Relapse

Let's backtrack in a montage sort of way; except, without the music, and with much more effort on your part…

When I first arrived at the Peragus Mining Facility -my legs quaking within my boots as my feet uncomfortably collided into the hard tile flooring- I was about fifty-percent positive that I had made one of my classic -and arguably horrible- decisions. Y'know, the kind of decision where you find yourself wishing you hadn't been bantha-faced drunk when you had initially made the decision.

Two things had become immediately apparent to me as I glanced around the docking bay area; first, I was probably the only man with a full-set of teeth on this planet, and second, the Peragus Mining Facilities' dense air was stifling to my virgin lungs.

I was used to the familiar smells of sex, regret, and perfume that usually clogged the air in the cantinas of Nar Shaddaa; and, in contrast, this planet smelled like oils and coppers, which were two things that I had naturally never grown comfortably immune to. My head began to spin as a light-headed fog flitted throughout my brain, and I realized that I needed clean oxygen and women – pronto!

And, as if the dizzying oxygen deficiency hadn't been enough of a drag, I was physically tried when a tall, gangly man with absolutely zero arm muscle thrust my bag of belongings into my shaky hands, causing me to take a stuttering-step backwards. That was disappointing. And this 'man' looked as if he were supposed to be about nineteen years old, yet his face was ashy-gray and looked closer to the ancient carvings of thirty.

I cringed as Peragus suddenly struck me with its hidden truths.

This was what happened to people within the asteroid fields; they came here to work their bones into dust as they grew in age at a much more rapid pace than God-intended… while actively dooming themselves to never feel the love of a woman or a toothbrush ever again for the rest of their lives.

This –oh, this- was going to be so much fun.

Though, in honesty, Peragus was merely a facility for people to run away to. To hide. And it was because of this fact that it felt right for me to be here – because that was exactly what I intended to do.

So, with a determined sigh, I tossed my bulky bag of belongings across my right shoulder and journeyed my way into the heart of the facility.

Two weeks later, long after my first few un-eventful adventures around the entire crowded facility, I had become absentmindedly attached to one area within the giant station, the hangar bay. This attachment only became obvious to me when I realized that every time I was feeling pissed-off at the galaxy I wound up right there; mixed among the gruff mechanics and cloud-minded pilots, intently watching as the ships rolled in and out of the hangar. I found it peaceful to watch as the ships rolled in and out; some depositing people, others depositing goods. I wondered what it would be like to pilot one of those ships and fly it throughout space; oh, how great it must feel to know that the galaxy and its vast adventures are right at your fingertips…

However, my fascination with ships -large, small, and in-between- ran much deeper than that of the mining facility's crude bay. I had prior piloting experience in my younger years - long before Nar Shaddaa had captured me with its constant allure of pazaak, among other things... but, as they say, old habits die hard. And, apparently, new habits also die hard.

Aside from the hangar bay, I had spent an excessive amount of time within the medbay when I wasn't knee-deep in mining. This wasn't for any ailment, mind you, but I was quick to seek aid for my nightmare-induced sleep deficiency.

"You see, ma'am," I had cooed one morning within the medbay, pointing my finger into the side of my left temple for emphasis, "these dreams are detrimental to my work-ethic. I can't properly mine when I'm exhausted! I could fall asleep while operating heavy machinery and kill someone… or do something worse - like drop a piece of material onto my foot!"

Was I lying? Maybe. But it made enough sense to the head nurse at the medbay –the woman with olive-colored skin and invitingly plump lips– to aid my needs and give me a small dosage of medication.

"Just until you get used to the facility," she had hummed melodically at my back as I nodded appreciatively and turned away, "then you should be sleeping better on your own!"

Right. As if that was going to happen. I knew how my mind worked; and once these nightmares began, they were relentless until I removed whatever influence had sparked them. But, until I figured out what had fueled their current resurrection, I needed to have my dreams destroyed with strong medications…

For my own sanity.

A scheming thought –or, an act of desperation– began to form within my mind around my third visit to the medbay (and, unbeknownst to me at the time, my second-to-last visit) as I realized that Mrs. Nurse had decided I was no longer in need of free medication. She politely informed me that if I continued to take the dosage on such a regular basis that it would do un-healthy things to my body, and that she could get fired for allowing such a distasteful occurrence to take place.

I almost asked her if I looked like I gave a damn about her professional reputation, but I decided against it and held my tongue. After all, I was going on a month-long streak of not being slapped across the jaw by a woman, and I was aiming to break my own personal record!

"Yesterday's dosage was the last that I will allow you to take, Mr. Rand." She swore, irritation trailing within her voice.

"You think I enjoy doing this to myself?" I stated grumpily, pulling back the shirt sleeve at my arm and revealing a trail of bruises from the injections.

Mrs. Nurse pursed her plump lips and cocked her head to the side, eyeing me quizzically. "In my personal experience I would say that you are displaying all of the signs of an addict-"

I raised my hand up to silence her, wincing as her accusations began to pour from her mouth like a broken faucet. "No-no-no. I am not an addict. And that was a rhetorical question."

Her jaw dropped as she began to spout more diagnostic falsities, and I spun about on my heel in a fleeing motion. I was not going to stick around and listen to her as she berated me – especially when she did not understand what was truly going on. These weren't typical nightmares. This wasn't a dramatic whim. I was being terrorized by my own past!

After that frustrating experience with Mrs. Nurse, I had, of course, wandered aimlessly back into my favored zone; the hangar bay. I found myself a comfortable wall to lean against as I angrily began to plot my scheme of sneaking medicine out of the medbay, and I lazily propped one foot up and folded my arms tightly against my chest.

As I stewed, ignoring the passersby, my eyes drifted casually across the hangar and landed upon a peculiar ship at the end of the bay. Unlike most of the vessels that rolled in and out of the hangar, this ship had copper and white markings and was spherical in shape. For a fleeting moment, I had forgotten all about my worries with Mrs. Nurse as my eyes narrowed curiously upon the foreign vessel.

This ship did not belong here. This ship was built for speed. This ship was built for adventure. And I was absolutely positive that I had never laid eyes upon this ship before; for I undoubtedly would have remembered it.

"Rand!"

I recognized the voice before seeing the face. It belonged to the mining mechanic with the blonde hair who had become overly-friendly with the idea of my presence. He must have been a lonely, sad little man -choosing to spend a majority of his time mingling alongside a huge battalion of droids- and I found him to be an odd fellow. But, for now, he was someone to talk to and he knew a lot more about the happenings around the facility than I ever would.

In short; he was like my personal, strange datapad; full of mostly-uninteresting information on things that I was too lazy to find out for myself. However, on this particular day, he had potential to prove useful.

Turning around, plastering the friendliest smile that I could conjure onto my face, I leaned away from the wall that I had been perched against and nodded to him in recognition. The mechanic looked like he usually did; goggles strapped to his forehead, mining uniform hanging loosely from his body, gray-hued skin covering his arms and face, and the usual lop-sided grin that showed all of his front teeth (which, good for him, he still possessed).

I glanced momentarily down onto the rag that he held in-between his hands as he wiped oily-greases deep into the fabric while approaching me. Once he was at my side I narrowed my eyes and motioned towards the foreign vessel that I had been gawking over.

"Who's ship is that?" I asked coolly, uninterested in the idea of beginning our conversation with a conventional greeting.

The mechanic's eyes followed my gesture and I watched as his tongue brushed across his front row of teeth in hesitation. "That," he began slowly, pausing to pocket his oil-rag, "is the Ebon Hawk."

I noted the way that his voice faltered when he spoke the vessel's name, and my curiosity peaked. "Who's the pilot?"

"Dunno." He said automatically, his tone resembling that of a droid. He definitely spent way too much time around those beeping heaps of junk; and I had a strange feeling that they would someday be the death of him, one way or another.

"Where did it come from?" I tried again, pushing aside my morbid thoughts.

"Space." He said numbly, very unhelpful.

I became immediately annoyed by his aversion to my questions, and I blew out a frustrated breath of air. "Who was on it!?"

I could tell that my questions were beginning to bother him, though this particular question seemed to ignite a different reaction; surprise. His brow furrowed and he looked at me strangely before mumbling, "haven't you heard?"

Had I heard? Honestly! As if my constant questioning hadn't been enough of an answer to this pointless inquiry!

I swallowed hard and ran a hand through my hair, attempting to reign in my temper. My leather gloves scraped against my brown locks as my fingers brushed through them, and I flinched at the feeling of caked dirt against my scalp. Such a filthy facility, Peragus...

"Nope." I finally responded slowly, refraining from the rising urge to smack the mechanic across the back of his head.

His eyes bulged and he leaned slightly forward. "There was a Jedi on it," he said in a low voice before continuing at his regular volume. "The Jedi had been attacked –er, well, everyone on the ship had been attacked– and most of them were dead by the time we found the vessel."

"A Jedi?" I repeated, feeling a hard lump as it began to form within my throat. It was rumored that the Jedi had been entirely wiped from the galaxy these days; and yet, out of all of the places in space, one of those last remaining bastards had to wind up at the same shit-for-nothing facility as me…

Adjacent to this, two pilots strolled quickly by and I caught the end of their conversation as one of them whispered loudly, "… and have you heard of the bounties for Jedi? It's astronomical what they'll pay these days!"

Apparently, everyone was becoming consumed by this most-interesting event.

The mechanic twitched his lips in agreement with my initial response, and he waited to continue until the two pilots moseyed their way out of ear-shot. "Everything has gotten weird since she arrived..."

I creased my brow and stopped listening to him as a queasiness twisted down my spine and dove straight into the pit of my stomach. She? A female Jedi? Here? This would not be good news for anyone – especially me.

At least now I knew why my nightmares had returned with such a full and barreling force.

"... you know what I mean?" The mechanic repeated, waving a hand steadily before my face as my eyes came back into focus.

"Mmm-no," I mumbled while pushing away from the wall, "I wasn't listening."

"Oh," this didn't seem to faze him, and he began again with his initial story. "I was just saying; ever since she got here, the droids have been acting kind of weird. Y'know? Weird. They have been very hostile – well, hostile for a droid. Even the T3 units have been trying to kill people - "

I laughed at this and he stopped talking, eying me as if I were crazy.

"I'm serious," he stated in a very matured tone. He seemed offended by my lack of fear. "They killed a few people down in the mining facility."

I gnawed on my tongue, bored.

That familiar urge to return to the medbay and retrieve another handful of injections –at any cost– was beginning to overpower all other functions within me. Maybe I was, in fact, going a little bit crazy...

"I highly doubt you are still in need of this medicine, Mr. Rand."

Her voice was like nails scraping across the exterior of a pod racer.

I stared at Mrs. Nurse's face with a pathetic frown as I brought my hands up to my chin in a cupped and pleading manner. I was trying to be cute, but she wasn't buying it. Instead she ignored me, continuing her final rounds throughout the medbay as I followed at her heels like a lost pet.

"You don't understand – things have grown dire!" I tried, scooting around a carton of meds.

Mrs. Nurse snorted out of her nose as she locked a canister. "Children handle nightmares better than you."

"They're not just nightmares…" I argued. I could hear the desperation dripping within my voice, and it was not very becoming.

"Oh?" She challenged, glancing at me.

I drooped my shoulders, realizing that my attempts would be deflated with the admittance of my next words. "I can't… elaborate. You just have to believe me."

"You need to leave, before I call security." She finished bluntly while pointing towards the exit.

No matter.

Brandishing a handsome pout, I walked towards the exit as Mrs. Nurse turned away from me, and flattened my back skillfully against the wall before sliding quietly onto the ground; hiding myself behind a white barrel-shaped case of medpacs. And there I sat for about ten minutes or so, quietly waiting until Mrs. Nurse had finished with her final rounds and had left for the rest of night.

Victory looked good on me. I snuck my way over to the main computer and expertly hacked into her account, unlocking the case of medication that I desired.

And I should have just left it at that.

I should have overlooked the funny little line across the screen that read "PATIENT INJECTIONS" in bright letters. I should have left with my haul and returned to my quarters. I should have stuck to what I was good at; which was caring about me, myself and I...

But curiosity got the best of me.

I cautiously glanced around to make sure that Mrs. Nurse had not decided to make her way back into the medbay, or that security had not decided to take a stroll down the hallway, then I brought my attention back down onto the computer screen. With a cautious hand, I opened the file, and was both confused and shocked at what I viewed next…

Five injured people had been removed from the Ebon Hawk and placed inside of kolto tanks.

The medics who worked within the medbay had injected and killed four of these survivors. Killed them.

The Jedi, on the other hand, had been kept alive – though very, very unconscious.

Author Note:

Big thank you to everyone who has added this story to their alerts/favorites! I am shocked and pleased to discover that there is still a following within this genre! Love.