These Shattered Stars -- Logs

The ship lands shortly in its assigned landing pit. Meeting them is a rather grizzled and yet somehow weasel-ish Nikto. He has a heavily scarred face and a somewhat officious manner, and carries a portable terminal. A pair of Gammoreans, snorting softly but keeping rapt attention on the Nikto, stand near the exits. The Nikto looks somewhat bored, stifling a yawn, and is apparently waiting with weary patience to collect landing and berthing fees.

Freyja wanders out from her room, attired in one of her Balmorran long coats and tying up her Padawan's braid so it looks like a hair decoration to hold back her (increasingly unruly) shaggy mane of hair. Cheerfully she says, "Hey, guys, don't forget to hide the lightsabers!" Hers is tucked out of sight already as she continues, "-and I'm Kuras Freyja Makkaisdottir, after my mother's maiden name."

Zero turns up the collar of his long overcoat. "Bring your blaster. If we're going to be out here, won't do to be unarmed. I'd be happier with my sword, but... that'll probably raise too many eyebrows."

Predictably enough Vakkal already has his tucked away, though Fhazil has to blink and realize what it is Freyja is talking about. He hurriedly tucks it into a long pouch with his armor. "With those toothpicks those Gammoreans are carrying outside?" he asks Zero. "I think it'll fit right in, actually.":

Freyja looks out and spots the Nikto, "Mm... lovely. Well, let's get on with it." She heads for the door, pulling out her datapad so they can pay. Her shining, cobalt-blue silk coat is buttoned to the waist, but flares free below the hips. She grins over her shoulder at Zero, then taps to open the door.

Zero shrugs. "Maybe..." He thinks about it for a second before turning to Fhazil, "I'll be right back." He turns and trots back up the boarding ramp. Fhazil grins and nods to Zero before discreetly (if such a term can be used) tucking his concussion rifle under his long-coat.

Freja smiles and nods to the Nikto, "Greetings, fellow sapient," being very careful to be polite. While she knows a fair amount about Hutts and their culture... she's never actually interacted with one. The brilliant gold and scarlet flame embroidery along the edge of the coat ripples as she walks, looking as if it were itself truly on fire. She's not wearing her newly decorated armored gloves, however... that'd be a little too telling, considering the symbolism.

Freyja glows in the light; a willowy, long legged, golden skinned woman, her frost-blue eyes bright with serene happiness. She moves as lithely as a dancer, strong and sure, pragmatic in well-fitting breeches and a laden utility belt. Her face is shrouded by the hood of her cobalt-blue Balmorran long-coat, which is snugly buttoned to the hips, although unruly wisps of her fiery gold mane dance free despite her best efforts. The brilliant scarlet and gold edging embroidery make the coat appear alive with dancing flames, flaring around her well-cared-for leather boots.

The Nikto seems like he's done this several dozen times that day. "'Oyo," he says, pleasantly enough. "Aurabesh, hei? Not first language, forgive. To Tynnea, welcome. Gendoj Jukun at service yours. On world how long planning on being?"

Freyja considers a moment, then carefully switches to Huttee -- better to start practicing soonest, she figures. "Understanding I am. Better is this? If so, slowly must speak, please?"

Fhazil blinks in surprise at Freyja, while the Nikto gives a ghost of a smile. "That'll do well, and I will try. Thank you. How long will you be staying on Tynnea?"

Freyja pauses, considering, and realizes she got her verb-nouns twisted around there. Good thing she started practicing ahead of time! She nods, forming the sentences carefully in her head before speaking, "We are here to refuel and re-provision, as we are passing through this area of space. We do not expect this to take too many days?"

The Nikto makes a notation in his pad. "That's fine. Berthing fees are two days in advance, with discount for not undertaking trade while in-port. There are three inspection waiver fees on the schedule, which you can forgo if you don't mind your ship undergoing customs inspection..." He rattles on for a minute or so more, finally giving Freyja a figure that is probably about five times the going rate of berthing fees and duties in the Republic.

Freyja gets a slightly startled look, listening, and quietly translates in a whisper for her friends as the Nikto speaks. Zero comes back down the ramp carrying the long black case in one hand. He runs a hand through his hair, and waits for the Nikto to give his spiel. He closes his eyes and feigns a yawn behind his hand, sending Freyja a thought, Pay the fees. Hutt Space 'customs' are notorious for taking liberties with the inspected.

Freyja nods once, thoughtfully, at the mental message, and pays the fee with a smile and a thank-you to the Nikto. She figures it's wisest to be well-behaved now, so they're well-thought-of when they pass through this area again on the way home. The Nikto actually looks a little surprised that Freyja didn't try to haggle. "Well. I'll just expedite the processing of these fees, then. If you need anything contact the port authority office; let them know that Gendoj Jukun is your port rep."

Freyja grins at the Nikto, amused at his surprise and not worried if he notices that -- if he's got this job he's smart enough to realize she's doing this because she wants something. Might as well let him know what right away, "Thank you, Gendoj Jukun. Considering how helpful you've been so far, we'll probably pass through here again later, on the way home."

The Nikto nods. "You'll be welcome, of course. Are you in need of provisions, fuel, supplies, spare parts, local guide...?"

Freyja says, "Aiyah, but I believe my companions will be covering, thank you." She turns to Zero, "You're handling refueling, hai?"

The Nikto nods, looking to Zero. "I can certainly arrange for excellent deals in fuel and provisions. Or anything else you might need during your stay."

Freyja translates for Zero, then adds to the Nikto, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid he doesn't speak Huttee, Gendoj Jukun."

Zero nods. "Like to fully stock if possible. Trust your judgment, get me a deal, throw some extra coin your way, aiyah?"

The Nikto nods. "Aiyah. Thanking you, lady. Deals good will assure. Full stock courier-class for crew... four, aiyah?"

Freyja 'sends' to her companions, Let's stock up on air and water as much as possible... we'll be four unexpected adults on the moon of a distant gas giant. Might as well help out as much as possible to not mess with their ecosystem. To the Nikto she nods again, "Hai," then grins, adding, "-and thank you."

Zero nods, "Right."

Gendoj Jukun nods, making a note in his datapad. "Pallets here will be on morn, first-light plus two hours. Payment then due. Fuel linkages approval, notify fuel plant when pumping ready to." He tucks his pad under his arm. "More anything this one do for you may?"

Freyja glances inquiringly at the others, then grins, "Hai, can you recommend a nice local place to eat?"

The Nikto breaks a rather scary-looking smile and nods. "Aiyah. Cantina three streets east, one north. Dholmen's. Is good. Watered down not, food good."

Freyja thanks the Nikto, a bit relieved there's a decent place to eat that's also close. She considers for a moment, then decides not to ask where the Rapier will be docking tomorrow. She'll find out from the public records, rather than give the strange captain (who knows entirely too much about Balmorrans!) an inadvertent heads-up on where she is. Instead she grins at Vakkal, "Well then... shall we go wandering and see?" She glances at her friends, "You need me for anything else right now?"

The Nikto nods and takes his leave, giving his personal assurances the supplies will be delivered and if they need any guides or directions, Dholman will be able to help.

Zero says, "I'll see to the refueling now, while we're here... it'll be the last time we have to deal with the port authority until we leave. And it'll give us some escape flexibility if we have to leave in a hurry. Why don't I catch up to you at the cantina in an hour?"

Freyja politely bids the Nikto goodbye, then nods to Zero, adding, "If you have any troubles, Zero, feel free to call me, all right?"

Fhazil nods, "I'll stick around with you, Zero, just in case. Despite what the Nikto said, it might be better to not stay alone around here."

Zero nods. "All right. Shouldn't be too much trouble. Just got to make sure these nerf-herders don't short us on the fuel, and make sure nobody takes any liberties with the Eclipse while they think nobody is looking."

Fhazil nods. "No problem."

Freyja looks out at the steady, pouring rain with a smile. To her it's not depressing -- she's pleased at the chance to get out and stretch her legs. Before she goes, however, she shows Zero a few of the nice tricks one can do with a Balmorran long-coat -- such as the retractable mitten-hands in each broad sleeve cuff, the way the hood can be extended for truly awful weather (depending on how limited one wants one's vision to be, of course), and the scarf woven into the lower part of the hood, for when one wants to cover the face but not obstruct vision.

Freyja adds, "Basically the scarf is used either when the wind or temperature makes it hard to breath... or as a means of signifying disapproval and withdrawal from the person you're talking to. Also, the entire coat's weather-proofed, and you can seal the front and back slits up for more protection. It was originally designed for riders, after all." She grins happily, adding, "So... if that's it, Vakkal and I are off!" She pulls up her hood, leaving it open enough to give herself an unobstructed view of her periphery, and almost skips out into the rain, "Heya, let's go, Vakkal -- a new place to see and explore!"

Vakkal looks rather uptight, but tries to keep himself from looking such, especially out there. "Lead on, Freyja..."

Freyja heads out into the town, full of curiosity. She's been taught quite a bit about the Hutt culture and species, due to her extensive exposure to the Rodians associated with her family. To actually get to see the culture, in a way, even if she doesn't get to meet an actual Hutt, is a fascinating learning experience for her. She's also alight with pleasure at the opportunity to finally get out of the ship for a bit, looking around interestedly at everything and humming quietly and happily to herself.

Freyja has had some experience with some of the seedier places in the galaxy -- after her time in the Praxaeum, Roakkana made sure she saw the somewhat shadowier side of worlds in contrast to the comfortable upper-class regions. But even that is little more than exercise for this. She does, however, observe the common-sense dictums she's been taught about Hutt worlds -- she doesn't stare, she doesn't walk into places a pretty tourist shouldn't walk into, and she keeps half an eye on Vakkal. As her bodyguard, and with better senses than hers, he's a good indicator of where she shouldn't be, and she's not foolish enough to disregard that advice.

The spaceport city of Tynnea is as much a mix and blend of species as Coruscant or Commenor. The major difference is that, aside from the grime, there are very few people who could be called 'fine, upstanding citizens.' For the most part they are businesspeople trying to earn a living, though some sort of unspoken code of conduct makes people seem to do their best to not flaunt whatever wealth or fortune they have. If anything, there seems to be a purposeful downplaying of status and role -- just about everyone looks like a stereotypical spacer.

There are a few exceptions -- some spacers who look just a bit better-off than the others, a few officials who seem to wear more comfortable clothing -- likely these are enforcers or courtiers associated with the Hutts, or a syndicate powerful enough to not only be acknowledged but actually tolerated by the jealous Hutts. There is a preponderance of Niktoi, Rodians, and Klatoonians, with Gammoreans apparently the barely-verbal law enforcers, though just about every race is represented. While Aurabesh is sometimes heard (in dizzying dialects and accents), Huttee is most often spoken.

Freyja enjoys herself tremendously, observing and taking mental notes and learning. She's aware her Balmorran long-coat makes her stand out, and that she probably looks prosperous in comparison to most folks here. It's a trade-off, she knows. With the usual all-weather cloak she wears, she's easily distinguishable as what she is -- a Jedi -- and that would be even less wise than looking comfortably off, here.

The city is set into a bowl-shaped valley, a formation which seems to mostly facilitate a murky, constant precipitation pouring in almost constantly from the north-east. It causes a constant pitter-patter of rain on the cerecrete pavement -- where there is pavement, anyway. Occasionally landspeeders trundle through, and there appear to be no streets per se -- just thoroughfares shared by pedestrians and vehicles.

The rain abruptly picks up, becoming a hissing, spitting sheet that whips against the ground, dropping visibility down to a dozen meters or so. It is out of that rustling moisture that Freyja hears a distinctive sound: the plinking of the strings of a Balmorran sitar.

Freyja pauses, excited at the thought there might be a fellow Balmorran here, and hit with a sudden, surprising wave of homesickness. She remembers dancing just for the joy of it, in private and with friends... she grins at Vakkal, grabbing his hand and heading for the lovely, rippling music, "Come on -- let's get out of the rain. This way!"

Freyja adds happily over her shoulder, "Hear the music? I think it's a Balmorran sitar -- wouldn't it be wonderful to have some decen- er, some nice music here?" Her following murmur is half to herself, "Maybe there'll be dancing!" Vakkal blinks, opens his mouth to protest... then closes it and follows Freyja quickly.

The plucking, oddly desultory sitar is soon traced not to a hall, but to a street troubadour who is cowering beneath an awning outside what looks like a shop specializing in computer repairs. The rain splatters against the ground outside of the small, barely dry square he is standing in as he leans against the wall. He apparently retreated there when the rain picked up, as his long-coat is a rain-slick dun brown and his broad-brimmed hat drips water along its edge as he plays. Freyja recognizes the tune he's playing -- a choral from the Veda Beowulsen, or the Harrowing of Heorut. As she listens he segues neatly into a slightly more sprightly tune, Kali's Humor.

Freyja blinks, wondering what a bard is doing out in miserable weather like this. Don't the Hutt respect bards? Or... hm, then again she imagines the traditional Balmorran attitudes towards bards probably don't exist here. They may be deeply appreciated as neutral message carriers, keepers of history and genealogy, and teachers of renown elsewhere... but their tendency to use sarcasm to keep aristoi reminded of their traditional responsibilities probably isn't very popular here. She brightens as the music changes -- she's always liked the lively tune to this one, even if the story is of rather bleak humor.

The troubadour continues his playing as a Toydarian pokes her head out of the store. The two exchange quiet words for a bit before the Toydarian pats the Balmorran's hat and flits back inside.

Freyja grins, swaying slightly and singing along softly with the song, about a goddess of destruction feeling fey one day and the multiplicity of disasters that inadvertently happen. She knows she can't do the lyrics justice -- her approximation of a Northern Balmorran accent wouldn't fool someone born there -- but she figures if she sings softly the bard hopefully won't mind.

"And the butcher 'e finish'd a-dressin' th' gullinbust, 'twas a fine repast as ever did see;
An' when 'e'd finished 'e' closed store for th' night, an' th' flyin' slaypneer did crash 'pon th' lee.
The house! The store! 'Twas all in splinters! An' the fine-dressed gullinburst was 'neath it all.
The slaypneer 'e stood an' shook 'is great mane, an thought 'twas a fine thing to have such break 'is fall!"

At some point towards the end of Kali's Humor the troubadour happens to glance up and look around. Freyja can just barely see the surprise in the young Human's eyes as he spots the familiar cut of the long-coat. He grins roguishly and his fingers dance on the strings as they weave the last measures of Kali's Humor into a somewhat brighter melody, without words but much more familiar to most Balmorrans as Come Waltz With Me Betwixt Kilcutty and Taj Rigg. It's about three thousand years old -- one of the few songs to successfully blend Northern and Southern Balmorran music styles.

Freyja's eyes light up. Not only does she know that one well, but it's quite popular around Haus Rigg! She laughs delightedly, gracefully spreading her arms and taking the first light-footed steps of the dance. She watches the bard with half an eye as she does so, however -- it's his performance, after all, and all her training has been to respect the rights of whomever currently holds the 'stage.' If he shakes his head she'll quit... but hopefully he won't mind?

If anything, the troubadour's grin widens, and he continues into the complex measures of the song on the sitar. He doesn't appear at all irritated that someone's dancing to his music. Freyja beams happily and gleefully sways into the dance. It's a swirling, circling dance, well suited both to the relatively narrow street, and letting her long coat flare out attractively as she whirls and pirouettes -- Balmorrans like showing off as much as the next sapient, after all! As she dances, Freyja can't help but notice shadowy figures in the misty rain, pausing in their running through the rain or underneath nearby awnings. Not only has the troubadour an audience, but now, so does Freyja.

Freyja is faintly pleased -- perhaps now the bard will receive the monetary recompense he deserves from his audience! She laughs joyously at the extensive and flourishing conclusion to the waltz which the bard gives her. She bounces lightly around on her toes, her golden hands tracing an intricate, graceful pattern with the music, to end up facing him and swirling a deep bow. When she straightens she's still alight with pleasure, her bright blue eyes dancing as she grins and pushes her bangs back under her hood, "Heiyo, grandfather bard! What're you doing out here?"

The troubadour is smiling as he dries down the strings of his sitar, after bowing in turn to Freyja. "Heiyo, Lady, an' a pleasure to see another Balmorran. Glad to know my guess was right!" His grin turns wry. "If you mean out in the rain, then where else would I perform my trade?"

Freyja's dancing seems to have helped some; more than a few of the shadows meander by and drop some Hutt coinage into an upended pot beside the troubadour, murmuring or growling or barking (whatever is species-appropriate) something, most likely to the effect of "Good song, good dance," before wandering on and disappearing into the misty sheets of rain.

Freyja grins and nods to each, thanking them before they depart, just as she's been taught to do. To the bard she says curiously, "What was your guess? Er... well, I guess I meant here on Tynnea, as well as out..." She pauses, getting a thoughtful look. She's thanking those who are thanking the bard with their patronage... but she's not doing the same herself. She smiles, a bit rueful at her surprised breach of manners, "Let me start over, please?" She brings her loosely clasped right fist up to her left shoulder, "Greetings, grandfather bard, I hight Freyja Makkaisdottir. May I buy you a meal as thanks for your kindness in playing for me?"

"Oh, it was the long-coat, Lady. It's not an often-found design." Now that she's talking with him she can see though he has dark hair and eyes, and slightly leathered skin, his accent is distinctly Southern Balmorran. The name he gives confirms it. "Fingolfin Reykjasen I hight. And for a meal I would play all until the setting of the sun! But you needn't trouble yourself, Lady Makkaisdottir."

Freyja chuckles, "Oh, kuras is more appropriate, but thank you for the compliment." She glances at Vakkal to be sure he's not shaking his head at her or somesuch, then looks back at the bard, "Er... well, would you mind? I haven't heard good Balmorran music in a frehkee's age, and... ah, well, I admit I'm nosy too as to what you're doing here?" She grins, adding, "But I take neh for an answer, if you prefer."

Freyja is faintly worried to hear the South Balmorran accent. It slightly increases her odds of being recognized... but she'll be damned if she'll leave one of her homeland's people without finding out if they could use a hand from their aristoi -- even if she has to disguise that hand to do so.

Fingolfin grins and nods. "Kuras Makkaisdottir, then, and you're welcome. And no, I wouldn't mind at all. If you're wondering what I'm doing so far from home, truth is my mother left Balmorra to work for the Hutts when I was young." He gives a slight shrug. "Things happened, and I've done the best I can on my own, playing her sitar for dinner."

Freyja looks curious, but saves her questions for later. Instead she says, "All right, let's do dinner then! Ah, the Nikto at the port recommended Dholman's... is that a nice place?" She waves a hand to include Vakkal, "Vakkal, this is the bard Fingolfin Reykjasen; grandfather bard, this is Vakkal, my friend." She's relieved on one aspect of the bard's story -- it's a good bet he isn't up on homeworld politics!

Reykjasen nods politely to Vakkal. "Heiyo, and pleasure to meet you." He doesn't seem to be taken by the 'friend' attribution, but says or does nothing about it; it's probably because Vakkal seems very alert. "Dholman's... hai, Dholman's is safe enough. Not many of the Hutt's enforcers go there."

Freyja nods cheerfully, "Then let's go there, definitely!" She finds it interesting -- and a touch disturbing -- that the man's word choice regarding Dholman's was 'safe'... she'll have to warn the others about that. If things work out smoothly, they might even tip the Nikto later for the good suggestion, as a courtesy.

As they move swiftly through the driving rain, Freyja's curiosity continues unabated -- the rain doesn't seem to depress her spirits in the least! "So how old were you when you came here with your mother? Why'd she leave Balmorra? How's she doing? Who do you work for? Er... if you don't mind my asking, that is...?"

He walks with her towards the cantina, his sitar safe in a secure and waterproof case. "I must have been five when we left Balmorra, and six when we finally arrived in Hutt space. She found work with the Hutts, all right. Her training as an armsbearer for Haus Jotunsen stood her in good stead with Tycghorn the Hutt, Ameil's predecessor, for ten years -- until someone in another Hutt's organization had her killed. Since then I've gone here and there in Hutt space. Once I managed to be in the court of a Hutt who had a passing interest in human music. But his interest waned, and when the old majordomo was retired, the new one didn't like me too much."

Freyja wonders thoughtfully if this bard (or his mother) is how Captain Thorn learned so much about Balmorra. If that's the case, it'd be a relief to her, as it'd be unlikely a learned bit of information like that would include much data on the houses themselves. She blinks at mention of Haus Jotunsen, her head coming up in surprise, then says interestedly, "Huh! I thought Haus Jotunsen was all right, though? Why'd she leave their service?" She smiles a little sadly, adding, "Well, that explains why you don't react like the bards I know -- you're not used to the respect poets and lyricists garner on Balmorra, are you?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know, really. I think she just wanted to find greener pastures; something more challenging, with more benefits... I never asked her, and for the ten years she was an enforcer we lived fairly well, and since I didn't remember Balmorra too well, I had nothing to compare it to." He chuckles quietly. "Mother mentioned a few times that if I really learned to play the sitar well, I should try to get back to Balmorra. She said bards there got a lot of respect."

Freyja tilts her head curiously, the hood half-obscuring her face as she glances at the man pacing along next to her, "Do you want to go back?" She considers, then says, "You sound pretty good to me. If you'll pardon my saying so, you're the right age to apprentice to a professional. One of those could smooth out any rough edges with you."

He is quiet for a few moments. "I've thought about it sometimes. The trouble is buying passage. It costs a lot to get out of Hutt space."

Freyja turns her head enough so the hood's not obscuring her face. Her tone is thoughtful, "That... pardon me, bard Reykjasen, but that doesn't exactly answer my question. Do you want to go to Balmorra? It's very different from here, as I'm sure you know... is that what you'd really like to do?"

He smiles a bit. "No, it doesn't, kuras. I do want to. I just don't remember it too well. But it's got to be better than here."

Freyja smiles a bit ruefully at Reykjasen, then turns her attention back to the street. Her murmur is dryly quiet, "No argument there..." then in a more normal tone of voice she says, "Ah, this must be it! Shall we?"

He nods. "After you, Kuras."

Dholman's cantina -- it seems to be less of a name for the place as for the owner, since the exterior has no signage or markers at all -- is rather more like the seedy little joint on Marnaas than the cozy and warm tap café Vermillion of Commenor. It's dim inside, with an asymmetrical, dispersed arrangement. Most of the light comes from the bar itself and from lights on the tables. The walls are cerecrete, and devoid of any decoration more colorful than concussion blast pits and the odd bit of what looks like space-junk -- but it's warm, it's dry, and it's subdued.

Freyja enters, looking around curiously, and picks a table in the rear (in a corner if possible), so Vakkal can get an excellent view of fire... just in case, of course. She sits herself so she's half obscured, if possible, to those entering. It's actually rather hard to find such a table -- the regular patrons seem to be a suspicious and wily lot, and all the 'good spots' are already taken. A small, out of the way table is soon found, though, with suitable cover and view (or lack of, for Freyja) of the entrance.

Freyja will make sure everyone with her gets a good, hot, filling meal, and will (at least as long as the young man doesn't seem to mind) continue to cheerfully ask Reykjasen about what music he knows, how he plays, what he likes playing, if he's composed... all the myriad questions she knows a master bard will ask as well. Stirring inside her is the faintly guilty realization that, by extension, this is one of her people -- or rather, someone she suspects would like to be, even though he doesn't know who he's talking to.

Still, she's cautious enough to engage him in conversation to see if he really does have the potential and desire to accomplish the goal of becoming a master bard. Reykjasen is interested in going back to Balmorra -- it's obviously something that he's thought of many times. It is, however, something he sees as a very distant dream, simply because he can't afford it.

Back at the Eclipse, Fhazil and Zero are getting confirmation from the spaceport's fuel plant that they can tap into the fuel pumps built into the berth. A brief round of haggling, dropping the port rep's name, and they do indeed get a good deal -- only about half again what fuel would cost on, say, Commenor. All things considered, with the expense of the fuel it's good that it isn't too much more expensive than in the Republic.

Zero covers a yawn, a real one this time, behind his hand, one elbow resting on the end of his long black case standing next to him. "Looks like we haven't been ripped off yet, and no bombs or bugs in the landing struts. Is the sky falling?"

Fhazil grins wryly. "No bounty hunters hiding in the corners of the bay, waiting for us to drop a hydrospanner. Always hated that one..."

Zero gives Fhazil a sidelong look, pulling one hand into the sleeve of his coat to slide it into the inner lining glove. He zips it into place and flexes his fingers a bit. "I'm afraid I've usually been on the other end of that one."

Fhazil's grin doesn't go away. "I'll grant it's effective." He checks over the piping for the tenth time in the past minute. "It looks like we're getting good flow through the pipes, more or less. Probably a few centuries old, this equipment..."

Zero slips on the other glove and rests his hands on the black case, watching the fuel crew. He likes that the gloves leave his fingers free; easier to get at the trigger or the grip of a weapon that way, and it keeps the water out of his sleeves. "As long as their fuel's good I don't care if they're pumping it by hand. I hate to buy anything in Hutt Space. You never know who's going to try and pass off some bantha-piss concoction as fuel or a drink..." He pauses, then adds, "There's an old joke there somewhere..."

Fhazil laughs quietly. "Probably. Probably following some line about feeding fuel to a bantha."

Zero says, "And feeding tourists a line."

The fuel crew finishes up fairly quickly -- the pumps were apparently fast enough -- and the two have a good margin of time to find Dholman's cantina. After securing the landing berth to their satisfaction -- the port rep presented them with a warranty of security, and Zero took the keys to the front door besides -- they begin down the street in the murky rain towards the cantina.

Up ahead, in the hissing rain that seems to exist only as a standing curtain of moisture, the sounds of a scuffle can partly be heard, barely discernable. Shapes move, shadows shift, but Zero is certain a small figure is running towards the two Humans. A moment later he confirms it, as a young Human comes barreling towards them, eyes squinting against the splatters of rain, with someone shouting or yelling behind her in vociferous Huttee.

Zero squints. "Now what's this about...?" He fingers the quick-release in the handle of his sword case. "Heads up, Fhazil."

Fhazil blinks and just manages to see the figure in time. The figure itself doesn't seem to see anything except water, and while at the last minute eyes widen and the figure tries to barrel through between the two, the Human lacks the mass to do that effectively, and instead plows into the two and goes sprawling. Fhazil is almost thrown off his feet all the same. "What in the...?!" he exclaims.

Zero says, "'Scuse us."

The Human -- a girl, actually -- looks up with wide, startled eyes at Zero. It's then Zero notices how vibrant a green they are... and how they match the single visible eye of the coiled, wingless dragon, or lung, emblazoned upon the small amulet or medallion she wears on a rough black cord about her neck. She doesn't waste any more time, instead scrambling to get up and continue her mad dash into the anonymity of the gray rain.

Zero blinks. "What in the- a lung? Fhazil, come with me!" He dashes after the girl, "Hey, wait!"

Fhazil has just regained his balance. He blinks, running along after Zero. The girl freezes for a moment, glancing over her shoulder briefly before taking a half-step... and bolting again. Zero tchs, then calls out, "I have the Dragon's Heart! Stop running!"

That stops her in her tracks. In fact, she stops so quickly she almost stumbles right into a puddle. She turns quickly, a bundle held close to her chest, watching with wide eyes as Zero approaches -- apparently perfectly ready to bound off again.

Zero stops a moment to catch his breath. "I think this might be a problem of mine, Fhazil. Just a second." He straightens up and reaches under his shirt for the dark medallion around his neck. He takes it off, holds it out in front of him as he approaches. "Sah, here it is. Are you okay? What's going on here?" Fhazil nods and hangs back a little to intercept any pursuers that may have gotten a late start.

For her part the girl looks suspicious, even when she first looks at the medallion. Then she blinks and relaxes -- but only a little. "Sedraki...?" she asks in a quiet voice. To Zero's view, she can't be much more than fifteen years old -- and then it all comes pouring out. "Sah... sah, you are!" Then she has the good grace to look embarrassed. "I... I took some nerf rolls from the vendor. Fu, Father, told me not to, but he's sick, and mother can't do enough work for the both of them, and the overseer is away for the week and he can't sneak food to us like he usually does when Fu gets sick, and his stand-in foreman doesn't want to get the sub-majordomo thinking all the slaves are pilfering supplies..."

Zero nods softly. He hangs the medallion back over his neck; doing so causes his hood to fall back over his shoulders, and his gleaming silver hair falls under the curtain of rain. "Sah. Sedraki. Who are you?"

The girl blinks at the silver hair as she sees it. "Yao Zi...?" she murmurs, then shakes herself. "Fengwu Saijo, sir," she says, bowing slightly; Fengwu means Phoenix Dances. "My mother is Youdo Saijo; my father, Guanxhu Saijo."

Zero bows politely. "You're a long way from home... how did your family come to be here in Hutt Space?"

She lowers her eyes. "I don't know, sir. Seven years ago we were on Sedrak. There was a lot of shouting one night, a lot of arguing, then the next thing I remember we were on a ship. Fu said it was the Tongs -- that they wanted some endorsement from him but he wouldn't give it. So they took us and sold us."

Fhazil murmurs quietly for Zero to hear, "Someone's coming, Zero; sounds like the vendor..."

Zero looks away for a moment, feeling his teeth click together. It wouldn't do to explode right now; the little girl probably doesn't even have any idea what the Tongs are, or why he hates them so -- and it won't solve her problems. "Will you take us to see Fu, Fengwu?"

She glances over her shoulder. "I... I think I can... if you want, okay..."

Zero nods, "All right... lead the way, Fengwu. Fhazil, let's go; won't do to get caught aiding and abetting..."

Fhazil murmurs quietly to Zero, "Should we comlink the others -- let them know we may be a little late? Or tell them to meet us somewhere?"

Zero pulls up his hood. "Let's let them know we've been sidetracked a bit."

Fhazil nods, bringing up the rear as the young Sedraki Human leads the way through the harsh rain. He pulls out his comlink, sending a quick message to Vakkal and Freyja after ensuring the link is encrypted: "Just got a little sidetracked; we ran into another Sedraki. We shouldn't be too late. I'll call again in fifteen minutes." After checking to make sure that the other two are all right and not in peril, and expressing humorous envy the others are now dry -- and rolling his eyes at Vakkal's reply, "Trust me, brother, I think you'd rather you be wet than I," -- he closes the link and tucks the comlink away.

Fengwu takes the other two Humans to what looks like a row of dormitory-style apartments. They're snug, obviously built by droids (identically made from cerecrete), and would be one step below low-income housing. Indeed, if Fengwu is right, they're no-income housing. She leads them to one of the apartments on the lower level; while a hovel, it's meticulously clean. As they approach it the two can see the dormitories overlook what must be a field of some kind, with oddly-shaped furrows in the damp soil.

Zero stays relatively quiet as Fengwu leads them away, trying to let go of his destructive feelings as Master Roakkana taught him so often. I could spend my entire life finding and killing every last man in the Tongs, and still stand before Enna with a clear conscience. I guess I haven't come as far as I thought... some anger is hard to release. I have more work to do, my Master. He pauses with a feeling of recognition; he knows a paddy, or at least an attempt at one, when he sees it.

Fengwu doesn't give the paddy a second glance. Instead she creeps up on one door in particular, opening it and poking her head in, hoping to be covert -- which is shattered when a strongly-accented Sedraki voice says, "Fengwu! Where have you been?! We were worried-" followed by a wracking series of coughs.

Zero calls softly after Fengwu, "Sah, Father, she was with us. I hope you won't be too angry."

The coughing is audibly stifled to some extent. "Who calls Guanxhu Saijo 'Father' besides his daughter?"

Inside the hovel is warm and dry, due in no small part to a small space heater. It is by no means luxurious, but it is decently appointed; anything needed to live is here, from a food cooker and preserver to lighting and a passive comlink, the kind that can receive messages but not send any. It is only partly partitioned into three areas; the front is the kitchen and dining area, while in one of the back rooms can be seen a man wrapped in blankets and trying to sit up, while an oddly silent woman tries to keep him lying down, looking at the new arrivals with concern and worry.

Fengwu is saying, "It's all right, Fu, Mu! He's Sedraki! He has the Dragon's Heart!"

Zero nods a bit, letting the medallion hang out of his shirt, though he keeps his hood up for now. He feels terribly conspicuous standing in this poor family's home dripping water, sword case in hand, and Fhazil next to him with a concussion rifle in his coat... like two damp specters. He tries to smile a little. "It didn't seem right to let Fengwu walk around in this weather alone."

The man -- he appears to be twice as old as Wulong Satau, if such a thing is possible -- squints from where he lies, almost sitting up before the woman quite firmly shoves him back down. With a resigned sigh the man settles for eyeballing the two. "You win, Youdo. Thank you for walking with our daughter back here." Fengwu, meanwhile, has slipped into the kitchen to tuck the meat rolls into a preserver. "I would properly welcome you, except I've come down with something and my wife won't let me get out of bed for anything." The woman nods firmly, with a ghost of a smile. "I am Guanxhu Saijo and this is Youdo Saijo, of Sedrak, by the Heavens, and never of Tynnea." Youdo gives a slight bow, not rising from her seat beside the ailing Guanxhu. "And who are you, to be so far from Sedrak?"

Zero smiles wanly. "I'm a soldier of sorts. My friend and I, we're... well. You know the old stories. Wandering swordsmen looking for enlightenment."

Guanxhu makes a mildly suspicious sound, but then nods. "Right. I understand, and I respect that. Forgive me, but the old forms eroded quickly under the slaver's heel. I am surprised our daughter even remembers the Dragon Heart. What news might you have from home?"

Zero smiles a little more easily at that. "The War is over, and ships are landing at the Palace again. Shenlong is a city now, and things are settling down."

Guanxhu snorts a little. "The war had been over for three years already when those misbegotten tongs... but," he says, sighing and looking to Youdo, "-we are glad Sedrak is growing and thriving." She nods enthusiastically, still silent. Against Youdo's insistent gestures, he sits up. "But come, boy. If Fengwu says you carry the Dragon Heart, I would like to see it, that I might remember what it looks like."

Zero nods and steps closer to the man, bowing politely to Youdo. He kneels down carefully to take the medallion off his head, and holds it out carefully to Guanxhu. He can't stop a few strands of unruly hair from falling in his eyes. "It's... just a Red heart. A garnet. For a warrior. I didn't make any great peace, or write any laws, or poems, or pictures."

Guanxhu slowly takes the medallion, holding it close to his eyes and sighing softly. "Ah, yes. Just like my brother's..." That isn't what catches Youdo's attention, however. One of her slightly shaking fingers reaches forward towards the thin strand of Zero's hair which appears. Perhaps at the last moment realizing how impolite that is, she draws her hand back, studying Zero curiously.

Zero says, "Your brother?"

Guanxhu nods. "Sah. Zhangtsao Tsiang. He too had the Red Heart, as did his wife Nanika Tsiang."

Zero nods, "I know the names. My father told me." He smiles a little, "Your family has heroes in it. It is an honor, sir."

Guanxhu smiles a little. "Thank you, but heroes of the Ten Year's War mean little on this Heavens-forsaken rock. And I warn you," he adds as he hands back the medallion, "-even the Dragon Heart will mean nothing to the Hutts and their enforcers. To them, Sedrak is just another rock elsewhere in the galaxy, not a place for which we bled and died and-" Another wracking fit of coughing.

Zero smiles sadly. "I know... all too well. I guess you can't expect everyone to believe in honor. But, Guanxhu, sir... may I ask? Are you still in the service of the Tongs? Or whomever they chose to give you to?"

Guanxhu makes a sound somewhere between a dragon's roar and a tiger's snarl. "No," he manages to get out, wet coughs still interrupting his words now and then. "The Black Wind Tong wanted to be legitimate, they said. Wanted to support the veterans of the Ten Years' War. I didn't see my friends bleed to death to let criminals get footholds on our world. They wanted me, as a veteran of the War, to endorse them to the government, to be their representative. I refused." He sighs and lies back. "So they sold us to some merchants who were making a run out to Hutt space. And one of the sub-majordomos happened to be running a paddy operation for which he needed experienced hands..."

Zero nods. "Guanxhu... I know that you and all the fighters of your generation are proud men. I would like to help you, if I can� if you will accept help from a mere boy with a sword."

Guanxhu looks carefully at Zero. "Can you do that, nameless boy? Even if you have the Red Heart, can you defy the Yaofeng Tong -- the ones who sold us into slavery, who took my wife's voice away, who sent us across the galaxy to ensure our silence on their deeds?"

Zero carefully puts the medallion back around his neck. His hood falls away again. "Sir. The Tongs did nothing while the Riders scaled our walls. My father and my mother fought and bled, as did you... and I will not dishonor any of you by bowing to the Tongs, now or at any time. If I can help you... I will."

Guanzhu stares at Zero for several long moments. Then, finally, his face splits into a smile that has clearly not been there for many years. "Yao Zi," he murmurs -- Devil's Son. "I believe you. If it means we must wait for another seven years, I believe you and I know you will."

Zero nods. "I'll try not to make you wait so long. If I can get you off this planet, maybe that will help undo, at least a little, the crime that they did."

Guanxhu reaches for Zero's hand. "Do what you must, in what way you need to, Yao Zi. We know you did not come here for us; we know there was another calling. As it is now, with the implants, we could not simply leave the Mos. That you will remember us is enough for now to get us through the coming days."

Zero squeezes the old man's hand gently. "I am coming back, Guanxhu. I promise you that. When I do... my friends and I, we will bring you home. I have a friend, a healer... if you like, I can ask her to come. To make sure you are around to see the Dragon City again."

Guanxhu seems to relax. "If it will help us -- my family and I -- to see it again... yes, please, Yao Zi. I do not know how we will repay you, but we will be in your debt, you and your friends."

Zero smiles. "If you want to repay me... tell my father when you return that another one of his brothers is come home. I know it will make him happy."

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Last modified: 2002-Jul-16 16:14:54

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