The Summit

[Jake]

Four years podracing the Mon Gazza circuit, through abandoned spice mines and across the world's dusty red landscapes. Two years gambling and farming muja fruit on Reytha along the coast of the Montrosa Ocean. One year as a stand-up trader, or as stand-up as Morgan Shune had ever been in his life, dealing with the Hutts and the other powers of the Ootmian Pabol traderoute. Twenty-seven years as a smuggler along the very same hyperspace lane, going from shadowport to shadowport, memorizing every secret jump point along the road, and along the way occasionally stumbling into something greater; over the course of his career Morgan had stumbled into Jedi on their pilgrimages across the stars, had his close calls with Gamorrean pirates, teamed up with other smugglers of similar middling renown and pulled off jobs that he could have never managed alone. These were the stories that he'd carefully hoarded over the decades, the tiny stars he could cling to while adrift in the great voids between them.

But Morgan Shune had run from a troubled youth to an inglorious manhood. He'd left Denon dreaming what all boys dream, be they from backwaters or city-worlds like Denon: that one day he'd catch a lucky break and end up floating leisurely through space on a pleasure yacht with a harem of Twi'leks and Zeltrons to attend his very whim, or that he'd be a Jedi mediating terrible conflicts with his powers over the Force and godlike patience... and he hadn't had a bad run, not at all. He'd glimpsed the hidden treasures of the Expansion Region and the Mid Rim along the way, jewels like the ice spires of Ota, the man-eating forests of Adari, even Celegia and its cyanogen seas. Even though he called the Outlanders' Route his home, he knew the Dauntless Run and the Nightroad just as well. Back in the early days he and his Gamorrean copilot Golgot made their way to Kashyyyk, eluding Trandoshan slavers and other unsavory sorts. Once they'd even lost themselves in Wild Space on a hyperspace jump gone awry, and after a week had made it back to charted waters, harrowed by the experience.

For him, a man who had never known the light of the Core, never visited Corellia or any of a hundred planets that most thought of when they dreamt of offworld lives, even this galaxy was a place far, far away. The competing regimes were of little interest to him. Only in recent times of war had he noticed the rising pressure throughout Imperial space, but until then he'd lived blissfully unaware of the greater scope, of the forces which molded the galaxy according to their own roads to power. He remembered the beautiful face of the young Jedi Knight he'd once ferried through the Thornhedge Nebula while she tracked the Sith who had left her for dead near New Apsolon, traded fire with him at her side on Coachelle, felt for the only time in his life the dark side of the Force wriggle and writhe within his mind and cleave at his consciousness more sharply than the sweetest spice he'd ever tasted... but these incidents were far and few between, remote reminders that beyond the small circle of star clusters where he roamed, deeper stories existed. More intricate webs of cause and effect than he could possibly fathom.

The summit of his life had come and gone, leaving him behind, lost and bewildered. Now, a man nearly broken by his trade, he'd wandered back home to Denon. He wondered if his old friend would recognize him as he slid into a booth at the Hydian Hotspot. His left arm had been sheared off at the shoulder after a bad run nearly twenty years prior, and his face was creased by more wrinkles than his years warranted after the hard life he'd led. Pushing the thought from his mind, he looked around and let the nostalgia wash over him; the Hydian Hotspot was an old and decrepit cantina that'd stood in the same spot on the same quadrant of the city-world since Morgan was a boy. He'd had his first Sonic Servodriver at that counter with the man he waited for, and couldn't remember much of the night afterwards except for a blur of laughs and good times... times gone now, forever. Swallowed up by space and regret.

He lit a deathstick and let the hot smoke warm a soul long since gone cold, and he waited.

 

[Defiance]

A hot breeze wafted from the cantina's entrance as it slid open with a tired squeek, grazing the few that sat, stoic and slouched, near the entrance. Accompanied by it walked an elder man, his face riddled by his many years. Sebastian Lander was his name, a humble merchant with neither too much nor too little.

The few that populated the cantina were men of similar taste: worn, undistinguished. Regulars. Faint music resonated within the old establishment, with the weathered walls only noticeable under dying, candescent lights. The dim, frayed glow illuminated the scene, of which Sebastian scanned for his oldest friend, Morgan Shune. The Hydian Hotspot, just like them, was a relic of a bygone era. Catching sight of the booth—his booth—where he had spent more than one lively night, Sebastian promptly head towards it. Slapping a familiar figure seated on the booth on the back, the old merchant put on his biggest smile.

"Morgan, you old bastard!" He exclaimed as he seated himself opposite to the man. "Still smoking those things, I see? There's a reason why they call them death sticks, you know. I'm more a cigarra man, myself."

He laughed an earthy, hearty laugh. Sebastian was a slim, yet wrinkled man, but his old age hardly weathered his zeal. It had been long time since he had last seen Morgan, but it felt as though they had saw each other only the day before. That was life to him: not a timeline, but instead a mixing bowl of assembled memory. Sitting here, with Morgan, Sebastian felt the years unwind before him, youth rushing back into his limbs. Denon was home to them both, seemingly long forgotten. Having traveled the galaxy, the two separated in search of their grand adventure. And yet here they were.

Even still, Sebastian began to sense that the Morgan across from him was a changed man. He quickly noticed that the old smuggler had not only lost his entire left arm—but also his gaiety. A twinge crawled its way through his heart, not for paths that life had taken them, but for times lost.

"Looks like they did a number on you, old boy."

Sebastian signaled the bartender. Two stiff drinks.

"It's been too long."

 

[Jake]

For awhile Morgan just looked at Sebastian, something inscrutable working its way into his eyes. As much or more than he was gazing upon a lifelong friend, Morgan also stared back down the road he'd walked to get there, and each memory came with its particular sting. At once he saw the man with the ruddy, weathered face who was his friend and the bright-eyed boy he'd been the last time they'd come down to the Hotspot together. He smiled, not without sadness, and stubbed the deathstick in the ashtray resting atop their table, flexing the durasteel fingers of one hand while Sebastian sat down. He just looked down for a moment at the rotating servos at each joint, at the effortless way his mind drove their movement. Flex, unflex. He opened his mouth to talk but first a violent bout of coughing took him; after a few seconds of hacking, he soothed his lungs with a few deep breaths and was quiet. The waiter, a friendly-looking Gotal that didn't meet Morgan's eyes as he sat their drinks down in front of them.

A number on me? Morgan thought, and rested his cheek on his palm while his prosthetic hand stirred the drink with one finger. "It's been too long," he repeated. "How's life treated you, Seb? Kids? Wife? And don't tell me you never got your nerf herding ass off this world, after all the talk we did as kids." The years had been kinder to Sebastian, Morgan noticed immediately as soon as he laid eyes on the man. He wondered what his old friend had made of his life, but he suspected that it hadn't been a path quite as... improvised as Morgan's own. When he caught his old friend's glances at his left arm, he paused to consider the prosthetic himself for a moment.

"Lost her carrying food to the Umbaran militia through the Ghost Nebula during the embargo," he explained, and took a long sip of his drink before continuing. "Slavers caught whiff that I'd be doing the run, folks I had bad blood with... They chased me halfway back across the Trellen trade route before they cornered me in a cantina on Commenor. Made it out, but caught some blasterfire on the way." He grunted and took another swallow, welcomed the feeling of fire going down his throat. It wasn't bad. The brandy he'd been drinking on Commenor had been better, or at least it was in his memory.

"But enough about that shit. We all had bad times. Tell me, how's life in the Inner Rim? It's been awhile since I last made my way back. But..." He looked around at the Hydian Hotspot for dramatic effect. "Looks like Denon's just about the same, at any rate. Never mattered to this world too much who was holding the galaxy's reins on any given day."

 

[Defiance]

Sebastian had a taste. The unrefined, raw flare that stretched down his throat brought a twinkle to his eyes. He was never a man of luxury nor grandeur, and to him not even the oldest of wines or most expensive of liquors compared to the savor of a real man's drink. Some things never change, no matter how much the rapids of time tug and tackle. He watched his friend cough, with the slightest bit of discomfort. Sebastian, at that point, had a sudden stray thought. Here they were: two old men, near husks of the young flames that they had once been, weathered by their experiences.

They would die eventually—sooner, rather than later—and with a barely recognizable face. A barely recognizable face in a world he barely recognized. The old merchant nearly smiled. That's why he liked it here. It's still the same.

"Never could find the woman for me, n' the ladies always said I was the pretty one."

He had another sip of the drink. Sebastian could never hate the spirited taste.

"Ooh," he said as he listened to Morgan's story. "That'll do it. Nothing like a good modern blaster to blow your arm clean off." It was exciting, actually, to hear something so wild a story in such an indifferent tone—as if such an experience was commonplace. The life of a smuggler, eh? Maybe Morgan had it good. Probably worth some coin, at that. But Sebastian wasn't the smuggler type, and most of his years were behind him.

"I'll tell you what..." Sebastian unbuttoned his shirt, revealing an incision scar running along his chest. "I ain't unscathed either. Cardiovascular disease, the type that can kill 'ya. After that, I think my days of hunting danger were over."

He chuckled to himself, moving on.

"Business is slow in the Rim, has been ever since those clowns in uniforms swooped in and imposed regulations. Half the time, they're too busy dealing with the resistance to enforce the damn things anyway. I think I've had my share of self-centered bastards for a while, too young and wild to let the dust settle. Wouldn't mind moving far out, maybe even the edges of the Outer Rim."

Sebastian's eyes wandered about the room. Gloomy, but full of memories.

"Or maybe even back here."

 

[Jake]

Morgan whistled at the scar, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. "You didn't miss much, Seb," he said genuinely. "Being a smuggler... sometimes I wish I'd gone down another road. How long have I been doing these fierfekking runs? A few cycles short of three decades, and you know what I got to show for it?" He finished off his brandy and slapped the mug down on the table.

"I've got a few stories, sure. I saw somethings not everyone gets to see. Maybe felt what it's like for a Jedi to mind trick you, once or twice. Got some shots off at real bad folks, the kind that make the space between stars a few shades darker. I've seen wars on a dozen worlds, the kind that don't quite make it into the eye of us fine and upright folks on Denon but which end millions of lives in the outer sectors. I've got a missing arm and I swear I've about burned a hole through my liver. I have no wife, though I've loved more times than I have fingers which still feel when I caress a woman's cheek. I have no child to carry on my name. I am a washed up wreck of a smuggler, Seb, the kind you find adrift with other derelicts on the real kriffhole runs, nothin' more than targeting practice for the next generation..."

A newcomer had wandered into the Hydian and glanced at the two reminiscing in their booth near the door. The Trandoshan found a seat at the counter and grunted something to the bartender, leathery scales marked with the tally of many jagganath points for the Scorekeper to judge his soul when he died. Morgan did not so much as blink at the stranger.

"Imps and their damn taxes. Hard just to live nowadays. I sympathize with you, and I'm not the only one... It's just too bad the Jedi don't have another Chosen One to send in and bring balance to the Force and whatnot." He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers. "The Force is some spooky karking e chu ta, that's for sure. You should have seen this one Jedi Knight... the way with a thought she seemed to bend a man's mind if she needed to... and I'm glad you and I have never gotten too close to a Sith, because looking in their eyes will shave years off your life from what they say on the Outer Rim.

"You shouldn't come back here, Seb. Settle for living a little closer to the edge, but move on to one of those paradise worlds in the Inner Rim. Hell, go further Coreward if your paperwork will let you. There's nothing farther out for men like us. It's too wild... and it doesn't look like your heart can take anything much wilder than the Twi'lek girls you used to be fond of when we were kids." He winked, and waved a hand at the bartender for him to bring another round.

 

[Defiance]

Jedi?

Sebastian perked up. The mention of the famed 'guardians of peace' piqued his interest, as he'd never encountered one in all his travels. Up close and personal, that is. There was plenty of rumor and tall tale surrounding the Order, not to mention their undeniable roles in the galaxy's history, and it was no question that he was familiar of both their influence and power, much less their existence. Yet as well known as they were, Sebastian never had the chance to meet one in person. "Mind trick, you say?" But Sebastian let Morgan continue his monologue without further interruption.

Knowing finally as to what exactly might be gnawing at Morgan's heart, Sebastian couldn't help but feel sympathetic. He knew drunken sorrow when he saw it, and it was a nasty disease that would only continue to fester if left unattended.

"Well I tell ya what, Morgan." He said between a chuckle. "Don't get down in the dumps about life, you don't seem so washed up to me. So what if you didn't find yourself a good old-fashioned woman and kids to boot? Leave that to the farmers, to the vanillas—to the rich! Fellas like us weren't meant for the domesticated, long family tree-havin' life. And that's alright for me! Let me tell ya—I traveled the galaxy, Morgan. And you know what I saw?"

Sebastian let out a hearty giggle, but it soon escalated into a violent cough. A sip of liquor to drown it.

"I didn't see no Jedi, no Force, no goddamn mind tricks. I saw artifacts of all shapes and sizes, and of all value. And I saw people. Not Jedi, not bounty hunters, not smugglers—there's no labels in the trading business! They're just people, but people of all kinds, and of all value. We're people, Morgan, and all people's got their own. I'd say you'd got enough out of life, more than I did anyway, and that ain't nothing to be ashamed of. The aristocrat's life isn't mine, and it ain't yours. We aren't that kind of people. That's why I can't stomach it out there anywhere, that's why I want to come back here. I can buy myself a nice little place in a metropolis, but compared to this old place, it's nothing."

He paused, taking a moment to glance at Morgan. Old memories flooding back.

"Look, buddy, I don't know what happened to out there to make you so gloomy, but let's forget about this Jedi-Sith Force magic nonsense. Yeah, you lost an arm, but you got a new one! In the biz, I've seen some quality cybernetics out there—they don't grow on trees, that's for sure—but they got a hell of a lot more uses than an old-fashioned real one. Regret will only make you want to count the days till the reaper comes to get ya."