Star Wars: On the Job

Chapter 2: Ground Quakes

Hera squeezed between the crates in a narrow, snaking path that led to a dead-end. She pulled out a datapad and ticked off the inventory. It was the largest load she'd ever taken on, and it wasn't even for the cause. Even political dissidents had to make an honest living once in a while– and sometimes it was a menial one.

The metal cargo crates were piled half-way to the ceiling of the hold, four and five tall. Each one was filled with sundry goods from bandages to laundry detergent to eating utensils, and a variety of baby diapers suitable for a range of species. The owner of a small shop on Brase had retired and sold off his entire inventory to his brother-in-law on the other side of the sector. Moving dry goods wasn't a glamourous job, but it would put fuel in the Ghost and food in the bellies of her crew for another few weeks. Sometimes that was enough.

Hera ticked off the last few items just as a low rumble welled up beneath the ship. A second later the room began to quiver. Hera cast a wary eye at the floor. Another ground quake. Easily the tenth that morning. They never amounted to much, but Hera still felt claustrophobic between the towers of cargo. Once they got off this rickety planet, she'd feel a lot better.

Just as the rumbling subsided, a metallic clang echoed through the chamber. She shimmied in a side-gate around a few corners to where Kanan was squinting at his datapad.

"Are you about finished there?" she asked.

He reached up and tapped the pad against the top crate, stacked just above eye-level. "Almost. I still can't tell what's in this one. It's either the protein bars or the toilet paper."

"Wouldn't want to get those mixed up," Hera mused.

He gave a short laugh. "No kidding. Looks like I'm going to have to open it up. It's a little high. Mind lending me a hand?"

Kanan braced himself against the wall of containers and netted his fingers. Taking the cue for a maneuver they'd performed a half-dozen times in legal and not-so-legal situations, Hera stepped into his hands. He hoisted her foot up to chest level with a flash of green and orange. After balancing precariously for a second, she unlocked the lid. Worn metal hinges squealed and ground against eachother and then stopped abruptly. Hera jostled the lid up and down. Each time the grating noise lessened and the lid moved a little bit farther.

"How's it going up there?" Kanan grunted.

"The lid's a little jammed." She shoved again and her foot pushed into Kanan's hands. He pulled in a sharp breath and readjusted his stance beneath her.

"Need some help?" His voice was strained.

Hera wiggled the lid. "I almost got it." She gave another shove and was rewarded with a crusty yawn as the top opened halfway.

Hera peered in at a solid expanse of silver foiling. "Protein bars," she said. Next to her knee, Kanan breathed a sigh of relief. He shifted, preparing to lower her back down, but she said, "No wait. I see something else." An odd white triangle poked up from between the smooth mirrors of vacuum-sealed nutrition. "Maybe they're both in here?"

Hera reached for the triangle as Kanan shifted again. "Any chance you could hurry it up?"

"Almost got it," she said, pulling gingerly at the object.

That was when the next ground quake sent a shock of vibrations through the ship. Stronger than the last one, the tremors traveled through Kanan's body and into Hera's in a split-second. The floor bounced against Kanan's feet like it was trying to shake him off.

"Hera?" he called, but she had no time to reply. The Ghost shook more violently than ever. The crates chattered around them like giant, angry teeth. Kanan released Hera's foot and she half-slid half-climbed down to the floor, squeezed against his body in the cramped space.