“Immortal Devotion: The Spiral” – Chapter 2 (1/2)

As the Devotion made it’s final descent towards the landing platform on Stewjon, Coran wiped at the sweat that continously accumulated across his brow. Even though he was now far from danger, his body refused to untense. The escape plan had, for the most part, gone off without a hitch. He had successfully made the short jump, not colliding with anything in the process, and as luck would have it, the parts of the droid that were still attached to his ship (after it had been fried off during the initial jump) had actually functioned as plugs for the holes that it had punched into the Devotion’s hull. This did not mean the ship was free of damage, and Coran knew he needed to invest in good shields for the vessel, should it even have the capacity to ever fly again.

After exiting hyperspace, he had immediately contacted his uncle’s estate on Stewjon and requested a repair team meet him at the landing pad the moment he touched down. He did not specify how much damage the ship had taken, however, because he already knew his uncle was going to throw a terrible fit the moment he saw it.

As he touched down at dusk’s last light, he saw two mechanics and a repair droid hurriedly approaching the ship. He didn’t know how bad the damage was on the outside, but judging based off of the horrified expression on one of the mechanic’s faces as she drew near, he could assume it was at least in shambles, if not engulfed in flames.

As Coran exited the ship, his uncle’s hoverchair come speeding down the runway. “Boy, what did you do to my ship?” he exclaimed as he came to a sudden stop. “It’s not your ship anymore, Jeremiah,” Coran retorted as he scanned the side of the hull. “Is that… a droid… impaling it?” his furiously uncle inquired, watching the large service droid put out the small fires with a tank of suppressant. “Yeah… at least what’s left of one,” Coran chuckled, “that was supposed to be my cargo.”

Jeremiah looked at his nephew with squinted eyes, “so I take it you didn’t get paid?” Coran shook his head in response.

The target of Jeremiah’s concern visibly shifted, “and what about the client, my friend Marco?” “Dead, alongside the rest of his crew…” Coran said, forcing a somewhat somber tone despite his relative indifference. The older man looked once more at the ship, and then back at his nephew.

“Alright,” he sighed, “let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Then you can tell me all about it.”

***

“You just can’t seem to catch a break, can you?” Jeremiah said from across an unusually long table towards his nephew, who was currently scarfing down a large bowl of bogling stew. “You know that on all three of the job’s I’ve flown so far, something’s gone wrong every single time, right?” Coran griped as he got up from the table to grab his uncle’s untouched bowl of soup.

Jeremiah sighed, “I’d like to say it’s just part of the profession, but that is an unusually bad track record. And I know for a fact that you didn’t get that bad luck from your mother and I’s side of the family.”

“Are you sure about that?” Coran asked as he peeked over the table at the stubs of what used to be his uncles legs. Jeremiah pulled his blanket down over them. “That was not an accident. It was a deliberate attack on my life and you know it,” he said argumentatively.

“Sure thing, old man,” Coran said, suspiciously leering as he sat back down with his second bowl of soup, “whatever you say.”

As he tried to change the subject, Jeremiah began to move his hoverchair away from the table and towards the door behind Coran. “At least take my astromech with you again next time. That seems to have been the only reason you were able to get out alive AND actually paid during those first two runs.”

Coran shook his head as he slurped down his second bowl. “I tried to get it. But the guy in the shop said that it had blown a servo or something.” He stacked his empty bowls and pushed his chair away from the table, “Plus. I don’t want to have to keep relying on you for everything. I want to be self-sufficient like my mom. I need to start rallying my own crew, and soon. The Devotion’s been feeling extra lonely as of late.”

“Easier said than done,” Jeremiah said as he reached up and put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “And I’m proud of you for wanting to go bigger and bolder, but your mother left me to look out for you. The least I can do is use my connections to hook you up with wealthy clients.” His expression visibly darkened ever so slightly, “something I will not do again if you keep getting them killed.” Coran smirked at his uncle, “I don’t know if I want to deal with your ‘contacts’ anymore, shipping deadly murder droids and all. Where did you meet these people anyway?”

Jeremiah spun his chair around to open the door, “that’s beside the point.” He then briefly stopped and tilted his head back around towards Coran, “have you heard anything from your mother?”

“No… not since the last time you asked.”

Jeremiah nodded, leaving the room. “I figured as much,” he said before the door closed behind him, and Coran was left standing alone once again.

The young pilot eventually made his way to the room his uncle always kept vacant for him. Some of his childhood toys still lined the shelves and the bedsheets were bright and juvenile. Coran hated it here. He always felt so trapped when he was on the ground. His spirit needed to be flying among the stars. He needed the occasional rattling and constant whir of the Devotion’s engines to lull him to sleep.

In fact, he had tried to go sleep in his cabin on the ship, but the repair crew had told him that they were going to be overhauling the Devotion throughout the night so that it could be ready for flight by morning, and strongly suggested that he would not be able to sleep with all the commotion going on onboard. He had tried to protest, telling them that he really didn’t care, but they insisted that he sleep in the manor, more than insinuated that he would be in their way if he did not and forcing his current stay on terra firma to be a little bit longer than he was hoping for.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like or even love his uncle. His uncle had been one of the only friendly faces in his life since his mother and father had gone into hiding. However, since the accident that had cost his uncle his legs, the man had lost all previous sense of adventure and they had begun to butt heads regarding Coran’s dangerous choice of profession.

Still, Jeremiah had been his biggest supporter throughout the process of following his mother in becoming a full fledged smuggler. And if anything, it seemed like he simply wanted to help his nephew live out his dream of honoring his mother’s legacy, while having enough foreknowledge to not end up like she had. He had even gifted Coran with the Devotion, albeit more out of circumstance than by choice. But Coran just couldn’t stay at his uncle’s estate any longer. The place he had grown up for most of his life no longer felt like home.

He needed to find a way to be better. To do better. And to not screw up the next job.

Coran sat down at the small desk in his room and activated his holonet console. He needed to find a way to amass a crew, even if it was just a skeleton one, before his uncle sent him on any more crazy missions. An old friend had once bragged about utilizing the “NetHire” services, a forum of sorts where individuals could hire crewmen, assassins, bounty hunters, pilots, vanguard, and dozens of other similar professions. Coran had always been wary of it, as given that it was a free channel, the rabble that inhabited it’s many chatrooms and message boards were notoriously less than savory. But it would probably be his best bet on such short notice, even if it was a long shot. There was definitely a risk in bringing someone aboard who he could not vet or interview in person. Chances are, if they came from NetHire, they would be cheap and desperate for work, But what if they were inexperienced and got him killed? What if they tried to boss him around or take his place as captain of the Devotion? Or what if they just straight up mugged him and stole her the moment they were onboard?

Coran forced himself to shrug these notions aside as he fired up NetHire on his holopad and threw himself onto his bunk. He knew how to use a blaster, and he knew his way around the Devotion better than anyone. If someone tried to pull something, they would most definitely regret it.

He scrolled through the plethora of pages, trying to navigate his way through the less savory characters presenting their services on the site. He also sorted out anyone who required a pre-determined salary, as he currently had little to no budget, and opted to find people who worked strictly with a pay-by-job preference.

Coran tried to contact a few ex-privateers and laborers-for-hire, but the moment they heard of his situation, his ship, and his experience, or lack thereof, they would cease any and all communications. He knew lying wasn’t an option since they would be meeting so soon, but even attempting to sugarcoat the situation proved fruitless.

This hurt him a little, but he tried to put himself in their shoes and knew that this was not the most preferable of arrangements. He had little to nothing to offer, and there were probably billions of better employers already seeking these crewman out on the site.

The last thing Coran did before he turned in for the night was leave a request on one of the local sector’s public forums, stating his dilemma and the star systems he was closest to. With luck, a he would get a few offers from nearby individuals seeking a quick credit while he slept. He could accept their offers by morning and meet with them as soon as possible. It wasn’t optimal, but he needed to change his approach to work, and with any luck, this may just work in his favor.

Or not. Who was to say? But if there was one thing Kira J’Bari had taught her son, it was that when it came to trying or not trying, trying was always the better option.

As he closed his eyes, Coran wished his mother was still residing at the estate. If she were here, she could have rallied him a crew in no time and he would be well on his way to becoming the great smuggler he knew he had the potential to be.

His final thoughts before he drifted into an exhausted slumber were that of his mother’s last words to him. The sound of her voice in his memories never failed to comfort him when he was in a tough spot, even if he wished her parting message could have been something more.

An insatiable drowsiness overcame him as the scene fuzzily replayed once more in his mind.

“We have to go away for a while, but we will see you soon, kiddo. I know you want to be a great captain like me, Coran. But while we are gone, please, I would rather you be more like your father. A good man. Can you do that for me?”