Chapter 59: Quiet Before the Storm (Patreon)

Disclaimer: Star Wars and all of it's Intellectual Properties is owned by George Lucas and Walt Disney, This fictional work and all of it's original characters are however mine.

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Shmi's P.O.V. :

The Stellar Envoy hummed faintly beneath my feet, a steady reminder of its constant readiness, even at rest. We were docked in a bustling city, the kind where you could find anything from hyperdrive parts to black-market spice if you knew where to look—or where not to. The rescued victims had been handed off to authorities Mira vouched for. She insisted they were as clean as you’d find in a place like this, which I decided to trust. After all, Mira didn’t take her recommendations lightly. If she believed in them, that was good enough for me.

Kado had taken Davik and Arlos out on what I could only describe as a dual-purpose mission. Ostensibly, they were finding buyers for the haul we’d picked up from the slaver camp—things like untraceable blasters, preserved rations, and even a few crates of medical supplies. But knowing Kado, they were also gathering intel. This city had layers, and the less savory parts were ripe with whispers, provided you were willing to grease a few palms or sip something questionable at a cantina.

Meanwhile, Rina had stationed herself in the cockpit with Tarek. From the bits and pieces I overheard, it seemed they were charting a course. Probably for some information broker job she’d picked up. Tarek was leaning heavily into his navigation skills, likely refining hyperspace lanes while Rina pieced together where they needed to go. It sounded like something she could’ve done remotely, but knowing her, she preferred having all the puzzle pieces laid out.

Jake, unsurprisingly, was busy entertaining Anakin. That boy looked at Jake like he was some kind of magician—and to be fair, the things Jake whipped up might as well have been magic to a six-year-old. Today’s wonder was a little floating contraption he called a “snitch.” It zipped and darted unpredictably, buzzing around like a malfunctioning probe droid, much to Anakin’s delight. The kid was laughing so hard he nearly fell over, scrambling to catch it while it bobbed just out of reach. Jake, for his part, was grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying being the hero of the moment.

Mira, of all people, had decided to take a nap. That one caught me off guard. I didn’t think she ever stopped moving, let alone slowed down enough for rest. Seeing her stretch out on one of the crew bunks had been so unexpected I’d nearly dropped the ration packets I was carrying. I suppose even she wasn’t immune to exhaustion, though I made a mental note to tease her about it later—gently, of course.

As for me, I found myself in the ship’s galley, preparing a midday meal for those still aboard. The small space was a mix of old and new, much like everything on the Envoy. Jake had made sure the appliances worked better than most cantina-grade setups, but the cookware bore the wear of years of service.

I chopped a few nuna strips with practiced efficiency, adding them to a pan that hissed with sizzling oil. A mix of root vegetables and grains followed, seasoned with just enough local spices to make it feel less like starship fare. The scent began wafting through the ship, drawing an occasional curious glance from a passing Nick droid.

“Not for you,” I murmured, shooing the droid away with my spatula. It beeped in what might’ve been indignation before trundling off.

As the stew bubbled, I let my thoughts wander. The crew’s dynamic was a curious thing. We all had our roles, our specialties, but there was an unspoken bond that kept us moving forward. Even now, scattered across tasks, we were still working toward a common goal—whatever that might be at the moment.

I glanced at the chrono and realized the stew was ready. Grabbing bowls, I started ladling portions for those on the ship. No doubt Ani and Jake would be the first to show up, followed closely by a groggy Mira.

“Time to refuel,” I muttered, setting the bowls on the table.

Life aboard the Stellar Envoy was rarely quiet, but in these moments—amid the hum of the ship and the aroma of a home-cooked meal—it felt almost peaceful. Almost.

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Rina's P.O.V. :

The Stellar Envoy’s cockpit was quiet save for the faint hum of the ship’s systems and Tarek’s steady muttering. He was cross-checking star charts, cross-referencing data with the over-engineered satellite mods Jake had installed. The modifications made the Envoy’s sensors nearly on par with a dedicated surveyor vessel, a fact that had saved us countless times.

"These coordinates seem to hover near a known hyperspace lane," Tarek said, his voice tinged with his usual polite excitement. "But I’m also picking up anomalies in the vicinity. Nothing major! Probably debris fields or stray electromagnetic interference, Rina."

I leaned back in my chair, letting him work while I reviewed the request that had led us here. A client of mine—a cautious type who kept their face off the holonet and their name out of official records—had paid handsomely for these coordinates. They wanted confirmation of what was out there. Nothing more, nothing less.

With Jake’s upgrades, I didn’t need the elaborate setup I used to have back on Tatooine. Here, in the cockpit of the Envoy, I could gather data, analyze it, and send back a full report without stepping foot off the ship. For someone who thrived on efficiency, it was a dream come true.

My comms unit beeped, pulling my attention away from the console. A new message had come through. I opened it and scanned the contents quickly.

My client's interest just increased and he's not focused in just the data anymore. They wanted someone to physically check the site—a scouting run to confirm what the sensors couldn’t. The tone of the message was cautious but insistent, as if they knew there was more to the story but weren’t willing to share it just yet.

I raised an eyebrow at the additional details. The pay they were offering was generous—almost too generous I think—but not enough to set off alarms. If this were an ambush or a trap, it wouldn’t be the most lucrative one. I knew of a few freelance crews who might take this job, groups I would’ve recommended without hesitation back when I worked solo.

But that was before I joined the crew. Before Jake’s tinkering turned our ship into a marvel, before Mira’s aim turned any firefight into a lopsided match, and before Kado’s knack for strategy kept us ahead of the curve. Now, with the crew we had, there was no reason to outsource a job like this.

Tarek glanced over his shoulder, his expression as bright as a twin sun on a clear morning. “The anomalies I mentioned are minor, Rina. No signs of hyperlane disruption or pirate activity. The coordinates themselves look stable. If someone wanted to make a quick trip out there, it’d be a pretty straightforward jaunt!”

I smirked. "Straightforward, huh? Famous last words, Tarek."

His face flushed slightly, but his grin didn’t falter. “Well, I mean, with our crew, we’ve got the skills to handle anything!”

He wasn’t wrong. And while I wasn’t one to tempt fate, the confidence in his tone was reassuring.

I leaned forward, typing out a quick reply to my client. I’d accept the job personally. With the Stellar Envoy and our team, it’d be more than manageable. And while scouting runs were rarely as simple as advertised, this one didn’t seem like the kind of mission that’d spiral out of control.

“Send me the final sensor readings when you’re done,” I told Tarek. “I’ll brief the others once we’re all back aboard. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new gig.”

Tarek’s excitement bubbled over, his optimism practically infectious. “Yes, ma’am! This is going to be fun—I mean, productive! Very productive!”

I chuckled softly at Tarek's attempt at being a professional and turned my attention back to the console. If nothing else, this job would give us a chance to stretch our legs. What could possibly go wrong?

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Jake's P.O.V. :

In the workshop area of the Stellar Envoy, I had Anakin occupied with my latest creation—something inspired by a movie from Earth. The "snitch" was a small, golden orb with delicate wings that moved in a blur, flitting about erratically in a predefined area. I had based it on a magical flying object from a story about a boy wizard with a lightning-shaped scar. The purpose of this contraption was simple: evade capture. Anakin's task was to disable it using a pointer device I’d crafted that synchronized with the "snitch." Sounds easy, right? Wrong.

This thing wasn’t just fast—it was sabaac-table-levels of unpredictable. It zipped around like a mynock on spice, changing directions without warning and occasionally cloaking itself with a near-invisibility field that I’d added for extra challenge. To top it off, I incorporated grav machine tech, giving it the ability to hover seamlessly and dart in three-dimensional space. The result was a maddeningly elusive target.

Anakin, for his part, was determined. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, and his small hands gripped the pointer like it was the hilt of a lightsaber. Every time the "snitch" juked out of his line of sight, I could see the frustration on his face. But he didn’t give up. That’s what I was counting on. The kid was a walking bundle of energy—he couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time. This exercise wasn’t just to keep him distracted; it was also a subtle way to teach him focus.

My inner Obi-Wan was giddy at the thought. Patience, young Padawan. Oh, the memes I could unleash if only someone else here got the references. Still, the potential for teaching moments with Anakin made me feel oddly protective of the kid. Force-sensitive or not, he was sharp. And if this little game helped him learn to channel his energy, even better.

While Anakin darted around trying to track the "snitch," I was elbow-deep in upgrading the N5 Sentry droids. These units hadn’t been part of the raid on the slavers’ camp but had instead stayed back aboard the Stellar Envoy under Shmi’s supervision, guarding the rescued slaves and securing the ship in case of stragglers. Their last test runs in defensive scenarios were adequate, but adequate wasn’t good enough for me. I was retrofitting their targeting systems, tweaking the shield emitters for faster recharge rates, and testing new algorithms to improve their autonomous decision-making in combat scenarios. The work was satisfying, and the soft hum of tools and servos filled the room like music to my ears.

Then it hit me. A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down my spine. I paused, setting down the plasma torch I was holding, and looked around the workshop. Nothing seemed out of place. The droids stood inert, their systems offline while I worked. Anakin was still darting around, his focus entirely on the "snitch," which he’d almost—but not quite—managed to tag.

I frowned, rubbing the back of my neck. The sensation wasn’t something I could explain away easily. It was the kind of feeling you got when someone invoked Murphy’s Law—when you just knew something was about to go sideways. My gaze lingered on the droids, then on the tools scattered across the workbench, and finally on the open doorway leading out into the rest of the ship.

"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Someone just had to poke the nexu."

I shook it off, trying to focus on the task at hand. The crew was scattered, each working on their part of our latest gig. There was no reason to think anything was amiss. And yet, the feeling lingered. Like a storm brewing on the horizon, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

"Jake! I got it!" Anakin’s triumphant shout pulled me out of my thoughts. The kid was grinning ear to ear, holding the disabled "snitch" aloft like a trophy. I couldn’t help but smile back.

"Good job, kid," I said, ruffling his hair. "Now let’s see if you can do it again."

As I reset the "snitch" and sent it zipping off for another round, I couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at the back of my mind. Something was coming. I just hoped we’d be ready for it.