Public Somewhere in the Scar Worlds

[Jerec Asyr]

The Bryn'adûl siege crab had rotted away a year or two back, drowning the ruined cityscape in unwholesome chowder. By this point, the crab was an empty chitinous peak at the city's heart. Before the Drael, two million had called this place home. These days it might be twenty thousand, all of them hungry for necessities and luxuries alike.

Hence the crappy little market in the giant crabshell.

Hawkers' voices rebounded off chitin as thick as a blast door.

"SALVAGE. GET YER SALVAGE."

"GENUINE BACTA."

"RATION BARRRRRRS!"

Jerec moved between the ramshackle stalls, bartering with joy in his heart.

 

[Kyra Perl]

A cloak figure mulled with the crowd, a visible hitch to their gate as they followed the flow in deeper through the city. Boiled clothes and cleaned bodies were as rare as they came, but this one reek of something worse than sweat and grime. Kyra was covered in dried guts.

A pair swerved out of her way, a mother practically dislocating a toddlers shoulder as they avoided her. Kyra grimaced.

"SALVAGE. GET YER SALVAGE."

"GENUINE BACTA."

"RATION BARRRRRRS!"

Her head turned to the voice.

She lost her pack in the scuffle and her ship was still another day away. ...Two, at this rate. She glanced down at her dried blood on leg and felt herself sigh.



The figure approached, diminutive and without discerning features. Kyra pushed back her hood and forced a friendly smile.

"Genuine, you say? As opposed to... not." She couldn't keep the wariness from her tone, she could only hope it came off as tired. "...Silver import, then?"

 

[Vooltroo]

The Ithorian Scientist was always looking for new ways to spread his message. He didn't really care to be playing missionary, he preferred much more… how could he say it… subterfuge in his approach to making worlds healthier. The Ithorian Adept was, unfortunately, looking a bit like a Jedi with the homespun robe over the bright green and orange reflective faux leathers. A satchel across his body held a few items of importance, seed bombs, and some spray paints.

And in the other pouch, the one under his robes, that was a rare form of edible moss. It would grow just about anywhere. It was his hope to help at least someone. And to put a stash of the seedbombs around.

A world like this? It needed some green.

 

[Dante Castillon]

His bones felt his age, even if his eyes and smile belied it. The aged pirate handed the small urchin the ration bar from his pack, and with the same hand the had just patted the girls shoulder as she ran to her friends, checked the fit and eased the blaster in his shoulder rig. It had been years since he had been in the black, spending time farming, of all things. But the chaos in the Scar Worlds had turned him to other pursuits, if with a different twist.

While the Bryn ravaged, he and his lovely ship had remained idle. But now they worked to right a few wrongs. And, as he moved, bartering and trading, he hummed a song and smiled, hawking his own wares.

"Power converters. P-9x defense module. Ration bars! WATER PURIFIERS!"

 

[Atlas Drake]

"What an incredible smell we've discovered."

For the first time Captain Drake felt grateful he wore a respirator to preserve his lungs from decaying Drael terraformer engines. Tucked away beneath a survival jacket the Glie-44 holstered on his belt gave him a little courage in the face of so many unknowns. This planet and others like it were graveyards. Ancient cultures reduced to ruin by a fallen empire of xenophobic conquerors.

"Spread out and look for supplies," he told his crew, "Anything we can use."

Out here in the Scar Worlds reliable ports were few and far between. It might be parsecs before the Constellation found another market like this. While hyperfuel seemed too precious, Atlas wondered if he could track down a few components here for some needed repairs. Maybe even some recent starcharts, otherwise they'd need to turn back for Kessel or risk burning through all the survey ship's coaxium and end up becalmed.

"I'm looking for a compressor," Drake addressed one of the merchants in passable Sy Bisti, "Preferably Corellian make, but I'll settle for Mon Cal."

 

[Vetru]

As a general habit, Vetru tried to blend in wherever he went. This was because at any given time at least half of what he did on any world would be considered by the locals 'illegal'.

As he traded in secrets and small - and frequently stolen - good. Things he could fit into his small fast ship and slip past patrols. He had his own moral code that he felt was far more relevant to what he did than any local laws.

There weren't many laws out here. Not many patrols either. A lack of law and order had its own problems and he'd skipped past one collection of pirates.

The line he wouldn't cross here, was looking and smelling as horrendous as the locals. He'd used up ten percent of his ship's reserves on sonic power. It meant he broke his blending in rule.

Vetru was also struggling to make a profit. It was known that he was trading old and forgotten hyperspace routes that wove through what had been Bryn space. Unfortunately he had overestimated how much people were interested in exploring lost works. People here were mostly looking to survive.

That also meant the small quantity of luxury goods he had smuggled out here were less interesting that the vast quantities of fuel, water and food they needed to survive. It left him wondering if he could get his hands on any salvage that would be worth getting back to the core.

It would be a careful calculation. One that didn't involve paying import tax. Something he found deeply immoral and as a rule never, ever paid.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"WATER PURIFIERS!"

Jerec's head snapped around, which takes some doing if you're Ithorian. He zeroed in on the hawker in question, a shaggy human of advancing years. Like Jerec and half those present, he bore a metaphorical SPACE TRASH tattoo across his forehead.

"My boat's purifier crapped out." He hefted his pack. "You take barter? I've got plenty. Need anything in particular?"
Dante Castillon

 

[Skajin var Imret]

The Ithorian Scientist was always looking for new ways to spread his message. He didn't really care to be playing missionary, he preferred much more… how could he say it… subterfuge in his approach to making worlds healthier. The Ithorian Adept was, unfortunately, looking a bit like a Jedi with the homespun robe over the bright green and orange reflective faux leathers. A satchel across his body held a few items of importance, seed bombs, and some spray paints.

A hand gripped the Ithorian's shoulder and spun him around, putting him face to face with Skajin's scarred mask.

"I've been szearrching forr you, Vooltrroo. Maszter of szeedszz."

Vooltroo might sense that Skajin had some strength in the Force, bitter cold and vicious as a legbreaker trap.

 

[Sam Connory]

As the junk drawer of the universe commingled, an old string instrument sparked and fussed. Connory nursed its corroded electronics back to life and put down a hat for donations. He launched into a classic, jaunty song.

"Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station Three. Half the staff have seen her, plus the portmaster and me..."

 

[Vooltroo]

Green. It was the best feeling, it made him think of home, it made him think of security. It made him think of food and independence, creativity. The Ithorian was making his way through the stalls, seeing the muck, the stains of oil and metal. They were attempting to rebuild, they weren't using the chitin from the crab, but many beings in the galaxy depended on stone, or on metals for their homes.

Ithor would use the crab, like they used many of the Vong biots and their own jungle. Wood and shell, it made great armor, it made great homes. Vooltroo was happy with that. It was why he was taking what he could, from the technology, using the leaf-based solar cells, and construction of energy collectors, replicating the trees, collecting wind, collecting sun.

And providing food.

When he heard the call for Ration Bars, the Ithorian perked up. Reaching into bag he had, the translator droid spoke.

"Would you take donation of food seed, for bars?" It wasn't the right words at all. But it got his point across. He reached into his bag for some of the seed bombs, clusters of seeds wrapped in soil and clay. He was planning to throw them around the settlement anyhow. It would jumpstart the local vegetation, and provide some form of required food.

Not a whole farm, wild, but if people took notice?

All they'd have to do is read the bulletins from the virus he'd upload to the local HoloNet as he left.

 

[Skajin var Imret]

"Would you take donation of food seed, for bars?"

To Skajin's eye, the Ithorian radiated an unflappable pleasentness and maybe, just maybe, something else underneath. Could it be a hint of an edge?

"Rration barrsz." Skajin gave Vooltroo some space, just half a step, and unslung his pack. He produced ration bars in labels with Barabel script — relics of the Scar Worlds, like virtually everything here. Apart from the seeds, of course.

"I need szomething faszt-growing, edible by a rrange of szentientzs with minimal prreparration. Nutrritiousz if posszible."

 

[Dante Castillon]

An Ithoran head whipped to face him, an uncharacteristically odd movement that almost had his blaster drawn. But the question after saw the stiffening muscles relax, and Daymon smile, easing the gun back into place under the guise of rolling his shoulders.

"Aye, barter do be fine. What have you for trade friend? I have two models, one freighter she sized, the other almost at frigate."

Jerec Asyr

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Aye, barter do be fine. What have you for trade friend? I have two models, one freighter she sized, the other almost at frigate."

He almost called the old-timer jumpy. The idea of a ship swap didn't just distract him, it took his breath away. He'd only hoped to get a new water purifier, but this escalation was entirely welcome. Today Jerec was flying-

"A freighter sounds about my speed. I've got a comparable rig I wouldn't mind parting with, a perfect beauty for someone in your sort of business. We're talking a genuine Wretched Hive-modded Thrifter Salvage Boat." He chuckled out both sides of his neck and held out a tiny holoprojector to give Dante Castillon a look at the ship. "The water purifier's busted, but sounds like you've got that tech handy anyway. What's your boat, friend?"

 

[Dante Castillon]

"Just only an old, beat-up YT-1930. Rare, but has seen miles a few. Won it off Jedi who was thinking he could be playing cards and winning. It's got powering issues me not can fix. Figure you an even trade?"

The smile came easier. The Ithorian was speaking his language, and the years of speaking Spacers Cant had warped his syntax when speaking, but apparently, this one either knew it fluent or just didn't care. Nodding, he rubbed at a bushy moustache and stroked his goatee. He could use a salvage ship, especially in this galaxy. Part salvaged would keep him flying longer and further.

It was done then...

"Just be watching the hyperdrive. Be a .03... Little fast iffin you dare punch it."

Jerec Asyr

 

[Vooltroo]

Someone wanted to buy, he had seeds for sale. Fast growing? He could do that. Nutrition? Well, that was the whole purpose of the seeds. He was looking at the ration bars. They weren't something he needed, but if he could spread the seeds around? And take the bars? Perhaps they'd require less bars and more fruits.

He forgot how big he was compared to other sentients. The Ithorian was stepping slow, almost lumbering if he wasn't so self-aware.

Looking up, well, turning his head to view the Kubaz.

"We have many that are fast growing. Mother Jungle allows this. Mother Jungle has made trees of all kinds. Many that are nutritious and capable of spawning fungi, edible, but also able to help enhance the soil. The tree will grow many seeds and spread itself fast. Tree grows big, but produces early." He reached into his bag and produced several small balls made of clay, soil, and full of seeds.

"Place where they can root. Give access to water, and sun. Trees. Food."


Skajin var Imret

 

[Skajin var Imret]

The academic in Skajin -- xenoentomologist, to be precise -- greatly wanted to know more about the species involved. But neither Vooltroo 's Basic nor Skajin's Ithorianese supported that level of detail. He handed over the Barabel rations and accepted, gently, the clay seed balls.

"My thanksz," he said. The refugee colony he supported was a barren sort of place, but as good as his people could find. He made a mental note to set a portion of the seeds aside for analysis and storage in case the first planting failed. He passed the Ithorian a little commchit, basically a business card, with Skajin's contact information thereupon. "Messzage me if you get morre."

 

[Jerec Asyr]

With some effort, Jerec kept excitement off his neckgills. A YT-1930 contained both bells and whistles in significant quantity. In normal times he'd have inspected the boat in depth and expected Dante Castillon to do the same in turn. These were not normal times: these were bad days in the Scar Worlds, in the stinking almost-empty shell of a city-sized crab. He held out the keyfob to trade sight unseen. The usual Scar Worlds disclaimer -- 'rip me off and I'll get you back if I can' -- applied without needing enunciation.

Besides, even an old '1930 was more than worth the gamble.

"The salvage ship's parked at hover in the starboard claw."

 

[Samara Raine]

As Samara Raine strolled through the stalls of the mag-shift marketplace inside the crab shell, the scars were very apparent not only in the general landscape of the war-torn planet but too in those few who had barely survived the Bryn's terror and destruction earlier. Despair and agony resonated in the Force, yet there was a trickle of hope. Unfortunately, there was also some deception as the usual Outer Rim scum and villainy looked to profit off the suffering. It was disgusting but a fact of post-war life.

Sea-green orbs gazed over to where a scruffy-looking bard was playing a quant song on an old string instrument. It had a bit of an upbeat that was rather catchy. The honey blonde reached into a pocket of her long tunic jacket that was worn over a jumpsuit and pulled out a credit coin, then dropped it into a hat that was laid out near the feet of the entertainer. The Liann gave Sam Connory a small head nod in passing, then continued further into the maze of shoppers and hawkers; one of the latter's garnering the journeying Jedi doctor's attention.

"SALVAGE. GET YER SALVAGE."

"GENUINE BACTA."

"RATION BARRRRRRS!"

A cloaked figure with a noticeable limp walked a couple of feet in front of Samara. The seemingly petite person approached the seller to inquire about the bacta, pushing back their hood revealing their pink skin and red hair.

I think I've seen this girl before... around the Jedi temple on Kashyyyk, though it's been a while if so.

"Genuine, you say? As opposed to... not." She couldn't keep the wariness from her tone, she could only hope it came off as tired. "...Silver import, then?"

"It's definitely not a Silver import I can attest to," Sam stated as she made her way up beside the young Zeltron in a non-threatening way and picked up one of the packages being sold. "Though I'm sure this product is sold at genuine pricing. Might even be beneficial... or not."

The Jedi Knight's green blues knowingly flicked to the hawker for a brief moment, then back to Kyra Perl peering casually down at the dried blood on her leg.

Samara's hand rested on the bag that was worn cross-body. "If you're in need of some medical attention, I can help you," the seasoned healer offered with a small smile to the wary young woman who looked like she had been through hell and back recently.

 

[Kyra Perl]

Samara Raine

Kyra glance to her side, her drive to barter dwindling as she had been left to wait. She had almost resolved to go-- her needs weren't that pressing-- when the second offer of the hour was leveled.

There was no recognition in her eyes as she looked the woman over. To her the stranger was nothing more than another off worlder. Kyra wondered for a moment what her business was at a place like this. Even fuel was proving hard to come by, but maybe that was what she was here to fix. Kyra knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

"I can't pay with coin," she finally warned. "...Song Steel. A small chain." She shrugged as if to say, that's it.

Take it or leave it.

 

[Vooltroo]

The Kubaz had a few things going, and well, they were interested in the seeds. That meant there would be less for him to spread. But he'd make his way to the Jungle Gem and get more from the incubators he had. "They come from Ithor. And other worlds. Good food." The Ithorian nodded, well, sort of nodded.

He had everything he would need from these other planets, he could make it very useful, for most people, and a big problem for those who weren't going to use it for the greater good.

"Can use them to grow in lots of spaces. Much food."

And there was also the point of the trees spreading like wildfire. The force of nature that so many fear, but so many must realize, is a force of creation. Even Mother Jungle knows…

The rains come to tame the fire, but the fire is necessary, is essential.

"Let me know where you want the trees. Will find the seeds"

Skajin var Imret