Chapter Text
Sister set the stolen shuttle down in the cheapest landing bay she could find. Luckily, that also meant she was near enough to her contact that they wouldn’t have to spend too long in the smog-riddled cityscape.
As the engines wound down, Mill looked up from her work. She had used what emergency equipment that was available on the shuttle to turn the standard-issue survival blankets into decidedly unfashionable ponchos. The garments would hopefully cover up anything that could identify the two as former Republic agents until they could get more clothes for themselves.
In the Grand Army of the Republic, there wasn’t much need for money. That unfortunately meant that, between Sister and Mill, they had only a hair over two hundred credits, hardly enough to buy a single cloak for each. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to pay the woman they’d be meeting for her services. Sister had suggested selling the medical equipment she’d carried out with her, but Mill was adamant that the equipment would be their key to keeping themselves afloat. The young medic had brought up that they could sell the vessel they’d come in, and while Sister was hesitant to give up their means for getting off the soggy rock, the vessel was in good repair and equipped with all the amenities expected of a Republic vessel. They may be able to get a cheaper vessel with the credits left over if Mama Stammoch was feeling generous with her pricing. Sister figured it couldn’t take too long to find someone willing to buy a liberated Republic vessel on the Smuggler’s Moon.
---
After four hours of shuffling around the dingy city, they had finally been able to offload the shuttle. Four hours of hauling around their bag of medical equipment, AZI-9 hidden away inside, all for a measly thirty-five thousand credits. A vessel like that shouldn’t have sold for less than sixty, but the two were in no position to argue.
Their search had brought them far afield from Mama Stammoch’s garage, and the trek to the dingy alley was unpleasant. Sister did her best to keep her hair in her face—she was far less recognizable than the average clone, of course, and being Hutt Space it was likely almost nobody they’d meet had seen a Trooper without a helmet on, but she couldn’t be too sure. Her blaster was similarly obscured in her poncho, but that was at the cost of being able to draw it quickly. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.
Sister wove through the crowded streets as best she could, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure her young friend was still in tow. More than once, she had to tug on the girl’s sleeve to get her back on track. Each time, Mill’s attention had been stolen by another of the lost and destitute of Nar Shaddaa.
“That woman was sick, Sister,” Mill had tried to explain. “I can help her.”
Each time she pulled the girl away, Sister’s heart broke a little more. “We need to help ourselves first, or we won’t be of any good to anyone. We can come back after we have what we need and see if she’s still there.”
Each time, that seemed to placate Mill, and each time Sister had to concentrate her will on not giving up the fact that she knew they wouldn’t be in the same place again. Nar Shaddaa, like too many cities in the galaxy, worked harder to keep its homeless population constantly displaced than they did to keep pedestrian walkways repaired. Soon enough, some rough-and-tumble types, official or vigilante, would drive them off. Hopefully, Sister thought, without violence. She admired Mill’s dedication to helping everyone she could, but some problems couldn’t be fixed by two outsiders on the run with nothing to their name but a bag of stolen medical equipment. She wished she could, but it would take a level of organizing the community that neither was capable of in the moment. They could cure the woman’s cough, yes, but they couldn’t cure the underlying problems of the city. Not yet.
It was as she was processing one of those moments of distraction when the man bumped into Sister. She was about to apologize when she heard the sound of a vibroblade being activated, the weapon buzzing in his hand.
“I could hear those creds jingling in your pocket from orbit,” he spat through bared teeth. “Hand them over and you get to keep walking.”
This, Sister thought, was exactly why she’d wanted to spend as little time as possible on Nar Shaddaa. Almost on instinct, her hand started moving for her concealed blaster.
Before she could push aside her poncho, Mill had stepped up beside her and was staring at the thief, her head slightly tilted.
“Why are you so afraid?”
Sister furrowed her brow. Was she trying to antagonize him? The man turned to look at the small zabrak.
“What do you mean, scared? You’re the one who should be scared, kid.”
Mill frowned slightly, her eyebrows raised into an almost pitying expression. “It’s okay to be scared, you know. The galaxy is a scary place. But that doesn’t mean you have to lash out like this.”
Whatever Mill’s angle was, all it was succeeding at was confusing the man. Sister saw his grip loosen ever so slightly, and in the same moment Mill reached out to gently touch his arm.
His immediate anger at the girl touching him melted almost instantly into an almost distressingly placid expression, his grip on the knife loosening entirely. Mill, suddenly crying, grabbed Sister’s hand and started to run after shouting one last message to the man over her shoulder.
“It will get better, I promise!”
---
“What in the hells was that?”
Sister and Mill had run far enough away from the would-be thief that they were able to return to their original pace. Mama Stammoch’s garage wasn’t far away.
Mill, her eyes slightly red, shrugged. “Since I was little, I was taught that the Force should be used for knowledge and defense, not to attack. So, I let myself feel his feelings, and it was mostly fear, fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect the people he cares about. Then I just soothed those feelings, smoothed out the anger and sadness and desperation into nothing for a moment, just long enough to get away. It took a lot out of me, if I’m being honest, but I’m glad it worked. I’m really glad we didn’t have to…”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Sister knew the girl despised violence, she’d made that clear. On a whim, she pulled Mill into a hug.
“I’m glad it worked, too. You did a great job, and clearly your training is working. Let’s get what we came here for, alright? Not far now.”
Not long later, they were meeting with the short middle-aged human woman. The self-titled Mama Stammoch was a mainstay of the Nar Shaddaa underworld, and she was the only person Sister would trust to forge some documentation for the two of them. They stood just inside her garage as they told her what they needed.
“Two false identification cards? Fair enough, I’ve heard things are going to kriffing hells out there.”
Sister and Mill just nodded, not wanting to reveal too much.
“Alright, I can make them quick enough, what names should I put down?”
“Sister Seetee.”
“Mill Nema.”
Stammoch nodded. “And any preference for where you’re from?”
Mill spoke right away. “We’re medics from Langston.”
The older woman nodded. “Payment’s gotta be upfront, you know how these things are. Fifteen hundred credits apiece.”
Sister blinked. “Fifteen hundred?”
Stammoch shrugged. “If things are rough out there, they’re gonna get rough in here. Gotta provide for my people.”
Mill pointed at an old freighter being worked on in the back of the shop. “How much is the freighter?”
“That old B-7?” Mama Stammoch laughed. “I see your angle, kid, and I’m game. Twenty-two thousand, even, for the identity cards and the junker.”
That was the best deal they’d get, Sister supposed, and she shook the mechanic’s hand. “As always, a pleasure.”
Stammoch flashed a businesslike smile. “So, got a name for your new vessel? I’ll update its transponder while I make your cards.”
Sister looked for a moment at Mill, carrying a bag of medical equipment as large as herself.
“The Panacea .”