“I want to go home and rethink my life.” Elan Sleazebaggano pushed himself from the bar and got off his stool. Driven by some unknown power, he left the busy bar, leaving the mysterious stranger behind. Walking by some bushes, his hand took the death sticks from his pocket and dumped them. A crowd had gathered around a crashed airspeeder. Elan went the other way.
Walking under the bright lights of Couruscant, Elan tried to
remember what he was doing. He was supposed
to go to the bar. He was supposed
to sell the death sticks. He was
supposed to pay Gwarren back 700 credits.
But he wasn’t going to do that. He
couldn’t quite remember why, he only knew that he wouldn’t. He found his Sx40 speeder in the parking lot
and went home to rethink his life.
When he arrived at the front door he locked the speeder behind
him with a click. He waved his keycard to
enter the building. A few times,
actually. Stupid sensor. He walked up two flights of rickety stairs
and waved his card again to open the door.
Flicking on the apartment lights he was startled by familiar screams.
Sharpop was naked on the bed, tangled up with Bly – even
their antennapalps were touching! “Elan!”
she shouted, grabbing the sheets at the end of the bed to cover herself
“What are you doing home?”
“I’ve come home to rethink my life,” Elan heard himself say. He furrowed his brow and shook his head
hard. In full command now he said, “I
don’t think I’m the one who needs to be answering questions.”
“Elan, I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Bly said. Elan didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t know how respond to any of
this. Was this why I was sent home? He needed some time. “I have to go. Clear out, Sharpie. I’ll be in touch, but when I come back, I
want you out of here.”
Elan slammed the door on their protests and returned to his
speeder. 4 years of my life,
gone. When had this begun? And with Bly! They’d come up on the streets together..
Lights flashed by Elan in a blur as his Sx40 raced through
the higher lanes of Coruscant. He’d been
running various slyth for Gwarren for a few years, and was even rising in his
cousin’s enterprise. After a few false
starts in business, it was nice to finally be succeeding somewhere. While selling death sticks wasn’t exactly his
dream, it beat being a failure. The
money was good. Very good.
And yet he didn’t want to sell death sticks any more.
“Hey, watch it, you idiot!”
A deep blue airspeeder swerved over Elan, missing him by a few meters. Though it was now very late at night, the
streets of Coruscant never rested. Elan
pulled his speeder over and hovered while he caught his breath. He wished he hadn’t used her pet name as he
left.
He noticed a bright yellow sign, flashing the name of a casino
house he used to frequent when he was younger.
He’d long stopped going, on account that he was terrible (especially at
Sabaac). Why take unnecessary risks? But he suddenly remembered his motto. Rethink your life. Was it a motto? It echoed in his mind, whatever it was.
Elan parked in the lot and made his way inside. Elan went to the Dixi boards, the simplest
game he saw. You called a number and
rolled three die. The closer your number
to the die result, the more you won.
Perfect way to clear an angry head, and maybe make a few creds, too.
The first number Elan picked was 11. He rolled a 3, 2, and 6. Then he chose 14. He rolled 5, 5, 4. Then he chose 10. He rolled 4, 2, 4. Elan could hardly believe it. It would have taken him hours to get this
much money in Sabaac, and even more on the streets! He had more than enough money to pay back
Gwarren. He was about to stop, but
suddenly heard it again: Rethink your
life.
He chose 18, a particularly risky roll. He rolled the die. They bounced around the table briefly, before
finally resting one at a time: a 6, another 6, and a third 6. The crowd around gasped. His eyes lit up and he started jumping up and
down. He suddenly had enough money to
pay back Gwarren, buy a small yacht, travel the galaxy in true leisure, and-
And then everything went black.
Elan awoke in an uncomfortable position. He was sitting, but his legs wouldn’t
move. His wrists were behind his back –
he felt an uncomfortable cord cutting into his skin. The room was brightly lit, but the white walls
were gray with dust. A large being sat
in front of him, sucking on a pipe. When
it heard Elan grunt, it blinked it’s eyes a few times to refocus.
“Are all cheats as pathetic as you?”
Elan breathed in the pipesmoke and coughed violently.
“You’re here not 20 minutes and you win 10 times what you
came in with. I’d think it would be
better to spread the scheme over a few hours, if not a few weeks.” The being’s voice was low and gravelly, much
like Elan’s own. Elan didn’t recognize
the species, but it was large with a very long nose. It’s skin nearly matched the walls, except
for the folds and wrinkles.
“I’m not a cheat!”
Elan exclaimed, angrily. “Are you
gonna punish me for winning?”
“Winning, no. But
stealing – not just from us but from the other guests – yeah, we take that very
seriously mister…” large paws held his ID under the light, “Sleazebaggano.” It
laughed and threw the ID over its shoulder.
“Your name could use some work, too.”
“My father comes from a long line of Sleas, and my mother’s
a proud Zebaggano. Combining names isn’t
uncommon, their only fault was that they didn’t know Basic – but a name’s a
name and I’m proud of mine.”
At that moment, one of the dusty walls exploded in a shower
of ferrocrete, and the room became an ocean of gray. A tall being Elan had never seen before in
his life strode in and hit his interrogater on the head, knocking it out. Then the tall one looked down. His red compound eyes shifted strangely on
his head. With a buzz to his voice, the
Culisetto said, “Wait a minute – where’s the money?”
Elan looked back up and said, “Can you get me out of here
anyway?”
“Shit!” the Culisetto
buzzed. “Dack, he ain’t here. You got the wrong room.”
“Not my fault,” said a high-pitched voice. “This one ‘ere’s the one who checked the
maps. I just blow up what I’m told.”
“Well don’t go pinning this on me. The map’s aright, innit?” Elan saw a blue Shistavarian walk through the
settling dust and unfold a map against the wall. “Now see here, we entered the tunnel here,
and then we,”
“Wait a minute, you idiot.”
The Culisetto buzzed, stomping over. “Map’s upside down. We entered the north, not the south. The vault must be that way. Come on.”
Elan had kept shouting to them the whole time. Finally Dack looked at him, and said in his
high voice. “What you in here for? This here’s our casino to hit. You tell that Xixor to respect the turf, or
Petlang family’ll give ‘im a war to remember.”
“No, nothing! I mean,
they think I was cheating, but I wasn’t – honest!”
“Huh.” The
Shistavarian said, patting his fur to get the dust out. “No room for honesty around here.” He nodded toward Dack, who lifted his gun.
“I just came here to blow off some steam, and I got a good
run of luck.” Then he looked down at his
captor, whose big nostrils were like gaping black holes looking into the
ceiling. Some yellow hair was peeking
out of the event horizon. “Too good,
apparently. But I’m a slythmonger. I don’t work for Black Sun, I work for
Gwarren.”
“What kinda slyth?”
Dack said, eyeing him darkly.
“I don’t want to sell you Death Sticks.” Elan heard himself say. He squinted as if a bright light flashed into
his eyes, then shook his head hard. “I
mean, I don’t have any with me now.”
“And we don’t want to buy ‘em. But yep, that’s Gwarren’s trade.” He nodded to the bug-eyed one, putting his
gun away. “Ferox, cut him loose. Slub,
check the map again – and do it right.
Lucky for you I have some extra explosives.”
At that moment the ferrocrete door launched into the room,
whooshing by Elan as it knocked Slub over.
Dack and Ferox struggled for their weapons as security forces poured
into the room. The commander strode in
last, closely followed by a power droid.
“You are all under arrest. Lay down
your weapons immediately.” He loudly
charged his repeating blaster, and the rectangular droid chirped as it fed
energy to it. The map slid off the wall
and floated to the ground.
Ferox shook his head in Dack’s direction. “Someone else’s job isn’t worth dying for,”
he buzzed. He put his gun down and so
did Dack. Slub lay motionless on the
floor. In the growing silence, Elan
said, “I give up, too, sir.”
***
Elan was charged with aiding a casino heist. He was placed in the same detention block as
the others, which was already crowded.
Though Coruscant was home of the Republic, the deeper levels of the city
were sometimes called “the lower rim” because the Republic had the same
presence there as the outer rim. Being
put in detention was as good as a guilty sentence, unless you were connected to
some of the local powers.
Elan was put in a cell with Dack and a golden-furred yuzzum
who had introduced himself as Olex Lutai.
Olex was in for quite a few break-ins and violent assaults. He had a deck of cards.
“Hit me” Elan said.
Olex handed him a card and turned to Dack.
From another cell across the hall, a tall Pa’lowick called
out. “That you, Anosun?”
When no one answered he said, “Hey, I’m talking to you! Can’t ignore me now, can you?”
“Just ignore him,” Olex said.
“Fine – let me yell all day.
I’ll tell everyone who you are, so when I take you out at the first
chance I get, everyone understands me.
But that Balosar with Olex – he owes me money. If he had paid up, I coulda paid the
Hutts. Instead Zorba sends me to do his
dirty work, and now I’m here!” His voice
was cranky and loud. “And if this Anosun
thinks if he ignores me that he can get away with it, well then he’s got
another thing coming!”
Dack won with -20 and Olex reshuffled the cards.
“Thought you said your name was Elan,” he said, passing two
cards out to each of them to start another round.
“Yeah.”
“So why does he keep calling you Anosun?”
“Why does who?”
“You’re the only Balosar with me,” Olex said.
“Oh, do you think he-” Elan quickly looked over his shoulder,
and when he made eye contact the Pa’lowick pointed a finger at him, his arm
extended even further than his beak. “Uhh,
I really have no idea. He must have me
confused with someone else. Elan followed
a simple rule, which most of the Galaxy followed, if they could help it: ‘Never
do business with the Hutts.’ They
ignored their creditors and were ruthless to their debtors. They weren’t just bad for business – they were
just bad. Spawned on Nal Hutta, they
consistently organized their sector against Republic political expansion,
convincing the locals of surrounding sectors that the Republic was coming to
change their way of life. When the
Republic sent their Jedi, these locals just happened to find a large Loyalty
Dividend in their accounts, and they resisted.
But more than that, the Hutts astonished them all by proving immune to
Jedi mind tricks.
When you get in trouble with the Hutts, nobody is coming to
save you.
“A likely story,” Olex said.
He flipped his cards to reveal a 22.
“Perfect Sabaac, by the way.”
Dinner was even worse than Elan expected. Dry nuts, bread from a grain called Rooture,
and some water. Some of the prisoners
had brought rocks, and they crushed the nuts and mixed it with the water. “Spread the nut paste over the bread,” Olex
told him and Dack as he worked at the nuts.
“You can make a sandwich that’s almost normal.”
“Can we-“ Dack began.
“No, you can’t borrow mine.”
“So where would we get one of these rocks?”
“Out in the yard, though some manage to break off portions
of their cell walls, though that’s usually too crumbly. You don’t want to eat ferrocrete.” As he spoke, a pounding echoed from the other
side of the room. Looking over their
shoulder, Dack and Elan saw a Wookie punching the table. “That’s ol’ Rook. He doesn’t need a rock – obviously. Though sometimes he gets his hair in the
paste.” The pounding continued. Elan saw that only Dack, his comrades, and himself
were looking. Apparently, you got used
to it.
Elan put some nuts in his mouth and immediately began to
cough violently. He spit them out. “Oh, that’s disgusting!”
“Yeah, we know.”
Someone said. Elan had been
louder than he intended. Olex smiled
widely at him, as a plan formed in his
head. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, standing and walking over to another
table. The guards eyed him but said
nothing. “Oh, we can get up?” Dack said as he stood to sit closer to his
friends. But the blue-garbed guards
raised their weapons and shouted at him until he sat back down. The hierarchy was strictly enforced. Elan took a bite of the bread, which wasn’t
as terrible as the nuts. He chewed
slowly, unsure whether to try to figure out how he got here or how he would get
out.
Olex came back with the Pa’lowick from earlier. His green flabs fell out of the deep neck of
his grey prison uniform. His lips at the
end of his beak were a silver blue. His
right eye was wide and watchful, but his left was closed and had a dark purple
bruise on it. He knocked on the table to
get Elan’s attention. When Elan recognized
him his body tensed up and he had to grip the table to prevent himself from falling
over. The others chuckled at his
discomfort.
“Oh,” the Pa’lowick said, his hazy voice much more melodic
now that he wasn’t shouting. “You’re
right, this isn’t Anuson at all. Well,
can you blame me?” He pointed to his
wounded eye as he turned to Elan. “Can’t
see as well as I wish, and I don’t see a lot of Balosar.” He shrugged.
“Well, I promise not to actually kill you.”
Elan nervously chuckled, but suddenly everything
changed. The Pa’lowick had lunged at
him, completely knocking the table over.
Dack jumped to his aid, and Olex joined the fray, though it wasn’t clear
whose side he was on.
Others joined, too, and Elan was getting punched and pulled
and pushed. Having no chance to fight
back, he covered his head with his hands and tried to roll out from
underneath. The yelling continued, but soon
the weight of the pile on top of him was lessening. All at once he defied gravity as he was
listed off left the floor so quickly he felt his stomach drop. Old Rook held him above the ground by the
collar, and Olex and Dack held the Pa’lowick back. Elan saw, through spinning vision, that a
crowd had formed around them, and that the guards were trying to push
through. But now that the fight was over
the crowd lost interest and returned to their seats.
“Take them to the solos.”
A guard said, finally getting close enough to take control. “Hand them over. Or will you all answer for these
troublemakers?”
Olex and Dack shoved the Pa’lowick towards them, and Old
Rook dropped Elan. His knees buckled as
soon as he hit the floor, and then everything went dark.
Elan woke up in a small room by himself. There was a single bright light above him and
a bed in the corner. Elan sat up and
leaned against the wall. Looking around
he saw a plate on the floor by the door.
More nuts and bread, but this time no water. Near the food was the toilet.
Elan had heard about the solos. They were reserved for difficult
prisoners. What was so difficult about
him? If only these guards knew. Everything in his life had been fine until
just a day ago.
Or had it? His
girlfriend had been cheating on him for who knew how long and his one run of
good luck in a long time is what got him in prison. Rethink your life. Sure, but how?
Elan wasn’t hungry enough to eat the nuts and bread. He got up to inspect the bed. It soon became clear why it was in the solos
– seemingly every spring was busted.
Still, Elan lay down on his side and quickly fell asleep.
When he woke up again he was on his back and his eyes opened
right under the blinding single light. But
it was his stomach that was really hurting him.
He rolled to face the nuts and bread, though as his vision came into
focus they seemed more taunting than inviting.
He went over to it and ate some of the bread, but his mouth was so dry
it was difficult to chew it comfortably.
After a few bites, he gave up. He
looked at the nuts, but as the bread calmed his stomach, there was no need to
dare to try the nuts again again. Gratefully,
he climbed onto the bed, threw his arm over his eyes, and fell asleep.
A hard knocking came at the door. Elan sat up suddenly. He heard voices outside. “He can’t be dead already, can he?” More knocks.
Unsure what else to say, Elan said “Hello? Who is it?”
“Darth Revan come to unlock your true potential.” They laughed, “Shut up and give us the plate
if you want your dinner – or are you going on a hunger strike?”
“Oh, no, uhh,” Elan quickly got up and picked up the plate.
“Where do I, how do I,”
“Up here.” A panel on
the door shook as they knocked at it. “Push
your plate through it and we’ll give you a new one. You only get one plate at a
time.”
Elan picked the plate up and gasped. There had been a note under it! Not daring to stop now he slid his plate
through the panel and heard it clatter as it landed on the other side.
“That ain’t so hard, was it?
Now we can give you this.”
Through a panel at the bottom of the door came a full plate
and a cup.
“Oh, water!” Elan
heard himself say.
“Yeah, you get one cup a day in there. Again, put it out when you’re done for a
refill. Don’t expect these reminders in
the future. But word is you’re new to
the Inside, Anosar.”
“I’m not Anosar.”
“Oh, what a coincidence, because I really am an
ancient Sith lord come to free you.” The
harsh laughter became softer as the guard left.
Elan took a sip from the cup of water, which was disappointingly warm,
and opened the note.
Expect new clothes in a few days. Once it arrives, put it on and sit near the
door. We’re going to cut the power,
which should let you open your door. So
be near the door. I cannot stress this
enough. It will be hard to get another
shot at this. Once you get out, just
return the favor. Do not screw this up.
The letter was unsigned.
Elan read it again. It didn’t
make any sense. Then again, what had
made sense to him recently? “I just want
to go home,” he sighed aloud. Then,
unbidden, “and rethink my life” bounced around his head. But he refused to say it. Even though it got louder and louder in his
mind, he would not give in. What’s happened
to me?
He needed something to distract himself, but what was there
to do? He could eat or he could sleep. Looking at the nuts and bread on the plate, he
decided to go to back to sleep. He laid down, mumbling to himself, “Eat, sleep,
and rethink my life.” Aaahh,
Nerfherders.
There wasn’t anything even to do but to wait. He didn’t understand the point of solos. Was boredom supposed to be some kind of
punishment? Honestly, he could use the
peace and quiet.
Part of the wall was cracked, and he broke off a chunk so he
could make the nut paste Olex had shown him.
It made the food much better, and he even began to look forward to them,
even if the chunk was clearly getting smaller by the day. He wondered how dangerous it was to ingest
ferrocrete.
He soon learned the true torture of the solos wasn’t the
boredom, though that was indeed a kind of pain, but more simply the
monotomy. The note said to expect a new
uniform in a few days, but that had been months ago. Or perhaps only a dozen hours. There was simply nothing to do, and he soon
had his fill of peace and quiet.
While he felt himself thinking he should rethink his life,
he couldn’t ever get beyond that step. It
was an unhelpful command. Forced
self-improvement. And what was there to
rethink? He needed to redo his
life, if anything. Following his cousin
into the slyth business, that’s where his whole social network was. His parents had long passed, and he’d lost
what money they passed to him. With his
girlfriend gone, he didn’t even have a home to go back to (and rethink my
life). Now he hardly had his own
identity. Whenever the loud knocks came
on the door, he was referred to as Anosar.
He had stopped protesting. Maybe
he was. Maybe he should be. Who was Elan Sleazebaggano anyway? He had been a nobody. Just another slythmonger. Who was Anosar? Some notorious gangster. Maybe that was better.
A low thump interrupted Elan’s thoughts as he lay on the
bed. He turned towards the sound and say
there was a loosely tied bindle by his plate, and even as he watched it wobbled
the last of its momentum out. Through
the door he heard, “Package for ya.
Nobody gets packages in the solos.
You got big friends, Anosar!”
He picked up the package and moved back to the
mattress. Quickly untying the thread,
the bindle fell apart. It was
clothes. Of course! He slapped himself on the head. He was supposed to put them on and-
And what?
He reached under his pillow to get the note. He had read it so often, and yet he could
never quite remember it. Once you get
out, just return the favor. Do not screw
this up. The instructions weren’t
clear, but nothing had been for a long time.
He had gone home. He rethought his
life. Now this was his home. But he wanted to get out. He needed a new home. I need a new life.
The clothes were different than his prison uniform, but they
looked familiar nonetheless. He
struggled to place the dark blue shirt and black pants. He got to his feet to change, which felt
wobbly. When was the last time he had
stood? How long had he been in this
cell? Had he always been here? No, obviously not. But maybe?
Finally, he was fully dressed.
Without a mirror, it was impossible to see how he looked. He considered the note again. “Be near the door.”
Despite his best efforts, the mattress wouldn’t move; It was
bolted to the floor. So Elan sat down,
back to the door, and waited. He was no
stranger to electronic magnetic auto-unlocks.
They were quite standard on the lower levels of Couruscant. If there was a power outage, the doors would
all unlock, a relatively new development in the history of Couruscant. There had been an explosion at the Pyramid
Industries factory, which not only set a fire to the workers’ area, but also cut
the power. Sealed with magnetic locks, the
doors needed electricity to repel and open.
Nobody survived.
Days came and went.
Or maybe they didn’t. Elan spent
his waking hours staring at the light, willing for it to die. What he would do once outside, he wasn’t
sure. Would Gwarren want him back, or would the prison time scare him off. But no, he couldn’t go back to selling slyth. But it was the only thing he’d been any good
at. Maybe he could hook up with Olex and
join him. Or Dack, etc. It would be better than being alone. The worst thing Elan could imagine, as he
finally gave in to exhaustion, was escaping the solo only to be on his own on
the outside.
A sickening crack permeated Elan’s whole head, and pain shot
through his skull and antennapalps. With a yelp he grabbed his head and rubbed
the back which had been hit. It was
pitch black when he opened his eyes. Just
as the pain began to subside in his head his eyes were assaulted by a sudden
brightness. An alarm started blaring,
echoing off the walls.
All at once, he remembered.
The power had gone out and the door had unlocked, and the weight of his
body opened it. Now the electricity was
back on, but the door was still open.
Flipping over, he got to his knees and began to crawl around the hallway. Where’s the exit? But then he felt a hand on his collar. He had been caught. “Do not screw this up.” And yet he had. Of course he had.
Someone cried from behind him, “What are you, blind?!” He was now on his feet, being pushed
forward. “You must be one of the new
guys – that uniform must be two sizes too big for you! Whatever. Come on, we gotta make sure no one’s escaped.”
A sturdy looking guard blew by him, shouting at him to follow.
Elan let himself be led to the main detention corridor. He made eye contact with a big yuzzum, whose
face lit up with recognition. Elan
quickly looked away.
“Down there!” Someone
yelled, pointing further down the hallway.
A press of guards marched onward.
Elan managed to sidestep into a smaller alcove. With the other guards gone, he went from one
cell to another, pretending to check them, but really trying to unlock them. When he got close again, the yuzzum said,
“What are you doing, you half-wit? Break
the override!” Elan looked around, but
didn’t see what he was talking about.
“Oh, you idiot. It’s
over there!” Olex pointed down the hall
again, in the other direction. “By the
Warden’s quarters. Break the button.”
Elan walked over to it and smashed it with his fist. In a shower of warm sparks, he shook his hand
and howled. He hadn’t ever punched
anything in his life, not that he could remember. But it was too late now. Every cell in the prison was open now, and it
was pandemonium.
For obvious reasons, Elan’s uniform didn’t include a
blaster. But the other guards were
armed, and the prisoners began taking their weapons before they could be
drawn. Their numbers were
overwhelming. The situation quickly
turned from an escape to a takeover.
“Come on!” Olex
shouted. “Get out of here, Anosar. Get yourself home!”
Elan froze. I want
to go home and rethink my life. The
chaos of the breakout melted away. He
was again surrounded by the lights and sounds of that Couruscant bar. The smell of a crashed speeder came and was
gone in a flash. Elan stood in apparent
reverie, and Olex left him there. Not
that he wasn’t grateful. He just had his
own escape to do.
Suddenly the door to the warden’s quarter opened. Laser bolts spilled into the corridor. The blasts and the screams brought Elan back
to the moment. Elan saw the large warden
standing behind a mounted repeating blaster hooked up to a power droid. The warden had a clear shot down the corridor. Everybody was going to die.
Unless.
Every few seconds the warden stopped firing to let his
weapon cooldown, or to let the droid recharge it. Whatever it was, there was a clear
pattern. Elan would have a few
seconds. He had no home to go to. His life needed more than just a rethink. He could hardly think at all any more. He felt broken. But he could save his newfound friends. “Do not screw this up.” He would not.
The weapon stopped firing.
Elan took off at a run. The
warden’s eyes suddenly grew large as he charged. Elan reached out with his hands to grab
him. The warden ducked, so Elan leapt
over the mounted gun. Behind him he
heard blasts and shouts, and his back suddenly burned. He landed on the warden and tried to wrap his
arms around him in a Wookie-hug, but the warden was much to big. Between that, the pain in his back, and his throbbing
fist, it was all he could do to just hold him down. He couldn’t kill him, but he could at least
stop him. He could save the others.
***
Elan woke up in the very brightest room he could have
imagined. There were medical droids
humming around, and a few white-coated living beings. He felt terrible. After a few minutes, exhausted by the effort,
his eyes closed again.
Elan woke up again and was surrounded by water. He was
drowning! When he moved his arms to try
swimming he knocked into hard glass. He
struggled for a while, breathing hard. Wait,
how am I breathing if I’m drowning?
Elan woke up again in the bright room, which this time
seemed to be vibrating, as well. His
body ached less than before, though his mouth tasted like a heavy autumn breeze. Through a window he could see a line of
concerned, but unfamiliar, faces. A
being in white passed in front of the glass from one side of the room to the
other.
“Hello?” Elan said,
his own voice suddenly echoing in his head.
“Aah, you’re up!” She
said loudly, turning to him suddenly.
“Why are you yelling?”
Elan responded.
“Ah!” The woman lowered
her voice, though the medical equipment that filled the room continued to buzz
loudly. “That’s the bacta treatment on you Balosar’s. Your antennaepalp weren’t injured, so the
bacta have briefly amplified them. This
will pass. How does everything else
feel?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“And your back?” The
others had gathered at the foot of his bed.
Elan shifted slightly.
“Feels fine.”
“Perfect!” She said
firmly, but still quietly. “There are
some visitors for you, if you’d like to see them.”
“I don’t recognize any of them. Who are they?”
“These people are
here to thank you for your service.
You’re a hero, you know.” Elan let the words bounce around his head. When he didn’t respond she said, “I’ll tell
them to come back tomorrow. Tell 1-2C if
you need anything.” She motioned to the
nearby droid, who raised its head from its neck and turned to face Elan. He seemed to feel, rather than hear, every gear
turning in the droid.
“Right now, I just need you to stop.”
1-2C froze in place, and Elan closed his eyes.
When Elan woke up again the room wasn’t so bright any more. The mad hum of medical machines had also
fallen to a manageable level. He lay
there for a long time. She called me
a hero. But that isn’t right.
Eventually, someone walked into the room. A Duros, she had huge eyes and a lipless
mouth. She was humming a tune to herself
and didn’t even look at Elan as she swept the floor and wiped the machines with
her gangly fingers. Her large head
bobbed along to the song.
“Hi there,” Elan said, not sure how else to get her
attention. She looked up and gave out a
yell. When she recovered she said
“You’re up! Mister hero, you’re up!”
“Oh, that’s not my name,” Elan said dumbly.
“Oh, we know that.”
She said lightly, smiling with large, grey teeth. Her voice was low and pleasant. “That’s just what we call you around here, because
nobody knows yours name. And because you
saved the warden’s life. You know that,
right? Or do you not remember the prison
riot? I mean, it was a few weeks
ago. But you’ve been out of it for most
of that. But you’re up now! This is very exciting. I’ll send for the doctor. Oh, and you must be starving. What would you like? We’ve been charged with giving you the very
best care, mister hero. Oh, you said
that wasn’t your name. Of course it
isn’t your name. It would be very
strange if it were. A coincidence,
indeed! But no. What’s your name? Well?”
He shifted himself in the bed. “My name is Elan Sleazebaggano.”
The shine to her smile dimmed. “Huh,” She said. “Sure your name isn’t Ewan? I got 60 credits on that one. We can split the winnings. Come on, it’s not even that different” She threw her head back in a laugh. “Elan, mister hero. Well, I’ll go get your doctor. Oh but it’s so late, will he still be
in? Well, I’ll go get someone.”
After some tests, the on-call doctor said Elan was
recovering nicely, and would probably be good to go in a few days. “How much is this?” Elan asked.
He had gone most of his life without visiting a hospital.
The doctor laughed. “Oh,
right, I suppose you wouldn’t know. This
is being paid for by the governor. You’re
a hero, you know. And the governor wants
to take care of heroes.” Elan didn’t
know what to say to that. In the silence,
his stomach suddenly spoke up. “I’m
hungry.”
The doctor laughed again.
“We have some food from the hospital cafeteria, but we can also order
anything you want and get it deliver.
Like I said, all paid for.” Elan
licked his lips, the hunger in him suddenly undeniable. How long had they said I had slept? Weeks? He made some wild meal requests for a
midnight snack, as well as for breakfast the following day.
When Elan woke the next morning he could still taste the
porg from the night before. Elan had
heard of the delicacy once as a child, and he figured the worst they could do
was say no. But his benefactor was
indeed generous, and the bird was on his plate within two hours, along with
some sweetfruits and mid-rim beans. The
doctor had raised his eyebrows at that final request, but Elan was worried the
fancy foods wouldn’t satisfy him, and he wanted something he’d be familiar with,
just in case. But his reaction made Elan
uncomfortable enough that he said they could spice it if they wished. The mid-rim beans had been peppered with
wermskin, which sharpened the flavor. It
was all delicious.
1-2C noticed he woke up, and he stood up and greeted him. He was golden with two bright eyes in his
wide head. His voice was melodic, and he
rolled his Rs “Good morning, master
Elan. Your breakfast is prepared, when
you are ready.”
First he had to go to the bathroom.
When he returned the spread had been prepared. Opee Fish egg ommelette, piping hot Endor tea
(the tea itself was thick and tasted like Elan’s favorite liquor), and some
fried strips of bantha meat. Elan ate
until he thought his body would burst – who knew when he would eat this good
again? Only a matter of time until the
truth comes out.
A bell rang in the room and Elan looked toward the door, but
the curtain was pulled. “Master Elan,”
1-2C said, “your visitors are here. They
will wait until you are ready.”
Elan fought the urge to let them in immediately. Elan recalled he had once been kept waiting
for over an hour for a meeting. Today he
was in charge. He saw no reason to rush
his breakfast. Let’s play it cool.
“Who are they, 1-2?”
“They are Governor Semmy Sobiniu, and Imbid Plunkett, the
warden you saved. Governor Sobiniu also
brought an aide with him, whose name I don’t know.”
Elan shrugged, “I don’t know those names, either.”
1-2’s eyes flickered a few different colors. “Master Elan, are you saying you already
forgot the names I just said?”
Elan slowly chewed his omellete bite to savor the taste,
swallowing only when it felt like a soggy lump in his mouth. “No, I just don’t recognize them. And I guess I forgot them, too. Governor Semiu, and Imbid….. what did you
say, Plant?”
“Master Elan, though these men are coming to see you, it is important
you remember their names. Here, let’s
try again.”
And the two of them practiced the names a few more times,
until Elan felt comfortable enough. He
had heard of powerful men even killing even their higher-ups for publicly
embarrassing them with a mispronounced name.
He didn’t know if that was true, but he didn’t want to risk it.
“And who is Governor Sobiniu? What does he want with me?”
1-2 took on an archival tone. “Governor Sobiniu was elected to District 12
of Couruscant 10 years ago. He was
elected on a promise to make District 12 safer,” 1-2’s voice changed back, “a promise
the people believe he kept, as evidenced by his re-election. He remains very popular with the people, according
to recent reports. I can’t say for
certain, but I would guess Governor Sobiniu is here to congratulate you in your
role in the prison riot. You saved the
warden’s life.”
Elan almost spoke aloud, but then caught himself. Suddenly, that day came back to him. But he wasn’t trying to protect the warden,
he was trying to kill him. But something
had stopped him…
He had no hope of figuring out what. He knew he’d have to put some things together
during the conversation if he were to ever find out what happened that day. He just hoped he could piece it together
before they pieced together who he really was.
Governor Sobiniu came in wearing a fitted but casual white
suit, black pants, and a brimmed hat which shaded the dewflaps on the side of
his face. He was tall for a Sullustan,
and he wore a green visor over his eyes.
The warden was exactly how Elan remembered him. A fat Klatoonian with fat fingers, his long
head was the only thing thin about him.
He walked up to Elan’s bed first, black jacket and necktie bouncing with
every stride. He extended one of his
large hands towards him.
“Elan, I want to start off by saying thank you for saving my
life.” His voice was higher than Elan
expected, even pleasant-sounding. “Those
no-good scum would have cut me down if not for you. They say it’s a miracle you survived, but we
got you to the best hospital in the area.
I am only sorry we never met before, though I suppose that makes the
debt all the greater.”
“Thank you, Imbid.”
Elan said, trying to figure out what he would want to hear. “We all have to do our part to protect
society from the scum. I was sorry to
hear so many of them escaped.”
“Yes, but a lot of them have been recaptured by now. Either in our searches or just by returning
to their old life. Imagine that,
escaping prison only to go right back to the crimes that got you there. That’s how you know they’re savages. Even given the chance, they don’t rethink
their life.”
“And want to go home,” Elan said, unintentionally.
“Yes, I suppose many of them see prison as home more than
anywhere else. It’s where they always
get back to, no matter what else happens.”
Elan didn’t respond.
He was too busy trying to figure out why he’d said anything about home.
Governor Sobiniu stepped forward. “Mr. Sleazebaggano. The 12th district of Couruscant
owes you quite the debt. There will be
an award ceremony this week in your honor.
Or later, if you need more time.
In addition to the recognition, the governing council has approved you
for a full pension. You will be paid 500
credits a week for the rest of your life.”
The warden stepped up, “They were going to pay you a pension
for 20 years, but I said “No no, a life for a life!””
“Yes,” the Governor chuckled, “Imbid is most grateful.”
Elan’s jaw dropped.
Last he recalled he had 100 credits to his name, total. Well, before the gambling. Back when he was…
Elan realized the two of them were staring at him. “Thank you!”
He suddenly blurted. “This is
more money than I ever could have imagined, thank you thank you! I hardly even know how to spend it all. Thank you sir! Thank you, thank you!” Elan blathered. It was hard to contain his excitement. So much for playing it cool.”
“My people will be in touch,” Sobiniu said confidently. “I imagine you’ll want to begin transferring
those funds over as soon as possible. The
account we set up for you is near bursting already. And as for the thank yous,” he held a green
hand up, and waited for Elan to stop talking.
“Again, my people will be in touch.”
He took a step back towards the door as Imbid stepped forward and took
Elan’s hand.
“When you’re well
enough, you must come over for dinner.
It would be my honor, Elan.”
Two weeks later (1000 credits later, as Elan thought
about it) he was standing on a stage in the district hub. With the Governor’s accountant’s guidance, he
had found a top floor apartment in the north end with a stunning view of the
skyline. The natural colors were similar
to the bright lights of the lower levels of the city, but weren’t so harsh on
his eyes. A cleaning service came weekly
to keep the apartment in tip top condition, as well as his brand new orange
Correlian airspeeder.
The accountant had also connected him with some stock
brokers, and Elan was now invested in energy cell manufacture and droid
production (“Two of the safest investments out there,” his broker said.) But even with all these regular expenses,
Elan was still bringing in more credits than he knew how to spend, so the
accountant gave him the names of a few charities. Even so, Elan would never need to work
another day in his life. Everything was
going right for him and his beaming smile shone to the crowd as the governor
spoke.
“Our progress toward a society without tolerance for crime
took a great step forward that day. Or
perhaps it is better to say our great steps forward finally bore fruit. Intolerance for crime may begin as an
administrative goal, but we can only achieve our dreams when it is the heart of
every citizen. We must all recognize the
strength of crime to tear us down, and find the determination within ourselves
to resist it. Crime is the easy way
out. But we demand the opportunity to follow
the hard way.” The crowd chanted,
“Follow the hard way,” several times.
When the crowd had calmed, Governor Sobiniu continued, “Elan
Sleazebaggano was given the most difficult choice of all. I hope none of you ever have such a choice
before you. For the hard way, he was
nearly killed by criminals.” He paused for effect, and then spoke again in a
rousing tone, “But he survived, and he will thrive! Just as the rest of us can when we resist the
easy way out, and follow the hard way.
Elan, come on over here!”
Elan felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder. One of the governor’s aides, in case Elan
missed his cue to join him at the front.
He looked to the crowd and waved.
When he reached the governor, he held out his hand for a shake. The governor took it, shook it twice, then
pulled it up and turned to face the crowd.
Elan followed his lead, waving with his other hand again. The crowd was magnificent. Elan would never forget this day for the rest
of his life. The plaque he received hung
over the mantlepiece for the rest of his days and became a Sleazebaggano
heirloom, until it was finally sold by his granddaughter to the library which
had been named after Governor Sobiniu when she fell on hard times. But that’s a story for another time.
Elan’s name was all over the city. Local councilors sought
his support, charity foundations invited him to their 200-credit-a-plate
dinners, and businesses reached out to him to appear in their advertising. Elan was living a life he had hardly known
existed.
One day while he was eating dinner at what had become his
favorite restaurant, a young scaly being came up to his table. “Mister,” she paused for a moment, then said
“Sleavebagganoo?” Elan chuckled. “Close enough, yes. How can I help you?”
“Message for you,” the youngling said, handing him a
datapad. Elan reached out for it, but she
pulled her hand back and extended an empty one.
The lights glittered off the yellow scales. Elan reached into his pocket and handed over a
dozen credits. Then the girl put the
datapad on the table and happily dashed off.
Putting the datapad into his reader he saw the Governor
Sobiniu’s letterhead. He hadn’t heard
from the governor since the award ceremony.
It was about the only person he hadn’t heard from. Scrolling down, he was surprised to see a very
short message. All it said was, “Please
meet my friends tonight at the Teksphure.
They like the play sabaac.” It
was unsigned.
Elan strode into Teksphure late in the evening, feeling out
of place in one of the Core’s nicest casinos
His hard-bottomed shoes pressed down on the brown Endor carpet. He wished he could find an excuse to touch it
with his bare hands; even through his shoes it felt exquisite.
Lights were flashing and everywhere was the buzz of gamblers. Elan had a momentary flashback to when he was
one of those common gamblers at the common casinos. What irony that winning had landed him in
jail, and that jail had landed him here.
The sabaac room was dimly lit, except over the tables. Elan took a seat at the nearby bar and
ordered a Sweet Tuc, a drink he’d grown fond of at the foundation dinners. As he waited for it to arrive he looked over
the room, wondering who he was looking for.
A group of burly Gran were sitting at a table together. One of them waved at him to come over. When his drink arrived Elan took it, tossed a
few credits as a tip, and joined them.
“No thanks, I’m not
very good.” Elan said.
“Aw, come on.” His
voice was a squawk. “One game, for our
mutual friend.”
“The G–” Elan began.
“Yes,” Another Gran
interrupted, holding up a well-curated hair.
“The powerful friend that we all have.”
Elan felt
trapped. “Alright.”
Elan was dealt a 5,
a 2, a 4, and a -8. A terrible
hand. But when he tried to fold, they
refused. “Let’s play it out, hm?” Elan
sighed and placed a small bet.
“Here’s the deal,”
said the first one. “You’re a famous guy,
right?”
“Real famous,”
another chimed in before Elan could answer.
“My mother has your picture on her food storage.”
“My sister would be
jealous to know I was meeting you,” said a third.
Apparently satisfied
with the verification, the first said “A famous guy, see? Now tell me, mister famous guy. You look young enough. What’s a young famous guy like you gonna do
for the rest of his life, huh?”
“Relax,” Elan said
bluntly. They waited for him to
continue, but he had nothing else to say.
That was all he wanted.
“You don’t want to,
uhh, make some kind of difference? Give
back, let’s say, in appreciation of those who have so rewarded you.”
“I give quite
richly, I’ll have you know,” Elan said testily.
“A small portion of
what you make, I’m sure.” The fourth
squawked for the first time. The largest
of the group, his white fur came up to his shoulders. His eyestocks had been trained on Elan the
whole time, barely moving to check his cards.
“Easy, Jek.” The first said, raising a hand. “No, no.
Famous guy, let me level with you.
Fame is fleeting. People will
soon forget your donations, and they will forget your pretty face. And if a time comes the district is in a
crunch, some new governor may cut off your pension. You’re living off the kindness of
strangers. Surely a famous guy like you
has some smarts, too.”
“What are you
suggesting?”
“There’s a subdistrict
mayor who’s been giving our mutual friend some problems. But he’s up for re-election this month. No one wants to run against him. He’s a popular enough guy.”
“My mother knows his
name, I think.”
“My sister would
want his autograph, maybe.”
The first one took
over again, “But he isn’t,” he paused, “Famous.”
Elan stared
dumbly. Everyone was looking at him, and
as he was about to speak one of the Gran gestured to his cards. “Oh!”
Elan said. He had continued to
hit – an absurd move in the situation. But
they refused to let him fold whenever he tried.
But now he was on 20, a pretty good hand. He nodded to indicate he’d take no more
cards.
“Look,” the next one
said, as he also waved away a card.
“You’ve got the fame now. Use
it. Then you’ll get an honest paycheck,
and your name won’t fizzle like stars at lightspeed. And if our mutual friend needs some help,
you’ll have some power to lend him a hand.”
“But I don’t know
the first thing about being a mayor.”
The Gran at the head
of the table held up his hand.
“I think that’s it,
then. Nobody’s getting more cards, and
all the bets have been matched. Alright
gents, show ‘em!”
Elan felt a
rush. He might actually win this hand of
Sabaac, absurd as it seemed. He flipped
his cards, full of pride. The defeated
sighs around the table told him everything he needed to know. He struggled to maintain composure.
But as he leaned
forward to look over their hands, he was shocked by what he saw. 40?
53?! Those weren’t just bad
hands, they were impossible. If ever you
miss a Sabaac, you’re supposed to declare your bust immediately. Elan sat back down without touching the
money, suddenly feeling extremely suspicious.
“What’s wrong?” The Gran with the sister said, his eyes
focusing on him hard.
Elan didn’t know
what to say.
Then they all laughed. The leader said, “A win is a win, right? You say you aren’t very good, and yet with us
you win. You say you don’t know how to
be mayor? Listen, just stick with us. Just be that pretty face, okay famous guy? Nothing to worry about.”
***
Indeed, there wasn’t. Elan blew Mayor Were Shooksword out of the
water. Were had been mayor for several
terms, with decent results, but it was his political alliances that kept him in
power. Whenever a challenger appeared,
he added them to his list of allies, or squashed them before they could become
a threat. But Elan’s appearance was so
sudden and so late in the election season he was unable to mobilize his
forces. The unions campaigned hard for
him. An endorsement from the governor
didn’t hurt, either.
But Elan was no political genius. He was hardly political at all. The advisers he hired, a detail the press
highlighted again and again, had all been hired in the first round of interviews. Elan wanted to fill his staff quickly. Scheming political sharks cursed themselves
and their “long game.”
Every morning Elan called a meeting of the town’s staff to
hear their petitions. Then he had a
meeting with his advisers, devising a response.
By the afternoon he’d decided what to prioritize, and set the town’s
staff to work. It was so different from
Shooksword’s meticulous approach the press hardly knew how to characterize it. Local political observers were baffled;
Regional ones stopped paying attention, saying that while even a broken motivator
works twice a day, it is still broken. Shooksword
was said to be assembling a campaign for the next election.
But then an unexpected report came out in Quarterly
Couruscant. District 12’s subdistrict
W, Elan’s area, had experienced a sharp rise in what it called “political
efficiency.” The report said, While
it is clear the mayor has no long term strategy, he has been remarkably
successful in achieving short-term goals.
The town staff, after the initial shock of the change of pace, reported
high confidence in Elan’s leadership.
Filling in potholes and upgrading old energy modules wasn’t flashy work,
but the results were always tangible.
They say Sith are in the small things, but somehow Elan had succeeded
where more experienced, more ambitious, mayors had failed. Crime had also fallen.
So it came as no surprise when the governor came by to
congratulate him, as well as reap the benefit of his previous endorsement. “Mayor Sleazebaggano is a rising star in
Sector 12, and we are all grateful for his fresh approach, and the results they
bring.” He eyed him from the podium, “I
only hope he doesn’t try to come after me, eh?”
The governor laughed loudly at that.
“Elan shows us that what has worked before may not work in the
future. Well-worn paths are easy, but
not always the best. Elan should inspire
us all to choose the harder way.”
After the press conference, when he was leaving, the
Governor bent to his ear. “Go to the
union hall. You’ll see some old friends
of ours. You’ve succeeded far beyond expectations,
my friend. Still, there’s something more. You owe them for your victory, yes?” This surprised Elan; He had simply
forgotten.
At the union hall Elan found them playing Sabaac, though
this time they let him sit out.
“Our mutual friend has a problem.” The boss squawked cooly.
“What can I do?”
“Crime in your subsection is too low.”
“Too low?”
Elan’s shock was obvious.
“Too low,” The well-groomed one said. “You’re a smart prison guard famous guy. What happens to a prison with no prisoners?”
Elan reflected briefly.
“We’d close it. Waste of money.”
“Exacly,” Jek, the biggest one, said. He pointed a stick of slyth at him as he took
out his lighter. “Money that could be
coming to you.” He clicked it a
few times unsuccessfully.
“I’m sorry?”
“Sector 12 is heavily invested in the prisons, including the
governor himself,” the boss explained.
“Then we invest elsewhere, and give the governor a heads
up. He can divest before we close them.”
There was laughter around the table, “Where you think your
pretty pension comes from?” Or money
for those potholes. We invest in
prisons. We send people to those
prisons. Those prisons make money, and
that gets us paid. It gets us all
paid.”
“Hey boss?” Said one that Elan didn’t recognize, “What
happens if we don’t get paid?”
“I don’t know,” the boss said innocently. “I suppose we find out who got in the way,
and sort them out.”
“We sort them out.” The others said together.
“We sort them out.”
The boss said, as if that explained anything.
Elan gulped. “So what
do we do? I mean, how can I help?”
A silence came over the room, interrupted only by the light
flutter of cards or clank of credits.
“Can we make new laws?”
Elan finally said.
“Too slow,” Said the boss.
“We need to fill those prisons now.”
“How do we do that?
It’s not like we can make people commit crimes..”
“Not exactly.” The
furless Gran stood up and stretched his back, though one of his eyestalks remained
on Elan. “But sometimes we stage a
prison break. Repopulate the streets, so
to speak.”
“Speaking of which,” the boss said, “We found something
interesting. The records from your,
ahem, heroics. We recovered those
files. Very interesting where we found
your name, Elan.”
Elan froze as Jek put down his slyth and lighter and stood
up. Everyone was staring at him now, and
Jek cracked his neck menacingly.
“Don’t worry about it.”
The boss laughed, leaning over and grabbing Elan by the shoulder. The others smiled and Jek sat down and
returned to his lighter. “We’ll keep
good care of this information for you, huh?”
He leaned back in his chair, “I mean, provided you help us out, yeah?”
Elan’s fear quickly changed to desperation. He had briefly seen his comfortable life torn
away from him, and he knew he’d do anything to protect it. He over all his old schemes in his mind,
hoping for some inspiration.
“Any ideas, famous guy?”
The well-manicured one Gran squawked firmly.
“I remember when I was younger, our local town people come to
talk to us about the dangers of slyth.
How it changed your perceptions, how it made you smell colors and see
music. And how it was so, so
dangerous. Of course, it always made us
kids more interested.”
The boss nodded his head, “I like it, I like it.”
“When I was a slythdealer, we used to hang out around the
schools whenever these talks were going on.
Easy customers.”
The boss was still nodding his head. “We let the crooks cash in on some of the
kids, and as word spreads more will come.
Then we grab them all. Fill our
prisons and protect the schools.
A win-win. Hey, famous guy, not
bad! Not bad at all.”
Everyone around the room agreed as Jek finally got his
lighter to work.
“We’ll need some kind of motto for this school talk,” said
the boss. “Kids won’t care, but parents
love a good motto. Any ideas?”
The big one lit his slyth and the scent wafted over to Elan. He recognized the death sticks immeditately. Elan’s mind was flooded with memories. A dingy bar, a robed man, and the words that
changed everything.
“I know just the thing to say,” he said.
***
General Obi-Wan Kenobi sat in Dex’s diner, drinking a cup of
spiced milk. The stress of his new title
lay heavily upon him. The Senate had
granted the Jedi new military titles. It
had been a long debate, but the Senate was rightfully worried about who
controlled this new army of clones. With
more systems abandoning the Republic every month, giving the politicians
control seemed a recipe for disaster.
Many suggested the chancellor take control, but Palpatine
refused. This only seemed to make the
Senate want him to take control more.
Who better than someone who wasn’t interested? But after three refusals, they finally stopped
trying.
The decision to give the army to the Jedi was not out of any
righteous thinking, but because the Jedi weren’t present in the Senate to argue
against it. They were keepers of the
peace, not soldiers, as Master Windu once protested. But the Senate didn’t need the Jedi to be
soldiers. They needed them to be
leaders.
“Indeed,” Chancellor Palpatine had said when he announced
the decision, “in these troubled times, how we lead our armies is the best way
we can keep the peace.” Somehow the war
needed to be fought in a way that defeated the separatists but also brought them
back into the fold. “A balance was
needed, and isn’t balance the focus of many of the teachings of the Jedi? Or maybe I misunderstand the Force.”
Still, General Kenobi was troubled. He didn’t really like dealing with the
public, much less running a war. While
initially attracted to Jedi life by the knowledge and the wisdom, in recent
years he had also learned to appreciate the solitude. Still, duty called, and wisdom insisted he
put his own desires aside.
He threw back the rest of his spiced milk. The taste lingered on his tongue as he left a
few credits on the table. He said good
bye to his friend and went outside into the night.
High above him he saw one of Coruscant’s many brightly lit
billboards. His eyes fell on one with a
face that felt familiar, even if he didn’t quite recognize it.
The billboard had various symbols for slyth all X’d out
underneath the face. Above it said “Hey
kids, remember what Mayor Sleazebaggano says.”
In a little speech bubble it said, “Don’t do slyth. Go home and rethink your life.” All at once, it came back to him, and Obi-Wan
felt a smile come across his face.
In the grand scheme it was a small thing, but he’d gone from slythmonger to a crime busting mayor in a matter of months. The Force sure works in mysterious ways, he thought. Being a General meant nothing to him, but he took much comfort from knowing how much he’d changed this one life. Bouyed by this good news, he decided to walk home rather than call an airpspeeder.
Copyright ©️ 2020 Maslow Stories
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I consider this story still a draft. I edit it occasionally. If you have any feedback for me, I'd love to hear it! Email me at armaslow@gmail.com. Please put "Star Wars Stories" in the subject line. Thank you!
