A Life Without Meaning

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕟

A content sigh passed Ellia's lips as she stretched out her arms in front of her. It had been a slow day at the Nevarro landing port. Her and her fellow mechanics forced to lounge around the cargo crates that littered the ground, waiting until a ship fell into their lap.

As she leaned her head back to stare up at the sky, a dark shape suddenly appeared behind the clouds. Seconds later, the unmistakable form of a ship broke through, heading down towards the surface.

Ellia found herself smiling slightly at the familiar ship. It was one that frequented their town regularly, specifically to drop off and pick up bounties. It was a pre-Imperial Razorcrest model, a beautifully unique ship. She was lucky to have worked on it fairly often, somehow always finding herself on duty when its pilot, a tall Mandalorian, came to collect from the guild.

As the ship docked, she pressed herself up off the cargo box, watching as the ramp unfolded from the side, depositing said Mandalorian onto the soil below, his beskar helmet gleaming in the hidden sunlight. She threw her grease rag over her shoulder, making a move to walk up to the ship and its owner, when suddenly someone shoved past her shoulder as another mechanic charged forward.

It was no secret that the Mandalorian gave good tips for work done on the one-of-a-kind ship, and good tips were certainly hard to come by. That's why Ellia considered herself lucky to work on the ship as often as she did. But there were days where she would leave early, or sleep in and miss the Mandalorians arrival, giving the other mechanics a chance to pounce.

Still she couldn't hide her annoyance as she paused her walk, watching as the Chistori ran up to the Mandalorian with palms outstretched.

Begrudgingly turning back around, she slumped back down against the crate she was using as a seat, forced to wait until another ship arrived in port that she could beg for credits from in exchange for her services.

It had been five years since she had arrived on Nevarro. Five whole years. And as much as she was grateful to not have to be on the run anymore, she was more or less stuck now. And she knew it too. The pocket change that she made barely got her enough food, let alone was able to give her hope that one day she could acquire her own ship, or even afford legal passage. So there she remained, forced to repeat the same day over and over again for eternity as she watched hundreds of others leave the planet's atmosphere with ease. Her childhood dream of seeing the galaxy was more or less trashed by the trauma of being on the Empire's most wanted list. She knew that she was doomed to live out the rest of her sorry days on Nevarro. But still, even then, she never regretted her decision to run away. Sure the galaxy was still in shambles, sure the New Republic was having trouble getting on to its own feet, but deep down she knew that, as long as the Imperial flag was never waived above a planet again, things were alright.

The loud sound of metal hitting wood jolted her out of her thoughts. Blinking in surprise, she found herself looking at a small pile of credits sitting on the top of the crate. Her head shot up to find none other than the Mandalorian looming over her slumped form.

"She needs some rewiring" he said lowly as she climbed to her feet. "And the rear deflector shields are dislodged." his voice gruff and final from beneath the mask.

And that was all he said, once she nodded to confirm to him that she had been listening, he turned back around and headed for the town center.

Ellia knew it was best not to wait around any longer. She quickly pocketed the credits at the speed of light. As she passed by the other mechanics on the lot, the Chistori that had tried to approach the Mandalorian first angrily nodded at her as she passed him by.

"Lucky girl" he sneered, "Apparently you're the only one allowed to touch the Crest now."

Ellia furrowed her eyebrows, but she didn't think much of it at first, she had work to do.

She happily bounced around the Razorcrest, doing her best to give it the TLC that it so desperately needed. She made quick work of the rear-deflectors and an exterior panel that she found hanging practically by a string. However, as she sat on the floor of the hull, working on the rewiring that the Mandalorian had requested, her mind ended up wandering back to the Chistori's words, wondering if they actually had any merit.

At one point, some guild members had come to offload some of the bounties that the Mandalorian had collected, and Ellia was forced to watch from the bottom of the ramp as cart after cart of carbonite frozen creatures of all shapes and sizes were descended from the hull. She gulped nervously, realizing that at one point in time, that had almost been her.

As night approached, Ellia was camped out against one of the large landing gears of the Crest, her eyes shut lightly as her body relaxed after a long day's work. She finally heard heavy footsteps marching towards the ship, and opened one eye curiously to find the Mandalorian heading towards the ramp.

There was something different about him, and after a few more milliseconds of staring she discovered what. He was now sporting two shiny beskar shoulder plates instead of only one, like before. No doubt a result of the collection of his bounty rewards. As he walked towards the open ramp, and Ellia climbed to her feet once more, he flipped her an extra credit, one that she caught with ease.

He was about half-way up the ramp before Ellia finally managed the courage to speak.

"Can I ask you something, Mandalorian?" she called out, moving herself to the end of the ramp. He paused at the sound of her voice.

Now, if she was being honest, she had expected him to dismiss her out of hand. He didn't owe her anything. She had done her job, and he had already paid her more than she probably deserved.

But surprisingly, he didn't. He didn't say anything in response, but he did glance over his shoulder, a silent and hesitant statement of permission for her to continue.

"The other mechanics-" she began to explain awkwardly as she pocketed his credit. "-they said I'm the only one allowed to work on the Crest. Can I ask why? Not that I'm complaining, she's a very pretty ship, I just..." her voice faded with her jumbled thoughts, not really having an ending to that statement.

Again, the Mandalorian was silent, unmoving. As Ellia stood there, waiting for him to either give her an answer or ignore her completely, she realized that the only time she ever really heard him speak was when he told her what needed fixing on the Crest, and the quiet expressions of thanks as he left.

"Your work is...sufficient" he finally answered, almost awkwardly. He was quick to turn his head back around, stomping up the rest of the ramp and disappearing into the hull of his ship.

Ellia let out a small breath of disbelief before retreating back to the lodge, more ready than ever to turn in for the night.

. . .