Episode 4. Avoidance

“We can’t stay in hyperspace forever.”

“I’m aware,” Deviax says, staring off into the hyperspace conduit’s swirling color.

“We need to know what the MOD wants from the kid. If it’s even the kid he wants,” Sho presses her co-captain.

“I’m aware.” Deviax says with the same flat tone, still staring.

“Dev, this isn’t like trying to outrun Republic or Imperial patrols. We cross the Merchant of Death and we’re not going to some cushy jail. They will do all the things we can barely dream of. We need a plan.”

“I am aware, Sho. Do you think I have sudden insight into how to handle the situation I’m not sharing? Give me a few moments to let my life flash before my eyes before we commit ritualistic suicide together.”
Sho crosses her arms, breathing loudly from her mouth. It only takes four deep breaths before Dev sighs and turns the pilot seat to face her rigid form.

“It was easier.” Deviax says quietly. “Back when it was me and your father.”

“I’ll bet,” Shocasta barks impatiently. “Nothing but drinking, women with flexible moral values, and running from the authorities.

Deviax laughs at the characterization. “We were younger. I was faster. I thought myself invincible. We had no concept of death, capture, or failure. Now it’s muddled. You and Patches. Not to mention this septum splitting baby blurrg we have in our medbay. The Galaxy becomes a small place when you’re trying to hide.

“Then we go someplace familiar. We go someplace that feels like home.”

“Rishi’s out of the question. We can’t involve Jamilia and risk getting caught on the Serendipity. Run to the DSC? Munheia would make time for us.” Deviax cracks a grin.

“The Coalition?” Sho grunts. “They’re fine employers. But they have no reason to go to bat for us with the Merchant of Death. Plus, they have plenty of opportunists who likely wouldn’t bat an eye at trading us over for diplomacy points or a cushy treaty or some pretty ancient relic.”

“You don’t think we’re worth protecting?”

“I think there’s a cost for every service. I don’t want to become a skud runner for the Deep Stellar Coalition for the rest of my years as the price of protection.” The Zabrak woman is becoming exasperated. “I was thinking of going back to Rana.”

“Rana IV?” Dev seems annoyed. “We don’t know who’s in charge there anymore. If anyone. It’s a backwater. It’s…”

“Home?” Sho presses.

“A bad memory.”

She steps past her fellow captain, leaning on the starchart console and begins to calculate a path. “Not good enough. I’m setting a course.”

Deviax doesn’t stop her.

The screaming draws the pair, Deviax and Shocasta, to the infirmary. The teen’s face tinged as red as an emergency alert light and just as loud as any siren on the ship. He’s bellowing about needing to be released and thrashing against the medical restraints.

Arms crossed, looking unimpressed, Sho and Deviax watch a few moments.

“Bet on how long he goes?” Sho huffs, blowing a strand of hair from her mouth.

Her co-captain chews on a chunk of beard hair at the corner of his mouth, wincing at the annoying continuation of screaming. “I’d take odds on three or more.”

“Three? He won’t last two.” Sho chortles and offers a hand.

“My dishes against your dusting?”

The red Zabrak withdraws her hand, “Dishes against latrine. You never dust. You always end up-”

“For the love of everything! You can’t treat a Mandalorian like this!” The child lets slip. Both Sho and Dev look. Conversation and chore gambling halted. They hear the clue simultaneously.

Dev pulls the collapsing Vibroblade from the back of his belt. He looks to Sho with a triumphant grin.

“Explains his weapon and mean kick.”

His partner is quick to deflate any improvement in his ego. “Your glass jaw explains the pain from the kick. But I agree on the weapon. Was thinking Echani or Arkanian, but skin tone is off. Little metal head without the metal. Where’s your armor, tiny warrior?”

But the boy continues to scream and thrash.

“It’s something,” Dev says.

“Dishes against latrine. Take it or leave it.” Sho reoffers the hand.