The Search Within the Force and Flame

VIII

The sounds of the birds and wind emanate out across the clearing. The former camp is now ransacked and picked through by Azula and Logan. As they leave the area Logan stops and kneels. Azula turns her head and raises an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, Jedi?" Azula asked, curtly

"Erasing these sleemos from this planet, hopefully," Logan says, extending an open palm to the ground.

Logan closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He feels the Force rush through him like a blast of springtime air. The ground begins to shake as the planet itself opens and swallows the New Imperial Remnant camp, as well as the bodies of the dead stormtroopers. The ground closes back up, the only leftovers of the battle are in the form of some stray blaster marks on trees and a feint explosion crater that is now filled in by the resifting of soil and rock.

Logan exhales as he opens his eyes to the now empty clearing. "Where did you learn that?" Azula's voice snaps through the stillness.

"Toph," Logan says as he looks at Azula. "She got bored one day and asked if I was interested in learning any earthbending techniques." He says, as he stops and extends his arm in a 'look over here' gesture. "Hence, this is the result," Logan says.

Azula has a look on her face of slight amazement before it quickly returns to her trademark steely gaze. "We should get moving," she says.

Logan nods in agreement.

The two walk down the clearing in silence. Azula replays the moment of striking down the stormtrooper commander repeatedly. She absentmindedly pulls at her two fingers that shot out the lightening bolt. Logan notices this and clears his throat.

"Thank you," he says, awkwardly. "For saving my life."

"Think nothing of it, Jedi," Azula says, coldly. "You're useful, that's why I did," she continues.

"I'll take that as compliment, your highness" Logan says, smirking. "I think you're finally warming up to me," he continues.

Azula rolls her eyes and looks back at him. "Don't get cute," she says.

They continue to walk down the clearing until they come across a large metal object. It's more than that, approaching the rear of this object is a massive, stacked set of engines. Four on the top, three in the middle, and four on the bottom. For this vessel is a CR90 corvette, resting on its landing struts, its weathered main hull streaked with mismatched welded panels and rust. Azula tilted her head, her sharp gaze scanning the vessel's hull. "I take it this isn't standard."

Logan snorted, brushing aside a hanging vine as he stepped closer. "Not even close."

The corvette's original sleek silhouette was broken up by obvious grafts and modifications. A docking bay bulged awkwardly from the ship's spine, supported by thick struts and reinforced plating that looked cobbled together from mismatched materials. Weld seams and patchwork panels marred the makeshift hull, adding a sense of desperation to the ship's design—less a precision warship and more a survivor that refused to die.

As they circled toward the docking bay, their eyes fell on the ramp leading up to a gaping, open hatch. A flickering neon sign hung crookedly above the entrance, sparking faintly against the dull metal backdrop.

"Dugg's Ship of Stuf," it read, with the final "f" barely hanging on as it fizzled and buzzed.

Azula folded her arms, one eyebrow raised. "Ship of... 'Stuf?'"

Logan exhaled through his nose, half amused and half wary. "I'd say it's a safe bet Dugg's not much of a speller."

Azula stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the dim interior visible through the hatch. Shelves and crates cluttered the entrance, and faint music—a warbled melody distorted by static—leaked out into the clearing.