Stardome/Pasta

this is the sound of pasta hitting the wall
== Episode I ==
=== Tatooine, meeting the Strikers ===
[Luna, Angi, and W31 have trudged from the damaged ship to the spaceport and stopped for a moment.]
.
They pause a moment in a puddle of shade thrown by a roof higher than the rest.
""This way, I believe, ma'am,"" prompts W31.
Pentecost gives the avatar a long look.
""While you were preparing yourself for the journey, I searched the regional network for vendors. The most likely to have what we need is in this direction.""
Pentecost inclines her head.
W31 flows into the sunlight—
Pentcost indicates Angi should go next, takes up rearguard.
—then into an almost-shady alley, stops at a door in the only stretch of the lane /not littered with rusting metal. 
""I will wait here.""
Pentecost nods, steps inside, Angi following close behind.
Dim light, dust, the smell of lubricants and metal polishing compounds, gleaming and grimy metal, and a red-haired boy straightening shelves who startles when Pentecost clears her throat.
"Uh, hi?" he squeaks. "Can I help you find something?"
"We're looking for a T-14 hyperdrive generator."
The boy wrinkles his forehead. "I /think we have one of those." Twists, hollers deeper into the shop, "Scott!"
""Yea?""
"We have a T-14 HD generator?"
Another redhead, a bit older than Angi, emerges from a back room wiping his hands on a rag. "Yea, but if they want it, they'll have to talk to Her." He smiles, sheepish, at Pentecost. "We're not authorized to make deals that big." Shrugs skinny shoulders.
"Please bring your supervisor; I'd like to discuss business."
"Wait right there, please." Scott-apparently disappears the way he came.
Pentecost stands at ease in a position from which she can see all the doors.
"What's your name?" asks the boy.
Crouching to his level, she says, "Angi. What's yours?"
"Herc." He scuffs a foot, shifts. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Why do you think that?"
"You're too pretty to be from here." His eyes grow enormous and he flushes such a bright pink his freckles disappear. "I'm sorry, I'm not—"
"It's alright! That's very sweet of you to say. You're pretty cute yourself."
He turns even pinker. "Really?"
Angi smiles.
A warm, feminine voice announces, "My young man tells me you're interested in one of my hyperdrive generators."
Angi straightens, faces the speaker, a blond woman with sharp eyes and a confident twist to her lips.
Pentecost drawls, "I may be in the market for one, Miz ...."
"/You may call me Nate," she purrs. "A T-14's a rather pricey bit of kit, as I'm sure you are aware."
"It's come to my attention."
Nate smiles, sharklike, and leans against a shelving unit, arms behind her back and ankles crossed. "Before we start tossing numbers about, how do you intend to make payment?"
"I have twenty-thousand Republic dekterions."
"Credits? Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, but those are no good out here on the fringes. We deal only in hard currency—metals, EM, similarly real things."
"I understand, but, this time, credits will do fine." Pentecost sweeps her arm.
"I'm sorry, but I simply /can't accept them."
"Credit /will do fine." Sweeps again.
"Sweetheart, that particular trick stopped working on me before I toddled out of my nursery. You'll have to try something else."
"Perhaps we'll try another shop." Pentecost turns with a "Let's go".
""You're welcome to try, but we're the only ones in town with that particular generator on hand,"" sings Nate as they stride back into sunlight that's now hazy with ... dust?
Pentecost checks the sky.
""There is a sandstorm inbound. We should seek shelter immediately,"" informs W31.
All along the alley doors and windows close.
"Suggestions on a refuge?"
""You could come back to our place?"" volunteers Scott, sidling up. "It's pretty close."
"Probably closer than your ship," adds Herc.
"We /are on the outskirts," points out Angi.
Pentecost sighs, "Lead the way, young men."
Scott bows gallantly, Herc beams, Angi smiles back, and they set out.
As the streets narrow and the buildings huddle closer together, the storm closes down, sand stinging exposed skin and reducing their march into a plod.
"It's this one." Scott thumps a command panel with his palm—
The door judders aside.
—mumbles, "Bloody thing's on the blink again."
"I'll fix it later," offers Herc and he darts inside, yells, "Mum! We're home!"
Scott shoos Angi, Pentecost, and W31 inside, adds "With guests!", then peels off down a narrow hallway.
Angi watches him—
"Welcome," greets a woman with a crown of brilliant red hair. "Herc, where did you find this lot?"
"At Nate's. Their ship's too far away for them to get back before the storm." To Angi, "Wanna go meet Nessa? She's helping me build my racer." He offers his hand.
Angi accepts and Herc tows her the direction Scott'd gone, W31 following at a discreet distance.
.
[W31 meets TY-PH00N; they wander off to do droid things?]
.
A door at the end of the hall glows with a warm light.
"This's Scott's room."
The 'room' is little more than a cubby and a crowded one at that.
"Hi, Nessa!"
"'ey, Freckles," greets the very pregnant young woman seated on a footlocker. "Who's your friend?"
"This's Angi. We met her and her friends in town. They needed a place to wait out the storm." 
Scott, on the bed behind Nessa, pauses from rubbing her shoulders. "Good to finally have your name, Angi. Pull up a stool and make yourself comfy."
Angi smiles, bobs an acknowledgement.
Herc pushes a rickety little seat behind her, then squeaks past and clambers up beside Scott.
Angi sits, knees together, hands in her lap.
Nessa closes her eyes, leans into Scott's hands, and hums.
He smiles, eyes dreamy, resumes his massage.
Angi picks at a loose thread in her tunic.
Herc breaks the quiet: "You look like you're thinking. What're you thinking?"
Angi makes herself look up. "I was wondering if all of you've lived on Tatooine your whole lives?"
Nessa and Scott go still and silence settles in again.
Angi shifts.
"Herc and Nessa have, but my mum and I were brought here when I was small."
"You make it sound like it wasn't a choice."
"It wasn't." Scott's jaw tenses and he bites out, "We were /sold here."
"Sold? I don't—"
"We're slaves," explains Herc.
"/Slaves?" [somewhere between squeak and snarl]s Angi. "But the anti-slavery laws—"
Scott scoffs, "Those're Republic laws, ay? Republic doesn't exit here."
"This's Hutt territory and the Republic won't touch it," explains Nessa.
"The Hutts are /gangsters," puts in Herc. "[xxx] the Hutt's the one who bought Mum and Scott, then she lost them in a card game to Nate." (1)
"That's ...." Angi straightens her spine. "Why don't you run /away?"
Scott flinches.
"What's—"
"It's not that simple," says Nessa. "First, run where? It's not like you can live off the land without a mountain of gear. Second, we all have control nodes inside us. Get too far from where we supposed to be—"
"Or piss off your owner enough—"
"You blow up," finishes Herc.
"That /has to be an exaggeration."
"'s'not. I saw it happen," murmurs Scott. "There wasn't enough of him left to fill a cracker box." (2)
Angi's stomach lurches; she forces it back into place.
"I've been trying to make a scanner to find ours?" Herc offers. "It's not working yet, but it will."
Scott ruffles Herc's hair. "We know it will, kid."
"'especially if Nessa keeps helping."
"We'd better get serious about it, then." She pats her stomach. "I'm going to be busy again soon."
The line of Scott's shoulders goes tight.
"You must be getting close."
"Any day now."
Angi swallows, braces. "What ... what happens after they're born?"
"I go back to my owner's compound and Scott's owner's already already paid for the sprout, so she'll take them."
"They might let you nurse ...," Scott whispers.
"I don't think Nate can afford me much longer, sweetheart."
Scott looks away, biting his lip.
.
(1) I'm not sure what fate you have in mind for Donovan, but I ran with an idea that Tess and Scott don't talk about him much in front of Herc, so he tends to forget Donovan ever existed.
(2) Not sure if Scott's talking about a family escape attempt that ended with Donovan's death or if he and a friend tried it once with tragic results for the friend.
.
=== Tatooine -- Pod race aftermath ===
[Luna, back at Nate's shop, attempts to trade Herc's winning pod for both his freedom and Scott's]
.
"No pod, not even a championship-class one, is worth as much as two lives." Nate smiles her shark's smile. "Care to make another wager?"
Pentecost raises an eyebrow.
Nate holds up a chance cube. "Blue for little Hercules, red for Scott?"
"Throw," says Pentecost.
Nate presses the cube to her lips—"A kiss for luck"—sends it bouncing across the worktable.
Pentecost follows its motion with her hand.
"Blue," breathes Herc. He blinks rapidly, looks to Scott.
Who grins back, lifts him off his feet in a hug. 
"Go pack your things, Herc," prompts Pentecost.
"Scott, help your brother," says Nate.
"Yes, ma'am," the brothers chorus as Scott sets Herc down, then the two of them turn and sprint from the room.
Angi watches them go, heart fluttering at the base of her throat.
"For the record," says a smiling Nate to Pentecost, "the die wasn't loaded."
"I know."
Nate twinkles at her. "As long as we're clear on that point, [Master Jedi/Ranger]. I'd hate it if my reputation for honesty was tarnished."
"It remains intact, Miss Nate."
"Thank you, honey. May your new boy serve you well."
.
=== Tatooine -- Kirra's birth, escape, and the aftermath ===
[Kirra's a few minutes old]
"'ey there, Sprout." Scott offers a finger to his daughter's tiny hand—
Minuscule fingers tighten.
—and wipes his eyes on his shoulder. "Thank the stars you look like your mum."
Nessa snorts. "It wouldn't be /too bad if she has your freckles."
"As long as her skin doesn't burn fast as mine."
"She won't have to worry about that on Naboo."
Scott takes a deep, shaky breath. "Right. She won't."
[family bonding happens for a bit]
"Wish me luck."
"You won't need it."
Scott ducks his head. "Do it anyway, please."
"Good luck."
[Scott takes Kirra from Nessa, stashes her in his room while Herc preps to leave]
"Did you get your favourite blanket?"
"I didn't think—well, there wasn't room—" Herc's eyes fall to the floor.
"I'll make it work," promises Scott, gesturing for Herc's bag.
"Thanks," he mumbles, handing it over.
Scott saunters from the main room to her hiding place.
He scoops up the tiny bundle, cradles it to his chest.
Sprout yawns.
"That's right, you keep sleeping. It'll make this next bit easier for everybody." He kisses her silky black curls, tucks her into Herc's duffel, draws the strings partly closed. "Good luck, sweetheart."
[Scott returns the bag]
Scott crouches to Herc level, puts his hands on his shoulders. "Don't you /ever come back here, no matter what, ay?"
Herc, eyes shiny, nods.
"Promise me you won't." Presses his forehead to Herc's.
"I-I won't."
"Good. Now get lost." Spins him around, shoves him gently toward the Rangers.
"We'll take good care of him."
"You'd better."
[Herc and co. leave]
Tess wipes her eyes with her apron, looks around the courtyard.
Scott readies—
"Where's Nessa?"
"I got so—I'll go find her!" Scott sprints off toward Nessa's rooms, pads quietly up to her bed.
"You did it?"
"I did it. She's in Herc's bag, the bag's on the ship, and the ship's gone."
Nessa smiles, closes her eyes. "We did it. We won."
"/You won, Nessa." Kisses her forehead. "Sprout's free because of you."
She squeezes his hand. "Couldn't have done it without you."
[quiet moment]
"You should start the show."
"Yea, probably," sighs Scott. "You'll be alright?"
"TY-PH00N can handle anything that comes up. Just gonna lie here and heal."
"Perfect plan, of course."
"I can't help being brilliant."
Scott grins, kisses Nessa's cheek. "Be back as soon as I can."
Nessa hums, lets her eyes drift shut.
Scott tiptoes out, pauses in the foyer to rub a little blister gel under his eyes, then plods for home, eyes on the ground and shoulders hunched.
""Scott? Is that you?""
"Yea, Mum," he calls, letting his voice break.
Mum bustles into the big room. "What's wrong?"
Scott keeps his head down, grinds his knuckles into his watering eyes, croaks, "Nessa lost the baby."
Mum drops onto a chair like her legs have failed, whispers, "What?"
"The baby's dead. Nessa's fine, but the sprout ... she didn't make it."
"[proper 'oh my god' equivalent]. What happened?"
"Nessa said it all happened too fast and the baby was blue and not breathing right and she couldn't do anything to help--" Swallows. "--and then it was too late."
Painful silence; Scott rubs his eyes again, sniffles.
"But Nessa's alright?"
"Y-yea. She's sleeping now and I promised I'd go soon as I told you ...."
"Get back to her. I'll bring over some food soon as I throw something together."
"Thanks, Mum. Nessa'll appreciate it."
She hauls herself to her feet and over to Scott, wraps him in a tight hug, murmurs, "I'm so sorry, Scott. This's /terrible."
Scott squeezes back. "But Herc got away, ay? Something good's happened?"
Wet soaks into Scott's collar.
Mum pushes him--gently--away. "Go to Nessa. I'll be there soon."
Scott nods, turns, runs out.
====Droids====
Liu suddenly attends Vanessa, Vanessa worries something's wrong with the baby, Tess attends, Tess orders Herc to get a medical droid, Liu offers assistance and after a check up says that the baby's in distress--
Then get her out. 
Miss Novoa, I'm merely--
Listen, droid, if you don't get the baby out I will do it myself. 
Liu offers local anesthetic, very carefully gets Kirra out and lays her in Vanessa's arms. 
"It's a baby," breathes Nessa. "A real, living, baby."
If I may, Miss Novoa, I believe that the disturbance you felt was the baby unable to breathe. 
That's okay. It's okay now. 
Miss Novoa, when we retrieved your infant, the cord had wrapped around her neck. 
"What ...?"
""And although you yourself are well, we were unable to revive the child.""
Nessa stares. Stares for a good, long while. 
"If you want to do something," Tess says softly, "now's the time to do it." 
"Right." Nessa wipes her eyes. "What's next?"
"Right then," Tess stands, smooths her skirts. "Scott, go get Herc's bag and tell them the baby's gone. W, get me another ration of water and more linens. Nessa, lie there and cry." >two instances of 'right' but I couldn't figure out how to replace either of them<
.
Scott wanders into the main room. 
"What happened?"
Nudges Herc's bag. "Did he remember his blanket?" Stoops and opens it. "Didn't." Picks it up and wanders--stops, says, "Baby's gone." Plods back to his room. 
.
""Please state the nature of the medical emergency.""
""Patient was pregnant with the deceased; Deceased went into distressed an emergency abdominal breach was performed. Deceased had suffered a nuchal cord and was unable to be revived. Patient was treated for the breach but will need continued care.""
""Processing."" 
They wait. 
""Please provide data on the deceased.""
""You have the data on the deceased.""
""Processing.""
They wait. 
""I was mistaken; I have the data on the deceased.""
* Liu puts everything in motion 
* Vanessa still has agency (an earlier draft had Liu making the decision), and recieves an injury which threatens her contract with Langlais
* No longer dependant on Herc packing his blanket or not 
====Aftermath====
Three evenings later, Scott's pushing food scraps into the soup pot, when the door screams 'override'.
He whirls to face onrushing Heavies wearing Nate's colours, drops the plate—
It shatters; flying shards of ceramic slice through his trousers and skin.
—goes limp as the Heavies grab him by the upper arms, drag him toward the door.
Mum flies in, shouts, "Where're you taking—"
"Mum! Leave it!"
"Scott, what have you done?!"
"The right thing, I swear, Mum."
The Heavies stuff him into a waiting speeder, always keeping their iron grips, even as they march him into Nate's office, stop him directly in front of her worktable.
Nate rests her chin on her hands, clicks her tongue in a disappointed way. "What /am I going to do with you, hmm?"
Scott keeps his head up, his spine straight, his shoulders back, says nothing.
"I don't really understand the parental impulse, but it's apparently powerful enough for an individual as intelligent as yourself to do something rather stupid—noble, but still stupid." She glides around the table, leans against its edge.
Scott remains. calm.
"My people are going to tear the entire ghetto apart looking for the baby, you know."
"They won't find her."
"They're /very thorough; I think they will."
"They won't find her because she's—" Deep breath. "She didn't make it."
Nate laughs quietly.
Scott focuses on his breathing.
"Honey, you are a /terrible liar." Nate steps into Scott's space, cups his chin, smiles with all her very white teeth. "A beautiful, noble soul, but a terrible liar. Such a shame."
Scott holds her gaze.
"There's a darling baby girl out there in whom I have already invested heavily and I /will find her."
Scott is steel.
"Your real concern, however, should be yourself."
His heart beats double-time.
"You see, Vanessa's owner wants /you in exchange for the damage that's been done to his champion—"
The organ crawls into his throat.
"—and I rather doubt he wants you for your clever tongue."
Scott swallows, forces a leer. "But you do."
"I have found it rather useful in the past," purrs Nate, "but I'm afraid my memory of just /how clever it is needs refreshing."
"I, uh, don't think I'll perform as well with an audience." He flicks his eyes to the Heavies.
"You'll just have to make do, honey. I don't trust myself alone with you at the moment."
.
== Episode II ==
=== Tatooine -- Scott's death ===
[After Herc dreams of Scott's death, like the impulsive bastards they are, Herc and Stacker have ditched their Masters and gone to Tatooine in search of Scott]
.
Herc stomps through the door, the front shop, past the workrooms, the repair bay—
Not a ginger head in sight.
—straight into Nate's office, snarls, "Where's my brother?"
Nate rests her chin on a her palm. "Little Hercules? My, my. You've grown into a handsome young man."
"Scott. Where."
"Not here, honey. Someone bought him from me /years ago."
"Who."
"It would be in my records." Smiles sweetly. "If you'll give me a moment to consult them ...."
"Hands stay above the table or I take them off."
"Don't you trust me?" she pouts.
"No."
Nate laughs. "Wise, young master Ranger." Taps and swipes a panel resting on the worktop.
Herc does. not. fidget.
"Ah, yes. /That's what happened."
"What."
"It's a bit of a heart-warming tale. He charmed a young widow so thoroughly she bought his contract, freed him, and took him to live with her in this quaint little outpost in the canyons. I can send the coordinates to your communicator."
"Do that."
Nate pokes. "Time and training have ruined the manners your mother taught you, Hercules."
"I'm in a bit of a rush, so."
"Ah, but why is that? There's nothing on this world but time and sand."
Herc's communicator /pings.
"There you have it." She smiles and it's almost genuine. "Give my regards to your brother and may your reunion be a happy one."
Herc grunts, snaps a turn on his heel, strides out.
"He wasn't there," greets Stacker.
"Nope." Checks his communicator. "But we know where he is."
.
[they reach the outpost and it looks like a war zone; burning, toppled structures, signs of blaster and ballistic weapons fire /everywhere]
.
"What could've done this?"
"Raiders," breathes Herc. "I'd heard—" 
The weakest curl of a familiar melody.
He flings himself toward it.
""Herc! Wait!""
.
Scott, balled up around his middle, Signature barely a ripple in the Force.
Herc drops to his knees at his side, gently nudging, unfolding, searching for the source of the blood.
"Herc?"
"Don't talk, just—" 
"Told you to /never come back here."
"I didn't listen." Peels back blood-soaked, shredded tunic.
"Never did."
A great red rent in Scott's side: ballistic impact.
Herc's heart crawls into his throat even as he fumbles for his medkit.
"Anyone else make it?"
Herc Listens, fighting the box cover, rasps, "Just you."
"Dammit, I /tried—" Coughs, chuckles weakly. "Not much of a soldier, I guess."
"Just ... just be quiet. Lemme get at this—"
"Herc. Leave it be."
"But—"
"Know I'm fucked. Save it for someone it'll help."
"But—"
"What happened to the baby?"
"What?"
"My—Nessa's and my baby."
"Oh. Th-the girls took her Naboo. I kinda lost track of her—"
"She'd be free there."
"Yea, she would."
"Good enough." Scott's eyes drift shut.
"Hey."
Scott hums.
"I'm gonna be a dad, too."
"That's great. You take care of your sprout, ay?"
"I will, I will, I /swear I will."
"Good. You'll do fine."
"Th-thanks."
Scott sighs, watery. "Now, piss off and let me sleep, ay? I'm finally done with this rock."
.
== Episode IV ==
=== Tatooine, Mos Eisley -- Take 1 (strictly following film) ===
[Chuck's been thrown into a table by a pissed off Mos Eisley spaceport bar patron; Tamsin's taken off said aggressor's arm with her lightsaber; Mako's gone to Chuck's aid]
.
Chuck bats at her hands, hops up—ignores the twinge in his hip—from the table debris, grumbles, "I'm alright."
The curly-haired human behind Tams raises an eyebrow over a mug of something steaming.
Chuck growls; Curly ignores him.
"Vos here is first mate on a ship that might fit the bill. C'mon."
Curly leads them over to a corner booth where—
"The hell?"
"What now?" sighs Tams.
"He's wearing a /jumper! How the hell's he not /melting?!" Chuck hisses.
"They're likely not human," answers Mako. "Mind your pronouns."
Chuck sniffs.
"—the receipt /right. /here."
"You think I care about /re—urk!"
The [non-human client]'s face meets the tabletop with a solid /thud.
Jumper sits back, raises an eyebrow, drawls, "Took you long enough."
Vos shrugs as they round the divider, tucking the spanner back into his rucksack as he walks.
"You find us some business?"
Curls bounce; Vos prods the downed [non-human client]'s temple.
They groan.
"Good job not killing him."
Vos huffs, puts his mug of black liquid on the table, his rucksack on the bench, gets his hands into the [non-human client]'s armpits, drags him out of the booth, props him up against the divider, then slides into his place and reclaims his cup.
Tams, Mako, and Chuck settle into the chairs at the table's open end: Chuck in the middle, Tams closest to the pilot-probably.
"Right. So. Jackson Jones, captain of the /Lady Danger. Vos tells me you're looking for a ride to the Naboo system."
"He didn't say any—" (1)
Mako kicks Chuck's foot under the table.
"/If she's a fast ship."
"Fast ship?" Jones' voice actually cracks a little. "You haven't heard of the /Lady Danger?"
Mako looks to Chuck.
Tams looks to Mako.
Chuck shrugs.
"Should we have?" asks Tams.
"She's the ship that made the Gulf Run in less than twelve parsecs."
Blank looks.
"You—" Jones sags. "You have no idea what I'm talking about."
Heads shake.
Jones runs a hand through his hair. "Look, she's /really fast and has enough range to get far, far away from whatever's out there, even those flashy Corellian ships the Empire likes to prance around in. That clear things up?"
Mako and Chuck exchange a look, shrug at Jones.
He almost whines.
Vos raps his knuckles against the table.
"Right. We're fast enough for you, trust me. What's the cargo?"
"Just passengers. Me, the kids, three droids, and no questions asked."
Jones laughs a little. "So, Shortstuff there's pissed off someone scarier than a local drunk, ay?"
Chuck lunges—
Mako and Tams stuff him back into his seat.
"Let's just say we don't want Imperial entanglements."
"Well, that's the trick, ay? We charge extra for that."
"How much 'extra'?"
"Ten thousand—not credits, mind, units EM—up front." (2)
"Ten thou—for that we could buy our own ship! A good ship!"
"Well, maybe, but she wouldn't be fast as the /Lady and who'd fly her? /You?"
"Well, yea! I can fly fuckin' Beggar's Canyon! We don't have to sit here and listen to this blowhard!" Pushes—
Tams shoves him back down, gives him a Look. Turns back to Jones, "We can pay you two thousand credits now plus fifteen units EM when we get to Naboo."
"Fifteen?" Jones' eyes gleam. "I like the way you negotiate. You got yourselves a ship /and a decent pilot."
Chuck—
Mako digs an elbow in his ribs.
—sulks.
"We leave as soon as you're ready. Docking bay forty-two."
"Forty-two." Tams scoots her chair back.
Vos pokes Jones.
He focuses on something over Tams' shoulder. "Looks like someone's taking an interest in your handiwork." Jones nods toward—
Chuck's heart sinks.
—two Imperial Troopers near the bar.
"A quiet exit may be called for, ay?" Jones pushes to his feet, shoos them toward the rear of the bar. "Like, now."
.
[they all flee out a back door, split up—Jackson and Pietr to go prep the ship, the trio to head off to sell the speeder.]
[Mako does the negotiating, returns to Chuck and Tams.]
.
"That's it?!"
"Ever since the XP-38 was released, they're no longer in demand."
Chuck grumbles, "The whole XP series is crap."
Mako huffs an agreement.
"The money's enough, though. And if this ship of his's fast as he says, we'll be set."
"Ten-to-one he's lying through his teeth and it won't even lift off."
They quickstep along the corridors of the docking complex, find the bay labeled forty-two.
Chuck runs his eyes over the blue-skinned custom-job at rest in the hangar. "What a piece of junk!"
"She'll make point-five FTL," sniffs Jones, giving the ship an affectionate pat. "She might not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, Shorty. I've made a lot of /special mod—"
Vos whistles.
"/He's made a lot of special modifications, but we're a little rushed so if you'll mount up, we'll get outta here. "
Vos leads the way up the ramp and into the ship, along a narrow passage, waves them into a narrow lounge of some sort, then continues forward.
"/Twenty-to-one this shed lifts off."
Mako sighs.
Commotion outside—is that blaster fire? (3)
Jones flies past at a dead run. ""/Please've started the launch sequence!""
"Wait! What!" yelps Chuck.
""Strap in!""
They dive onto the bench, fumble with their belts, latches /snicking home just as they're pressed down in their seats, then against the backs as the ship flings itself into the air.
A ka-/chunk as the artificial gravity kicks on.
Chuck's out of his harness and streaking for the flight deck the next instant.
""Chuck! Wait! Mako, stay here.""
His boots ring against the grating.
""—two more coming in.""
Chuck skids to a stop in the cramped cockpit.
"They're gonna try and cut us off." Jones slides into the pilot's seat, hands flicking oddly.
Vos nods, spins back to the controls.
"Why don't you outrun 'em? You said this tub was fast."
"Shut it, kid, or you'll be floating home." Trips switches, taps commands. "We'll be safe enough once we're FTL. I know what I'm doing."
The ship bucks, panels rattle.
"And the fun begins!" cackles Jones.
"Was that ... was that plasma fire?"
"Yea! Awe/some, huh?"
"You're bonk—"
"How long before you can make the Jump?"
"Few moments 'til the numbers're crunched."
"Are you /kidding me?! We'll be /bits in a few moments!"
"She's taken worse. And flying through a star'll on the wrong coordinates'll end your trip rather permanently, ay?"
An indictor flashes a panicky red.
"You need to increase power to the shields!" Chuck reaches—
Jones smacks his hand away. "Go belt up! We're gonna Jump and ye don't wanna be smeared on the back wall."
Tams gets him by the shoulders, shoves him from the cockpit.
.
"What's the story with the jumper?"
"Huh?"
Chuck flicks his sleeve.
"Oh." Jones rolls his shoulders. "Space is cold and it gets into your bones after a while. I can't get warm anymore."
Vos waves his hands.
"Shut it, Fuzzhead," Jones growls, fingers twitching in the air.
Vos makes a breathy sound—a laugh?—and saunters into the depths of the ship.
"What's /his story?"
"He's deaf," says Mako, "and they're using a gestural language."
"Yep," agrees Jones. "Stone deaf from the minute he was born and can't talk either. Great mechanic, though. My Nan—boss found—"
"You work for your /grandma?" sneers Chuck.
"And an anklebiter like you /didn't work for your family?"
Chuck shoves to his feet.
"I can still smell the farm dust on you, Shortstuff."
Chuck puffs—
Tams steps between them, pushes them apart, clicks her tongue.
Chuck and Jones both sulk into seats.
"/Anyway," resumes Jones, "we found Vos on some backwater moon a few years ago and haven't been able to get rid of him."
"He's probably the only thing keeping this shed in the sky."
"Oi! The /Lady's one-of-a-kind—"
"Thank the stars."
"You /really wanna walk home, don't ye?"
.
(1) They've been the Stardome equivalent of texting; which is also how Pietr and Tamsin were talking.
(2) Jackson's asking for fuel, specifically exotic matter (one of the proposed mechanisms for generating the sort of mini-black holes that might make FTL travel possible)
(3) I like to think Jackson still has at least a little problem with killing people and his blaster is generally set for 'take a nice, long nap' rather than 'take a permanent nap'.
.
=== Tatooine, Mos Eisley -- Take 2 (looser alignment with film) ===
Assumption: the Resistance seems a bit more organized in this 'verse as opposed to the canon one, so Tams has arranged in advance for transport, rather than trusting in the Force to provide someone appropriate
.
[Mako negotiates the sale of their speeder, returns to Chuck and Tams]
"How much did you get?"
"Seventeen-hundred credits." She passes the handful of chits to Tams.
"That's it?!"
"Ever since the XP-38 was released, they're no longer in demand."
Chuck grumbles, "The whole XP series is crap."
Mako huffs an agreement.
"The money's enough, though. And if this ship's as fast as advertised, we'll be set."
They quickstep along the corridors of the docking complex.
"What're we looking for again?"
"A blue freighter," replies Tams.
"'A blue freighter'," mocks Chuck. Throws up his hands. "Great. How many blue ships can there /possibly be in a spaceport?"
"Not many, given the cost of coloured ceramics."
"Mako Mori: know-it-all," grumbles Chuck.
"Specifically, /that blue one," gloats Tams, pointing.
Chuck runs his eyes over the custom-job at rest in the landing bay in front of them. "What a piece of junk!"
"Oi! That's a /Lady's honour your besmirching!" shouts a man in a jumper(?!) as he stomps over. "Apologise to her!"
"Sorry if I hurt her feelings," sneers Chuck, stepping nose-to-nose.
"You know, I don't think that was sincere," he snarls.
"What makes you think /that?"
Jumper pokes Chuck in the sternum. "You should respect yer elders, Shortstuff."
Chuck slaps his hand down. "You ain't earned it yet, Gramps."
The stranger pushes up his sleeves (there's a shirt underneath?!), growls—
Tams snickers, "May I cut in, gentlemen?"
Jumper backs two steps from Chuck without taking his eyes off him, slides his cuffs down around his wrists.
"This's the /Lady Danger, yea?" asks Tams.
"That she is."
"You're her pilot?"
"That I am." Eyes still on Chuck.
"We're your cargo."
He smirks. "We're not a creche."
"What're you—"
"Chuck," warns Mako.
"I'll handle the babysitting," assures Tams.
Chuck sniffs, turns on his heel, marches over to Mako.
"Awe/some. You have the deposit with you?"
Tams jingles the bag of credit chits.
"Pass it to him." Jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
A man with curly blond hair wearing a green jumpsuit waves and saunters over, accepts the bundle from Tams with a both hands and a bow, examines the contents. (1)
"It all there?" Jumper waves his hands around as he talks.
Curls bounce; the man tucks the pouch in a pocket, buttons it closed, pats it.
"Right. So. The /Lady's fueled and ready and my dispatcher said you're in a hurry—"
"As if that shed /can hurry," scoffs Chuck.
"She makes point-five FTL. That enough of a hurry for ye?"
"I'll believe it when I see it."
Mako kicks Chuck's foot.
"Keep it up and you'll be seeing it from the ground."
"About that hurry?" prompts Tams.
Controlling a cringe, Jumper says, "He'll get you settled inside while I make a few last checks out here."
"Thank you, Captain ...?"
"Jones. Jackson Jones." He makes a face, shakes his head as if to loosen an idea, crosses to the underside of the ship, unseals a panel, and squints at the display. (2)
Curly whistles, beckons them toward the entry ramp.
They follow him into the ship, along a narrow passage, then he waves them into a narrow lounge of some sort, indicates they should sit.
All without saying a word.
Chuck puffs into Curly's space. "What's wrong with you? Can't you talk like a normal person?"
Curly gestures for calm, telegraphs 'no threat', flutters his hands.
"Chuck," says Tams.
"Or maybe you think yer too good to talk to us dirtsiders?" 
"/Chuck."
"What?"
"He's deaf."
Curly nods agreement.
"What?" Chuck squints at Curly.
He beams at Chuck.
"He's using a gestural language to try to speak to you."
"Oh. Um ...." Chuck rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."
Curly gently tilts his chin up, draws a line in the air between his eyes and Chuck's mouth, shrugs.
"You ... can't understand me if you can't see my lips?"
Thumbs up!
Something warm uncurls in Chuck's chest and he smiles, lets his shoulders drop.
Commotion outside; the ship pulses.
Curly spins, sprints forward.
"Is that blaster fire?"
"I think you—"
Jones flies—shoves Chuck from his path—past at a dead run. ""/Please've started the launch sequence!"" 
"Wait! What!" yelps Chuck, flailing to stay upright.
""Strap in, Shortstuff!""
Tams yanks him and Mako onto the bench and they all fumble with their belts, the latches /snicking home just as they're pressed down in their seats, then against the backs as the ship flings itself into the air.
A /ka-/ chunk as the artificial gravity kicks on.
Chuck's out of his harness and streaking for the flight deck the next instant.
""Chuck! Wait! Mako, stay here.""
His boots ring against the grating.
""—two /more of 'em!""
Chuck skids to a stop at the back of the cramped cockpit, mentally parses the command panels.
"They're gonna try to cut us off." Jones settles a black band over his ears—Curly's already wearing one—says, "Ready for this?"
Curly nods, pokes a button, folds three fingers down one by one.
"Why aren't you outrunning 'em? This tub's supposed to be fast!"
Jones and Curly wince, then shake their heads in sync.
"We'll be safe once we're FTL." Jones trips switches, taps panels. "I know what I'm doing."
The ship bucks, components rattle, something brilliant green flashes past the forward view port.
"Was that /plasma /fire?"
"Sure looked like it, probably from the three fuckin' Imperial cruisers on our ass!"
Chuck's heart clogs his throat.
Tams says, perfectly calm, "How long before you can make a Jump?"
"Few seconds, once the numbers're crunched."
"Are you /kidding me?! We'll be /bits in a few seconds!"
"Patience, Shortstuff. We need those numbers 'cause flying through a star'll end your vacation rather permanently, ay?"
An indicator flashes a panicky red.
"You need to increase power to the shields!" Chuck reaches—
Jones smacks his hand away. "Go belt up! We're gonna Jump and ye don't wanna be smeared on the back wall."
Tams gets him by the shoulders and herds him, double-time, to the lounge.
Mako's still in her harness. "We're under attack?"
"Yea, but not for much longer," assures Tams, strapping herself down.
Chuck follows suit.
A jerk—
/vertigo /vertigo /vertigo
—and Chuck urks against his belts, stomach rolling hard left.
"We're no longer being shot at," drawls Tams. "Welcome to hyperspace, Chuck."
He wills the nausea into submission, blinks spots from his vision.
Mako smugs, "First Jump's always the worst."
"I'm /fine. No problem."
"Of course you are."
Curly frog-marches a grumbling Jones into the lounge, forces him into an empty chair.
Jones' hands snap something.
"Is something wrong, Captain?"
Curly makes a 'talk, talk, talk' gesture, opens an overhead compartment, retrieves a small medkit, steps over to Jones.
"No. We're FTL, everything's shiny. As you were."
Curly rolls his eyes, kneels beside Jones' seat, tugs on the hem of his jumper.
Jones heaves a fantastic sigh, pulls the garment off over his head, drops it on the floor.
A singed, bloody spot the size of Chuck's palm on his upper arm.
"You're hurt!" squeaks Mako.
He works on his shirt buttons. "Excellent observation, kid. I got /shot." 
Shirt hits the floor, quickly followed by a close-fitting undershirt, revealing a tattoo of some sort of tree on Jones' chest.
Mako pries her eyes from the inked skin to say: "You were injured in the hangar?"
"Yea. Little local colour. Specifically: white."
"Why were they shooting at us?"
"Pretty sure they were aiming for /me, seeing as I'm the one who got /shot."
"It's a graze," points out Tams.
"Still got /shot," sulks Jones. "Ow!" Pokes Curly's nose. "Watch it, Fuzzball."
Curly sticks out his tongue, swipes again with a disinfecting patch.
Mako asks, "Have you been shot before?"
"Yea, but once is enough." Glances at his arm, grimaces. "Trust me on that."
Curly rubs something which smells like a burn cream on Jones.
"Some badass starship captain you are," snickers Chuck.
"Listen, Shortstuff, I'm a /totally /legit—"
Curly smooths a sticking plaster decorated with colourful globes over the burned spot.
Tams snorks.
Jones shoots her a glare. "—imate pilot sent to the ass end of this quadrant /solely to pick up /your disrespectful ass. There was nothing in the dispatch said I was gonna get /shot."
"Yet here we are," snickers Tams.
Jones grunts.
Curly finishes packing away supplies, pats Jones on the head—
Jones swats half-heartedly.
—hands Jones his jumper, tucks the shirts under his arm, returns the medkit to its cubbie, moseys out.
"If you're so 'totally legitimate', why're people shooting at you?"
"They think I'm my brother. Happens from time to time." Jones shrugs back into his jumper. "The cruisers, though, that's /definitely you."
"Thought you said you'd outrun 'em before."
"Well, yea, I have, but I didn't do /anything this time and my brother's not in /Imperial /cruiser kinda trouble at the moment." Frowns. "Far as I know." Shakes his head, then leans back and crosses his arms. "So what the Hell've you lot done?"
(1) Setting up for possible future 'Vosses are good at multiplying' jokes by making him the money guy
(2) I left the introduction so long because why not let readers wonder if it's Raleigh? XD And then start wondering where the hell Raleigh actually /is.
===Post Death Star, Charlotte I===
>I feel like I can combine these but I;m not sure how< 
[Captain's quarters]
""Princess, you need to rest."" 
"I can't/ They're all agents." 
""They're not agents.""
"Then why were they are on that battle station?"
""To rescue you, Princess. Not everyone is out to get you.""
"Yes, I know that, El; Juliet, Ata, Rama--"
""They're all dead.""
"Exactly."
El regroups. ""Do you trust me to protect you?""
"We're going to be blasted to pieces any minute! What can you do against that? The Empire's less than--"
""What if I put you in my shield? Whatever happens to the ship, you'll be safe.""
"I guess ..." 
""Then come here."" El gently sits her down on the bed, fluffs a pillow between her and the wall, and pulls the blanket over her legs. ""Okay?"" 
Charlotte worries the hem. 
El brushes her bangs off her face. ""You'll be safe, Charlie, I'll protect you."" 
"I know." 
""I promise I will.""
BKJD flickers to life in a dark green, transparent pyramid. 
""See?"" 
Charlotte draws her knees to her chest, hunching close. 
That can't be good for her stitches. 
"Okay."
""You'll try to sleep?""
"Yeah."
""I'll stay right here the whole time.""
Charlotte nods, closes her eyes. 
.
El tugs Charlotte down, cushions her head in their lap. ""There you go, Charlotte."" Strokes her hair. ""Everything's okay."" 
Charlotte doesn't relax. 
El tucks her hair behind her ear, brushing her skin, sending a midi-chlorian sedative into her blood--
A knock--
Charlotte's on her feet, drawing E's blaster and pointing it at the door. "Yes?" 
The door slides open and Miss Mori greets, "Princess." 
Charlotte arms the blaster--
In the hall, Jones squawks, flails--""No blasters in the ship! Do you want to get us all killed?!"" 
Charlotte, ignoring him, says, "You're not dead. Or at the Academy."
El eases their blaster from Charlotte and holsters it. 
"No, Master Sevier kidnapped me and has been training me as a Jedi to kill Lord Blue." 
Charlotte ....
"May I stay here, Your Highness? I'm sharing a room with Mr Striker, but he's gone to sleep and he snores."
"I don't trust you." 
"I wouldn't trust me, either."
"If you try anything, you'll be dead before you hit the ground."
"I would expect nothing less."
Charlotte steps aside.
==Episode VI==
===Evaporators===
"I forgot about the evaporators! The Hutts are going to kill me!" 
"They're not going to kill you, Princess, they actually like you." 
"Not after this they don't." 
"The third shipment arrived on schedule, and when we were back on Naboo I sent a message explaining your absence. They /did send an emissary who confirmed the story and passed along their sympathies.” 
Kirra … “I was really out of it, wasn’t I?”
“At the time, your blood was two thirds neurotoxin, so yes.”
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