The swirl of hyperspace did not bother Pax Gerrig nearly as much as the vast emptiness between systems. He sat alone at the command console of his small intersystem shuttle, [i]A Little Luck[/i], and double checked his navigation calculations as a nervous habit. The cockpit was small enough to be a coffin and the air smelled recycled and stale. 

	“At least it’s only another twelve hours,” he spoke to the integrated astromech droid. He decided to spend the rest of his time prior to landing looking over intelligence reports, eating his ship prepared meal, and sleeping in his cot in the cramped cargo hold that doubled as a cell when he transported suspects. “I mean look at this stuff. There’s not a whole lot that would make the Sith want to take this system. There has to be something more going on.” The astro droid chirped an affirmative response. “And here I am talking to the damn droid.” 

	It had been close to 36 hours since Gerrig had slept. The day before ended up filled with reviewing data and preparing himself and his gear for the days ahead. As much as he hated saying it, he could not sleep because he was excited to join the Taskforce. It had been a while since he tracked down a Sith and he missed doing what he did best. Gerrig had become synonymous with ‘justice’ among RepSec officers in the core. The only part he dreaded about arriving on planet was working under the Jedi. Master Rorwoor had been assigned to the Taskforce and Pax was to report to him along with his commanding officers and RepSec Intelligence. 

“Wonder if the smug bastard will even understand Basic,” he mused to the droid. A message appeared on the screen asserting that Jedi were guardians of justice. “Yeah we’ll see about that. Never liked ‘em. You know the story of Taris, right?” As he finished his sentence, a frosty steel ball of fear settled in his stomach. Slowly, afraid to see what he knew was not there, he turned his head. Out in his periphery he saw his wife. 

“You’re not real! I saw you get killed. You weren’t on the ship. I checked before we left!” He spat the practiced words without effect. She still stood there, silent and watching, as he fumbled in a bulkhead compartment for his injector. “What do you even want? You just stand there!” He loaded the cartridge into the injector and put it against his arm. As he pressed the cold nozzle against his forearm he risked eye contact with the apparition. Her eyes poured sadness and regret into his soul. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’re just not real.” Pax pushed the button on the rear of the stylus injector with his thumb to flood his system with sedative. As soon as he looked down to activate the injector she disappeared from site.

Groggily, he stood and searched the small interior of his ship to ensure that her ghost had not hidden somewhere. He sat and cleaned his carbine in silence. After, he donned his armor and helmet and lay down on the cot. He checked the chronometer on his forearm to see that his mania had only lasted 12 minutes. Only 11 hours and 48 minutes until Abridon. Pax Gerrig flipped down the visor to seal himself in his climate controlled shame. 
“I love you,” he whispered. “I really miss you.”