He was lying on a bed in a small and cramped room that was dimly lit. There was some kind of gray plate mere inches from his face, and featureless gray paneling surrounded his body on three sides, dark gray in color with no markings. The fourth side, his left, opened up into a larger chamber of some kind, and it dawned on him that he was actually in some kind of shelf-bed in the wall.
The room beyond his resting place was small, barely big enough for four people to stand in. There were shelves everywhere, labeled with markings in a language he couldn’t read and didn't recognize. There was a computer terminal against the wall by his head, which appeared to have readouts of vital signs on it, which Drex rapidly realized were his own. The floor was made of grate panels, and the ceiling was criss-crossed with cables and pipes, not all of which matched.
“Please lie still,” the voice made him jump with a start. “I will restore freedom of movement now.” The straps holding him down clicked and withdrew into the bed. Drex found himself able to move freely again, and breathed a little easier for it.
“I am alerting the Captain of your recovery.” The voice continued, coming from the computer terminal. At least it was speaking Basic. Someone must’ve told it that Drex didn’t know any other languages.
It dawned on him that he was not aboard any ship within his memory, and that he was no longer in the cramped Z-95. Drex racked his memory for the information he sought, for the memory of coming aboard this strange vessel. There was at first nothing but fog, but it was short lived. The memories poured into his consciousness like water breaking through a wall. He fully remembered his hyperdrive emergency cut-off activating, and coming upon this freighter ship in deep space. He remembered sealing his suit, and coming aboard, and then nothing at all.
“Ninda,” he said aloud, the word was on his mind for some reason though he didn’t quite understand why.
“Captain Ninda is approaching,” the voice from the terminal said. “Please stand by.”
Drex turned his attention back to the panel as he rolled out of the bed and put his bare feet on the cool metal mesh. That’s when he realized two things; one: that the terminal was inhabited by a droid brain, probably taken from a medical droid –or so he hoped, and two: that he was bereft of any garments.
“Blast!” Drex cursed and grabbed the blanket off of the bed he had been lying on, wrapping it around his midsection just as the door groaned and slid open.
Lyaia blinked at him as she was forced to draw herself up short before colliding with his body. “Sorry,” she said in her accented Basic, “I was expecting you to still be in bed.”
“I’m fine now, thank you,” he responded. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Common spacer courtesy,” she replied, her blank expression unchanging. Of course, it appeared to be blank, and for all Drex knew it was a wealth of alien expression at the moment, but he’d never know. What he was able to read was her body language, which was projecting her extreme weariness. Body language among humanoids was, Drex thanked whatever gods there might be, mostly universal. It had served him in the past, this little factoid, and it served him now.
“You didn’t have to, and most sentients in the universe wouldn’t have. And so, I thank you.” Drex continued, his voice now strong and deep. “What was wrong with me?”
“Blood clots from sitting in one place too long, pressure sores were starting in as well. The clots had migrated to your species’ vital organs and some to your brain.” Lyaia rattled off the explanation the droid-brain had given her. “You would have died in a few hours if you hadn’t found us. How did you?”
“Find you?” Drex asked rhetorically, his eyes regarding the Duros’. His heavily muscled and broad-shouldered body dwarfed hers, despite the similarity of their heights. “It was a bit of an accident I’m afraid.
“My fighter’s hyperdrive cut-off engaged, I assume because you drifted into my flight-path. Lucky for me, a little too lucky considering the odds, but welcome all the same.”
Lyaia nodded her agreement to his surmise of the situation. “So you don’t know where you are either?”
Drex started to answer, did a double-take, and then nodded slowly to himself. “No, I’m afraid. Have you had your computer do a calculation of stars to determine our location?”
“Yes,” Lyaia nodded, “I’ve started it but the computer’s old, and to actually figure for a hyperspace jump-“
“I know, we take our chances without exact information.” Drex was familiar with the process of astronavigation, even if he couldn’t do it. “My droid has data that’s at least as recent as 80 hours. I can go get him and bring him aboard if you’ll let me. Oh, that reminds me Captain, I hope my stay aboard your vessel is not unduly burdening your consumables.”
Lyaia shook her head, “no, we’ve got more than enough. It’s only my brother and I, and you now.” Her head began to droop and tilt to one side.
Drex made note of that fact, which explained to him why this ship had a captain so young and seemingly wet behind the ears. He was a poor judge of alien ages, but he figured her to be a new adult at best. It all hinted at why she was so tired, and why her tone sounded, even through the accent, so depressed. “I have this name in my head, Ninda?”
“It is our family name,” she said shaky for a moment. “I am Lyaia Ninda, and my brother is Oz Ninda.”
“Drex Odagon,” Drex bowed.
“I know, you told me when you came aboard,” Lyaia said dryly. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“Um,” Drex smiled, “I hate to be a bother, but my clothes?”
“They’re being cleaned. They smelled awful.”
“True enough,” Drex responded. “I’d like them back when you’re done.”
“I’ll have Oz bring them to you,” Lyaia responded to his request. The way he’d put it though, she felt strangely like it was an order, but couldn't figure out why.
“Thank you Captain,” Drex said, following her from the infirmary compartment. He found it interesting that, young as she was, she’d effectively made him a prisoner of his quarters until his clothes were returned so long as he didn’t want to wander around in a sheet. Simple but effective for adversaries with modesty like himself.
As they walked the corridors Drex began to realize exactly what type of ship he was aboard. As he recalled, it didn't look like much from the outside. He’d learned that looks could be deceiving, especially when it came to ships, so he’d reserved judgment. However, the view of the rusting and dripping pipes, the corroded cables crisscrossing and in some cases interwoven with the pipes lining the walls and ceiling, even under the floor-grates, the dirt-encrusted panels, and carbon-scored bulk-heads convinced him that this ship was a piece of junk, just as it had appeared to be.
At length, they came to a light metal door set in one of the rusting passageway, shaped like a stretched out hexagon with a window in the center of it. “We’re here,” Lyaia said glumly.
“Thank you again,” Drex inclined his head. The door slid open as he pressed the hand sized metal lever beside it. “I shall await your brother Oz, and retrieve my droid when my flight-suit arrives.”
Lyaia looked like she was about to say something, and then didn’t. Instead, she made her way away from Drex and disappeared around a turn in the corridor. More certain than ever now that something very bad had happened recently, but unwilling to press the issue yet, Drex shrugged and turned around to face his new living space while still holding the sheet around his mid-section.
The quarters were not the worst he’d ever stayed in. The room was closet-sized, but contained a hammock, basic washbasin and mirror, a closet, and a set of shelves set in the wall with individual doors which slid up and back to open. The room was lit by a single glow-rod set in the ceiling in its dead-center. It smelled, like most of the ship, of oil and stagnant water, but it was good enough for Drex. Beggars couldn't live like kings after all.
Deciding that he didn’t want to sit and stare at himself in the room, Drex chose instead to sling the sheet about his body like a toga, and then to begin to explore his new setting, starting by seeking out the bathroom in order to make use of it, and then to find the ship’s shower.
He found both in short order. The bathroom was centrally located in the crew quarters section. The shower was across from it, both feebly hidden behind labeled sliding doors. Both were also in a state of disrepair, though still usable. Drex shrugged that off as well. He had, after all, been raised in the mines of Austeron and was used to worse filth than these could offer.
After some relief and a good shower, Drex headed back to his room. Inside he found his armored flightsuit neatly arranged on the bed. Smiling to himself he began to put it back on, temporarily forgoing the helmet while he looked around and found the internal comlink.
“Captain Ninda?” he asked of it while pressing the blue button in towards the wall upon which the device was mounted.
There was at first only static and silence. It did not last long. “Go ahead Mr. Odagon.” Lyaia’s distinctive accent was recognizable even over the comm.
“I’m ready to retrieve my droid, have we drifted far from it?”
“Not very, I’ll bring the ship around closer. My brother will help work the airlock when you get there.”
“Thank you,” Drex responded and let the button go. He picked up his helmet and, after a bit of trial and error, walked from his room to the airlock where he had first come aboard the ship. As he did, he felt the ship lurch forward into motion.
The Duros boy standing beside the airlock was shorter than his sister. He was a small thing with redder eyes, and a slight build. It occurred to Drex that this boy’s sister was the tougher of the two, and that they both would be in serious trouble if they encountered hostiles. He frowned at that thought, and then quickly erased it as the boy changed his expression.
“Sorry,” Drex apologized, “I was thinking about something else. Are we ready?”
The boy nodded slowly. His expression had changed back to the blank it had been when Drex had arrived. Drex caught himself thinking of the boy as droid-like while he donned his helmet and entered the airlock. There was definitely something very wrong with this situation. Duros, he was fairly certain, weren’t supposed to act like this.
The airlock cycled closed, and the air was pumped out. Drex’s helmet gave him readouts on an LED display on the helmet’s visor. It indicated that he had a full air tank, and that the pressure outside of the suit was zero. The radiation level indicator jumped when the outer door was opened, as expected. Drex took a step forward, and felt his stomach flip as he moved out into the endless fall of deep space.
Keeping one-hand on the handle outside the airlock, Drex watched the endless night as the ship moved presumably closer to his own vessel. The vibrations from within the ship traveled up his arm and into his suit, adding a low rumble to the hiss of the built in electronics. It was an odd soundtrack, yet oddly appropriate as one of the stars began to grow before him into the shape of his abandoned Z-95.
He gave the girl credit as the Z-95 seemed to drift up next to where Drex was floating, and then stopped. She had good piloting skills, he mused as he now kicked gently off the hull of the ship and shot across to his fighter’s open cockpit. The R-3 unit sitting patiently in the droid seat behind the cockpit moved its translucent domed head and switched on a light, aiming it at Drex.
“Good to see you too R3,” Drex said, his comlink relaying the message to his droid.
R3 beeped in response a happy sounding chime.
“We need your astrogation files,” Drex explained as he gripped the open cockpit and levered himself into the seat. He also switched on his helmet lights to enhance that thrown off by the Brightstar’s running lamps. “We’re going to abandon this fighter and go aboard the freighter.”
R3 bleeped in angry tones. On the screen in the cockpit of the fighter, the message scrolled: BAD IDEA. NOT WISE TO ABANDON WORKING ORDINANCE.
“Well, what would you propose then? We can’t dock the fighter can we?”
NO, BUT I CAN FLY IT IN TANDEM WITH THE FREIGHTER.
“You can?” Drex responded, honestly surprised. The R3 droid had been booty gained in one of the resistance raids on DSA property. It was a military navigational droid, and Drex was still unaware of all of its capabilities.
YES. CAN ALSO UPLINK TO FREIGHTER SYSTEMS AND NAVIGATE FROM HERE. SHALL I PROCEED?
“Please,” Drex responded, then switched comm. channels. “Captain Ninda, this is Drex, do you read?”
“Yes,” the response came.
“My droid is up-linking with your ship’s computer. It will fly the fighter and navigate from out here.”
There was a pause, “alright.”
“I’m on my way back then.” Drex pushed himself up and grasped the cockpit’s rim, changing his direction and heading back to the ship.
“Your droid has information that is more up to date than ours,” Lyaia said, Drex hearing her over the ‘link. “This will help, but there’s still a chance we’ll die.”
“Worth the risk.” Drex responded, drifting into the airlock and being seized by the ship’s gravity. He fell abruptly on his face, striking the deck-plates with moderate force. He grunted.
“Are you alright?” Lyaia asked. Her brother was already cycling the airlock.
“Fine, just forgot about artificial gravity. No big deal. I’ve taken far worse hits.” Drex scrambled to regain his dignity while rising to his feet. “I should join you in the bridge, with your permission.”
Another pause, Oz was staring blankly at Drex as he moved into the ship proper. “Alright, have Oz show you up.”
“Thank you Captain.” Drex signed off and removed his helmet.
After some explanation the boy took Drex along a surprisingly convoluted route for such a small vessel, and finally arrived at the bridge. They both entered and took seats, the boy in the co-pilot’s seat beside Lyaia, and Drex behind him at the weapons station.
Lyaia looked at her brother, then said something in her native language. The boy reluctantly got up and moved over to sit at the communications terminal. “Come up,” Lyaia said plainly.
Drex nodded and moved up to the co-pilot’s chair.
“Your droid is quite vocal,” Lyaia observed, indicating a long string of dialogue on one of the panel monitors.
“He must’ve been lonely out there,” Drex said lightheartedly.
“Vocal,” Lyaia continued, “but very good at calculations. He’s actually figured out where we are in the time that it took you to get from there to here.”
Drex smiled, “that’s good news.” Outside the viewport, the Z-95, its cockpit now closed, moved overhead and in front of them.
Lyaia pressed some more buttons and threw some levers, then stopped and folded her arms in her lap. She inhaled slowly, and turned again to Drex. “Where should we go?”
“Um, I don’t want to be a bother, but I was on my way to Nar Dundo.” Drex responded carefully.
“The Hutt world?” Oz asked from behind Lyaia.
“Yeah,” Drex nodded.
“Why?” Lyaia’s question.
“Can’t say,” Drex responded honestly, “it’s kind of a secret. I understand if you don’t want to take me. I’ll help you to another world nearby and then go there myself if it makes you more comfortable.”
Lyaia thought a moment, “no, it’s ok. We’ll go. We don’t have anyplace to be I guess.”
“No,” Oz added in a voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t.”
Drex frowned, but chose to keep his counsel. “Thank you,” he said again. “R3, plot a course for our original destination.” AFFIRMATIVE, COURSE ALREADY PLOTTED. The words added a new line of text.
“Then let’s jump.” Drex said.
Lyaia nodded, and put her hand on the hyperspace lever. “Hold onto something,” she said, and pulled it back.
The Brightstar’s Flame lurched forward, throwing Drex back hard into his seat. He scrambled to put his seatbelts on when the ship lurched again, and then assumed a steady acceleration, the stars outside the bridge moving to star lines, and then flashing into the blue and black mottled tunnel of hyperspace. After that, the ride was smooth, but it took a little bit more time for Drex’s heart rate to assume the same state.