Hyperlane Drift

Hyperlane Drift: Part 1

"You do realize you don't have to obey them, right? Or anyone else, for that matter". And just like that, the spell numbing Grova's mind was broken into 10,000 tiny pieces. It felt as if those slightly condescending words, drunkenly tumbling out of Alep Yon's mouth, were the first she ever heard.

"I mean, it's the survivalist option, no doubt about that; they'd kill you for the smallest act of rebellion", the filthy beggar continued, lying comfortably on his side on top of a huge pile of trash just outside the door to the Upside Down Pub, a funky corner which he and his pet loth cat, Sidious, had been calling home for a couple of months.

"They'll kill you instantly if you try to leave", Alep Yon resumed his musings after a brief pause, seemingly unconcerned with Grova's level of attention to his words. She was just standing there, completely stunned, making no eye contact, simply striking the same odd pose she had when she landed at that spot. 

The young mechanic, a slave owned by the Scrapper Guild, was going about a regular workday aboard The Clump, a massive starship scrap yard that floats far from the warmth of any sun, at a fortunate (if barren) set of coordinates in the Outer Rim, where 108 hyperlanes intersect.

Then she ran, or rather leaped into the beggar. The Clump, being nothing more than an ever-growing collection of starship skeletons melded together to form the jankiest space station in the galaxy, had all kinds of quirks, including gravity generators set at different angles, directions and intensities thoughout its many sectors.

So that's how Grova landed right in front of the Upside Down Pub after gently gliding down from the ceiling hatch door connected to the workshops, exactly at the moment Yon was starting his speech, initially aimed at no one. Everyone around just kept moving unconditionally aloof towards each other, and specially to the station's certified crazy person.

"They'll kill you in the act if you take arms against them", pondered Yon. Sidious was sleeping curled up against his stomach, purring and snoring almost as loudly as the irregular humming, beeping and clanking that composed The Clump's usual atmosphere --more so around the pub, where angry droid rock was usually blasting nonstop.

It suddenly occurred to Grova that she was free to move. She had been expecting to be taken back to her path by her legs at any minute, but had lost the habit of actually commanding them to. She slowly and clumsily put down the heavy box of parts she was carrying and started to pat herself in confusion.

"They'll kill you in no time if you just stop working".

Grova touched her worn-out boots as she tried to feel her toes moving inside.

"They'll just let you die if you go on a hunger strike or something, heh".

Grova moved her hands over the green and white jumpsuit covering her body, which identified her as a very qualified and valuable slave, a Racer TIE mechanic.

"If they catch you stealing... Well, it depends. If you been stealthily moving valuables around for long enough, they might actually give you a job. Small stuff, though? They'll kill you. They'll kill you for anything and nothing, really".

Grova's palms slipped right along her face covered in sweat, grease and soot.

"But do you know what really gets under their skins? If you turn in a scrap ship to the foundry before its navigational data has been mirrored. In that case, they'll flog you publicly, arrest you, lock you in a mucky cell, torture and interrogate you and only then maybe release you from your misery. A bit of an overkill, don't you think? An expensive one, lots of bribes involved", said Alep, sitting up, now intently observing Grova's disoriented reaction.