Space Travel

Mek Vella, an Abednedo

Movrais Lee, a Gran
Artokk Qik, a Weequay
La Hay Vislan, a human
Gla Vlandac, a rodian
Kejal, a human
A long and arduous journey to leave Taris for a better life on Vandor.
Vandor is a cold frontier planet a few days away, in the Mid Rim.

THREE DAYS BEFORE DEPARTURE

This was not the finest of accommodations on Taris.
In fact, Mek figured, there was likely a reason this downstairs canteen was so empty. He was
huddling on a rickety duraplast bench against the wall, drawing his cloak tight around him,
covering his face, blocking out the smog. These crumbling walls, likely hundreds, thousands of
years old, did little to seal out the polluted and swampy air outside.
There were only a few other beings in the canteen, a couple Weequays, a Gran, several
humans. Each was similarly ragged-looking, like everyone else here on the wrong part of this
planet. Mek noticed that, at least, they’d had enough money between them to share a few bowls
of watery soup from the droid-staffed kitchen.
“I won’t do it,” said one of the Weequays, in a low and growling voice. “It ain’t worth the
trouble, it ain’t worth the time, it ain’t worth the money. And for what? We’re endin’ up a worse
place than we started.”
“He’s right. You got some good ideas, Movrais, but this isn’t one of ‘em,” added one of
the humans, a female.
The Gran groaned in protest.
“None of you understand! It’ll be paid back over hundreds. He said Vandor was barely
settled, full of -”
“Nah, barely settled just means we got to do all the work ourselves.” One of the crew
crossed his arms and tipped his seat back. “There is no way in the Slime-Slicks that this is a
good idea.”
“Well, I’m going,” Movrais argued, his three eyes darting amongst the others. “If you
disagree, you can leave. Understand?”
“I ain’t persuading you out of nothing, Mov. If this is our last meeting, so be it.” The
human woman stood, her chair scraping back on the uneven floor that was overgrown with
moss. “Safe travels. I mean it.” She stepped away from the table, scooping up her bag of
belongings. The Weequay who’d spoken first rose with her, as did a couple of the other crew
members. One of them shot a look of distaste back to the table, another a glance of worry.
Mek added up bits and pieces of their conversation in his head as the crew across the
canteen resumed their discussion, which was noticeably less lively.
Sounded like the party were settlers. Unhappy, or unlucky, with their lot in life, striking
out across stars and space in search of a bountiful new home. Without more than a moment of
hesitation, Mek shifted on the bench and got to his feet, striding as purposefully as he could
towards the others. They quieted down as he arrived.
“Hello, fellow traveler,” Movrais greeted him wearily. “I must admit, I didn’t see you there
in the corner.”
“Not wanting to impose here,” began Mek. “But I couldn’t help but overhear a little of your
conversation. You’re leaving Taris - for Vandor - am I right?”
Movrais and his crew shared a look. Mek was no master of reading faces, so stood
uneasily, but solidly, waiting for an answer.
“That we are, Abednedo. May I inquire as to why you ask?”
“I’m like you,” Mek sat at one of the empty chairs, the crew’s good reaction fueling a
strange confidence in him, speaking faster, louder, earnestly. “I’m looking to get off this planet. I
know there’s nothing left for me here. Tried everything, looked for jobs up in the skyscrapers, in
the good part of the planet, but there’s nothing left. Life spills out to the swamps. I’m here, you’re
here, we don’t want to be.”
“You’d be right about that. I’ve heard about this frontier planet, Vandor, that it’s unsettled-
and there’s opportunity.” Movrais told him.
“Mov wanted us all to go with him, but the rest of the crew didn’t take it well,” said one of
the humans, her long face mottled pink, eyes wide at the sight of the Abednedo.
“But we do still have our ship. And as you can see… any extra help is welcome. What’s
your name?”
“Mek Vella.”

TWO DAYS BEFORE DEPARTURE

Mek, Movrais, and the crew stayed in the same lodging house that night. Mek had yet to
meet them all, but the wide-eyed woman he knew was called La Hay. He didn’t get to ask the
other human and the Weequay for an introduction, as they’d left the lodging house early in the
morning to shop for rations.
“The journey will take us a week, at most,” La Hay gazed into the map’s holoprojection -
the projector itself was Mek’s, bought for cheap from a man who was at the lodging house a
week ago. It detailed the planets and space routes of the galaxy all the way from the Expansion
Region to the Mid Rim.
“We’ll go down the Hydian Way, stop at Corsin to refuel. Our trip will take us down the
Vaathkree a few days, then we’ll hop the Perlimian to get onto the Randon Run. Then it’s down
the Trax Tube, and the Gamorr Run will drop us near Vandor.”
“La Hay was a freighter captain, back in the day,” said Movrais proudly.
“Yeah, it was great, up until we were attacked by pirates and lost my freighter and my
job. Thank you for reminding me.” She slouched back. “But, yeah, stops at Corsin and Dalaang
for fuel and that’s it. Our old passenger cruiser, her fuel doesn’t last long. It’ll cost us, so we’re
thinking of picking up a couple passengers who’re going in our direction.”
Mek’s nostrils quivered. “Fare passengers?” He mentally recalled the amount of credits
he carried in his money pouch. If he’d had enough money for fare, he’d have been off the planet
months ago now.
“Not you, Mek.” Movrais laid his bulky hand on Mek’s shoulder. “We’re counting you as
crew. Don’t worry a bit.”
DAY OF DEPARTURE
When Artokk returned from the market, he came with two others in tow.
“This is Gla Vlandac,” Artokk waved, introducing a slight Rodian woman in a neatly
creased and almost-clean flight suit. “And Kejal.” Kejal was another human, a human male with
a shy smile and a heavy bag of belongings. The light-spirited group of seven boarded the
Klosvator and as they took off from one of Taris’ many spaceports, a few took the time to say
goodbye to the planet they’d called home. Mek didn’t.
They’d just left the atmosphere, the ship full of excitement, and they all gathered around
the cockpit where La Hay was readying for the jump to hyperspace. When she got the Klosvator
on course and the ship lurched forwards into the kaleidoscope of blue gliding past the
transparisteel windows, they all cheered. Mek noticed Artokk and Movrais settle into the seats in
what was once a fairly classy lounge area, which was now aged and distressed. Kejal
disappeared into his quarters to sleep, and Gla to practice - she was a dancer.
“We haven’t got any holos to watch but the news,” Artokk rasped to Mek as he took a
seat in the lounge as well. The seats themselves were cracked leather worn soft and fuzzy.
“And the news, it’s all about the Rebels these days. The Empire’s doing their best to
keep them down, but who knows what could happen?” Movrais added, leaning back.
Mek noted that the Gran’s worn-out robes were, in fact, made of a fine fabric that held a
symbol on the shoulder that proudly told of Movrais’ allegiance. But since he himself did not
care especially for either side, he kept quiet.
“What’s your story, Abednedo?” asked Artokk. “You look like you’ve lived a long while
without a comfortable place to stay.” He fiddled with his Weequay braids. “Like me, a while back.
Haven’t been to my home planet in years. Trading - and smuggling - was my life ‘til I met Mov.”
“I don’t recall any place I started,” Mek sighed. “Always scraped by. Don’t love the life,
but I’m still living it, and that’s a good sign. How about you, Movrais?”

ONE DAY AFTER DEPARTURE

The journey was mostly like that for the next while. Mek wandered the ship, talked with
the others, ate, slept. In the morning, the ship stopped over Corsin to refuel and plot a course.
Mek couldn’t sleep, the way the ship rumbled through the hyperspace lanes, and he took an
opportunity to rest during the stop. Only minutes later, Gla stood in the doorway, waking him
earlier than he’d hoped. She ducked into the sidehall by his room, round black eyes gazing
skittishly around.
“Mek - that you, yes?”
“Yes, yes, that’s me,” he said impatiently. “What’s going on?”
“You know speaking? Of Rodian?”
Mek had encountered this before - travelers assuming that as an Abednedo, he’d be well versed
in the tongues of the universe. And so he was, and he was always happy to help, as he
informed her in Rodian.
“Sulpayki. Rylun pa getpa gushu?” She smiled gratefully. Thank you - how was
breakfast? He vaguely remembered that she was taken on board because the crew’s cook had
left the party, that day he’d joined the crew.
 “Sumaq.” It was good, he said, settling back onto his bed. He continued on in Rodian.
What do you need?
I need help. I was hiding on Taris, to get away from my former employer, and Kejal - the human,
in the quarters beside mine - I think he might be a spy for him.
A spy?
He might have been following me, in the spaceport, and he’s been acting suspicious, calling
people, hiding away. I just needed to tell someone - please, keep an eye on him.
Mek agreed in Rodian, and Gla shook his hand, and left the room, leaving Mek to wonder and to
watch. He really didn’t have anything better to do, so as the Klosvator and its inhabitants started
along the next leg of the journey (the Vathkree Trade Corridor, La Hay informed them), Mek
decided to spend his time observing Kejal.
The first meal after Gla’s visit, Mek watched him as he gathered around the table with
the others: the human was as talkative and friendly as anyone else. He didn’t have to wait long
for something strange to happen, though: it was midway through one of Artokk’s home-cooked
dishes that Kejal glanced down at his wrist-comm and excused himself.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Artokk with a frown.