Eice Frex
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 22, 2017
- Messages
- 274
- Reaction score
- 76
"All wings report in!"
Eice reached out a hand that was not her own to adjust a knob in the cockpit of her starfighter, her gaze flicking over readouts and controls. Distorted over the comm, she heard other pilots in her squadron begin to check in.
"Red 10 standing by."
"Red 7 standing by."
"Red 3 standing by."
"Red 6 standing by."
"Red 9 standing by."
"Red 2 standing by."
"Red 11 standing by."
"Red 5 standing by."
The voice was not Eice's own. She puzzled at that, but in the strange, drifting logic that seemed to reign in this place, she did not do so for long.
"Lock S-foils in attack position."
Eice twisted a knob with her unfamiliar fingers, and to either side of her, the blunt, straight wings of her craft split into two. Indicators glowed green, but all of a sudden there was a shudder that ran through the ship. A few lights flickered red, but quickly returned to positive status.
"We're passing through the magnetic field! Hold tight. Switch your deflectors on, double front."
Eice found herself automatically obeying the flight lead's order, pressing a button and twisting another knob. Somewhere in front of her, barely audible over the powerful engines, her tiny ship's deflector screens hummed. That was odd, she mused; no ship this size had deflectors!
"Look at the size of that thing!"
"Cut the chatter Red 2! Accelerate to attack speed."
Eice looked around her, her strange hand pushing up the throttle. Around her, the ships of her squadron were angling in on their target.
Eice looked, and saw, and would not believe it.
At first, it seemed to be a small moon, hanging grey and barren in space. But as Eice looked closer, she saw the vast plains of dark metal that formed its surface; something cold spread inside her as she looked at a huge, crater-like depression on one of the hemispheres.
This was no moon.
"This is it boys."
"Red Leader this is Gold Leader."
"I copy Gold Leader."
"Starting for the target shaft now."
"We're in position. I'm gonna cut across the axis and try and draw their fire."
Eice and the other snubfighters streaked toward the surface of the moon-thing, and leveled out. And then, all hell broke loose.
CORELLIA, SPACE STATION IN ORBIT, 6,903 BBY.
Eice's eyes snapped open, and the diminutive Tintinna gave a squeak as she awoke with a start, blinking owlishly from behind her glasses and shaking her head slightly. She tried to recall the dream that had woken her, but it faded before her recollection, like morning mist under the hot sun.
Sighing, she sat up straight, smoothed her black synthsilk skirt, adjusted her glasses and looked around.
Eice Frex was a loadmaster for the honorable Blackrow Hyperlogistics Corporation, as were her parents before her, and their parents before them. It was her job - her duty and privilege, according to the intra-company propaganda - to ensure that all freight processed and shipped by the company was properly inspected, loaded and logged as per regulations. Her responsibility, it had been drilled into her head almost since birth, was the smooth running of nothing less than pan-Galactic commerce. Without her guidance, ships would be overloaded, accidents would happen, freight would not get through, planets would starve.
The petite Tintinna looked to the right and left, saw no-one, and sighed, sagging backwards into her plastoid seat.
Eice had fallen asleep waiting for the arrival of her flight crew. She was scheduled for an inspection of the great Blackrow freight marshaling yards which orbited Corellia; she had arrived early, in fact, and had been waiting in this lonely stretch of space station corridor outside the hangar bay for...
...she looked down at her wrist chrono, and frowned in irritation.
It wasn't her imagination, they were late!
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it wasn't impossible that there had been a mistake somewhere in the process. For all the importance the company told her her position had, the fact was that she was just a minor cog in the great machine that was Blackrow Hyperlogistics. She had an inspection lighter reserved for her - she could see it through the hangar doors - but perhaps a crew had never been assigned?
She looked at her watch again, and chewed her lower lip nervously.
She was already late. She would complain to SR (Sapient Resources), of course, but she could either do that now or keep waiting on the off chance her crew did show up. The later the inspection was, however, the more datawork she would have to fill out explaining why it had been delayed, and the deeper the blemish on her record would become, even if it was eventually expunged.
She gave a frustrated sigh, and stood, walking toward the hangar door briskly. She reached into her bag, removing a datapad and thumbing it on to record a memo.
"This is loadmaster Eice Frex, stating for the record that my flight crew is now 47 minutes late for a scheduled inspection. In their absence, I will be piloting the inspection lighter myself."
Eice keyed off the datapad's record function, and put the small device back in her bag. Reaching the hangar door, she stretched to reach up and hit the door controls, causing them to open with a hiss.
The hangar was empty except for a few maintenance droids, who offered no challenge as Eice approached the inspection lighter and climbed the boarding ramp. It was only a simple little ship; a basic utility skiff, one of hundreds used by Blackrow around its orbital facilities.
All the same, Eice chewed her lower lip in nervous excitement as she keyed the hatch closed, and went to take a seat in the pilot seat. She had to stop herself from taking the copilot seat, where she sometimes was invited to sit during close inspections.
She was going to get to fly today.
She slipped the comm headset on, and twisted a knob on the control panel before her.
"*Ahem*. This is delta-delta-lambda-niner to Blackrow Orbital Control. Apologies for our late start, we're leaving the docking bay now, over."
Even before the response came, Eice had ignited the little craft's thrusters and engaged the repulsorlifts, easing off the ship's fixed landing gear and slowly turning the blunt nose toward open space. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door to the corridor open and two flight-suited figures enter the hangar, looking incredulous as they saw the lighter already taking off without them.
"Delta-delta-lambda-niner this is Blackrow Orbital. Who is this? Your window opened 48 minutes ago!"
Eice eased the lighter forward, glancing back as she watched the two figures briefly sprint to catch up with her, but come up short when she moved the ship through the magnetic barrier holding in the hangar's atmosphere and heat. She grinned to herself, reaching down to adjust her seat and make the controls easier for her diminutive reach to access.
"Blackrow Orbital this is delta-delta-lambda-niner, Loadmaster Eice Frex in command. My flight crew never reported in, so I'll be flying the inspection myself. You'll find I have the proper authority and credentials. Over."
There was a pause, and Eice set her course for the Blackrow Freight Marshaling Yards.
"...roger, delta-delta-lambda-niner, we confirm. Be advised, your delayed departure has put you in overlap with several drone barges taking on cargo at the marshaling yards."
Eice sighed, but that was to be expected. Whether she was there to keep things orderly or not, the freight kept moving.
"Copy that, Blackrow Control. Delta-delta-lambda-niner, out."
CORELLIA, BLACKROW HYPERLOGISTICS FREIGHT MARSHALING YARDS, 6,903 BBY.
The evenly space grid of shipping containers stretched out in all directions, each piece of freight oriented just so along perfect, computer-calculated, invisible lines. At regular intervals, the lights of navigation buoys blinked, as did the marker lights on the thousands of containers.
The Blackrow Hyperlogistics Orbital Freight Marshaling Yards were a massive complex, although not the only such yard in orbit above Corellia. Czerka alone, Eice knew, had a freight yard that could swallow Blackrow's several times over, and it wasn't even the biggest in the system. Even so, it was an impressive sight, one the young Tintinna knew her family had stewarded for generations.
The yard was essentially a parking orbit for cargo. Rather than keep sealed containers in warehouses aboard space stations or on the surface of Corellia, they were stored in open space, where there were effectively no limits to how much space was available. Non-critical, economy rate cargo was kept here until it could be collected for shipment, usually aboard the hulking automated drone barges which formed much of Blackrow's long-haul fleet.
As Eice approached the yards, she could see several of these, the long, slender-looking shapes of Kolier-class barges. Their massive cargo bays open to space as they maneuvered next to marked pieces of freight, they matched velocity and simply eased sideways over them, scooping them into their holds. Binary loadlifters, along for the ride, would sort the cargo inside.
Removing her datapad from the bag next to her seat, the loadmaster got to work.
Eice's job today was simple. Although most of the freight sorting at the marshaling yard was handled by droids, and required little if any organic intervention or oversight, the company considered it important to send someone out to check up on operations occasionally. Her task primarily was to visually check that the grid system along which all of the assembled shipping containers were organized was in good order; out-of-place containers could result in collisions, which could result in lost or damaged cargo, damaged equipment, shipping delays and - most important - lost revenue for the company. It was vital that everything ran smoothly.
Eice, for her part, did not mind the work as much as she otherwise would have. True, it was utterly tedious, mainly involving flying the ship back and forth along the lines of a grid and matching the expected positions of containers against their actual positions on a map. As was nearly always the case, they matched perfectly.
But today, Eice had something to distract her from the tedium; she was flying the ship herself. True, it was not a particularly novel experience for most people, but for Eice it was wondrous indeed.
Eice had fallen in love with spacecraft at an early age. When other females her age had been playing with dolls, she had been gluing together plasto models of famous starships and floating them on micro-repulsors in her bedroom. When she was 14, she had taken pilot lessons as an elective at the corporate school, and had been on track to become a freighter helmsbeing, before her parents had sat her down and told her about her future as a station-side loadmaster, as they were, and as their parents had been before them.
Eice adored flying, and everything that went with it. But duty to her family and the company that supported them had sent her down a different path, one where indulging such passions was a rarity.
And so Eice flew back and forth above the grid of carefully arranged containers, enjoying herself perhaps more than she had in some time, before something distracted her from her reverie.
It was, to her well-trained eye, a blemish on the perfectly ordered landscape before her. Each container - all of a standardized, rectangular type, 15 meters long by 5 wide by 5 high - had 8 blinking red marker lights, one on each of their corners so that their dimensions were easier to discern. These marker lights formed long, straight dotted lines, stretching on and on along the grid.
One set of lights was skewed up and to the side.
Though she enjoyed flying, Eice had engaged the autopilot on the long straight stretches so that she could keep her hands free for the datapad. Seeing the skewed container, she frowned, disengaging the autopilot and restoring manual control so that she could move down and take a closer look.
Pulling up close, she parked the inspection lighter expertly in the space where the container would have been if it were in proper position; it was now above her and slightly to starboard. Using her datapad, she began to take notes, recording the container's serial number, physical appearance, position, and other pieces of information.
So absorbed was she in this task that she did not notice the enormous shadow which swept over both the container and the little ship. She was just finishing and looking up from her datapad, noting with surprise that she suddenly could not see the stars, when there was the wrenching sensation of a larger artificial gravity field interacting with that of her ship, and the crash of something massive and heavy coming down on the side of her lighter, flipping it sideways violently.
The last thing Eice saw for some time was the cockpit wall rushing up to meet her.
SOME TIME LATER, SOMEWHERE IN THE OUTER RIM, 6,903 BBY.
Eice Frex had looked better, she knew.
The half-starved Tintinna female, sporting a disheveled synthsilk skirt and a wrinkled malashet blouse, had given the stevedore droids and organic dock-workers unloading the drone barge quite a shock when they had discovered her, holed up in her damaged lighter where the barge's crew of binary loadlifters had dutifully stowed it before the droid ship had gone to hyperspace, taking its accidental passenger with it. She had survived the long voyage using her own ship's life support system, supplementing its consumables with the contents of the emergency vac suits' atmosphere bottles. She had eaten the ship's emergency survival rations, and after those had run out, had managed to track down the barge's manifest and crack open the scant few containers carrying anything resembling foodstuffs. Water she had gotten from condensed moisture dripping off the barge's cooling system.
She had gotten the lighter moved to a corner of the spaceport where she was reasonably certain it wouldn't be stolen before she could get back to it, and used most of the credits that had been in her pockets to access a data terminal. It was there that she discovered her corporate login had been disabled, and her expense account revoked. Holomail on her private account informed her that - owing to her extended unexplained absence, and apparent theft of company property - her position with Blackrow Hyperlogistics had been terminated, and that she now had a warrant for her arrest issued in the Corellian System on charges of grand theft spacecraft, apparently for the lighter she had been sealed in the drone barge with.
Far from home, with only a few decicreds to her name and no-one to call on, Eice had been cast adrift.
The frightened and bewildered Tintinna now began to explore her new surroundings.
The spaceport was a deep-space way-station, likely a place that had formed around the presence of one of the old hyperspace navigational beacons long ago, and which had persisted even after the beacons became largely obsolete. It was not an especially busy place, or it normally wasn't at least, although that appeared to have changed recently.
Apparently, there was an Ossein flagship in dock, which had brought all sorts of interesting people aboard. The corridors were crowded with a diverse array of species, and out of the windows of the station, Eice could see dozens of ships buzzing around.
Eventually, she stumbled into a cantina, rummaging in her pockets and digging out the last of her credits. Looking around at the food and drinks many of the patrons held, she licked her lips, and strode up to the bar.
"E-Excuse me." She said, managing to catch the attention of the bartender droid. "Um... blue milk, please."
Eice reached out a hand that was not her own to adjust a knob in the cockpit of her starfighter, her gaze flicking over readouts and controls. Distorted over the comm, she heard other pilots in her squadron begin to check in.
"Red 10 standing by."
"Red 7 standing by."
"Red 3 standing by."
"Red 6 standing by."
"Red 9 standing by."
"Red 2 standing by."
"Red 11 standing by."
"Red 5 standing by."
The voice was not Eice's own. She puzzled at that, but in the strange, drifting logic that seemed to reign in this place, she did not do so for long.
"Lock S-foils in attack position."
Eice twisted a knob with her unfamiliar fingers, and to either side of her, the blunt, straight wings of her craft split into two. Indicators glowed green, but all of a sudden there was a shudder that ran through the ship. A few lights flickered red, but quickly returned to positive status.
"We're passing through the magnetic field! Hold tight. Switch your deflectors on, double front."
Eice found herself automatically obeying the flight lead's order, pressing a button and twisting another knob. Somewhere in front of her, barely audible over the powerful engines, her tiny ship's deflector screens hummed. That was odd, she mused; no ship this size had deflectors!
"Look at the size of that thing!"
"Cut the chatter Red 2! Accelerate to attack speed."
Eice looked around her, her strange hand pushing up the throttle. Around her, the ships of her squadron were angling in on their target.
Eice looked, and saw, and would not believe it.
At first, it seemed to be a small moon, hanging grey and barren in space. But as Eice looked closer, she saw the vast plains of dark metal that formed its surface; something cold spread inside her as she looked at a huge, crater-like depression on one of the hemispheres.
This was no moon.
"This is it boys."
"Red Leader this is Gold Leader."
"I copy Gold Leader."
"Starting for the target shaft now."
"We're in position. I'm gonna cut across the axis and try and draw their fire."
Eice and the other snubfighters streaked toward the surface of the moon-thing, and leveled out. And then, all hell broke loose.
CORELLIA, SPACE STATION IN ORBIT, 6,903 BBY.
Eice's eyes snapped open, and the diminutive Tintinna gave a squeak as she awoke with a start, blinking owlishly from behind her glasses and shaking her head slightly. She tried to recall the dream that had woken her, but it faded before her recollection, like morning mist under the hot sun.
Sighing, she sat up straight, smoothed her black synthsilk skirt, adjusted her glasses and looked around.
Eice Frex was a loadmaster for the honorable Blackrow Hyperlogistics Corporation, as were her parents before her, and their parents before them. It was her job - her duty and privilege, according to the intra-company propaganda - to ensure that all freight processed and shipped by the company was properly inspected, loaded and logged as per regulations. Her responsibility, it had been drilled into her head almost since birth, was the smooth running of nothing less than pan-Galactic commerce. Without her guidance, ships would be overloaded, accidents would happen, freight would not get through, planets would starve.
The petite Tintinna looked to the right and left, saw no-one, and sighed, sagging backwards into her plastoid seat.
Eice had fallen asleep waiting for the arrival of her flight crew. She was scheduled for an inspection of the great Blackrow freight marshaling yards which orbited Corellia; she had arrived early, in fact, and had been waiting in this lonely stretch of space station corridor outside the hangar bay for...
...she looked down at her wrist chrono, and frowned in irritation.
It wasn't her imagination, they were late!
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it wasn't impossible that there had been a mistake somewhere in the process. For all the importance the company told her her position had, the fact was that she was just a minor cog in the great machine that was Blackrow Hyperlogistics. She had an inspection lighter reserved for her - she could see it through the hangar doors - but perhaps a crew had never been assigned?
She looked at her watch again, and chewed her lower lip nervously.
She was already late. She would complain to SR (Sapient Resources), of course, but she could either do that now or keep waiting on the off chance her crew did show up. The later the inspection was, however, the more datawork she would have to fill out explaining why it had been delayed, and the deeper the blemish on her record would become, even if it was eventually expunged.
She gave a frustrated sigh, and stood, walking toward the hangar door briskly. She reached into her bag, removing a datapad and thumbing it on to record a memo.
"This is loadmaster Eice Frex, stating for the record that my flight crew is now 47 minutes late for a scheduled inspection. In their absence, I will be piloting the inspection lighter myself."
Eice keyed off the datapad's record function, and put the small device back in her bag. Reaching the hangar door, she stretched to reach up and hit the door controls, causing them to open with a hiss.
The hangar was empty except for a few maintenance droids, who offered no challenge as Eice approached the inspection lighter and climbed the boarding ramp. It was only a simple little ship; a basic utility skiff, one of hundreds used by Blackrow around its orbital facilities.
All the same, Eice chewed her lower lip in nervous excitement as she keyed the hatch closed, and went to take a seat in the pilot seat. She had to stop herself from taking the copilot seat, where she sometimes was invited to sit during close inspections.
She was going to get to fly today.
She slipped the comm headset on, and twisted a knob on the control panel before her.
"*Ahem*. This is delta-delta-lambda-niner to Blackrow Orbital Control. Apologies for our late start, we're leaving the docking bay now, over."
Even before the response came, Eice had ignited the little craft's thrusters and engaged the repulsorlifts, easing off the ship's fixed landing gear and slowly turning the blunt nose toward open space. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door to the corridor open and two flight-suited figures enter the hangar, looking incredulous as they saw the lighter already taking off without them.
"Delta-delta-lambda-niner this is Blackrow Orbital. Who is this? Your window opened 48 minutes ago!"
Eice eased the lighter forward, glancing back as she watched the two figures briefly sprint to catch up with her, but come up short when she moved the ship through the magnetic barrier holding in the hangar's atmosphere and heat. She grinned to herself, reaching down to adjust her seat and make the controls easier for her diminutive reach to access.
"Blackrow Orbital this is delta-delta-lambda-niner, Loadmaster Eice Frex in command. My flight crew never reported in, so I'll be flying the inspection myself. You'll find I have the proper authority and credentials. Over."
There was a pause, and Eice set her course for the Blackrow Freight Marshaling Yards.
"...roger, delta-delta-lambda-niner, we confirm. Be advised, your delayed departure has put you in overlap with several drone barges taking on cargo at the marshaling yards."
Eice sighed, but that was to be expected. Whether she was there to keep things orderly or not, the freight kept moving.
"Copy that, Blackrow Control. Delta-delta-lambda-niner, out."
CORELLIA, BLACKROW HYPERLOGISTICS FREIGHT MARSHALING YARDS, 6,903 BBY.
The evenly space grid of shipping containers stretched out in all directions, each piece of freight oriented just so along perfect, computer-calculated, invisible lines. At regular intervals, the lights of navigation buoys blinked, as did the marker lights on the thousands of containers.
The Blackrow Hyperlogistics Orbital Freight Marshaling Yards were a massive complex, although not the only such yard in orbit above Corellia. Czerka alone, Eice knew, had a freight yard that could swallow Blackrow's several times over, and it wasn't even the biggest in the system. Even so, it was an impressive sight, one the young Tintinna knew her family had stewarded for generations.
The yard was essentially a parking orbit for cargo. Rather than keep sealed containers in warehouses aboard space stations or on the surface of Corellia, they were stored in open space, where there were effectively no limits to how much space was available. Non-critical, economy rate cargo was kept here until it could be collected for shipment, usually aboard the hulking automated drone barges which formed much of Blackrow's long-haul fleet.
As Eice approached the yards, she could see several of these, the long, slender-looking shapes of Kolier-class barges. Their massive cargo bays open to space as they maneuvered next to marked pieces of freight, they matched velocity and simply eased sideways over them, scooping them into their holds. Binary loadlifters, along for the ride, would sort the cargo inside.
Removing her datapad from the bag next to her seat, the loadmaster got to work.
Eice's job today was simple. Although most of the freight sorting at the marshaling yard was handled by droids, and required little if any organic intervention or oversight, the company considered it important to send someone out to check up on operations occasionally. Her task primarily was to visually check that the grid system along which all of the assembled shipping containers were organized was in good order; out-of-place containers could result in collisions, which could result in lost or damaged cargo, damaged equipment, shipping delays and - most important - lost revenue for the company. It was vital that everything ran smoothly.
Eice, for her part, did not mind the work as much as she otherwise would have. True, it was utterly tedious, mainly involving flying the ship back and forth along the lines of a grid and matching the expected positions of containers against their actual positions on a map. As was nearly always the case, they matched perfectly.
But today, Eice had something to distract her from the tedium; she was flying the ship herself. True, it was not a particularly novel experience for most people, but for Eice it was wondrous indeed.
Eice had fallen in love with spacecraft at an early age. When other females her age had been playing with dolls, she had been gluing together plasto models of famous starships and floating them on micro-repulsors in her bedroom. When she was 14, she had taken pilot lessons as an elective at the corporate school, and had been on track to become a freighter helmsbeing, before her parents had sat her down and told her about her future as a station-side loadmaster, as they were, and as their parents had been before them.
Eice adored flying, and everything that went with it. But duty to her family and the company that supported them had sent her down a different path, one where indulging such passions was a rarity.
And so Eice flew back and forth above the grid of carefully arranged containers, enjoying herself perhaps more than she had in some time, before something distracted her from her reverie.
It was, to her well-trained eye, a blemish on the perfectly ordered landscape before her. Each container - all of a standardized, rectangular type, 15 meters long by 5 wide by 5 high - had 8 blinking red marker lights, one on each of their corners so that their dimensions were easier to discern. These marker lights formed long, straight dotted lines, stretching on and on along the grid.
One set of lights was skewed up and to the side.
Though she enjoyed flying, Eice had engaged the autopilot on the long straight stretches so that she could keep her hands free for the datapad. Seeing the skewed container, she frowned, disengaging the autopilot and restoring manual control so that she could move down and take a closer look.
Pulling up close, she parked the inspection lighter expertly in the space where the container would have been if it were in proper position; it was now above her and slightly to starboard. Using her datapad, she began to take notes, recording the container's serial number, physical appearance, position, and other pieces of information.
So absorbed was she in this task that she did not notice the enormous shadow which swept over both the container and the little ship. She was just finishing and looking up from her datapad, noting with surprise that she suddenly could not see the stars, when there was the wrenching sensation of a larger artificial gravity field interacting with that of her ship, and the crash of something massive and heavy coming down on the side of her lighter, flipping it sideways violently.
The last thing Eice saw for some time was the cockpit wall rushing up to meet her.
SOME TIME LATER, SOMEWHERE IN THE OUTER RIM, 6,903 BBY.
Eice Frex had looked better, she knew.
The half-starved Tintinna female, sporting a disheveled synthsilk skirt and a wrinkled malashet blouse, had given the stevedore droids and organic dock-workers unloading the drone barge quite a shock when they had discovered her, holed up in her damaged lighter where the barge's crew of binary loadlifters had dutifully stowed it before the droid ship had gone to hyperspace, taking its accidental passenger with it. She had survived the long voyage using her own ship's life support system, supplementing its consumables with the contents of the emergency vac suits' atmosphere bottles. She had eaten the ship's emergency survival rations, and after those had run out, had managed to track down the barge's manifest and crack open the scant few containers carrying anything resembling foodstuffs. Water she had gotten from condensed moisture dripping off the barge's cooling system.
She had gotten the lighter moved to a corner of the spaceport where she was reasonably certain it wouldn't be stolen before she could get back to it, and used most of the credits that had been in her pockets to access a data terminal. It was there that she discovered her corporate login had been disabled, and her expense account revoked. Holomail on her private account informed her that - owing to her extended unexplained absence, and apparent theft of company property - her position with Blackrow Hyperlogistics had been terminated, and that she now had a warrant for her arrest issued in the Corellian System on charges of grand theft spacecraft, apparently for the lighter she had been sealed in the drone barge with.
Far from home, with only a few decicreds to her name and no-one to call on, Eice had been cast adrift.
The frightened and bewildered Tintinna now began to explore her new surroundings.
The spaceport was a deep-space way-station, likely a place that had formed around the presence of one of the old hyperspace navigational beacons long ago, and which had persisted even after the beacons became largely obsolete. It was not an especially busy place, or it normally wasn't at least, although that appeared to have changed recently.
Apparently, there was an Ossein flagship in dock, which had brought all sorts of interesting people aboard. The corridors were crowded with a diverse array of species, and out of the windows of the station, Eice could see dozens of ships buzzing around.
Eventually, she stumbled into a cantina, rummaging in her pockets and digging out the last of her credits. Looking around at the food and drinks many of the patrons held, she licked her lips, and strode up to the bar.
"E-Excuse me." She said, managing to catch the attention of the bartender droid. "Um... blue milk, please."
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