Chapter Text
“C’mon, BB-17, we’re gonna miss the flight!” I shout, running towards the AA-45 class freighter shuttle docked barely ten yards in front of me.
A string of angry beeps answer me as my droid rolls as fast as she can beside me.
“No time,” I say to her request to slow down, “We have to leave on this ship or we’ll be stranded here for sure!”
Just as the boarding ramp starts to close, I hop onto it and grab BB-17 from the docking bay’s floor, lifting her onto the freighter.
Making our way up the boarding ramp as it closes behind us, we have no sooner stepped onto the freighter shuttle’s real floor, then the ship takes off from Docking Bay 6, at Theed’s local Spaceport, on the planet Naboo.
Everyone tells me Naboo is a beautiful planet, which it is, however, it's not such a wonderful place with no leadership at all. Chaos has arisen in the magnificent city of Theed. Mind you, it’s probably better than when the First Order held leadership over Naboo, but at least we had laws then. Ever since the Resistance defeated the First Order with the help of Rey Skywalker, there has been nothing but complete chaos on Naboo, as well as on countless other planets that used to be under First Order control.
Suddenly, a young half-Twi’lek, half-human boy rounds the corner on the freighter and points a DH-17 blaster pistol directly at me. “Stop where you are!” he cries. I’m jerked back into reality as his finger hovers over the trigger and BB-17 beeps frantically. I consider taking out my blaster, which just so happens to be the same make as his, to defend myself, but I’d rather not be shot. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look old at all, at least for a mercenary.
“I didn’t realize leaving Naboo on an illegal ship meant that illegal passengers were kicked off,” I say to him. “Aren’t you a little young to be a mercenary, anyways?”
“I didn’t realize people stealing passage on illegal ships could be so snarky,” he replies quickly.
I smirk at him. He’s even younger than I originally thought, maybe a year or two younger than me. He’s also a true half-and-half; pale white skin, except for around his ears where it’s green, and green hair with a dash of brown in it from whichever of his parents is human. I’m surprised he doesn’t have two lekku instead of human hair, though I guess that’s what being half-Twi’lek does to you.
“So, are you gonna leave?” he asks warily, still pointing the blaster at me. BB-17 beeps, frightened at my feet.
“We’ve already taken off from the docking bay, do you think I’m gonna just jump off into thin air?” I ask incredulously, patting BB-17’s dome droid head in reassurance.
“I don’t know,” he says, his voice full of uncertainty.
“Well, I’m not jumping off this ship, so no, I’m not leaving,” I say.
“Then I’m gonna have to arrest you and take you to my superior officer.”
“You mean superior mercenary?” I snicker.
“No; officer. This is a Final Order ship.” he corrects me, suddenly very serious. He seems so sure of what he’s just said, though he must be joking. The Final Order? That’s just what Emperor Palpatine was pretending was real, before Rey Skywalker destroyed him. The Final Order is a myth.
Now I'm unsure, eyeing him warily from my spot a few feet away from him.
He glares back at me, until he breaks the silence by laughing. Hard. He’s doubled over, wheezing and laughing. “Oh, you are so gullible! Of course this isn’t a Final Order ship, that whole crap is a myth!”
“That’s so not funny,” I say angrily.
“So hilarious!” he laughs. “But c’mon, I have to take you to the pilot of this freighter, Analina.”
I follow him down the freighter’s corridor, BB-17 rolling at my heels. The corridor is filled with grey boxes packed with what I can only imagine are smuggler’s goods and space supplies.
“So, how old are you, anyways?” I ask curiously.
“15. Why do you care?” he says.
“I thought mercenaries had to be older.”
“I was collected for my talent, I guess,” he pauses. “What’s your name?”
“Siquena. What’s yours?” I respond.
“Tol-Zelada.”
“Well, who is this Analina lady?” I ask, changing the subject before he can figure out too much personal information about me.
“The pilot of this ship. She’s really great,” he says. He turns one more bend in the corridor, then opens a sliding grey blast door by typing a passcode into the metal box beside the door. “Here we go,” he motions me forward into the cockpit of the ship. BB-17 rolls into the cockpit behind me, Tol-Zelada holding the sliding doors open for her.
Inside sits a woman in a brown vest and tall black boots, staring grimly at a navigation screen. All of her clothes are dirty and worn; smuggler’s clothes. Attached to her brown blaster belt is a powerful A295 blaster rifle. Those guns are worth several hundred thousand credits because they were used by Rebel Alliance fighters at the Battle of Hoth, 1 ABY. There’s no way in the Galaxy that Analina bought that, she must have stolen it.
“Who’s this, Tol?” she snaps, annoyed at my sudden arrival.
“A stowaway, ma’am. I caught her as soon as she boarded, but after we had taken off. I brought her here ‘cause I didn’t know what to do with her,” he admits.
“Well, go put her in the Eject Pod,” Analina says without looking up from the navigation screens in front of her. “I’m a little busy at the moment, so the quicker you get the screaming done, the better.”
I flinch at her calmly-given order to kill me. “Obviously there’s been a mistake,” I try to reason, “I can’t be ejected into space, I’ll die.”
She looks up at me, even more annoyed, and smiles threateningly. “Well, girl, I guess you’ll find out the hard way.” Analina waves at Tol-Zelada, who immediately takes out a pair of handcuffs and starts to fasten them around my wrists.
BB-17 beeps angrily, purposely rolling into Tol-Zelada’s legs in an attempt to make him let go of my arms. Instead, he points his blaster at her while switching the setting to stun, then stuns her. Static runs up along her frame, while she screams a droid scream in surprise.
“Hey, come on! I thought we were getting friendly,” I say to Tol-Zelada. He shrugs off my pleading with a monotone, “It’s my job.”
Ugh, mercenaries are the worst. I wish I’d gotten onto a different ship, I think to myself. But, then again, this was the only ship leaving at 3pm. Before the daily Resistance Inter-Galaxy patrol of illegal doings, including capturing smuggler ships.
While Analina glares at Tol-Zelada for being friendly with me, I glance out the cockpit window and notice a whole fleet of Resistance spacecraft ranging from lowly X-wings to magnificent Star Cruisers. This must be the Resistance patrol, but this wasn’t supposed to happen for another five hours. How in the Galaxy had the patrol come so early?
“Oh, Shiraya, Goddess of Moons,” I gasp, gazing out the cockpit window in sheer awe and terror. Were they going to shoot us for leaving illegally from Naboo? Arrest us? Pull us in with a tractor beam?
“What the hell, girl? Just leave me alone, I have work to deal with,” says Analina, fed up with me and the ‘problems’ I’ve caused. She turns back around to the navigation screens, but in the short time it took to look at Tol-Zelada and me, that whole Resistance fleet had hyper-jumped right in front of us. She freezes, gazing in disbelief at the fleet. “Oh, god.”