In Hyperspace, No One Can Hear You Scream

[JediTigger]

The Corellian freighter Sanaa's Ember is streaking toward Coruscant in the aftermath of a rescue mission that was both a success and a failure. They had indeed freed a kidnapped youth from the clutches of his abductors, well done all around, but they had failed to secure payment after delivering the victim to his family on Tatooine.

Suffice to say that double crosses, Jawa mercenaries and at least one Hutt were involved, and some on the crew likely still suffer from sand in inconvenient places. Worse, here and there are spattered remains of the Rodian who had employed them and was unwisely a participant in the double cross; she had made the mistake of trying to flee to the Ember while the Hutt's guards were opening fire.

Truthfully, everyone getting off Tatooine in one piece should be considered a miracle. As the saying goes, quitting the company of a Hutt with extremities in one piece is a successful negotiation. But empty pockets after a few days' worth of work isn't the best way to survive, particularly when Sindren is left with needed repairs to a few systems and a sanitization of at least the main hold. At least on Coruscant repairs can be made, a few odd jobs can be had, and a small bounty for the Rodian might be attained, if the remnants are proof enough of her demise.

The ship will drop out of hyperspace shortly and find its way to the lower 1300s on Coruscant, where the other sketchy...er, less opulent vehicles dock. In the meantime, maybe getting stories straight in case of inspection is a good idea.

[Sindren Lorn]

The amount of times Sindren had said he'd never take another Tattooine job rivaled the number of mornings he'd woken up saying he wasn't going to drink again. And yet, here he was with more Rodian gore than credits to show for his efforts.

Getting the kid back home was worth it. It was always worth it, but the karking collateral damage was almost enough to make him think twice next time. The burly human bit the inside of his cheek and tried to push away the general annoyance at how things had gone, but then a red light to his right started flashing insistently, demanding his attention

"BD," he growled over the open comm channel broadcasting throughout the Ember, "I'm getting a fault in the sublight stabilizer. Can you get Mana to check it out? If that's acting up when we try to drop out of hyperspace... Just get it fixed before we have to worry about it."

He ran his fingers through his thick salt and pepper hair, massaged his scalp, and closed his eyes releasing a deep breath, sand cascaded from his mane and scattered across the cockpit floor. BD and Mana, they were used to his prickly frankness, but Sindren chose to sugar coat things a bit for the benfit of the others on board.

Kel especially.

That kid.

The hollow feeling, like something had scooped out a portion of his heart and constricted his insides at the same time, hit him again. He'd made a promise to her parents. His jaw clenched as his eyes fell on the tattering string bracelet around his wrist. He'd keep his promise to watch out for her, not like...

He shook his head forcing ancient memories away, eyes drawn back to the unyielding warning light.

"Mana, any time now would be great," he mumbled to himself, trusting she'd handle it. She always did.

[BD-86]

BD-86 was upside down.

Not metaphorically. One spindly leg braced against a bulkhead, the other hooked into a maintenance seam, chassis angled toward an open panel that exposed a nest of wiring that had clearly been “repaired” several times by increasingly desperate hands. However, that wasn’t actually where the droid’s attention was focused. Rather, BD’s photoreceptor softly flickered as he completed a scan of the viscera scattered about on the floor below.

Chirping inquisitively, the droid unhooked itself and landed onto the deck with a soft, metallic clank, carefully navigating between bits of grey matter, limbs, and bone fragments. These pieces once formed a complete rodian, but that was then. Now, they formed a complete mess that was likely to cause problems in the longrun. The last thing they needed was somebody tripping over a disembodied foot, or for bodily fluids to seep down into the wiring and cause a short.

Having taken in the entire grisly scene, BD cocked his head, trying to decide where to begin. He wasn’t going to clean up the blood, but gathering all the “bits” into a pile in the corner would at least be a way to pass the time. A small manipulator was just digging around in the mess, when Sindren’s voice rang out over the intercom:

"BD, I'm getting a fault in the sublight stabilizer. Can you get Mana to check it out? If that's acting up when we try to drop out of hyperspace... Just get it fixed before we have to worry about it."

BD-86 froze mid-motion, still crouched over the remains. Slowly, his head rotated toward the nearest speaker. A short burst of binary followed; flat, unimpressed, and just a touch accusatory. He remained there for exactly half a second longer, as if considering finishing what he had started. Then, with a soft whirr, he straightened, dropping a piece of skull back onto the deck and turning toward an access panel in the wall. Navigating through the corridors would probably have done well enough, but this would be more direct. A brief pulse of his tools, a click, and the panel gave way just enough for him to slip inside.

The ductwork beyond was dark, cramped, and, by most biological standards, unpleasant. BD moved through it with practiced ease, Mag-clamps engaging and disengaging in quick succession as he climbed, turned, and threaded through the narrow passages, his chassis brushing softly against metal that still held the residual warmth of the ship’s systems. The Ember’s internal structure unfolded around him in layers: conduits, cabling, half-patched repairs; familiar in the way only repeated exposure could make them.

Mana liked these spaces. Lived in them, sometimes. If she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, she was here. BD-86 paused at a junction, head tilting as he processed faint audio ahead; steady, slow. Adjusting course, he proceeded toward the sound. The compartment he dropped into was little more than an access space wrapped around the ship’s engine systems; tight, warm, humming with low, constant vibration. Mana was there.

Asleep.

BD dropped down beside her with a soft metallic tap. No immediate reaction. Without ceremony, his holoprojector flickered to life, casting a dim, blue schematic into the space between them. The stabilizer assembly pulsed in sharp red.

[SUBLIGHT STABILIZER: FAULT DETECTED]
[FAILURE PROBABILITY: INCREASING]

The projection hovered, and BD waited.

Nothing.

BD tilted his head slightly, watching her. Another small chirp, this one sharper. More insistent. The schematic flickered once, and a second line appeared beneath it.

[RECOMMENDATION: WAKE UP]

Another chirp, quieter this time. Almost conversational. Mana continued to gently snooze away.

“…”

A moment later, a recording of Sindren’s voice replayed from the droid’s speakers, the volume amped up to a decibel level just shy of a small explosion.

I'M GETTING A FAULT IN THE SUBLIGHT STABILIZER. CAN YOU GET MANA TO CHECK IT OUT?

[Tessia Sarn]

Tessia Sarn is jittery.

Okay, yes. She is always jittery. That's granted.

Tessia Sarn is especially jittery in this particular moment on this particular ship. She paces the crew lounge. Twelve steps aft. Stop. Turn on left heel. Twelve steps in the other direction.

"What do they call the other direction on a ship? Not aft? Forward? That-a-way?" she muses aloud. Her voice is a rapid-fire patter on a good day. This seems to be a less good day. "Ships are stupid. I hate flying. I get space-sick. Is there anything to drink on this bucket of bolts?"

Whether or not anyone is listening to her, Tessia doesn't seem to care much. She's perfectly happy to share her words with everyone or no one.

She tilts her head toward the ceiling. Her battered leather flat cap tries to slide off her head, but she darts a hand up to keep it held in place. Quick reflexes, this one. "Hey, Captain... um..." she calls out, just in case the comm system is open, but she trails off. Why can't she ever remember his name? "Captain... Captain... Sin... Jin? Is there anything to drink on this bu... you-tee-ful ship of yours?"

Tessia drums the fingers of both hands against her thumbs and chews on the side of her lower lip. From the state of the skin around that area, it's a common nervous habit of hers. "Stars and moons, I need a drink."

The job had actually gone okay. She knew a guy. She always "knew a guy", whether said guy was actually a girl, a genderfluid alien or a genderless droid. This guy, however, was indeed a guy. Got them the scoop on the kid they were rescuing from kidnappers. They had kidnapped the kid who had been kidnapped by other kidnappers. Tessia let out a nervous titter at that. That all was great. No one told her they'd have to go to that scorched sand pit to get paid (okay, someone had told her; Tessia hadn't been listening). No one told her, an itinerant resident of any number of the galaxy's megacities, that sand crept in everywhere. And then they hadn't even gotten paid!

And now she's in hyperspace with nothing to drink, a claustrophobia-induced headache starting to chew on her temples, and not even two new credits she can make kiss and hope they multiply.

Tessia frowned as a sudden thought popped into her head. "Wait. Was that my fault?" she says aloud again. "Nah, couldn't have been." It's never her fault. A life motto that keeps her conscience squeaky clean.

Pace. Pace. Pace.

"Are we there yet?" she calls at the ceiling one more time.

[Mana Corrick]

In this moment, in her little nest in the ship's innards, she looked less like a person and more like a bundle of ratty cloth shoved into whatever space would fit it. The only indication of life was the soft snoring and the steady rise and fall of her chest around the center mass.

She liked tight spaces. Liked the machinery. The cold metal and the steady hum of the engines reminded her of home. The only way she could possibly be more comfortable is if someone cranked up the heat and started banging pots and pans together like the manufacturing plates back on Metalorn. She might even be dreaming of that right now. Of red hot metal being shaped into droids. The sparks of welders and electronics work. The shouts of a hundred different species trying to keep it all running smoothly.

A moment later, a recording of Sindren’s voice replayed from the droid’s speakers, the volume amped up to a decibel level just shy of a small explosion.

I'M GETTING A FAULT IN THE SUBLIGHT STABILIZER. CAN YOU GET MANA TO CHECK IT OUT?

Reality crashes in as one of those shouting voices grows louder than the rest. Big brown eyes snap open, and theres a crash of hard metal on harder skull as she nearly jumps out of her skin and curses in Huttese.

She unfolds herself from her nest of old clothes and dirty rags to glare at BD, scratching at the equally matted nest of brown hair sticking to her head as she tries to shake out the ringing in her ears.

"Mee'm tonka, mee'm tonka," <I'm up, I'm up> she mutters. She slithers out of her little nest, sun-kissed skin and lanky limbs clad in a tank top and pants with too many pockets, her chunky old ring hanging on a length of wire around her neck.

She rubs her head again, hearing, before BD has a chance to reiterate, that something is up with the Sublight Stabilizer. Rubbing a sleep and grease from her eyes, Mana starts crawling through the ship towards the sound like a four-limbed spider patrolling her web. But not before planting her shoe on BD's head assembly and pushing him back a few inches, giggling as she escapes.

Would it be easier to get there from outside the access shafts? Maybe. But Mana is in her element.

It isn't long before she reaches the stabilizer and scoffs at the damage. "Choy? Sa da?" <What is that?> she drawls out, squinting at the rumbling machine before sticking her thin arm into a place no sane organic being would and pulling out a gritty glob of wet sand. "Poodoo!"

She slops it on the ground and dives arms first into the machine, knowing its rhythm like her own heartbeat as she avoids whirring parts and digs debris, blood and unidentifiable vermin parts from its insides.

Tattooine is the worst planet. The absolute worst. And she mutters her displeasure about being on that disgusting sand-ball and the damage its doing to this poor ship all while only her legs are visible from outside of the Sublight Stabilizer.

[Kel Hannix]

Oh thank the everloving void that they're on a ship again!

Every minute spent on Tattooine was a minute that Kel spent longing to be somewhere else. The desert was terrifyingly blank: just endless stretches of sand and endless hours of sunshine (two suns!!?). Even the buildings were low and squat and sandy, hardly recognizable as buildings at all. It was miserable.

And that was before the job went all to pieces.

Kel had a bad feeling about the Rodian right from the first meeting. She's just nervous because of the high stakes, Kel told herself at the time. That's all.

The spattered bits still clinging to Sindren's ship are just the latest reminder of many of how much Kel needs to remember to trust those bad feelings. It isn't just her insight into people, it's… the Force.

Which is in her. Which is real.

Which is another reason why Tattooine's silence was so disorienting. In that quiet, without Coruscant's eternal thrum of mechanisms and vehicles and trillions of people, Kel could hear something else. Something humming softer and sweeter than any machine, something that made her want to listen harder and sing along to its tune, something that lingers with her even now.

Kel shoves that thought aside. No time to brood, not when they've gotta figure out how they're gonna get past the inspectors. Not when she's gotta keep Sindren's spirits up. The old guy always looks so sad...

At least they got the kid. That's what matters. He's home and he's safe, and that's why she did this job. That's why she does any of the ridiculous stuff that she does on Coruscant: because someone needs help. There's always something that needs to be done.

Like now.

Just as Kel is about to hop upstairs to see how Sindren is doing, she catches a glimpse of Tessia pacing in the crew lounge, and feels…something. A tug. The kind of thing that a few months ago, she'd chalk up to her having caught a glimpse of Tessia's expression, but now she realizes is…that other thing. Tessia's not doing so great.

A second later:

"Are we there yet?" she calls at the ceiling one more time.

Nope. Definitely not doing great.

"Hey." Kel pokes her head through the door. "You okay in there? I think we're almost home, yeah."

[Tessia Sarn]

Nope. Definitely not doing great.

"Hey." Kel pokes her head through the door. "You okay in there? I think we're almost home, yeah."

Tessia could've seen Kel coming from a parsec away, could've gotten an alert over the shipboard comm, could've literally invited the girl to come join her in the lounge, and she still would've startled.

"What? Me?" Tessia says, too brightly. "Yeah, of course. I'm good!" She gives her head a jaunty tilt, gives her most crooked disarming smile. "I mean--"

Tessia laughs, breathy. She hugs her arms around herself, shoulders hunching. "No, of course I'm fine. Great ship. No sand. 'Cept what we brought in, so I guess there's actually a lot of sand. How does it get everywhere? Like, I seriously mean everywhere. It's not physically possible, right? How are you?"

The topics change with hardly a breath between them.

"That Rodian, huh?" Tessia shivers. "Piece of work she was." Nervous laugh. "Emphasis on the was."

She shifts her feet about on the floor like she's trying to stomp out a cigarette. Two cigarettes. One for each foot. Either that or she's dancing (poorly). With Tessia these days, it's not always easy to tell. She's usually not this fidgety, or at least she didn't use to be, back when she and Kel first met on Coruscant. The tightening around her eyes, the brittleness of her smile, well... it doesn't take the Force to know she's putting on an act, and a shaky one at that.

With a sigh, she leans toward Kel and says in a conspiratorial undertone, "I don't like flying. Does it show?"

[BD-86]

BD-86 wriggled around on the floor for a few moments, eventually tipping forward enough to right himself again. Looking toward the vent Mana had crawled into, the little droid cocked his head to one side, an oily shoe print left across the top of it. Letting out a quick series of warbles, he scaled the wall and followed after the girl.

For a small droid, these kinds of spaces weren't all too difficult to get through, but it was truly impressive how easily Mana seemed to manage. There was no denying her experience and talents. Or her nerve, for that matter.

Trailing behind her at a consistent pace, BD-86 reflexively turned on his forward light, illuminating the cramped maintenance access ahead until they eventually reached the sublight stabilizer. BD switched off the light and gave Mana a decently wide berth to work, looking around the tiny space in a state of passive curiosity while his companion began the annoying process of excavating messes that didn't belong where they were, accompanied by no shortage of colorful language.

A wet splat of something whizzing by BD's head onto the deck next to him drew the droid's attention, and he looked over what appeared to have possibly been part of a mynock at one point, although it was genuinely impossible to tell. The liquid messes would probably require towels to soak up, but for the moment, the larger "bits" could be moved out of the way at least. A small arm deployed from the front of the droid, the little claw at the end grabbing hold of one side of the mystery glob and dragging it toward a nearby access panel. Accelerating slightly, BD knocked the panel loose, pulling the thing through into the passageway beyond and tossing it unceremoniously onto the deck.

Chittering contentedly, BD rolled back into the wall, picking up debris and viscera as Mana tossed it and beginning a horrid little pile in the middle of the hallway.

[Kel Hannix]

"What? Me?" Tessia says, too brightly. "Yeah, of course. I'm good!" She gives her head a jaunty tilt, gives her most crooked disarming smile. "I mean--"

Tessia laughs, breathy. She hugs her arms around herself, shoulders hunching. "No, of course I'm fine. Great ship. No sand. 'Cept what we brought in, so I guess there's actually a lot of sand. How does it get everywhere? Like, I seriously mean everywhere. It's not physically possible, right? How are you?"

"Like I'm an expert on sand?" Kel tosses back with a sympathetic roll of her eyes and a quick laugh. "I didn't think that much of the stuff could even exist!"

"That Rodian, huh?" Tessia shivers. "Piece of work she was." Nervous laugh. "Emphasis on the was."

She shifts her feet about on the floor like she's trying to stomp out a cigarette. Two cigarettes. One for each foot. Either that or she's dancing (poorly). With Tessia these days, it's not always easy to tell. She's usually not this fidgety, or at least she didn't use to be, back when she and Kel first met on Coruscant. The tightening around her eyes, the brittleness of her smile, well... it doesn't take the Force to know she's putting on an act, and a shaky one at that.

"Yeah," Kel answers, a little softer thane before. "That job freaked me out too." She doesn't bother suppressing the shudder that runs through her at the memory. "It was a lot, wasn't it?"

With a sigh, she leans toward Kel and says in a conspiratorial undertone, "I don't like flying. Does it show?"

"Maybe a little?" There's an ironic twist to Kel's words, and to the little wrinkle of her nose, but that sympathy is still there to soften it.

"You want something to eat?" She pulls a few foil-wrapped packages out of one of the many pockets in her pants. "If you're feeling okay enough to eat, that is." The rest of the pockets make a suspicious crinkling sound under Kel's soothing stream of chatter as she moves over towards Tessia.

(Later on, Sindren will find the ship's snack drawer entirely empty. A kid from the 3700s isn't going to pass up a chance for free food! Plus, Kel has her list of other kids in her neighborhood who are usually hungry, and one of those protein bars can keep you going almost an entire day if you need it to. Yes, she's learned that from experience.)

"I got…channelfish flavored protein bar, ormachek-flavored protein bar, and…" She pauses, wrinkling her nose at the label. "I guess protein-flavored protein bar? Oh, and a bunch of blue macarons!" she adds, brightening again. "But those, we're gonna split. I haven't had one of those in ages."

[Sindren Lorn]

The voices of Kel and Tessia echoed through the bulkheads and bounced their way to the cockpit. Not nearly as loud as the recording of his voice - he'd need to chat with Mana about how her droid relayed instructions - but enough that he could detect the new woman's nerves. That kind of unease had a way of infecting others and the last thing he needed was a skittish crew as they made their way into the Empire's rotting heart.

Time to be the captain.

He got up and grabbed a small, maybe the smallest bottle he owned, of Whyren's Reserve from a secret panel on his way to the main hold, eyes forward and walking with purpose toward the crew lounge. His mouth screwed to the side as he saw a single wraper on the ground. And then another. And then two more.

His eyes narrowed as he made the turn and saw the two women munching away on the ship's stores of emergency provisions. That's fine. It's been a long trip, they're hungry and shaken, he thought as he continued walking toward them.

Walking until his boot plopped into something that made a wet sucking noise when he started to lift his foot.

A sour look crossed his face and he swallowed hard, but didn't look down. In truth, he really didn't want to know.

"I need someone right now to explain to me what on my own ship I just stepped in before we get to Coruscant. Which, by the way, we'll be approaching soon, and therefore we need to get our karking story straight."