The galaxy is adrift after the fall of the First Order.
While the Core Worlds politicians struggle to rescue the ideals of the Old Republic and reestablish a democratic governing body for the galaxy, the Outer Rim Territories settle back to normal...
"Don't worry, dear, I'll clean this mess real quick", Madam Sativa said, as she used a stained rag to dry the counter and pull the shattered glass to the sink. "And I'll get you a new drink in no time, don't go anywhere!", she concluded, moving away.
Grova was still getting used to her new robotic hand and had problems controlling several of its functions, including grip strenght. She had smashed her cup of Barium Frizz with an industrial grasp immediately after it was served, and now tried to dry her claw with a napkin. It looked like a regular hand wearing a red felt glove up to the elbow. She could move it, but it felt like nothing.
"You know, you could take on arm wrestling! We'd be rich in a week! There's your escape plan!", Flax laughed and sipped from his intact Bespin Breeze. His plasteel mirrored glasses reflected the neon lights all over the bar.
All Racer TIE teams were gathered at Madam Sativa's Burlesque Cantina to celebrate the upcoming Grand Race. The gala event was being broadcasted live to all sectors in The Clump and to many coordinates of the Outer Rim. Around the saloon, Twi'lek dancers with extravagant costumes vogued fiercely on top of round fluorescent pedestals that placed them hovering above the VIP public coming and going between the tables.
"Look, I don't mind you discussing your little rebellion in my fine and surely very loyal stablishment", meddled Madam Sativa, back with a new glass for Grova. "I hate those plumpy Order leftovers as much as the next queen, even if they're steady customers. Just, please, keep it down", she added.
Grova saw Yuli cruising through the crowd with a silver tray, serving beverages. She was part of a squad of slaves that rotated between low end, unspecialized jobs. "Sorry, Ma'am", the mechanic muttered, annoyed at the pilot.
During Grova's recovery, Flax had bonded with Yuli, and their relationship moved a step further from friendship --a pairing Grova had thought of for herself every once in a while, but always dismissed from her daydreams when she was reminded of his impulsive, often self-destructive behaviour. Planning to be a young widow seemed a dumb idea to Grova.
Since the mechanic was caught and punished, the slaves awakened by Alep Yon could no longer meet to listen to the supposed Jedi Master. But the three of them had been finding ways to meet in secret to discuss a plan to leave the station.
They had decided it was not enough to just escape for themselves, but they had to give others at least a chance of breaking free. It was impossible to coordinate a Clump-wide effort with all slaves, but the trio could cause as much mayhem as possible around the station as they left.
"By the way, just between us girls", Madam Sativa approached Grova. "It's not hitting me, right? I'm an independent entrepreneur, don't you come blowing things up in my side of the fence, mkay?", she added, in a dead serious tone.
"Flax, you're an idiot! You'll ruin it for all of us!", reprimanded Grova. "If you're always gonna tag along from now on, at least take it seriously". He rejoiced in the resentment tinting her words. From the pilot's perspective, that was just simple plain jealousy.
"I don't know what you're talking about, this is a work party", he shrugged.
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