As Orna watched him intently, her alien expression unreadable as always, Jarred pondered over how he could possibly know her. He had no memory of ever having met her, and yet somehow she was familiar to him. The way that she always watched him only reinforced the feeling, telling him that she either felt the same way, or knew a lot more than she was saying, which always seemed to be nothing anyway. It was as if she was waiting for him to do something. What that thing was he didn’t know, but the look in her eyes told him that she knew him and was expecting whatever that something was from him.
“I found the place where we’re supposed to meet your friend,” he told her, matter-of-factly. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed our time together or anything, but I think it would be best to get you there as soon as possible.
“I agree,” Orna concurred, with a simple nod.
Something in the being’s voice gave Jarred pause, and for a long moment he held her gaze, unsure of what thoughts were stirring behind those large dark eyes, but convinced, as always, that they were trying to tell him something. If only he could determine what that something was.
Frustrated more with his inability to block out his own curiosity than with Orna, he turned away and tried again to dispel the questions that constantly lingered in his mind. As he headed down the ship’s ramp, he assured himself that this would all be over soon enough. She would be someone else’s problem, and he would be far away from this place. Which was all the more reason to get moving.
The docking bay was full of different ships of all makes and sizes, from small personal transports to large cargo freighters. Pilots, mechanics and other dock personnel of varying races moved around the bay busily, while numerous mechanicals walked or rolled from vessel to vessel, aiding mostly in ship repairs and refueling.
Elora and Ethan were close by, the latter carrying out a very thorough inspection of the ship’s hull features. Jarred grinned and breathed out a sigh of relief at having something else to think about for the moment. He caught Elora’s eyes on him and walked over to stand alongside her.
“How’s the inspection going?” he asked her, nodding off towards Ethan.
“I think he’s found a new best friend,” she answered with a smile. “They’ll be inseparable now.”
Jarred grinned as he watched Ethan standing up on his toes to examine the ship’s rear thruster port. He couldn’t seem to recall ever having been so young, or being filled with so much enthusiasm about something. Though the earliest memories he had were of that age, he had not had the opportunity for such childhood fascinations. His childhood been taken from him, replaced by the harsher realities of this world. It was refreshing to see someone with the youthful passion he had missed out on.
The moment passed quickly though and his smile faded. He was almost free of all his stowaways, but for some reason, he didn’t feel quite as eager to get rid of these two. He wasn’t entirely sure why and he really didn’t want to know. The fact that he was feeling conflicted about them at all was more than enough reason to part ways and move on.
Jarred folded his arms across his chest and forced himself to become cold. “I guess you two will be moving on now, then?”
Elora’s mood changed so suddenly, it almost stunned him, the smile vanishing from her face. “I guess so.”
“Well, I should really be going too, if you two are all right on your own.”
Elora turned to glare at him. “We’re fine. If you need to go, don’t let us hold you up.”
“You’re not holding me up,” he began, immediately regretting saying anything.
“Oh, I think we are,” she snapped. “Since we first met you, you’ve made it very clear that you wanted rid of us.”
“When have I had a chance to make anything clear?” he blurted. “You’ve never stopped talking long enough for me to
say anything
!”
“You didn’t
have
to say anything. It’s all over your face. You’ve been counting the seconds until you could dump us off somewhere.”
“I could have dumped you any time.”
“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Jarred had been asking himself that same question repeatedly for the past two days, and was nowhere nearer to having an answer. He felt himself soften under Elora’s waiting gaze and looked to the floor.
“I don’t know why,” he answered her, honestly. “But since meeting you, I’ve nearly been shot, blown up, eaten, I lost a bounty, my ship was destroyed . . . and for some reason I’m still here with you.”
Looking up, he saw that Elora’s expression had softened as well and the tension between them seemed to fade as quickly as it had risen.
“I’m sorry about everything I’ve gotten you into,” she apologized.
Jarred waved a dismissive hand at her. “It all would have probably happened anyway. I seem to be getting into trouble a lot these days.”
Elora laughed lightly and after a moment of awkward silence Jarred decided to change the subject.
“Do you have any idea where you’ll be going from here?”
“Not really,” she shrugged. “This place is so big, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Well, I’m taking Orna to the place where her friends should be waiting. You can come along if you want. Afterwards, I’ll take the two of you to one of the refugee placement facilities. They can set you up with a temporary residence, help you find work. Get you started.”
“That would be great,” she said with a smile. “You’ve done so much already just by bringing us this far.”
“Well, it’s the least I can do, you know, to pay you back for all the trouble you’ve gotten me into.”
Elora laughed and the sound instantly penetrated Jarred, again tearing down his well maintained defenses. How could something as simple as her laughter disarm him like this? He supposed it was no different from any of the other times since meeting her that she had so easily been able to turn his will to her liking.
That thought was a bit disturbing and with some effort, he forced it from his mind, looking up to see Orna standing at the top of the ship’s ramp, watching them both. She was always watching and he had grown more than tired of the constant observation. It was time to finally rid himself of the nuisance and go meet this so called
friend
of hers.
Hopefully, this Sierra Lore turned out to be just that, but if she didn’t, he would be ready.
* * *
Kern Wayard scowled at the glass of Ferusian ale that was placed in front of him by one of the Silver Talon’s server-mechs. He raised the glass up to the light, staring into the murky beverage, which should have been clear. He thought to ask the mech when the glass itself had last been cleaned, but decided against it, turning away from the bar instead.
He hated these places. In fact, he hated most places on the ground, preferring to be in the air whenever possible. The ground was limiting, restricting, too crowded. Soaring high above it, he could breath comfortably, move freely and see trouble coming. But, he hated
these
grounded places the most. These underbelly establishments in the filthiest, seediest corners of any city. They were magnets for the kind of scum he usually tried to steer clear of.
Not Sierra. His partner and commander on this mission thrived in places like this. He didn’t know why, but she seemed to feel the most comfortable and at ease when surrounded by low lives. He thought maybe it had something to do with knowing what she was dealing with. The people in these places were what they seemed to be. Criminals. Alternately, in the more
civilized
world, people were usually
not
what they appeared. They wore masks and had private agendas and a lot of the time it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. Here it was simple. You knew the score, and the score was you couldn’t trust anyone.
Kern was growing tired of all the politics himself. After all, they were part of a resistance. They weren’t supposed to be wasting their time squabbling over petty issues and differences, which was all they ever seemed to be doing lately. Their growing strength in numbers was starting to become one of their greatest weaknesses, the growth bringing with it an influx of swelled heads, all pulling in different directions. The result was a whole lot of bickering and very little action.
But not this time. This time was different. They were here to do something significant and vital to their cause, which he figured was a fair trade for having to spend a day in a dive such as this. Scratch that. Two days. Their expected guest was late, and that had him worried.
He looked off across the bar to where Sierra was busy taking part in a game of Domjot with some of the tavern’s more dangerous looking patrons. Personally, he had never quite taken to the game, preferring a simple sit down round of cards himself.
Domjot was a game of chance that required exceptional hand eye coordination and a whole lot of luck. It consisted of a hexagonal scoreboard, which was the dom, and a set of magnetic throwing darts, which were the jots. Each player took turns throwing their three jots at the dom board to score points, the objective being to reach a score of three hundred. The first player to do this was the winner. Before each round of throws, bets were cast by both players and spectators, the wagers ranging anywhere from high score, to a wide variety of different point spreads.
The chance aspect of the game came into play with the dom board itself. The dom was composed of three rings, split into a pie grid of twenty point sections, ranging from five to fifty in five digit increment values, along with four fate spaces, all of which surrounded a small circular one hundred point space. The fate score pads were black and only revealed their consequences once landed on, which could be a bonus or penalty depending on the player’s luck. Their score could be increased slightly or even multiplied, as well as reduced anywhere back to zero, or there could be no impact on their score at all. All of the dom’s score pads were in a staggered state of flux, apart from the jackpot center pad which constantly bounced between active and inactive, the grid randomizing the layout of its two outer rings at unpredictable intervals, making it a challenge for even the best throwers to score their desired points.
Kern had nothing against betting on one’s own luck. As a pilot who had found himself in some pretty hairy situations, it was something he needed on his side. He liked to tell himself and others that he preferred a thinker’s game, where strategy and bluffing were essential to winning, but in truth, he just wasn’t any good at Domjot. He could shoot the wings off a kombi bat from the flight seat of any vessel he was put in, but couldn’t hit the broad side of a cargo hauler with a jot to save his life.
Five rounds into her second game with the same three patrons, numerous onlookers having gathered around to place their own wagers, Sierra was leading by fifty points with a score of one ninety, but in Domjot that could all change quickly. After having won the first game, and a good sum of her opponents’ credits, their displeasure and eagerness to win back their losses was becoming plainly obvious. Kern hadn’t thought it the best idea to strike up a challenge with such a morally ambiguous group of characters, especially considering the sensitive nature of their mission here, but Sierra wasn’t much for backing down. Neither was she one for losing, but there was a first time for everything. At the rate things were going, a loss might be the best outcome. Another win for Sierra would probably result in a fire fight, which was something they could definitely do without right now.
One of Sierra’s opponents snarled a curse as his third jot landed on a black fate pad, which had been a forty point space only a moment earlier. The ninety point round he had been on track for vanished along with half of his current score. The smirk on Sierra’s face did nothing to improve his mood. Kern knew this was strategy on her part, as she was far too disciplined to reveal her emotions to any opponent unintentionally, which gave him all the more reason to be concerned. She would know, as well as he did, that her opponents were only a few bad throws away from completely losing their composure. The fact that Sierra was purposely egging them on told him that she was looking, if not hoping, for a fight. If things continued the way they were going, he had no doubt she would get what she wanted.
Though Sierra was hardly a pacifist, and at least partially enjoyed what she did, he knew that it was not in her character to go out looking for trouble like this. The uncertainty of their situation was affecting her as well. This was her way of blowing off some steam. Kern had a different, less dangerous approach to dealing with stressful situations. Drinking down the last of his beverage, he turned back to the bar and waved the server-mech over.
“Give me another one,” he said, when it arrived.
The mech hadn’t yet returned with the refill when an alert tone began to chime from inside his jacket pocket. He quickly withdrew the small remote device and glanced back to where Sierra had stopped her game, mid turn, and was staring back at him while holding her own identical remote.
The breach detection device they had installed in the entrance of their rented living space had been tripped, indicating either a break in, or more hopefully, the arrival of their guests. Kern felt an electric charge grip him, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It was the same feeling he got when behind the controls of a ship, just before entering the frag storm. The thrill of excitement that quickened his heart rate and gave him that extra boost of adrenaline. He nearly jumped out of his seat, signaling Sierra that it was time to go with a quick gesture of his head toward the exit.