who never gain a Master to further their training
MedCorps - Medical Corps, usually centered at the main Jedi Temple, can be found around the galaxy
AgriCorps - a place where padawans can be assigned.
Nar Shaddaa - the OuterRim's Coruscant
Glossary
sleemo publiko kagwa killee hatun'chul - (Huttese, roughly translated) slimeball Republic's latest kill/death plague.
Huttspit - an expletive
koochu - (Huttese) idiot
Ukubati! - (Huttese, roughly translated) Bartender, (Lit. Drink Maker)
Me yarga, pateesa. - (Huttese) I'm thirsty, sweetie/darling. (Pateesa can also simply mean friend, depending on context)
Andoba yocola. - (Huttese) Another drink
Shavit - An expletive used by the farmers of Pakrik Minor
Moojpuck - An Ansionian expletive
Jetiise - Mando'a for Jedi (plural)
Blue Milk - a sweet drink primarily made from Bantha milk
Suffering Sullorians - Impatient exclamation
Jet Juicer - alcoholic
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Words: 3384
Fandom: Star Wars - Orig!Character
Pairings: None
Warnings: Language
Beta: mechamagina
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or anything in that universe. I'm not making money. Etcetera. :|
Summary: She's just a not-jedi. What can she do?
EDITED - 01.09.08 10.05.2009
(Fan Fiction List)
There was nothing she could do for them now. Intellectually she knew this. The young not-Jedi MedCorps healer came to that conclusion approximately thirty four times in the past half standard minute. But she continued to stare at the bodies in front of her with hands knitted in her lap and lips pressed in a thin line.
Bad luck, she thought.
Yain remembered clearly her days as a padawan learner in the Coruscant Jedi Temple. She recalled the years of training to tap into the force, her innate perception in manipulating life to mend wounds and heal lasting damages. Many people had passed under her hands, tended to while in the Medical Hall of the Temple. And though she failed as often as she succeeded, her skills had grown.
Yet even then, she recalled the judgment-her connection to the Force too weak, her heart too strong-that obliterated her chances to become a Knight. Instead the Masters sent her away from the Temple-away from her friends, the only family she had left-to work on Hoth not as a Jedi but a less-than-Jedi almost healer.
Sure, they didn’t call it that, but it didn’t change what it was. Glory does not make a Knight, were the words of comfort they offered her. Everyone has a purpose. Apparently Yain’s purpose was to work a thankless job for three long years with the AgriCorps’ Med division, and eventually freeze to death.
Just like the poor saps on the ground at her knees, no longer bleeding out because it was just too cold.
Her eyes slid shut. It was unnecessary for her to reach out when the bodies in question were so near, and the black void aching in her chest only reinforced her first assumption. Death left a heavy mark on its surroundings and she felt it now. It occurred to her to say a few words, but nothing came to mind. Nothing ever did.
With what felt like the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, the young woman brushed the snow from her padded pants and drew her white vest closer as she stood. The bulky clothes disguised the body armor resting underneath, though she wouldn’t have needed to keep it hidden if she had only managed to acquire the plasteel layers in white.
For the hundredth time she cursed the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. War wasn’t innate to Hoth, a desolate wasteland of snow and ice and more ice, but the fighting inevitably found its way to them and no one could avoid it. Disaster was an eventuality that the AgriCorps had no contingency plan for, and she was one of many left to pick up the pieces… or, in her case, corpses.
“Hold,” she breathed, forcefully organizing her wayward thoughts as she dragged her eyes away from the bodies. “Get yourself together, kid. Stand around too long on Hoth and you’ll turn into an icicle.”
A cold wind chose that moment to cut through the ice tunnel and whip across her face. Uncontrollable chills broke out along her limbs as though she were stark naked rather than strapped under several layers of padded bantha wool. Her breath puffed out in dense clouds of milky white for one last time. With a snap of an adjustable band, she secured a gray filtration mask over her face to protect it from further abuse, and then dragged her hood over her unkempt braided black hair. The straps of her survival pack dug into the cloth above her shoulders as she attempted to coax her joints into moving again. Another blast of icy wind sent biting cold to her bones, reminding her of the hazards of her idleness.
Yain heaved the pack and tightened the straps, then briefly touched the modified BlasTech blaster strapped to her thigh. The action renewed her confidence and gave back the motivation she needed to keep going.
“If you stand around too long, you’ll turn into an icicle,” she repeated softly as she ventured deeper into the tunnel.
In the confines of her mind she could still hear the voices of her superiors warning her of the numerous hazards of the Hoth’s dangerous weather. Never travel alone, no matter what, they repeated a thousand times. She fought the urge to laugh. What if the grounds were overrun by droids you couldn’t see? What if your entire team was wiped out while on reconnaissance by well placed trip mines in a highly unstable mineral cave?
Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Somehow she got the feeling that most Jedi felt that way, too. But what did she care about how Jedi felt? They weren’t there, but they had brought their shavit with them.
Despite the icicles she could feel forming along the edges of her visor, she pushed forward. Turning back was impossible, unless she wanted to eat droid powered blaster rifles for her late breakfast. And despite her cheery personality, the suicidal prospect began to have its positives the deeper she traveled.
Enormous stalagmites reached up from the ground like the gaping claws of an overturned acklay, while their razor sharp stalactite counterparts hung from the curved ceiling and threatened to fall at the slightest disturbance. Darkness clung to every iced curve and mineral enriched wall. The ceiling grew less and less visible, disappearing entirely in solid black shadow. I have a bad feeling about this.
Her second thoughts about her choice of traveling soon became third and fourth thoughts. At least it’s a little warmer in here. The optimist within acknowledged that her chills had stopped, and her joints no longer groaned with every movement. The pessimist, however, reminded her that the air felt heavier, weighed down and stagnant. Though she doubted the possibility of being poisoned by untested air, the shadows and her bad feelings worried her.
Pausing by a wide stalagmite that stretched far above her head and, she assumed, connected with the ceiling, Yain pulled out a glowrod. The device hummed to life, casting a beam of bright yellow light across the ground directly ahead of her.
The healer instantly regretted that decision.
“What the brix…” she breathed, gray eyes widening in horror. The snow covered floor lay painted with the multicolored tones of blood from different races. Black streaks of oil cut across the canvas in violent streaks, accented by the numerous unmoving bodies in the severely limited light. Rusted metal parts once belonging to droids littered the ground, twinkling softly as her glowrod’s beam passed over them.
Terror cut through her shocked state, pumping adrenaline into her veins as she quickly assessed the situation. For one fleeting moment she almost wished she were a Jedi, but quickly smothered that thought in anger. Jedi brought this… this…sleemo publiko kagwa killee hatun’chul.
Instead her hand drifted to her weapon and she palmed the hilt of her blaster with uncertainty. If the fight was not over she would need it… but if any further trauma caused the cave to collapse, not even her trusted blaster could dig her out of an early grave.
And no one would be coming to save her, of that she was sure.
Yain cautiously stepped forward. The glowrod’s beam bounced off the bodies in thousands of refracted sparkles. Faces of different species, frozen in a multitude of emotions ranging from fury to blatant surprise, stared up at her from the ground. The Force ached, permeating the cavern with a dark and painful shadow. And though she sensed no danger her heart continued to pound wildly in her chest. Each step was a struggle, each breath cut her lungs. Her stomach rolled as nausea gripped her, but she dared not remove the filtration mask while trapped with them and the undisturbed air.
By the time she passed the gruesome scene, it felt as though a lifetime had come and gone. A soft breeze tugged at her clothes, pointing her down a different path. She followed the temptation, eager to put the disaster as far behind her as possible.
The dense shadows of the cave lightened gradually. Instinctively she picked up the pace, half running half stumbling over loose snow and chunks of ice. Soon the light from Hoth’s midday sun broke through the exit of the cavern, shining harshly in her eyes. The glowrod switched off in her gloved hands and returned to its place within her vest.
An almost untouched landscape spread before her, the entrance of the cave leading to a rolling hill that sloped down to a small spaceport. Despite the harsh light reflecting off the smooth, snow covered ground, Yain managed to make out the shapes of several ships resting on the platform. Her heart jumped into her throat and she struggled with the flood of emotions racing so suddenly in her veins. Tears sprang to her eyes as fear was replaced with relief, and then anguish.
Yain’s strength wavered and she stopped at the opening of the cave, resting against a curved wall. She gulped down several breaths through her filtration mask, using the brief few seconds to clamp down on her emotions and get them back under control. “Yes, let’s celebrate,” she choked harshly. “As if there aren’t any droids down there waiting to blow your head off.”
Rumors among the camps of survivors claimed that a Jedi Master had come, had saved a few that were near enough to be saved. But that was on the other side of the planet, and her hope for some kind of rescue had died as quickly as her friends did. She could still see the Kel Dor twins writhing on the ground, wrapped in flimsy blankets as their lives faded away.
“Huttspit,” she spat out suddenly and slammed shut the door to her memories. “If you’re going to die, you better do it before you freeze to death, koochu.”
Seemingly in agreement with her statement, a gust of wind whipped across her vest and sent a thousand sharp spikes through her body. The ships as the spaceport were far from an assured salvation. But better than back at that camp, huddled in the cold, acting like a beacon of clustered body heat for all the droids in the area while the Kel Dor twins lay unburied. She bit down the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to burst into uncontrolled, hysterical laughter. Her lungs seized harshly, forcing her to bend over with her arms gripped tight around her midsection and her eyes clenched tight.
Minutes turned to hours as she stood frozen in that position, staring at the solid white and struggling to suck in one breath after another. Her gloves attacked her mask, clawing at the band until the gray cover fell to the ice and exposed her bare face to the weather. Shoving her gloved fist against her mouth, she clamped down on the leather as the wind roared in her ears. Blue-tinged faces of people she didn’t even know flashed behind her eyes.
And then the hysterics passed and she sagged slowly to the ground. Her hands shook violently as she reached for her filtration mask and struggled to return it to its original position over her face. For a few standard minutes she stayed perfectly still, breathing in the chilled air until she could be sure the… attack had passed. Then she rose on shaky legs and began the slow trek to the spaceport.
Snow crunched under her boots and forced her to take it slow. Gusts of wind rushed down the slopes and stirred the recent snowdrifts into the air, dropping visibility dramatically the further she traveled. Her joints ached. The young healer flexed her fingers within her gloves as she balanced the heavy survival pack on her back and eased down a tricky hill. The whining scrape of her heavy soled boots meeting ice, muffled by the howling wind, was Yain’s only warning before the slope dipped at a dramatically steep angle beneath her.
Her arms shot out at her sides and wind-milled as she struggled to keep her balance. The snow white world rushed past her on all sides and the bottom of the hill approached way too quickly. Her knees felt the impact first, followed closely by her body and face colliding with rough, densely packed snow. Disbelief jumped to the forefront of her mind. What in space am I doing? The young woman wasn’t sure anymore, and that revelation was not a pleasant one.
She could feel the bruises blossoming all over her body. Her mind drifted as she forced herself to continue, imagining a warm blanket dancing just beyond the end of her journey. Her eyes eased closed and the healer visualized a small room with a warm bed. A heater sat below a window that looked out to Coruscant. She felt the device pumping out loads of hot air as she settled under the blankets of her cot and sipped a towering mug of scalding hot stimcaf. The liquid scorched her tongue and throat, burning its way down her esophagus. It was heavenly.
Then Yain opened her eyes and her vision was gone, replaced by an empty spaceport with three ships and far too many familiar droids. Someone out there hates me, she decided.
A few crates of nondescript parts served as good cover while she tried to plan her next step. With a shrug of her shoulders she eased her survival pack to the ground and rummaged through her limited stash of supplies. After a few minutes of searching, she pulled out a second blaster. Shielding her weapons from the wind, she rechecked the power cells and estimated they were both full or near maximum.
I must be crazy; she thought as she peeked over the edge of a crate. Twenty small droids littered the bay, hefting their weapons and moving as if unaffected by the weather. Two of the three ships did not seem to receive any attention from the droids, though she briefly wondered what they came for on Hoth.
Several droids paced the small spaceport while a few guarded the single ramp of the ship closest to her. She recognized the vessel as a YT class Corellian freighter, due to its saucer shaped hull. While another set of droids loaded large unlabeled cargo boxes onto the ship, their thin orange bodies disappearing into the faint glow of the ship’s interior, she identified one of the other ships as a Mon Calamari Shipyards’ freighter. Though she didn’t recognize the third ship, its imposing shape-all angles-was enough of a warning to stay clear.
If it wasn’t so cold, I could just wait them out. Yain knew it wasn’t possible, but it didn’t stop her from wishing. The droids continued on their business, oblivious to the young woman deliberating her next plan of action.
Taking on twenty droids with flimsy cover on a good day with adequate rest and energy was little less than a poor pipe dream. She lowered herself to the ground and pressed her back to the crates, closing her eyes to envision the layout of the port. If she could just get to one of the ships she could… what? Fly away unscathed? There was no guarantee that either of the two untouched ships had any fuel, let alone continued to function without the help of maintenance droids, of which the spaceport seemed to be severely lacking.
Her future looked bleak. She clenched her gloved fists a few times in frustration, unable to accept the outcome of her observations. I can’t have come all this way for nothing. But it seemed she had, and that thought nearly broke her resolve.
“Ukubati!” slurred a deep green skinned Rodian suddenly. “Me yarga, pateesa. Andoba yocola.”
Yain frowned, her mouth snapping shut in clear irritation as she abruptly cut her story short and ducked behind the grimy bar’s counter. The dull clank of filled containers echoed hollowly beneath the bar, punctuated by sharp curses in a language that was definitely not Huttese. The two men whom had been listening to the tale with growing interest shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they waited for the woman to reappear.
“Call me pateesa again, shavit moojpuck,” the young woman snapped as she slammed down a chipped mug. Liquid sloshed along the sides and a few drops showered over the Rodian’s outstretched hands. Despite the thinly veiled threat, the Rodian slurred in confusion and offered an apologetic shrug as he wrapped his fingers tightly around the drink.
The bartender scowled for another moment, anger clearly displayed across her face, before she sighed and turned back to her two original customers. The scarred features of two battle hardened men returned her stare. One arched an eyebrow while the other drummed his gloved fingertips on the counter, offering her a half smile and a shrug.
“You were saying?” the gloved one prompted.
“Well…” she trailed off. It suddenly dawned on her that she did not know their names, and yet she was weaving them a tale of her great escape with much enthusiasm. Sure, some details were omitted or changed, but she had shared her history with no one, even after she had settled in her job in one of the many grimy Cantinas in Nar Shaddaa.
“You seem hung up on not being one of the jetiise,” the gloved one added sardonically.
Yain gave a rueful smile. “I don’t know whatever gave you that crazy idea.”
“You only referred to yourself as not-Jedi a hundred times…”
“I have a question,” the other man interjected patiently, his eyes twinkling like a man enjoying a personal joke in full swing. “What was the… not-Jedi Agri Medi Corps sector division quadrant doing on Hoth? That planet is far out in the Outer Rim Territories.”
Yain fought the urge to snap at him. His close cropped crimson, red hair and absurdly blue eyes were deceptive. She sensed tightly controlled violence swirling around him. Dangerous didn’t cut it; he was beyond the scope of that word. Angering him was probably not wise-angering regular customers never were-and since he always seemed to enter with him, if she chased one away she was sure the other wouldn’t return. And they always leave such nice tips…
She swallowed down her apprehension and smiled.
“I lied,” said Yain with a shrug. Lowering her voice, she leaned in closer to the two and added, “Months later and I still have no intention of advertising the planet. You’ll just have to figure it out on your own.”
The two men glanced at each other, apparently sharing the hidden amusement she didn’t understand. It made her uncomfortable. Yain looked between the two of them, her gray eyes fluttering back and forth rapidly as she realized she missed something incredibly important.
Before the pieces could click in her mind, the gloved one raised a hand. “But why pick Hoth? From a tactical standpoint the Hoth System is worthless to the Separatists. Your lie is obvious.”
Again with the questions! She smothered the urge to groan. “It’s an Ice Planet,” she replied, sounding as though that explained everything, and scooped up a shaker to mix a Blue Milk drink for her self. Sugar was suddenly, desperately, needed.
“Is that relevant?” the redhead asked.
“I don’t know, is your hair supposed to be that color?” she snipped.
Instantly the unsteady calm in the Force charged with a flurry of activity that belied the calm façade of the two men at the counter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, followed closely by a dulled sense of fear curling in the pit of her stomach. Thankfully, however, it didn’t last long.
“Hey, barkeep!” a human with a gruff accent hollered from the other side of the rounded bar. “Some service?”
“All right, all right,” she snapped. “Suffering Sullorians, I get all the friendly customers today.”
The gloved man laughed, his fingers making strangely solid thunks as he rapped them against the counter in amusement. Beside him, the red haired man grinned cheekily and turned on his barstool to rest his back against the edge and look out over the rest of the Cantina.
“I’ll be back,” she promised, and went to serve yet another ungrateful jet juicer.
(Next)
Possible Points of Reference
not-Jedi - refers to those who never gain a Master to further their training
MedCorps - Medical Corps, usually centered at the main Jedi Temple, can be found around the galaxy
AgriCorps - a place where padawans can be assigned.
Nar Shaddaa - the OuterRim's Coruscant
Glossary
sleemo publiko kagwa killee hatun'chul - (Huttese, roughly translated) slimeball Republic's latest kill/death plague.
Huttspit - an expletive
koochu - (Huttese) idiot
Ukubati! - (Huttese, roughly translated) Bartender, (Lit. Drink Maker)
Me yarga, pateesa. - (Huttese) I'm thirsty, sweetie/darling. (Pateesa can also simply mean friend, depending on context)
Andoba yocola. - (Huttese) Another drink
Shavit - An expletive used by the farmers of Pakrik Minor
Moojpuck - An Ansionian expletive
Jetiise - Mando'a for Jedi (plural)
Blue Milk - a sweet drink primarily made from Bantha milk
Suffering Sullorians - Impatient exclamation
Jet Juicer - alcoholic