The girl stirred, rubbing her eyes with her fist, and looked around in surprise, clearly trying to remember how she got there. She remembered – and got up.
"Oh... Sorry, I fell asleep..."
"No need to apologize, Vaymi," the smuggler smiled at her, "it's alright. We're about to leave Jethro."
He turned to the Duro, scratching his beard.
"So, we're going then. I still need to plan a course and make a couple of deals," he grinned, "I'm starting to feel like a big shot. Strange feelings."
"If anything, I'm in on it," Jethro immediately responded, modestly returning his pant leg to its rightful place.
The Twi'lek yawned discreetly, shivered, pulled her jacket tighter, and politely said goodbye to the room's owner. The new owner was strange, and so were his friends. Not at all like those she had dealt with before. This was unsettling – you never knew what to expect from them, but at the same time, it was strangely calming.
She wasn't afraid with them. Well, at least not until they started talking about freedom.
"Who would doubt it? Stay well," Rick waved goodbye to the Duro and, grabbing both cases, headed with the Twi'lek towards the exit.
Sher burst into the room like a natural phenomenon, the name she now bore, with lightning speed she removed the needle from her vein, pressed the wound with an antibacterial wipe, and threw the bag into the disposal unit. As always, she had been overly cautious – there was still solution left in the bag. As always, she hadn't trusted the program… Despite its reliability, she couldn't fully entrust this patient to technology.
"Nick, how are you? Anything bothering you? Jethro doesn't have the opportunity to do gymnastics today," she adjusted her hair, causing a string of beads to fall from her wrist lower.
The pilot looked deep in thought, but visibly livened up at her appearance.
"Hey, I didn't hit him that hard! He must have run into someone else. Did he say who?"
Judging by his narrowed eyes and the momentary flash of ice in his gaze, the presumed obstacle in the Duro's path was threatened with complete disassembly and subsequent disposal.
"I saw how hard you hit him, Nick," Sher nodded. "And you say you're not an artist?" she added ironically. "The artistry there is such that all the fashionable artists are nervously poisoning themselves on drugs in the corner... But Jethro didn't run into anything, he ran into something in a bottle that the captain brought..."
"Good thing I'm not a fashionable artist," the pilot chuckled. "I can't stand drugs... They're getting drunk there, and they didn't invite us? Wonderful, I'll have to think about how to repay the captain for saving my liver."
"I hope not by fighting Jethro?" Sher asked quickly. "Can I ask you, Nick, not to fight him anymore? Or is this request among the impossible ones for you?"
"Absolutely impossible," the pilot assured her. "Because 'with him' also includes 'with him against someone else' – I won't just stand by and watch that green one get beaten, citing that the doctor forbade me to fight."
"I'm not forbidding you anything, Nick, I just asked," she said quietly. "How can I forbid you anything? I'm not the captain. By the way, enlighten me right away, what happens on ships like these to those who don't follow the captain's orders? Just in case," Sher added.
The pilot sat on the bunk, pulled her hand, forcing her to sit next to him.
"Sher, on the ship, the captain's word is law," he said seriously. "I don't think Rick will harm you, he's a decent guy, but... It's better not to test fate. I emphasize – on the ship and the order. Requests may not be fulfilled; off the ship, the principle of shore leave applies. We respect the captain, and he doesn't interfere with our rest. The exception is combat situations; then he will give orders, and it's better not to argue. However, these are my impressions. He might have his own, and it's better to ask him about them."
Sher allowed herself to sit down next to Nick, although she realized too late that it was rash. Too close to the striking factor of his eyes...
"This isn't much different from military discipline, Nick," she looked up at him. "And I don't think I'll have such deep contradictions with our captain that he'll want to throw me into outer space," the girl smiled.
"Then why the question?" the pilot was surprised. "I thought – they were brewing..."
"I told you – just in case, Nick. I've never directly reported to a ship's captain; I'm a field medic," the girl replied. "And in any case, we have shore leave. And the captain still has time to change his mind while we're not on the ship," Sher concluded with a slight smile.
"Shore leave..." Nick drawled thoughtfully. "I have an idea... Sher, how about a walk?"
"A walk on Nar Shaddaa?! Nick, that sounds... Tempting!" she made an unexpected conclusion, and blue sparks danced in her eyes. "What girl would refuse a walk in the company of such a brilliant pilot?"
And then, much more seriously, she asked:
"Do you think one outing doesn't carry much risk for you?"
"Depends on what you consider an outing," the pilot grinned. "I'm not going to rehearse a blockbuster here! Just a little flight... Go somewhere for a cup of caf."
"A flight..."
Sher looked at him with a soft smile.
"You know, Nick, that's exactly what I wanted..."
"But with you, I'd gladly go through grey prison corridors, and down a 'red carpet' with a detonator..." – but Nick didn't hear this.
"Then..." the pilot pulled the deck closer, dialed and sent a message, and began to scroll through the list of the safest leisure spots. "I've ordered a rental car. It'll be here in about ten minutes."
"Ten minutes? Almost army-like," Sher chuckled. "Alright, Nick, I'll be on time."
She nodded, easily sliding off the seat she was on, and hurried to leave the room.
Sher had little time to get ready. That is, no time at all. And the choice of clothes was more than modest. Besides the jumpsuits, sweaters, and jeans she predominantly worked in, there were indeed very thin, tight black leather pants, and a double-breasted fitted jacket, under the elongated black hem of which it was so convenient to hide a blaster. High boots completed her look. Her light hair, freed, fell in waves down her back; she quickly wrapped a thin scarf around her neck and grabbed her gloves, forgetting to put them on before entering Nick's room... A deep breath to calm her hurrying heart, and Sher opened the door.
The pilot had also managed to change. His things had been brought to him the same evening as the paints – the ill-fitting work jumpsuit was replaced by a baggy sweater, loose trousers, and a long coat. High boots completed the look of a man without a fixed occupation. The clothes hid his thinness, and only his still sharply defined cheekbones revealed that this man had recently been on the verge of complete exhaustion.
"I should have worn a visor," Nick said thoughtfully upon seeing the girl.
"Is something wrong, Nick?" Sher asked, a flicker of anxiety in her gray eyes. "Why do you need a visor?"
"I risk going blind," the pilot replied quite seriously, not taking his eyes off her.
Sher flushed so quickly, as fair-skinned women do. A blush that flooded her cheekbones with transparent scarlet watercolor... She could still inhale. She couldn't exhale.
"Nick..." regaining her ability to speak, the girl smiled weakly. "Don't be afraid... After all, you have a doctor with you... it seems..."
"It seems a doctor, or it seems with me?" Nick clarified, taking her arm and leading her into the corridor. The door behind them quietly clicked shut. "I can somehow survive not quite a doctor, but not quite with me... I will protest. Loudly, for a long time, mainly with a blaster."
"Didn't we want to sit quietly and drink caf?" a barely perceptible smile appeared on the girl's lips. "So, it's a blockbuster after all?" she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "However, Nick, you really do look more like a hero from a Galactic action movie..."
Walking side-by-side, accidentally glancing, engaging in light verbal banter to prevent a single, sole meaning from surfacing...
"Only if you disappear from sight," Nick opened the door for her. His green eyes scanned their surroundings, fixing on every detail of the environment in search of possible threats. Only after that did he step aside, giving the girl an opportunity to exit.
"And this is a false impression," he assured the doctor. "I am the most harmless creature in the galaxy; you won't believe it – I haven't offended a single fly in my life!"
He chose to modestly omit how many others he had offended.
Sher stepped over the threshold of "The Last Haven" and turned to Nick, adjusting her hair.
"Flies are very lucky," she remarked. "They somehow managed not to become your enemies... I could probably believe that," Sher smiled, looking him in the eyes.
"And how do you like Jethro?" Rick's voice, as he addressed the girl, stepping out under the dirty sky of Nar Shaddaa, carried genuine interest.
"I guess I don't know much about manners," the Lethan replied tactfully, "but I didn't see anything terrible. I probably slept through it."
"Yeah, you slept through a lot," the smuggler agreed, "but it's no big deal. It seems that stab wounds accompany proper speech, as do stints in the best prisons in the galaxy. By the way, have you ever been to other planets?"
"No," her lekku swayed in a negative gesture. "But I've read a lot about them and watched them on the holonet when I helped my master catalog goods."
"Useful knowledge," he smiled, thinking about something of his own. "I think they will be enriched with some new data. Although... Did Karvo deal in smuggling?"
"No, he only deals in brokerage," Vaymi replied. "I was talking about the master who dealt in antiques and jewelry."
"And did he have a rich list of planets?" Rick inquired.
"About a hundred, I don't remember exactly," the girl shrugged her delicate shoulders. "He never had much money – it was all invested in goods."
"It's foolish to get a lot of money and not live the way you want," the smuggler shook his head. "I prefer to have a lot of money. And as little merchandise as possible."
Somewhere in his head, gears creaked, suggesting that Vaymi would shrug at this and think something like, "the master said so, so it must be."
"Tell me, what is your favorite planet," he paused, "among those you've read about."
Her lekku coiled around the girl's figure – she thought.
"They are all beautiful," the Twi'lek finally said. "Each in its own way. But Bespin is probably the most fantastic. They live in the sky there."
"Bespin..." a planet for tibanna gas extraction, tourism, Rick recalled. Tourists who travel the upper levels, not thinking at all about those who eke out a miserable existence below them. Lack of land means lack of food and inflated prices. He was there because some rich man wanted to taste a rare fruit that couldn't be frozen. Roka had the fastest ship and low prices. He stayed there only a couple of hours... Yes, the view from there was indeed beautiful. And that's all.
"Yes, it is indeed fantastic," he agreed. "And I prefer worlds like Dac or Alderaan. Mountains, sea, oceans. It's very free there... to breathe."
"Free to breathe?" there was surprised interest in the girl's voice. "Are there places where you can only breathe with permission or for money?"
"Unfortunately, yes," he nodded. "There are such planets. But I'm not talking about that. Inhaling the air of Nar Shaddaa, Nal Hutta, and other planets of this type... I want to cover my nose and put on a respirator. On Dac, however... Most of the planet is covered by ocean, the Mon Calamari take care of nature and... It can't be explained. You breathe deeply, enjoying every sip of air."
This time, he didn't open the door for the girl, busy loading containers onto the rear platform. But Vaymi managed it herself, and the smuggler found her sitting in the passenger seat with an expression of deep thought on her face.
"Is something wrong?" Rick asked this, simultaneously starting the engine and buckling up, studying the readings on the control panel.
"Just trying to imagine what it's like – to breathe like that," the girl explained.
"No need to imagine," he smiled as the car, with a slight squeak, lifted into the air on antigravs. "Very soon we will visit something similar. I promise you."
Her tails coiled around the Lethan again. She felt a little uneasy about the prospect of leaving the familiar and childhood-known Smuggler's Moon. But curiosity, not killed by slavery – due to the masters rather than the training – prevented her from asking him not to take her anywhere from here.
"And where exactly do you want to fly?" the girl risked clarifying. If a familiar name sounded, she could at least prepare... And with unfamiliar ones, the holonet would help.
"Honestly, I don't know yet," the answer sounded with inner joy, a smile involuntarily played on the guy's face, even his eyes lit up. "That's the beauty of the life I've chosen. You never know where the star road will lead. I think we'll fly along the Corellian Run, maybe touch the Rimma Trade Route or the Hydian Way... Or we'll dash along the Corellian Arc. These are all averaged, generally accepted routes. When we get back to the room, we'll make a route, and you'll help me with it. Okay?"
"Me!?" surprise and almost fear were reflected on the little face of the Lethan. "But I've never done this..."
"I'll teach you," Rick gave her a good-natured look. "There's nothing complicated about it. And in general, start getting used to it, you'll have to learn a lot. Let's hope I'm a good teacher."
What else could the Lethan do? Her lekku folded into a bizarre knot – a gesture of submission. Learn? Well, she would learn... Anything, if it made the master forget about his intention to shove a blaster into her hands.
He slowed down. There was definitely something wrong with the girl's gestures, which meant they needed to talk... But flying at a decent speed and talking at the same time was dangerous even for a pilot like him. Because the Smuggler's Moon does not forgive mistakes.
"Sorry," he truly apologized, and was sincere with the girl. "Did I offend you in some way?"
His answer was a look of boundless surprise. The very thought that a slave could be offended by such a caring...
Vaymi remembered Rick's request in time. She couldn't call the master "master." It was better not to even think it, so as not to accidentally make a mistake and say the forbidden word aloud. But nothing would change from that...
"No," she answered quickly. "I love to learn. Only, can it not be with weapons?"
Rick's face contorted.
"At least she asked for something, the little one, a victory."
"Vaymi, I agree not to turn you into Gallandro," he himself was as far from the famous mercenary as a womp rat from a krayt dragon, "but I must teach you elementary self-defense methods. But we will deal with small weapons."
As if to prove his words, he glanced at the windshield and mirrors, removed his right hand from the steering wheel, and showed with his thumb and index finger how small the weapon would be.
"But this won't be today or tomorrow," he paused. "I have no desire to force you to do anything against your will."
"Thank you!" no one had ever thanked him with such sincerity as she did.
"You're welcome," the car accelerated, "I need to stop by the shop to buy some equipment. And then we'll go to the room."