(no subject)

[for_everyone]

Hera had only traveled to Batuu a handful of times, and had never particularly liked it. Tucked just beyond the edge of the Outer Rim, it was far from anything else of interest. The outpost itself had its uses, especially as a launch point farther into the Unknown Regions, but there was nothing more interesting about it than any of the hundreds, maybe thousands of outposts and waystations she'd passed through in her life.

The planet itself had its charms, especially the petrified forests, and the towering stone spires that burst up among the trees. It wasn't enough to make the trip worth it.

But having Jacen along this time was also improving things.

They'd left Chopper with the ship, hidden among the trees not far from the spot along a wide river where they've chosen to settle for the moment. They'll head along to Black Spire soon, but there was no rush. They'd brought food – a few meeilooruns, cured and spiced nerf strips, kibla greens and fried walda blossoms. All a better meal than what they could get at the local cantina, Hera's sure.

Hera had helped Jacen through the challenging landing among the trees and high stone spires. In a way, she hopes, was helpful, and not irritating. Since he'd starting joining her in the cockpit, Hera had felt Jacen had some of her instincts for flight, her same curiosity and yearning toward the ship's controls. But this was a landing even most well-experienced pilots couldn't have made, one Hera chose in part because it was so unlikely anyone would bother scanning for ships in such a difficult spot.

And as long as she had known him, Jacen had been quiet, and resistant to telling her when, maybe, she was being irritating.

They'd made it through the landing. He'd helped her pack the food. But when they reached the river, he'd pulled off his shirt, and dived straight into the water.

It's a wide, black river, with a fast current that ripples the water's surface, speeds along the stones at the river's edge. But Hera doesn't call out to him, doesn't pester him to be careful. She just smiles, and starts setting out the food they'd brought.

She knows well enough that, out here, he can take care of himself.

Comments

[grandadmiralartcritic]

When one is making one's way back from the farther edges of the galaxy -- or somewhere else altogether -- one does not get to choose the appearance on one's vehicles. So it is that Thrawn's cobbled-together freighter has been docked at Black Spire for a week now, as he attempts to gather together enough disparate parts to make the requisite repairs to each individual system. A Chiss-scavenged life support unit, a Mon Cal hyperspace drive, and a shuttle and weapons system pulled out of decade-old Grysk wreckage -- taken together, these all add up to a very disparate set of repair requirements.

It cannot be helped, though Thrawn finds himself wishing it might be when his casual visual scan of recent arrivals to the system reveals the presence of a . . . very old acquaintance. Or her ship, at any rate.

Surely she doesn't know --

Hmm.

Perhaps it will be interesting to load up the shuttle and take an innocent gander at the General, and what interest the Republic might have with the Unknown Regions.

At the very least it might provide some intel he might use for leverage, something which has been in short supply of late.