Scribblings: At Loose Ends
A prelude to a voyage on the Halcyon starcruiser
When I’m developing a character, often, I need to write my way through it. Sometimes I do 10x100s (an old fanficcer’s habit from the LJ days), sometimes just bits and pieces of dialogue and important moments, and sometimes, full-on short-stories. So, with my trip to the Halcyon starcruiser drawing ever nearer, I spent some time inside the mind of Annazena Marid, purely for my own amusement. This story is the prelude to her Halcyon adventure — the inciting incident that gets her onto the vessel.
I had a lot of fun figuring out exactly what gets her there and what state of mind she’s in. As some readers will know, Anna is the daughter of Artizar Marid, aka Lady Zara, an Edge of the Empire RPG character that I played for quite a long time, and she hails from the Tapani Sector, a region of space from the Legends-era RPGs that I long ago fell madly in love with. Figuring out what the Tapani Sector is like 35 years on from my old game and how it’s affected by the rise of the First Order… yeah, that was some fun worldbuilding juice! So this story explores that, the difficult position Anna finds herself in, and her goals as she boards the Halcyon. You’ll also meet her traveling companion, a scoundrel-type named Brema St’swe (also known as my gentleman and co-adventurer, Noah).
Enjoy!
At Loose Ends
8011.813.14
“...and so the Senator says, ‘but, Your Eminence, that’s not a tooka!’’”
Annazena Marid had not been paying attention to the conversation, but her subconscious recognized that the Tholothian beside her had said something joke-shaped, and the rest of her reacted accordingly without so much as a breath of delay. She laughed merrily along with everyone else in their little group, despite suspecting that whatever he’d said couldn’t possibly have been witty enough to merit the fulsome response.
Still, she touched his shoulder briefly, giving it the faintest squeeze. “Oh, really, Udooni, you’re too much,” she tittered, while threading a lock of her blonde hair through her fingers and giving it a twirl that one might, if one were inclined, interpret as coquettish.
Udooni was, alas, so inclined, and he preened under the attention.
‘Stars and shimmer,’ Anna thought, even as she canted her body at a flirtatious angle, ‘it’s a good thing we get to Chandrila soon.’
She didn’t even want Udooni’s attention, but nor did she want his suspicion if she suddenly turned cold. She’d only been cultivating him in the hopes that one of his traveling companions, a comparatively dour Mirialan, might drop some information useful to her. The endeavor had been a partial success, though all the Mirialan had done was confirm what she already knew. Yes, the First Order had seized Thyferra; yes, that cemented their control of most of the Rimma Trade Route; no, no one sane would be trying to get an unsanctioned vessel through that part of space right now.
Two days, it had taken her, to get that information without looking like she was fishing for it -- and hoping for better news. Two days, to slip enough substance into the frivolity of her conversation that it drew out the answers she needed. Unfortunately, that left her with four further days of voyaging aboard the Flare-Dorin as it lazed its way down the Perlemian Trade Route.
With a few hours to go before disembarkation, Anna simply could not take anymore. After a couple of minutes passed, she made a show of wincing, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
“Lady Annazena? Are you well?” Udooni asked, bending toward her.
“I’m starting to get a headache, I’m afraid,” she said, forcing a tone of in terrible pain but bravely carrying it off into her voice. Careful calculation there: just enough waver, just enough breathiness.
“Oh no!” one of the other human women in their group sighed in sympathy. “You poor dear.”
Anna waved a hand, affecting airiness. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just the wine, I think. The Andoan stuff always goes straight to my head.” She gave them all a bright smile, but crinkled her eyes. “It makes everything seem so bright and loud. I think I’d best go lie down for a bit before we reach Chandrila.”
The group cooed their well-wishes as she extracted herself from their party, then resumed their conversation.
Anna’s face did not fall as she turned away. She was too careful for that. You never knew who was watching, never knew what droid might be subtly capturing scans. She had to keep looking like what she was supposed to be: a cultural attaché from the Tapani Sector, buoyant and bonny, who didn’t at all mind that the First Order had blockaded every hyperspace lane between her and home.
Once back in the sanctum of her stateroom, Anna set about packing her trunk and planning her next move. Chandrila hadn’t been the New Republic capital for some years now, but Anna still had many friends and connections there. ‘But who is it safe to sound out?’ No doubt many of them were being watched. Others might be as well-insulated from useful information as she herself had been, as had been the case with so many of the contacts she’d made lately.
No matter her company, she never let on how hard things had been since the destruction of Hosnian Prime, since the lockdown of Tapani. No matter how many parties she went to, how many acquaintances she laughed and drank with, Annazena had never felt more alone in her life. Adrift, really, a tiny speck in the endless sea of stars.
The past few months had been an education in humility, if not outright humiliation.
All her adult life, Annazena had blithely traveled the galaxy, representing Tapani’s interests, secure in her position. A treasured daughter of House Cadriaan, born in the sudden flush of fecundity that followed the collapse of the Galactic Empire. The finest education, learning politics and social graces at her mother’s knee. Then, a diplomat in her own right, mixing easily with the glitterati wherever her work took her, from the ceaseless vibrancy of Coruscant to the dazzling subterranean cities of Sullust to the peaceful villas of Naboo.
And then, the Cataclysm.
Annazena had never thought of herself as particularly devout, but when news of the destruction of the Hosnian System reached the starcruiser she’d been traveling on, she fell to her knees and whispered prayers to every deity she could think of. Nor was she alone. The cruiser had, after all, departed Hosnian Prime just eight hours earlier.
Horrible conceit, she knew, to be thanking the gods for her own life when so many had perished, but an impulse she had not been able to check.
Everything that followed happened so horribly quickly. The First Order had been ready, must have been planning this for months, maybe years. Within moments, it seemed, of the Cataclysm, they descended upon so many planets and transit lanes. By the time the starcruiser made an emergency stop at Bestine IV, the Order had already blockaded the Shapani Bypass -- the only hyperspace lane connecting the Tapani Sector to the rest of the galaxy -- no doubt so they could seize the Fondor Shipyards. They were jamming transmissions in and out of the sector, too. Annazena hadn’t been able to reach her family.
Anna knew no amount of waving her diplomatic credentials in front of First Order noses would help. They were, after all, Republic credentials.
So for months, she had bounced around the galaxy wherever she could, finding passage on all sorts of vessels, from fancy cruiseliners down to humble freighters. She paid her way in where she had to and conned her way in where she could, well aware that with both Republic and Tapani resources cut off, there would, eventually, come an end to her flow of credits.
When she managed to find friends, they were quick to offer sympathy for her plight -- but few could offer her more than that. Some were at ends quite as loose as her own; others might have helped, if they could, but had no way to do so.
And everywhere she turned, the First Order lurked. It was almost impressive, really, how quickly their dominance had taken hold, a flash-freeze over the entire galaxy. Like snitmice in a predator’s gaze, system after system had been immobilized with fear and shock. ‘We were too comfortable. We thought ourselves too safe. We didn’t think the Empire could happen again. We didn’t imagine…’
Annazena shook herself, golden jewelry rattling. ‘Don’t be maudlin. You are Annazena Marid, and whatever those bastards are doing to the galaxy, you will survive this.’
Her mother had. At about the same age, Artizar Marid had spent several years in unofficial exile. ‘I suppose it’s becoming a family tradition.’
Lady Zara, though, had at least done something to deserve her banishment. House Mecetti had set bounty hunters after her when she played a not-insignificant role in the rapid unscheduled disassembly of one of their orbital stations. They had been using the station to aid the Empire in some scheme -- and Zara’s exile had driven her, eventually, into the arms of the Rebellion.
‘I’d be willing to see if my way home lay through the Resistance, if I knew where to find them. If any of them are left.’
The cruiser came out of hyperspace at Chandrila, and Annazena was swift in claiming space on a shuttle down to the surface. She was dressed much more simply than during most of the voyage, hoping to evade the notice of any of her erstwhile companions, foregoing dazzling jewels and sumptuous gowns in favor of a plain dress and a hooded wrap, in the deep red and warm brown of House Cadriaan. The only real flourish was the border of the wrap: elaborately scrolled motifs in gilt paint. ‘A touch of home, at least.’
This planet reminded her of home, in some ways. Beauty, luxury, grace -- but with underlying tensions, part of its people still hidebound to ancient traditions, part racing full-speed into innovation and societal change. The Tapani Sector wrestled with the same considerations: how do we preserve what’s worthwhile about our past, while building a future that benefits all our people, not just a few?
Hanna City was quieter than she remembered -- or maybe that was only Anna’s imagination, her apprehension about the looming shadow of the First Order. They had a presence here, to be certain, though not such an unsubtle one as she’d seen on other planets since the Cataclysm. No giant banners draped over civic buildings, no Star Destroyers hovering threateningly over major population centers. But they were here -- stormtroopers roving the streets, dark-suited officers at checkpoints.
Annazena presented her scan doc to one of them with an air of hauteur so restrained, she might’ve been mistaken for a Chandrilan. ‘Play the role to the hilt, as Mother would say. One must commit.’ And Annazena wanted to give no First Order officer reason to think twice about her. They needed to see only a vaguely bored traveler, utterly unconcerned with them, so disaffected that it hardly mattered to her who ruled the galaxy.
All the while, her blood boiled with rage; all the while, her heart skittered, fretful that the scan of her cards would trip some alarm.
But this officer’s expression was as unchanging as her own, and he waved her through.
‘A good sign,’ she told herself as she tucked her scan doc back in her hip belt. ‘If your name raises no klaxons, then perhaps he has no reason to know Mother’s…’
Hardly had she gotten out of the docking bay when her datapad chimed, alerting her to a new message. When she saw who it was from, a smile -- a real smile, the first in what felt like ages -- lit up her face.
He wasted no time with salutations or meaningless pleasantries, but got straight to the matter.
--Heard from a mutual friend that you were due on the Flare-Dorin. If you fancy a catch-up, I’ll be at that place on Junari Point tonight. No need to dress.--
At that, a bark of laughter escaped Anna. She knew what he meant, of course -- the bar on Junari Point was comfortable, not a dive but not fancy -- but in her prior experiences with Brema St’swe, there often was, indeed, no need whatsoever to dress.
Junari Point jutted out from the rest of Hanna City, extending into the Silver Sea. Far below, the waves crashed against the cliffside, each crest glimmering in the starlight, only to disappear back into the darkness of the night. If Annazena closed her eyes, the soothing sound, so repetitive, so eternal, could almost convince her that all was right in the galaxy.
She found Brema at the back of the bar, in a low-seated booth that carved a half-circle niche into the wall. A human male, with skin so pale that Anna worried about him any time they strolled along the Silver Sea or lounged in the Arradeen Gardens. He was bald by choice, with a gingery, close-cut beard faintly tinged with gray. A handsome rogue, lean and tall, his clothing a perfect balance of practicality and flash.
When she approached, he was staring at his datapad with a focused frown. Unknotting some problem, Anna knew, or analyzing the ROI of a plan, assessing his next move.
As soon as he caught sight of her, though, his posture shifted, loosening. Anna’s heart sped up, warming her chest, as it always did whenever their paths managed to cross.
“There’s the belle of the sector,” Brema said as he set down his datapad and unfolded from his seat. Another paramour might have sketched a bow or kissed her hand, but instead, he grasped her lightly by the arms and pulled her in to drop a kiss onto her cheek. Brema had never been awed by her station, nor even paid it much mind, except to chaff her on occasion. It was one of the reasons she liked him -- one of the reasons she trusted him.
“Only of one sector, Bree-darling?” Anna teased. “Don’t tell me I’m losing my touch.”
“One at a time, maybe,” he countered, “but wherever you travel, you outshine the stars.”
“Flatterer,” she said, not displeased. “I didn’t expect to find you in the Core. Business or pleasure?”
“Both, now.” One of his hands drifted up, brushing at a lock of hair that had fallen out of her coronet braid. Then he looked over her shoulder, catching the attention of the bartending droid. “Another whiskey for me, Ceenine, and--”
“A glass of Kireen smoke-gold,” Annazena filled in.
“--for the lady.” The droid chirped an affirmative response, various arms whirling.
Brema took her hand to help her settle down in the low-slung booth, and he did not release it once they were both seated. Annazena allowed herself to cherish this moment, brief and still and calm, just enjoying being with him, feeling his warmth beside her, his thumb running idly across her fingers. As hectic and bereft of comfort as her life had been for months, she appreciated it all the more.
When their drinks arrived, they clinked glasses, silently toasting their reunion. The smoke-gold wine was bone dry with heavy minerality, testament to the grape’s origins in the volcanic soils of Kireen’s southern mountain range. ‘No matter how dire life gets,’ Annazena thought, ‘at least there’s still pleasure to be found in a good vintage.’
Brema set his glass down, angling to face her more directly. “So, what brings you to Chandrila, beauty?”
A glib answer was ready on her tongue. But however debonair his manner, Brema’s eyes were serious, and kind, making Anna remember why he was one of her favorite people in the galaxy. Oh, he would tease her and match wits with her, when that was the mood, but he could always sense when something was amiss. He read past her artful flourishes and carefully constructed manners. He saw her, in a way few people outside her family ever did. She felt safe with him, as though he was a place where she could lay aside some of her burdens, at least for a moment, and just be.
And so -- after flicking a glance at her datapad, which scanned for any eavesdropping bugs in their immediate vicinity -- Annazena let the whole story, the whole wretched tale of the months since the Cataclysm, spill out.
“And that’s not even the worst of it,” she said, once she’d told of her last, fruitless attempt at gaining information aboard the Flare-Dorin. She leaned closer, yet still took care not to whisper. A whisper attracted so much more attention than a low conversation. “I’ve heard rumors -- important people are disappearing, all over the galaxy. Senators who weren’t on Hosnian Prime. Former military leaders from the Rebellion and Republic. Prominent citizens known to be agitants. And I--”
She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to give voice to her worst fear.
She didn’t have to. Brema knew her too well. “You’re worried about your mother.” He settled back in his seat a bit. “Well, if anyone’s an agitant, it’s Lady Zara.” Brema knew all about Anna’s mother, whose exploits had long made her a subject of thrilling holovids, both documentary and fictional. Her reputation was strongest within the Tapani Sector, but by no means contained there.
“The rumors… no one seems to know what’s happening to the people who are disappearing. If they’re dead, or being dropped in some black site, or… or some other fate so horrible it staggers even my imagination. And since no transmissions are getting in or out of the Sector--”
Brema nodded his understanding. “You’ve no way to confirm her safety.”
“I’ve been looking for months,” Anna sighed. “Trying to find out more about these disappearances, trying to find a way back to Achillea. And I swear, Bree, I swear, I think I’m a few days away from hijacking the sturdiest-looking freighter I can find and making a mad dash for it.”
Brema shook his head. “You don’t want to run the blockade.” Somehow, his smile could be affectionate and mocking at the same time. “As I recall, your piloting skills are… suboptimal.”
Anna wanted to bristle, but he was right. “I’ll hire someone, then. Someone talented but either arrogant or crazy enough to do it. Some maniac Corellian with something to prove.”
“And get blasted out of the sky for your trouble?”
“I need to get home.” How could he not understand? “I need to be in my place, with my people. And I need to know my mother--” Her voice hitched. She paused, breathed deep, swallowed, tried again. Each word came out clipped and precise. “I need to know that my mother is still just where she should be, terrorizing the rest of the Council and plotting revenge on the bastards who are strangling our sector, and that she hasn’t vanished into some First Order oubliette.”
“From all I know about Lady Zara,” Brema drawled, swirling the red-gold whiskey in his glass, the octahedronal cube knocking against the edge, “they’d have their hands more than full just getting her into custody, let alone keeping her there.”
“All the same.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “All the same. But you weren’t listening, Anna. I didn’t say you don’t want to get home. I said you don’t want to run the blockade.”
She released an aggravated hiss. “And thus the crux of my conflict, as I’ve been attempting to explain. The First Order has utterly choked the Bypass, and they’re denying all requests for permission to pass through.”
“There are ways into the Tapani Sector besides the Bypass.”
Anna’s brow creased. “There’s-- No.” The Shapani Bypass was a shortcut along the Rimma Trade Route, and it had made the entire sector’s fortunes. Her House, more than any, for Achillea and several other worlds held by House Cadriaan ran right along the coreside half of the route, before it trailed along the edge of the Freeworlds. Minor routes spiked off of it, deeper into the Sector, but there was no other--
Minor routes.
Was that what Brema--?
“Bree-darling, you can’t be thinking--”
“Your Sector was settled long before anyone charted Rimma or Shapani.” He splayed his hands out, palms-up, just above the table, a slowly expanding gesture. “Folk got there somehow.”
“Thousands of years ago. Those routes haven’t been used by anyone since--since I don’t even know when. If they still exist at all, they’d be unstable. No beacons, for sure, no guidepoints. Apart from the tiny little matter of no one knowing where they even are.”
“Oh, someone knows. Even if they don’t know they know. Someone’s got the old maps, or pieces of them. Find enough pieces, link ‘em up, and you’ve got yourself a way home.”
Annazena blinked several times, trying to process Bree’s ludicrous proposal. Utter insanity! To try to find long-forgotten hyperspace lanes, small and short and jagged, maybe not even connected to each other…. “Bree… So many things could go wrong. Even if I did, somehow, manage to find some maps… if they’re inaccurate, if two thousand years’ worth of astronomical drift have changed the lanes, I could end up lost in the middle of empty space. And that’s if I’m lucky. I could also end up in the middle of a supernova or a black hole or, or--”
“All problems that can be controlled for. We’ll figure that out once we’ve got some maps to work with.”
Anna sat up straighter. “Wait-- We?”
He covered his hand with hers, giving her fingers a squeeze. “You didn’t think I’d let you take on something this wild on your own, did you?”
Something trembled inside Anna’s core, and she wasn’t entirely sure she cared for the sensation. In her travels, she’d been offered consolation, advice, warnings -- but no one yet had actually offered to stand beside her. “Bree…”
Brema leaned in and kissed her softly. “We’ll get you home, beauty.” Then he grinned, a hint of impishness lighting in his pale eyes. “And to be the man who cuts a new path into the Tapani Sector… well, that’d be a reputation worth having.”
Annazena snorted softly. The desire to help her and the desire for personal gain were not mutually exclusive. She took no offense at that. To the contrary, it would assuage her own sense of guilt and obligation. “Just as long as you don’t sell the secrets to House Mecetti. Anyone but them.” And then, reality crashed back in, reminding her of the enormity of the task ahead of them. “Assuming we find any secrets to sell, of course.”
“As to that,” Brema said, his manner becoming more businesslike again, “I’ve an idea of where we can start. Happens I’ve got some business on Batuu.”
“Batuu?”
“Black Spire Outpost, to be specific.”
Anna scrunched her brow, trying to recall details of the far-flung planet. “Doesn’t Batuu have three suns? You’ll fry like a jaquira fritter. Like that time on Trivala--”
“Don’t remind me.” Brema grimaced with the memory of scorched skin. “Point is, I’ve got passage booked to get there. The outpost… well, being on the edge of Wild Space, it attracts all sorts, and could be we’ll run into some folk who might know where to start looking for the kind of maps we’ll need.”
Hope -- a thin, frail, shimmering thread of hope -- began to warm inside Anna’s chest. “What sort of passage?”
Brema’s mouth tugged up in a playful smirk. “Oh, you’ll like it. Can’t have the Lady Annazena Marid knocking about in the back of some bacta-hauling freighter.” Anna snorted, since she’d done precisely that more than once since the Cataclysm. “No, she’s a Corellian MPO-1400. Jewel of the Chandrila Star Line, or so all their adverts assure me. Called the Halcyon.”
She knew the ship by reputation, though she’d never journeyed on it herself. Anna’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing a scheme. “And what are you doing traveling aboard such a rarefied vessel? Surely there are other ways -- faster ways -- to get to Batuu.”
Affecting an expression of offended dignity, Brema held a hand to his chest. “Are you implying I’m too rough a character for such finery? Can’t a gentleman of means -- however those means might’ve been come by -- luxuriate aboard a fine cruiser without incurring scurrilous speculation?”
Undaunted, Anna tilted her head to one side, giving him a pointed look. “I’m implying you choose your transports carefully and with good cause. Why this one?”
Brema dropped the act. “Rumor has it there’s a decent sabacc tournament onboard. And on this particular voyage, Gaya will be performing, which seemed too good a chance to pass up.”
“The Gaya?”
“Well, I don’t think the CSL would take kindly to an imposter.”
“No, I meant--” Annazena turned it over in her mind. Chandrila Star Line prided itself on luxury experiences with an air of intimacy, which usually meant a small number of passengers, no more than a few hundred. “It’s a curious choice for a star of her caliber. She’s played to crowds of millions.”
Brema shrugged. “Maybe she chooses her transports ‘carefully and with good cause,’ too. I expect she has her own reasons for going to Batuu and for taking the Halcyon there. Who can say?”
The consideration reminded Anna of something her mother once told her. ‘Everyone in this galaxy is the hero of their own story, for better or for worse. Which means any life can be epic, if you’re willing to seize opportunities to make it so.’
Thinking of her mother put a twinge inside Anna’s ribs. Brema’s idea might be ludicrous -- but it was an idea, which was better than continuing to flap about aimlessly, just hoping to stumble into a bit of good news. It gave her a direction to move, something to do.
And now that she had it, she found herself itching to get started. “When does the Halcyon depart?”
“Just a few days.”
Anna felt herself smiling. “What serendipity that I arrived when I did.”
“Stars aligning.” Brema rose and put out a hand towards her. “Now, I’m sure you’ve arranged lodgings in Hanna City suitable for your exalted station.” She slipped her fingers into his, allowing him to help her up from the low couch. “Mine are like to be far more modest -- but they’ve got a hell of a view.” He drew her close, a hand at the small of her back. “Perhaps you’d like to come see?”
“How could I resist such a generous invitation?” she purred, tracing the shell of his ear with one finger. At least she’d have a pleasant way of passing the time until they could get started on their adventure. “I do adore you, you know.”
Again, that cavalier grin. “I do know. Fortunately for us both, the feeling is most mutual.”
Brema paid their tab, and they strolled out into the too-quiet night, Annazena’s hand tucked into Brema’s elbow. Below, the waves continued echoing their eternal refrain.
***
Lady Annazena Marid and Brema St’swe will be traveling on the August 25-27 journey of the Chandrila Starlines Halcyon Starcruiser.
An honor to be by your side, my lady.
Though I did find better whiskey on Batuu. ;)