The streets on Nar had changed. Not in the literal sense, but more from the observation of a man who once lived the life here, now living for someone else. Again. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he was sure the eyes that used to turn away from him as he walked, the stares that he caught that felt unwelcome, weren’t as afraid as they used to be. Like he had become a target they thought twice on whether he was a risk worth taking. Maybe it was the kid’s presence following him? Afterall, Nova never used to follow Jet around like this, she knew the streets just as much as he did, kriff, maybe even moreso. 

The distraction was welcome. Thinking about the state he’d find his once thriving workshop was a heavier thought, and it was an uncomfortable thought at that, one he wasn’t ready to carry. Although the cartels had ‘promised’ to keep it protected, with how things changed hands around here, he wasn’t sure whether to expect it to be up and running under ‘new management’ or renovated into another spice den. 

Rounding the final corner, Jet held his breath. A few short steps slowly revealed the shutters still down, although now covered in graffiti sprawled across it reading ‘Drekjawz Own This Row.’ He couldn’t help but smirk. The Drekjaws was a local swoop gang in the area which he had done repairs for in the past, maybe it was a way for them to protect the place, or maybe the whole thing had been forgotten and it was just an empty space to be filled with tags. Jet stopped a couple steps from the place, he took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, seemingly forgetting the kid stood next to him.

[colour=ff0000]“This is the ol’ workshop. It's a wonder the damn building’s still standing. Not like I left it under the best protection, afterall…”[/colour]

The kid stared at the building in wide-eyed wonder. It may not have looked like much to the average spacer or local, but today was a bit of culture shock for the teenager. He had scarcely seen a group of standing buildings that weren’t ramshackle huts in the middle of a sparsely-populated settlement. The fact that they’d just walked through two different districts of buildings that were several stories tall had Zane walking around slack-jawed for the past hour. The young scrapper watched the much-larger man walk up to the place, eager to see what was about to happen.

Jet stepped forward and planted his foot on the edge of the shutter, pulling it tight against the ground, and placed the palm of his prosthetic against the ridged metal. A small chime pinged from behind it and the shutter groaned open, the motor grinding against rust as it dragged the old durasteel upward. Somewhere inside, the familiar pitch of the defense grid gave one last tired whine before it faded into silence. It was still operational, and still keyed to his signature. That was something.

Jet lingered for a moment, allowing the shutter to raise enough before stepping through the threshold and into the light. 

The air was warm, humming with quiet life. The old overheads glowed steady above him, casting soft amber across the cluttered floor. Music kicked in from the wall speaker in the corner, distorted synth over grinding pulse loops. One of [url=https://youtu.be/er416Ad3R1g?t=13]Nova’s favourite tracks[/url] for soldering full throttle. Jet had always joked it would give him tinnitus. She’d just turn it louder.

The workbench was active. Tools lay scattered mid-project, a soldering wand still glowing faintly, wires stripped and coiled beside a half-disassembled rig. A caf mug sat on the corner, steam curling up in slow spirals. Her jacket, patched and grease-stained as always, was draped over the back of the chair.

She turned toward him with that look. Half proud, half annoyed, like he’d kept her waiting too long, hair in her face, smudge across her cheek. [colour=b6ffb6]“Took you long enough,”[/colour] she said, setting a tool down beside her. [colour=b6ffb6]“I kept it running.”[/colour]

Jet froze. His heart climbed up into his throat before he could stop it. He took a step toward her. The light, the warmth, the sound, it all wrapped around him like he had never left. Like she had never left.

A tear welled up behind his eye, forcing him to blink.

It all vanished.

Darkness swallowed the room. The silence was immediate, oppressive.


For a breath, nothing moved. Then, [i]flick[/i]. The overheads sputtered to life in a jagged, uneven stutter. Cold light buzzed down from tired old fixtures, throwing long shadows over still, untouched surfaces.

Dust drifted through sharp sunbeams slicing in through the vent grates. It sparkled in the air, thick and slow. The workbench was dead. The soldering wand lay cold and forgotten. 

Jet stood there, unmoving. The breath he'd taken on the way in still hadn’t fully left him. He exhaled, finally. A quiet, shuddering release that settled somewhere behind his ribs. Then, with only a glance back toward the rest of the shop, he spoke. [colour=ff0000]“I got to grab some things. I didn’t exactly leave the place in my right mind. Help yourself to whatever you find. Tools, spare parts, doesn’t matter, it's not needed here. If you need me…” He paused, faintly uncertain. “Just, er, let me know, okay, kid?”[/colour] and with that, he moved across the room to the office in the back, not waiting for a reply, the sound of his boots dulled against the dust-covered floor. 

This place was a wonderland to a kid that had spent most of his life sliding down scrap heaps and salvaging derelicts. Zane observed the way that Jet seemed to look over the place, like he was seeing ghosts of a life long past phasing in and out of the walls. This place must have been an important part of the grizzled spacer’s past. The way he spoke of it, and the slight hint of irreverence for its contents made Zane wonder what exactly could have taken place within these walls that had Jet acting so uneasy.

Still, the kid wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to scavenge. From everything that he’d seen, this place was quite the aurodium mine. He spent the next long while carefully going through the shelves and tables, each and every level, trying to figure out what would be all right to get his hands on without making it seem like he was being greedy. He had an idea of what he was looking for, but wasn’t sure in what capacity he was going to come across it, if it was even here.

As Jet stepped into the office, the door sealed shut behind him with a hiss. The light in here flickered once, then steadied, just enough to see by. Dust blanketed every surface, same as in the main shop. He crossed to the corner where the wall safe sat, half-concealed behind a crooked vent panel. No scanner, no retinal reader, just a half-busted mechanical dial. With a flick of memory, he turned the same code Nova constantly ribbed him for never changing. The safe clanged open, coughing a puff of stale dust from its edges.

Inside sat a dark, weather-worn duffel. Heavy and, thankfully, untouched. He slung it up onto the desk with a grunt, unzipping it just far enough to peek inside. The contents were all there, just as he left them. He gave a quiet, hollow smile. A soft breath through the nose, and he zipped it shut again, slinging it over his shoulder.

Across the room stood an old storage locker, two, in fact, one his, and one Nova’s. Hers still had this cheap slap-on sticker that said “KEEP OUT” in deep, faded red. She had plastered it there back when she was just getting clever with boundaries. He opened it gently. 

All her old stuff was there, relatively clean. Boots, tools, a few boxes labeled in her always-rushed handwriting. Taped to the inside of the locker door was a photo: Jet and Nova, shoulder to shoulder, grease-smeared and grinning like idiots. He remembered the moment, taken right after she’d finished her first job without his ‘interference,’ as she called it. He stared at it for a long moment before peeling it free, gently. A sad smile crept in as he tucked it safely into the inside pocket of his jacket, patting it flat with his palm.

As he went to close the locker, something caught his eye: Nova’s old tooldeck. He hesitated for a moment. Nova used to wear it like it was part of her, snapping tools into place like it was second nature, muttering to it like it might work faster if it liked her. Jet had tried it once but could never get used to it. It was too fussy, too automated, but Nova had built it to last. 

Lying next to it was its slim visual display, barely more than a lens and a tiny arc of metal that hooked just above the temple and over the ear. Nova had always called it her ‘Eye’, Jet had joked it was her ‘Gremlin Eye’ more than once, but the name never took. He picked up both and turned towards the door.

When he stepped back into the main shop, he found Zane busying himself with scavenging the place. The sight brought a wry smile to Jet’s face. Anyone else caught doing this would have had a blaster bolt, but Jet was too busy reminiscing on how he first met Nova herself rummaging through his shop to even consider it. 

[colour=ff0000]”Hey.”[/colour] Jet’s voice cut through the quiet without sharpness. He walked over and held out the tooldeck and Eye for Zane. [colour=ff0000]”My apprentice built this for herself. Wouldn’t ever work without it, swore by it.”[/colour] He paused, just long enough to carry the weight of it. [colour=ff0000]”I’m lendin’ it to you. Now, you treat it right, and you bring it back when she’s home, okay, kid?”[/colour] 

Looking the tooldeck and the small contraption over, Zane accepted them both into his hands with a smile. [color=cyan]”Thanks, Jet. I’ll take really good care of it, promise!”[/color] He looked back over his shoulder at the collection of tables ringing the shop. [color=cyan]”Hey, any chance there’s some stuff in here that’ll give me some general knowledge about being a techie? Or maybe even somethin’ for this E-11? I wanna start puttin’ in some hours maintaining this thing, see if I can make it any better…”[/color]

Jet nodded toward the far workbench. [colour=ff0000]”Bottom drawer, left side. Bunch of old manuals, schematics, toolcharts.. Whatever else is in there, too. Feel free to see what you can find, some might be useful. Nova probably scribbled in them to update them as she saw fit, I’d follow her advice if you find it in there.”[/colour] 

He pumped his shoulder once, resettling the shifting duffel on his back and then turned away, walking towards a half-hidden door behind a lift gantry. [colour=ff0000]“Join me up here when you’re done, let’s see if we can’t get you some of my old gear.”[/colour]

The kid nodded energetically, moving over toward the place Jet had indicated. He watched the older spacer disappear behind the gantry and then began trying to outfit himself with the tooldeck on his left arm. It functioned like a gauntlet, and held multiple small, hand-held tools along the forearm. Zane supposed that the eyelet he had was used to interface with it, and it was possibly voice-activated? He carefully placed the eyelet into his upper chest pocket, compacting it down so it wouldn’t be at risk of being bent out of shape. Adjusting the gloved portion of the device by flexing his hands, the kid noticed a small inscription on the side of the gauntlet - an acronym, labeled “F.E.T.C.H.” He wondered what the whole thing stood for - probably something he’d want to ask Jet about in a bit. The next step was to start rummaging through the aforementioned drawer. Zane was eager to see what sort of forgotten treasures he would find there.

He slid the drawer out of its compacted position with a little difficulty, the metals protesting by way of a slight groan from lack of maintenance and underuse. Zane’s eyes widened unexpectedly when he looked down into what was the most interesting pile of unused tech he’d ever laid eyes on. Several small datapads with tiny printed labels on them - everything from “general tech” to “hyperdrive basics”. He went through them one by one, making sure the ones he had his eye on were still functioning before placing them on top of the workbench. There were even actual manuals printed on flimsi, and one of them just so happened to be a basic education manual on blasters.

[color=cyan]”Thank you Jet…”[/color] the kid whispered to himself as he took the manual in hand and placed it on top of the workbench with the other materials. He also found the toolcharts Jet had mentioned, as well as a larger datapad with the label “schematics”. Nodding to himself that he’d probably gotten most of what he would ever need as far as technical aids were concerned, he carefully stacked the materials together on top of the flimsi manual he’d acquired before grabbing up the whole stack and walking carefully over to where he’d seen Jet disappearing into the shop.

The stairs creaked under Jet’s weight as he made his way up the grated walkway. The mezzanine hadn’t changed - just a bolted catwalk hugging the wall, leading to the narrow loft space above. Years ago, it had just been his breakroom, a cramped cot and a caf unit that barely worked. But after Nova started staying, he’d expanded it just enough to hold two. Added a privacy curtain, and an extra sleeping mat, small comforts crammed in hard corners. 

He stepped into the loft and moved to his old locker first, easier task, easier mind. It opened with a metallic scream that hurt his ears, the hinges stiff with disuse. Inside hung old work jackets, utility vests, long sleeved tunics, all in neutral tones, breathable fabric, and nothing flashy. Jet sifted through them without thinking, pulling out anything that looked like it might fit the kid. A few lightweight coats, a few shirts, one of his old utility belts with a holster still clipped to its side. 

He tossed each item onto his own bunk, building a small pile. Only when he was sure he’d done right by Zane did his shoulders sag slightly. Then, he closed the door, turning his head to avoid the same scream, and took a deep breath. Time for what he’d really come up here to do.

He stared at the lockers for a long second. Two broad metal bodies, scuffed with age and use. With a grunt, he grabbed the edge of Nova’s locker and dragged it aside. The screech of metal legs echoed like a dying Bantha. Behind it, half-hidden and flush with the wall, was a recessed panel, seam barely visible beneath the thick layer of gathered dust. 

He knelt in front of it and slammed his fist along the panel's edge. It wasn’t meant to be opened again, not without a fight. The seam bent outwards just enough for him to wedge his fingers inside and pry it loose. The metal clattered to the floor with a dull thud. Inside, something lay wrapped in stained but airtight canvas. 

He hauled it slowly, setting the bundle atop the bunk with more care than its weight demanded. He traced the fabrics edge until he found its tie, and then peeled it back. The dull, matte plating stared up at him: his old Republic field armour. Chestpiece, bracers, shoulder guards, all of it. The insignia burned at him, a stern reminder of a better time, but one full of horror and torment. 

He sat still for a moment and let the canvas fall away to the floor. This was what he’d come for. That’s what he had told himself since Nar’ first came into view from the UA. The duffel, and this, his armour. 

But as he stared at it, all laid out like it had been waiting, he felt it in his chest, the real reason. The stupid, impossible reason he’d actually come back here. The hope that Nova would be here. That somehow, by coming home, she would be, too. Waiting with her goggles pushed up, hands greasy, grin crooked. He clenched his jaw and rubbed the side of his face like he could wipe away the thought.

[colour=ff0000]”Idiot.”[/colour] He muttered, not sure if he meant the word for himself, or for the hope.

The chestplate still bore a carbon streak from the ambush on Felucia. He meant to fix it but never found the time. He ran his fingers down the armour's spine ridge. Cold, solid, but still serviceable. He’d need to retrofit it for the Helix job, hide the shape, change the colour, fit it to his shape now. Hide in plain sight under the guise of a bounty hunter, maybe. But it still had a job to do, and so did he.

Zane suddenly came around the corner, about to ask Jet if they were going to do some demolition (due to the absurd amount of noise coming from up here in the loft) when he noticed that the large-and-in-charge technician seemed to have begun doing so already. [color=cyan]”Ho-ly [i]shaviit[/i], bud! D’you need a hand here?!”[/color]

Jet glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Zane’s voice, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. [colour=ff0000]”Didn’t mean to sound like I was tearing the place down.”[/colour] He tilted his head toward the bunk, flicking a thumb towards the pile he had made next to his armour. [colour=ff0000]”Pulled what I figured might fit. Nothin’ flashy but it’s a damn sight more than you got now.”[/colour] He paused, [colour=ff0000]”Take what works, and there’s more in the locker if you wanna dig.”[/colour]

The youth turned and took a gander at what was on the bed, walking over to the pile and picking up a couple of the articles of clothing. [color=cyan]”Whoa…thanks a ton, Jet! I was just gonna go buy something when we made our way back through the shopping district - although…”[/color] Zane paused as he considered something, [color=cyan]”...I’m actually a bit worried about trying to buy something from some of [i]those[/i] stores. Most of the holodisplays showed clothes with more holes in them than a block of blue cheese.”[/color]

The smattering of different clothing had the kid grinning like an idiot. He hadn’t received any new clothes for at least four years now. The fact that most of his clothing had survived that long on Lotho and still managed to fit him through his growth spurts was incredible. He’d managed to steal quite a few hand-me-downs from some of the other locals sometimes, but for the most part, his stuff was “gently used” - except it was far from “gently”. As he continued looking, Zane glanced back down at the tooldeck and remembered what he wanted to ask. [color=cyan]”Oh, by the by…this deck you’re letting me borrow, it has a little acronym on it - ‘F.E.T.C.H.’? Any idea what that’s all about?”[/color]

Jet leaned back against the wall, his arms loosely crossed as he watched Zane sort through the clothes like he found creds in a junk pile. [colour=ff0000]”Yeah, Nar’s fashion scene ain’t what it used to be. Not unless you’re into shredded mesh and ‘expressive’ zippers.”[/colour] He smirked faintly, then nodded toward the deck. [colour=ff0000]”FETCH, huh.”[/colour] He huffed through his nose, almost a chuckle. [colour=ff0000]”That was Nova’s idea. ‘Fast Extraction Tool for Convenient Handling’. She slapped the acronym on it one night when she got tired of me calling it her damn wrist thing.”[/colour] He pushed off the wall and gave a half-shrug. [colour=ff0000]”Does more than it looks like. You’ll get a feel for it soon enough. She built it smart, but the thing’s a little touchy.”[/colour] He took a beat, his tone softened just slightly. [colour=ff0000]”She’d get a kick outta you usin’ it.”[/colour]

Zane looked the device over once again, tracing the engraved letters with his fingertips, [color=cyan]”...That’s pretty wizard, not gonna lie.”[/color] The kid considered what the tool might be capable of. He supposed until he attempted to fire up the eyelet, he likely wouldn’t scratch the surface. There was something else that was also on his mind, but he wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic. [color=cyan]”I hope this ain’t me pryin’, but I really don’t know a whole lot about you guys - an’ if you don’t wanna tell me, you ain’t gotta. But…would you mind tellin’ me more about you an’ Nova? Or just you in general. Like…what’s that armor about?”[/color]

Jet remained quiet for a beat, his eyes still on the armour laid out beside him. [colour=ff0000]”Armour’s from my time in the Republic,”[/colour] he said finally, voice low but steady. [colour=ff0000]”Back when there was one, anyway. Before it all fell apart.”[/colour]

He let that hang for a moment, no point trying to hide it from the kid. Hell, he was basically a fugitive now for his part back on the basilisk, no friend to the empire, at least. He brushed his fingers across the old insignia, wiping away a thin trail of dust like muscle memory. [colour=ff0000]”I wasn’t anyone special. Just another soldier who knew how to fix things.”[/colour]

He sat back again, pressing his back to the cold wall, one boot braced on the bed's edge. [colour=ff0000]”After I left… Well, I landed here. Nar Shaddaa. Wasn’t much, but I could keep a shop running and stay out of the worst of the dirt. Then Nova came along, caught her trying to steal something from here, you know? Boy, did she think she was slick back then...”[/colour] He chuckled once, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. [colour=ff0000]”I couldn’ve run her off. Maybe I ought to have, but she was sharp. Smart in a way you don’t learn in a classroom. So I let her stay, let her learn. Taught her how to do it right, y’know?”[/colour] He glanced at Zane, the faintest tightness in his jaw. [colour=ff0000]”She ain’t mine by blood, but she’s family. She disappeared one day and I’m out there looking for her. That’s about as much as it is.”[/colour]

The way the story was told to Zane had him enraptured by the time Jet had spoken the first word. Of course the kid knew about the Empire - it was all he had ever known. His father used to talk about them like they were the void itself; nightmarish stories that kept Zane up at night. Most of the kid’s life had been lived under the radar - he didn’t even have an Imperial chain ident code. Was born on a freighter, lived on it until his family hit Lotho - and like kriff the Imps were gonna come there and try to make sure everyone was “branded”.

Zane pulled himself from his moment of reverie and forced himself to have a weak smile, [color=cyan]”She sounds like quite the handful. Almost like my brother Marcus. He’s always been the clever one, ever since he could crawl.”[/color] He parsed through the rest of the pile of clothes in front of him, trying to decide what was the most practical, what would help him survive. Coats were good, cargo pants were better. And socks…void knows that those things were like diamonds on Lotho - everyone needed them, and they were in short supply. He began to stack them from left to right in order of importance as he continued his talk about Marcus, [color=cyan]”One time, I caught him scrambling out of his crib. He’d literally stacked his toys just right against the wall of it and used them to climb up. ‘Nother time, when he was older, we had to get away from a group of rowdy kids trying to jump us. Marcus took them on such a merry chase ‘round the town that they gave up out of sheer exhaustion. Parlo scolded us somethin’ fierce when we’d made it back - always told us ‘We gotta be civil ‘round here, and here you are just makin’ everythin’ worse!’”[/color] He did his best to make his voice sound deep and gruff as he imitated his caretaker. His voice trailed off for a moment, before his eyes darkened a bit, [color=cyan]”I really hope they’re both okay…if I brought the Imps down on ‘em, I don’t know what I’d–...”[/color]

The kid’s words caught in his throat, and he felt his eyes beginning to well up. He closed them hard - you couldn’t waste water on tears. Had other body parts that needed it more.

Jet listened, his expression unreadable at first, but his eyes stayed locked on the kid. Not many people got to talk that long without someone cutting in. Zane’s voice dipped near the end, the emotion pulling taut beneath the words, and Jet recognised it, not just the weight, but the effort it took to keep it together.

[colour=ff0000]”Sounds like your brother’s got grit. And you do too.”[/colour] He paused, just a second. [colour=ff0000]”You didn’t bring anything down on ‘em, kid. That blame game? It never ends. You run yourself in circles thinkin’ what you [i]could’ve[/i] done. But truth is, sometimes we just end up where we end up, and it’s up to us what we do with it.”[/colour]

He looked down briefly, then back up with a quiet sincerity. [colour=ff0000]”We’ll get word. One way or another. And when we do, you’ll be ready. Smarter, tougher, better equipped. That’s the whole reason we’re out here.”[/colour]

Jet reached over and clapped him gently on the shoulder, just enough to be grounding, not crushing. [colour=ff0000]”Now grab your haul. Time we got back.”[/colour]

Closing up the workshop was quieter than Jet expected. Bittersweet, maybe, but mostly just still. He took one last glance around the place, flicked off the lights, and sealed the shutter with the same grumbling groan it had always made. It echoed longer than he had liked.

The walk back was uneventful. Nar’s streets buzzed as they always did, noise and neon and never enough air. Jet led the way in silence, not rushing, but not dragging either. The city didn’t press in as hard this time. Maybe because they had what they came for.  Maybe because leaving was easier.

By the time the UA came back into view, nestled quiet on the landing pad like it was doing it’s darndest not to be noticed, Jet felt the weight of the duffel a little more than he had before, but also the sense that something, however small, had been put back into place.

He hit the ramp controls, and the old bird let them back in with a hiss and a hum, like it hadn’t even noticed they’d left.