Star Wars: On the Job

Chapter 7: The Plan

It took only ten minutes longer than they hoped to get the Ghost prepped for her minimal-power journey, and most of that time had been dedicated to chasing down off-balance calibrators that were better fixed sooner rather than later. They cut off the crew cabins, but were forced to leave the lounge and galley open, being the only route to the fresher. Everything was shut down, from the main lighting to the Dejarik table to the Ghost's defensive lasers. As Kanan entered the updated hyperdrive coordinates, even the emergency lighting toned down a few notches. It would take his human eyes a good ten minutes to fully adjust to the low light, but for Hera it would only take a few seconds.

Kanan punched the hyperdrive and the swirling clouds of ancient supernovas disappeared into blinding white streaks of light. Soon those, too, gave way to the familiar blue-black swirl. He glanced at the indigo kaleidoscope and then checked the chrono before heading to the galley.

"Two hours and thirty-nine minutes to Husera," he said, popping his head through the darkened doorway. "Still on schedule."

Hera nodded as she slid the remains of a package of bread onto the table next to a survival lamp. The squat, round lantern was meant to serve as a campfire in emergencies, providing not only warmth, but a rudimentary cooking surface. The lamp glowed a deep yellow that filled the boxy room with sharp-edged shadows. Around it on the table, the bread, thermos and bowls stood like ancient monoliths, black against the light. Kanan took the bench opposite Hera. A cloud of steam billowed into the air as she poured hot water onto the noodles in her bowl. The lamp had drained them of color, but Kanan could tell by the salty smell that the noodles were kelp-flavored.

"So, what do you want to do about our employer, what's-his-name?" he asked taking the thermos to re-awaken his own freeze-dried feast.

"Ajha," she said without looking up.

He nodded and said it again, committing the name to memory. "Ajha. Yeah. Him. What do you want to do?"

Hera shrugged. "What can we do?" She poked at her noodles to loosen them as they rehydrated into edibility. "I've been thinking about it since we found the song mites and I don't know that there's any way we can come out of this on top."

Kanan didn't like the defeated tone to her voice, but asked, "How do you figure?"

She took a deep breath. "If we accuse him of giving us infested cargo, he'll just say that we already had an infested ship. I keep the Ghost in top shape... at least I thought I did." She rolled her eyes around the darkened galley. "But I don't keep a third-party maintenance record that could vouch for her space-worthiness. Without that, I have no way to prove that those song mites came from his cargo, especially not now that we've blown them into space. And now that the hold's a mess from decompression, who knows if all the contents are going to survive. No oxygen, no heat... We're barely going to make it out of this in one piece and we haven't even fired a turbo laser." Kanan couldn't help but chuckle and Hera smiled grimly and added, "They could really dock us for this. Best case scenario: they slash our fee. Worst case: they bring charges against us. Then we're looking at fines from the local magistrate and probably a secession of payment altogether."

Kanan shrugged. "Well, we could always fly away before any of that that happens."

"And become criminals?" ..." She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand then stared at her gloves, as if surprised to see them. She tore them off, setting them on the bench.

Kanan poked at his noodles and backed away from the cloud of briny steam. "Technically, we're already criminals," he said and cocked a knowing eyebrow, but she didn't laugh.