Balance: -5,100,000
Due: 200,000
You are in default of your payment. Please report to the nearest employment opportunities associate for intake into the Moonlit Family.
The Gimpassa floated in an asteroid belt somewhere in the Outer Rim while the dual engines gargle cleaning fluids. It would take at least another three cycles before all the Senator’s spite was fully rinsed from the coolant tank. Now that Moonlight had been given the rough, Alora had time, and creds, to kill. It was the first time in a while she didn’t have a noose around her neck. Surely she earned a little treat. The Gimpassa and it’s crew had pulled off a successful raid, saved a bunch of people, and even gotten paid for it. Finally, she was making some head way in making a name for herself, taking charge of her identity, her future, despite the war.
Alora shook a black pill into her palm from a little white bottle. Silver flecks sparkled in the drug. Like tiny nebulas. Stardust was a good name for it. “You aren’t an addict.”
Yeah. You aren’t an addict. She took the pill and walked down the narrow corridor toward the bridge. The Gimpassa’s control-sticks met her as the open arms of a long time friend. They fit so neatly in her hands. Like they always belonged together.
Asteroid dodging is about as wise as playing in traffic in Corellia. And it was Alora’s favorite past time. It was good for tuning out to. Kairos called it active meditation or something, but that sounded like a load of poodoo. There was nothing spiritual about tuning into the frequency of the vibrations of the ship. It was no different then noticing the heart beat of your lover’s heart in the dead of night. Except it was a lot colder, and a lot more dangerous.
It’d be another few hours before she could take to the belt again. So she opened up her holocom, and scrolled her list of saved com-tacts. Skyva, Nex, Maze, Sildani, Amara, Helvie, Crawford, Nrrax, Sinrae Teth…
That’s a lot of Sith for someone who isn’t a Sith.
Oh, look, there’s Neena, Ake, Vasru, Milo, Kairos. Should really remember to message that guy back sometime. It’s not all Sith.
The situation with the Revanites wasn’t the same cold cut business deal it started as. Even if she resisted it, Czerka still had SITH next to her name on file. The Republic probably did too. Alora didn’t fancy herself a Sith. She liked getting high, winning races, doing crime. Sure, they fit into the ideology of Sith, she liked exercising her freedom from the rules by breaking them. But that didn’t make her a Sith. She wasn’t a soldier. Outside the cockpit window, a piece of space debris floated by. It looked suspiciously like a limp figure. Like the dozens, maybe hundreds of security officers the Gimpassa crew left in their wake when they stormed the Moonlight facility. All the blaster fire, the struggle, all for saving somebody else. That sounded pretty Revanchist.
No, no. Alora traced each stitch in the upholstery of the captain’s chair. No, you’re not a Revanchist. You’re Captain Alora of the Gimpassa.
Hey, Daala Ryssol. Haven’t called her in a while. Alora hit accept on the long-distance communication charge and fit her communicator on the holo-projector on the bridge. Beepboopbeep. Beep Boop.
Eventually the grainy blue imagine of an elder Togruta flickered over the command desk of the bridge. Her horns were tall and lekku long with tired blue and white stripes. Just like hers.
“…Vashtee. You’ve gotten fat.”
Ouch.
“Thanks mom.”
Daala Ryssol was a former goon for Shili’s Security Council- which is a fancy way of saying planetary law enforcement with a sassy little hit of intelligence work. She had a better sense of humor before Dad took a bolt to the lek and it made him dumb. Now she was sick of shit. Especially the kind brought in by her estranged youngest child.
“My shipping business is really taking off. Got my own ship and crew and–” Daala’s suffering sigh cut off the rest of the exposition. The sound repeated a thousand already-spoken lectures on finding a real job, getting clean, doing something meaningful. Dishes clatter in the background of the holo-projection as Mom attended the dishes. When the silence went on long enough, Mom picked up the conversation. “Your sister’s filming another holovid soon. Romance comedy with that new actor from Kiros. You saw the last one she was in?”
“Yeah, I did.” It was alright. Just like the last seven vids her sister had been in. She could do without watching her sister make out for five minutes though. “How about Dad, how’s he?”
“Fine.” So, not good. That’s what that means. It explained why Mom was still entertaining the call. Not too late to redeem yourself Alora. Try again. “That’s good-- I wanted to talk to him. I got a new contract. I signed on with the Revan loyalists in the Outer Rim. Going to be working on a frigate just like him.”
Score. That made Mom pause. She even stopped what she was doing off-screen to pay attention to their call. “Revan. The Dead Warlord. Hm.” The pause was palpable. Thick as the anxiety in her throat. “You’re a Sith now?”
Before Alora could answer, her mother exhaled and looked purposefully into the projection. “Your father and I were worried you’d never grow out of your individualism phase. Revan loyalists… They practically won the Mandalorian campaign. You ask me, they’re entitled to replacing the Republic,” she laughed-- it was the first time she’d heard it in years. “Do they have any decent togrutan men there? Likely not, they’re all on Shili, being useless.” The unfamiliar chatterbox that had replaced her mother’s holo-com continued to titter about war, guns, and anti-Republic views. She’d never been so pleased before.
“…I’m happy you found something to fight for, and somewhere to belong. Revanites. You’ve made some friends? No better friends then the ones you make on the field.” Mom spoke wistfully of the bonds of brotherhood wrought in war. After all these years, all she had to do was sign on with a rebel cell of Sith to get her family’s validation. It proved to be a bitter salve on Alora’s weary ego.
Maybe this was Shili reaching out and telling her it was time to let go of this self-fashioning of identity and accept the clan. It was time to grow up, Alora. Your crew, the Revanites, your loved ones, Teth, they need you to be strong. To get your shit together and be the person everyone believes you are.