They called it Wild Space. He didn't know why. In the years he'd spent wandered the galaxy, Matrim Nox had seen a lot of things that fitted the name -
clusters of black holes, incandescent nebulae and swirling novas - but few of those were in Wild Space. Hells, most of them were deep in the Galactic Core, far
from Wild Space. So why, then, was it called Wild Space? He'd heard plenty of theories, most of them offered up by drunken philosophers during a long night
of drinking, but he had one of his own; it was called Wild Space because of the things that lived there. The half forgotten aliens. The demihumans. And, of
course, the Blue Star Pirates. It was them, the sentients who gave the civillised people in the galactic governments their little nightmares, that
were the reason that particular sector of space was as wild as it was.
And by the nine hells of Corellia, it was good to be back.
In the cockpit of the Second Wind, Nox leant back in his chair and let his hands dance across the controls. His movements were slow; not sluggish, just... just a little reluctant to relinquish the feel of the controls beneath his fingertips. He'd missed that feeling. Missed a lot of things, if it came to that. But that was the thing about spending a year and a half in the sort of hell that only a Hutt could dream up; when you finally got out, you appreciated everything you found just that little bit more.
Speaking of things you appreciated...
"Hey," he called out, twisting gingerly in his chair to glance back at the hatchway, "How's that motivator holding out? Gave us a bit of a jolt on the return there." His voice was gravelly, and he grimaced a touch as he spoke, raising a hand from the controls to massage his throat. There hadn't been much call for talking in the past year, and getting back into the habit was proving more painful than he'd hoped. A clatter of metal and a muffled curse answered his call, and a moment later a second figure ducked through the hatchway. Her clothes were similar to Matrim's; simple grey pants, black boots and a black tank top. She had a tunic too, the same dull grey as the pants, but she'd abandoned that somewhere. Matrim wasn't complaining; his companion was hardly hard on the eyes.
"It's shot to hell," the woman sighed, pushing a few strands of her long, black hair away from her eyes, "We'll get another jump out of it, two at most. That's it."
Matrim nodded; he hadn't expected anything else. The Second Wind was a hunk of junk that'd already been on its way to the towering scrapheaps of Ord Mantell when he'd stolen it. The way he figured it, the two of them had been lucky the damn thing had held together as long as it had. 'Course, that'd only happened because Emah had spent the majority of the journey working on one system or another, while he'd nursed the dying craft through the turbulent tides of hyperspace. But, then again, hadn't he always said that a smart man made his own luck?
Besides, they were out of the woods now. They were home.
"We won't be needing to make another jump," he answered triumphantly, gesturing toward the cockpit viewport, "We're there. Nedjiv. BSP Paradise. And I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to hit the bar... Emah?"
Emah's expression had frozen as Nox spoke, and now she only raised a single hand to point toward the viewport. Already dreading what he might see, Matrim turned to follow the gesture, his dark eyes glaring warily out toward the depths of space as he sought out the world he had once called home...
"Oh, blood and bloody ashes..."
And by the nine hells of Corellia, it was good to be back.
In the cockpit of the Second Wind, Nox leant back in his chair and let his hands dance across the controls. His movements were slow; not sluggish, just... just a little reluctant to relinquish the feel of the controls beneath his fingertips. He'd missed that feeling. Missed a lot of things, if it came to that. But that was the thing about spending a year and a half in the sort of hell that only a Hutt could dream up; when you finally got out, you appreciated everything you found just that little bit more.
Speaking of things you appreciated...
"Hey," he called out, twisting gingerly in his chair to glance back at the hatchway, "How's that motivator holding out? Gave us a bit of a jolt on the return there." His voice was gravelly, and he grimaced a touch as he spoke, raising a hand from the controls to massage his throat. There hadn't been much call for talking in the past year, and getting back into the habit was proving more painful than he'd hoped. A clatter of metal and a muffled curse answered his call, and a moment later a second figure ducked through the hatchway. Her clothes were similar to Matrim's; simple grey pants, black boots and a black tank top. She had a tunic too, the same dull grey as the pants, but she'd abandoned that somewhere. Matrim wasn't complaining; his companion was hardly hard on the eyes.
"It's shot to hell," the woman sighed, pushing a few strands of her long, black hair away from her eyes, "We'll get another jump out of it, two at most. That's it."
Matrim nodded; he hadn't expected anything else. The Second Wind was a hunk of junk that'd already been on its way to the towering scrapheaps of Ord Mantell when he'd stolen it. The way he figured it, the two of them had been lucky the damn thing had held together as long as it had. 'Course, that'd only happened because Emah had spent the majority of the journey working on one system or another, while he'd nursed the dying craft through the turbulent tides of hyperspace. But, then again, hadn't he always said that a smart man made his own luck?
Besides, they were out of the woods now. They were home.
"We won't be needing to make another jump," he answered triumphantly, gesturing toward the cockpit viewport, "We're there. Nedjiv. BSP Paradise. And I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to hit the bar... Emah?"
Emah's expression had frozen as Nox spoke, and now she only raised a single hand to point toward the viewport. Already dreading what he might see, Matrim turned to follow the gesture, his dark eyes glaring warily out toward the depths of space as he sought out the world he had once called home...
"Oh, blood and bloody ashes..."
