Chapter Text
Space stations were always noisy. Especially their cargo-loading sections. Although, to be honest, there surely were much calmer parts. Hanbin had been told that the upper floors on this specific station were built to host a set of luxurious accommodations, which were once very popular with imperial officers. It implied the presence of high-end restaurants, lounges filled with the most refined entertainment coming from every corner of the Galaxy, and beautiful terraces with panoramic views on the planet system the station gravitated right off of. Hanbin, however, was only familiar with the hammering noises of the cargo sections: droids transporting crates on and off ships, stacking them in neat piles and securing them with large chains and steady fastenings, mechanics (even non-droid ones) hurrying to adjust something or other in order to ensure that these ships delivered their precious goods to every planet and that they fed every single part of this enormous decaying machine.
The news had been so big that it was impossible not to have heard of it. The last time Hanbin had touched ground, two days before, it was the only thing everyone was talking about. It was hushed whispers in the barren cafeteria where cargo pilots waited, people of all ages and species huddling together to tell each other the unbelievable development, the purple-skinned guy manning the fuel station approaching Hanbin to ask him have you heard? And how could he have not: the Rebellion had finally struck a major nerve, they’d finally inflicted some serious damage to the Empire, they were going to flip the tide. Some whispered excitedly about the events of Yavin, enthusiastic about the impending fall of the Empire, while others worried about their fate — what would it mean for trade? Would they still keep their jobs if the Empire really fell? Would commerce still go on as usual? Or would they all be stranded somewhere with the need to reinvent themselves? Hanbin, admittedly, cared little. The people who employed him sold ship parts, and those would not go out of fashion. He would still get to fly ships carrying thousands of tiny pieces of mechanical equipment, just as he would still get to bring credits[1] home.
“Your ship’s all set, Sung.” The head supervisor of the cargo station was an incredibly tall, incredibly stocky man with arms about the size of Hanbin’s torso. He’d been working here for a long time, and Hanbin kept meeting him every time he stopped here to pick up his goods. “You flying to the capital today?”
Hanbin didn’t look forward to it. Coruscant was an awfully crowded place with people yelling everywhere, and it always took forever to unload his ship — if they didn’t keep him waiting to land for half a day — and to reload it with the other items he would still have to bring back to another place. Everyone he talked to always reacted excitedly to his mentions of Coruscant: the capital, the place where everything was. Hanbin didn’t like it. He didn’t like how many armed troopers in their shiny white armours watched over every little operation. He didn’t like the air on the officers passing by and inspecting every ship that entered and left the planet, their visible disgust for everyone that didn’t wear the same uniform, blasters too close to their trained hands. “Yeah,” he replied. “Then I have to go back to the factories and then, hopefully, I’ll have a few days to spend at home.”
“Do you have someone back home?” It was a rare gift, these days, to have a family that was left untouched by the Empire or the Rebels. Most people Hanbin knew had lost someone to a series of wars that had been going on since before he was born. He barely remembered his own father.
“Just my mom and my sister,” he said. He saw them too little.
“People your age usually get married and start having children,” the supervisor pointed out. Maybe. But Hanbin had been flying commercial ships since he’d turned fifteen and grew tall enough and heavy enough to fit the criteria for a piloting license. Most people his age on his planet shared his same fate: either you found a way to bring home some food, or you died starving. No one blamed the Empire, as it had been like that with the Republic, too. And Hanbin couldn’t complain since he’d always loved flying, and he got to do that for a living. Not many others could say the same.
“Did you take a look at my droid?” B0-R1, Hanbin’s navigation droid[2], a thing of old but still efficient (most days), had been acting up.
“Ah, yes,” the supervisor nodded. “It was an issue with the video card. He kept scanning things wrong.”
“Alright,” Hanbin let out a smile. “I should go, then.” The supervisor kept staring at him. “Coruscant awaits!”
B0-R1 followed him, dutiful droid as it was, its white and blue small metallic mass rolling up the ship ramp with its tiny wheels turning so fast they blurred. Hanbin only took the first real breath when the port door closed and the ship came alive under his fingers. He checked that the fuel level was high, that the cargo bay port was closed, that the hyperspace[3] drive functioned correctly, and then he set the coordinates to the insanely rich commercial fly-port of Coruscant.
One time, a too-curious pilot on a hot planet Hanbin had never visited since had asked him if he’d ever been in love. Hanbin had ignored the question, too busy playing the card game he and other pilots were playing, every one of them a bit drunk. He’d only thought about it later when he’d been back on his ship, sitting at his console feeling lonely, with only B0-R1 by his side. Maybe he should have said yes. The way he felt when he looked at the stars in the sky, while he was among the stars, had to be love. The need he’d always felt to go up there, to leave the ground, to immerse himself in the depth of space, that wasn’t just curiosity or the taste for adventure. It was more. So, yes, Hanbin was in love with space and with flying through space. Whenever he brought his ship into hyperspace and the lights merged together and he speed-ran the Galaxy, that was when he truly tasted what happiness felt like. His sister used to not get it, until he’d brought her on a trip. It was only later on that he realized how cruel he’d been. Because now, she was stuck on the ground after learning what it was like, whereas he got to fly all the time. Having one pilot is enough pain and pride for a family, she’d said back then. Please always remember what the floor in our home feels like under your feet, alright? Hanbin could never forget it if he tried, but it had stuck with him, this fear of never actually being able to recall the place he’d been raised in, too taken with the wide sky and the marvels of the Galaxy.
“Bori,” he turned towards the droid. “Bori, Bori! Bring me out of hyperspace a bit earlier than the intended destination, I want to fly a bit.” The droid beeped its assent. “Bori, do you have a home, too? Do you remember your first trip? Like, where were you built, Bori?”
Hanbin knew his navigation droid didn’t speak, it wasn’t a protocol[4] one, so it wasn’t made to interact with people. But flying was a lonely thing, and despite the job he’d picked for himself, Hanbin loved being around people. So, little droid B0-R1 — whom he’d nicknamed after the second flight they’d spent together — was the closest thing he could get to a trip companion. B0-R1 beeped a set of stupid noises, then displayed a reply on the small screen he had on the top of its head. Imperial Naval Industries, Coruscant .
“Why on Coruscant? Don’t they have their factories closer to the outer rim?”
Another series of irritating beeps. 25 years ago . Hanbin sighed. Everything was different back then.
“We’re almost the same age,” he told the droid. “You’re old, Bori.”
Hanbin opened the comms with the Coruscant commercial port radio-tower as he was about to enter the planet’s atmosphere. “This is ship WK1-24 of WK Industries requesting permission to land.”
The robotic voice of a flight controller came from the communications box. “Cargo ship WK1-24, who’s flying you today?”
“Hanbin Sung, flying license 100723,” he said.
“What are you transporting, WK1-24?” Hanbin had learnt this routine by heart so it didn’t even worry or exhaust him anymore. He just stopped thinking, and recited the required information to the operators. Then, he enumerated the crates of bolts and screws and pre-assembled items he carried. “You’re scheduled for another turn of loading after unloading,” the voice said. “You will be directed to a suitable docking area. Please wait for further instructions before you land.”
As usual, Coruscant’s docking stations were too crowded with imperial soldiers. Ten troopers with their blaster guns in their hands were looking at the droids carrying out the operations. Hanbin often wondered — but he tried not to think about it while he was on this planet, because he feared that his thoughts would be inspected too — why these troopers needed to do this, if the droids were also programmed by the highest-efficient imperial technicians. It was a question with no answer, anyway.
“Captain Sung.” An imperial officer clad in the regulation grey jacket, his belt tight around his waist, approached him. “May I take a look at your flying license, please?”
Hanbin, again, tried not to think it. But it had to be tied to the Yavin events[5]. They never checked pilots’ licenses before, it was enough that the number matched to what companies had declared. He still extracted the required document from his pocket without a word.
“Have you been working with WK Industries for long?”
He rubbed his head a bit. “I used to work for Glide Transports before, but it was absorbed by WK Industries then, and I’ve kept my position under the new management,” he explained. The officer nodded, still looking at his license. “In total, I’ve been working on cargo ships for the last nine years.”
The officer looked at him. “An efficient citizen of the Empire,” he said. He smiled, too. It looked a bit fake. “Well, then. I will take a look at your navigation droid too, and then I will transmit your permission to take off. It may take a while, since the port is busy.”
“It’s a good thing it’s busy,” Hanbin politely agreed.
“Indeed,” the officer smiled again. “The Empire’s prosperity is the most important thing.”
This was Hanbin’s life. It had been Hanbin’s life for the last ten years. A regular, ordinary, relatively peaceful life. He liked it the way it was, honestly. The predictability of it, the certainty that he would get to touch ground at WK Industries and have a significant amount of credits transferred to his account. That he would go to his mother’s house and her green garden and transfer every single credit to her, promising her that he would be fine. He had enough to live with. He was okay.
Three hours later, as he was jumping out of hyperspace and readying to start the landing procedures once again, B0-R1 started beeping in full alarm, its light going off red. “What’s wrong?”
The ship bumped to a stop. “Bori, why is it doing this?” Hanbin disconnected the autopilot, he tried to flip a few levers. Nothing. The ship wasn’t moving. “Come on! Please, ship WK1-24, please , don’t leave me here. Don’t have me call for technical support when we’re, like, half an hour away from landing.”
No reactions. Stupid of Hanbin to assume an amass of metal and electrical parts would react to his pleas. He let out a groan. The radio crackled. Hanbin pressed the call button: “Captain Sung, flying the WK1-24,” he called. “We’re encountering navigation-”
“Glad to know your name, Captain,” an unknown voice spoke up. Hanbin froze. “You’re in luck, today.” The ship gave a shake. “You’ve been selected as our esteemed guest. We can’t wait to meet you.”
“Who are you?” Hanbin had an idea. But, if it was correct, it was even worse than dying. It was utmost, absolute ruin.
“Oh! A curious one! Worry not, Captain Sung, you’ll meet us all soon enough. In the meantime, if you will, disable your tracking device. We don’t want to rip your ship apart more than necessary. We’re polite.”
Hanbin considered his options. If this was who he thought it might’ve been, his ship would be completely devastated. He deactivated the tracking. There was a red alert flashing on his console telling him that the ship’s defensive shield had been bypassed and deactivated. They could blow him up right there. At least, if he survived, he could still hope to pay for the debt this accident would create. Otherwise, it was likely it would fall onto his mother and sister. “Done,” he said.
“Amazing,” the pirate (because, what else could he be) chirped through the radio. “Oh, I’m so excited to meet you so soon , Captain Sung!”
Hanbin had heard that many other ships — from his company, as well as from many more — had been victims of pirate attacks. It was to be expected, in a way. Imperial troops were being deployed in high numbers against the Rebel Alliance, and Hanbin wondered if their clone factories were able to keep up with the demand. It had been shocking to learn back when he was a kid, that there had been a time wherein clones didn’t exist. That the fighters of the Republic had once been much more similar to the ones that now filled the Rebellion’s ranks. Still, with the war against the Rebels becoming harsher, no one patrolled the skies and the harbors and the ports; ships were ransacked, pilots stranded in remote areas, companies damaged. No one had dared, up until now, to attack WK ships. Lucky Hanbin! He was the first WK pilot to fall into a pirate attack.
His ship was dragged into the docks of a huge Imperial-like ship: its triangular shape, its disproportionate equipment of guns and cannons could only make it look like an older Star Destroyer[6] type of ship, a whole flying city which could transport half an army and its ships, too. Aside from the clearly military aesthetic of the ship, no one else if not the Republic first or the Empire later would have had the funds to afford the production of such a beast. If Hanbin wasn’t so damn upset he would wonder if these guys had stolen it right from the Empire. That would be cool. But, since they were also gonna rob him, it didn’t feel cool. Not at all. When the lights turned on, there was a single file of people with blaster guns in their hands in the dock bay, rows and rows of ammunition attached to their torsos and waists and legs. By the looks of it, the ammunition wasn’t even compatible with the guns. Hanbin watched as one of the pirates — a slim guy with a clean face — signaled him to open the cargo port.
Was resisting even an option? What would that earn Hanbin? Some blaster hits to his ship, and maybe to him, as well. They would force the port open and take whatever they wanted anyway. They had seized his ship, with him aboard it, and they would do what they pleased with it.
It was unfair. They didn’t even pay attention to Hanbin. They made him disembark, pushing him down the ramp with a hand pushed firmly between his shoulders, and then they made him watch as they stole everything he was transporting. Crates after crates of electrical components, all of which they opened. They laughed, disgustingly happy. “Hey, Captain Sung!” This was the same one he’d spoken to via radio. A short guy, smaller than the rest of the pirates, but clearly their leader. “You brought us such a generous gift today! Do you know how much these wares sell for on the black market?”
Hanbin didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him, either. He knew this stuff was valuable and, if the company made him pay for losing it…? What happened then? Would he be enslaved for the rest of his life? And his mom, his sister back on Anduo… would they have to live an existence of pain and scarcity only because he was this unlucky?
“The Captain asked you a question,” another one said. The blue hue of his hair contrasted sharply with the bright purple of his skin. “You wouldn’t like to find out how Keita acts when people don’t answer his questions.” Did Hanbin care? Wasn’t it better if they killed him? At least then he would not witness the misery of his ensuing days. Two people were unscrewing stuff from his piloting console; he watched his radio be hauled away, his hyperdrive motivator be ripped out of the ship’s belly. Literally, if they killed him it would hurt less.
But the second pirate, the blue-haired one, was still staring at him. Insistently. And his hand was so close to his blaster. “I don’t know,” Hanbin pushed out. “I don’t know how much money this is all worth.”
“A lot,” the captain replied. Well, Hanbin could get that, too. What the heck. “You were very generous to us, Captain.”
Hanbin didn’t know if generous was the word for it considering they were taking everything against his will, and he wasn’t even able to do anything. And that was the worst, because what could he do? Realistically, what could he do? He didn’t have the physical prowess to high-kick one of them in the sternum and take the gun from their hands, threatening them to let him go. He had nothing. He was nothing. He was a twenty-four-year-old loser of a commercial pilot who owned nothing to his name except his flying license and the clothes on his back. And, honestly, two other sets of clothes on the ship. And these people had guns, and they were used to using them. And Hanbin was stupid, and powerless, and so irrationally angry about this whole thing. “You scum,” he hissed.
The pirate captain laughed. “Scum? Do you know who buys the stuff you transport? Do you know that every single item your beloved WK produces is sold to imperial shipyards? You think these components are sold to normal shops? To normal mechanics? These are war-ship circuits, Captain Sung. And your darling company will start selling them to the opposing side if they pay more.” Hanbin didn’t care . There hadn’t been peace in the Galaxy for as long as he’d been alive. Why would he care about it? What could he do? He needed to keep himself alive. To keep his family alive. Let the warmongers kill each other. “Oh, look at him,” the captain, Keita, cackled. “Look at him, getting all red in the face. You think we’re criminals, hypocrites. I’m chattering about war and then I’m a thief.” He shrugged. Someone in the background brought down another mass of electrical components, ripped from the ship’s circuits. Maybe the air conditioning system, or maybe — though Hanbin hoped not — the landing assistant. Fuck, it looked like the landing assistant. “I always ask this to all the people who stop by,” Keita went on. “Do you want to return to your stupid flying company? Or do you want to stay with us for a little while?”
Hanbin didn’t even take the question into serious consideration. He’d never wanted to wrap his hands around someone’s neck like he wanted it now; to press against his throat, to steal the breath out of him. He had a life. An imperfect one, sure. But a life, nonetheless, with set certainties in a time where there weren’t any. And this asshole had taken everything, everything , from him. “I’d like to go home,” he replied. It came out like a growl.
“Wonderful,” Keita looked like he was having the time of his life, pure joy on his face. “Let us give you a ride a bit closer to home, then!” He yelled something at another crew member, but Hanbin didn’t understand what – he feared he didn’t speak the language. Not even five minutes had passed when, suddenly, the ship jumped. Hyperspace. Where the fuck were they gonna leave him?
The insides of the WK1-24 looked like a carcass. Two panels that had been making up the cabin’s floor, separating it from the hold, were missing. Hanbin sat on his piloting chair, suspended in space with no idea where he was — they’d taken the location device, they’d taken the radars, they’d taken the radio. B0-R1 beeped, panicked, everytime it rolled too close to the gushing gaps in their ship. “Fuck,” Hanbin let out, for maybe the fiftieth time. “ Fuck. ” Fifty-first. He was screwed. The situation was unsalvageable, he was sure he should just let himself go. Maybe let the ship crash down somewhere and hope it took his life, too. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast? There was a picture of him with his mom and sister hanging for dear life on top of the ransacked console. He couldn’t even look at it without his eyes filling up with furious tears. He didn’t deserve this. He’d worked his ass off all his life — he’d been a good citizen, a good son, a good worker. He’d been respectful of every rule, of every stupid regulation coming from the Empire or from WK Transports. He’d been a model employee, a model captain. He’d never so much as even scratched a ship; he’d never messed up the cargo, nor the documentation. Why did it have to be him? He knew that the other victims didn’t deserve it either, but — why him ? And what was he going to do, now? How was he going to go back home? Would he even be able to? What if he got stranded on a desert planet? How would he survive? “Bori, where are we?” His voice sounded wet. The droid waited, then it beeped only once. Navigation system disconnected . Yeah. Physically disconnected. From its location. Sorry. Stupidly — because stupid was how he felt, three-sixty degrees — Hanbin patted the droid on its head. It doesn’t even have a head , his treacherously rational mind supplied. Hanbin didn’t care. He was too tired. The only thing he wanted was not to have to worry about anything ever again.
Was he going to die there? In space, somewhere in this galaxy, with no food, no water, no anything? Just a pale planet in sight, and just enough fuel to attempt to get there. And what would he do if he managed to land? The ship wasn’t going to be fixed. It was too big, and too damaged. There wasn’t a single thing that worked except for the aeration system, which was already enough mercy, and the engine. Literally, how could someone have such a bad day? The worst day of his life, for sure. First, imperial officers all up in his business, then the pirates, and now the perspective of being stranded forever away from the people he loved. At least, he thought, this was the bottom of the barrel. There was no getting worse than this.
And then he heard a step. He must be hallucinating. There was no one else but him and the droid on this wrecked ship. Still, he turned around. It seemed impossible, but there was a full other person there. Hanbin’s brain failed to comprehend this. He’d only loaded cargo, on Coruscant. How — Had this guy been there while the ship was being dismantled? How did they not see him? How did Hanbin not see him on his ship? But now he could see him very well: he had a blaster in his right hand, and it was pointing directly at Hanbin. The man’s expression was serious, his tall figure imposing in the half-dark ship. “I surrender,” Hanbin said, immediately.
“Who were those people?” Shouldn’t Hanbin be the one asking this man who he was? He was pretty sure if someone had a right to be filled with questions it was him, and not this random, armed stowaway who somehow spirited himself on his — now devastated — cargo ship. When Hanbin didn’t reply fast enough, the man tilted his head towards his blaster.
“Pirates, I assume.” Hanbin immediately regretted the snarky tone he’d picked. The stranger’s eyes — dark, circled, trained on Hanbin — looked dangerous. He, as a whole, looked dangerous. “They were pirates.”
An eyebrow raised in disbelief, evident even under a mop of dark hair. “Do you have business with these pirates ? Smugglers?” Who was this guy, honestly? What sort of business deal could Hanbin have with the pirates if this was the state his ship was left in? Had this man lost his mind? Was he blind?
Hanbin had no idea how he could give an answer that wouldn’t result in a blaster beam shot right through his head. “No?” A deep breath. “No. Of course not. But, also, who the f-”
“Shut up.” Okay. He’d already surrendered, so, did words have no meaning? “Did you fly into the pirates’ trap hoping they would find me?”
“I didn’t even know you were onboard, fucking hell,” Hanbin exploded. The man’s eyes went wider, then he composed himself. “This is the worst day of my life,” Hanbin muttered. There was no match, no other contestant: he’d never had a day filled with so many disasters.
“I could make it worse,” the stranger shrugged. Kill me , Hanbin found himself begging. It would be over at least. “I could shoot you in your upper arm. Not fatal enough to kill you, not with a blaster. And you would still be able to get me to the ground, but you’d be hurting for the rest of your life.” He sounded too sure of what he was saying.
“I could also make this ship crash and burn upon landing. It has no landing assistant device,” Hanbin replied. Why was he being so headstrong? He must have lost his mind.
“Oh no, you won’t,” the man said. And he stepped closer to Hanbin. He walked past B0-R1, who beeped indignantly, displaying a string of curse words on its small screen. “You’re landing me safely. As for yourself, crash and burn all you want.”
“Landing you where ?” Hanbin had to bite back the laughter that threatened to erupt from his throat. This — none of this — wasn’t fun. There was nothing to laugh about. Yet, he was fighting not to do it. “Where are we? What planet is that?” He gestured at the slightly orange mass orbiting in the distance, too small to even understand if it was inhabited. “We might as well starve to death here.”
The man took a quick glance at the planet, then looked at the fuel gauge, all without moving his finger from the trigger. “Captain, I fear you’re not listening,” he said. “We have enough fuel to get there, so you will be landing me there. If you won’t, I will. Move over.”
This dude? Flying Hanbin’s ship? Yeah, no. Not in a thousand lifetimes. Little did it matter that the ship was a complete wreck, she was still Hanbin’s WK1-24. He’d been flying her for almost two years. He’d brought her to his home planet, flown her around moons and among asteroids just for the sake of it, paying for the fuel with his own money, too. He liked this ship. He had a history with this ship. And he wasn’t going to let the first insane criminal with embers for eyes and a ridiculous leather belt fly the last flight this ship would ever take. It was Hanbin’s right. “Put that down,” he gestured at the blaster. “And I’ll get us to the ground.”
The stranger let out an absurdly ill-placed laughter. “Don’t be stupid, Captain,” he said. “I don’t trust you.”
Hanbin was done. He had no more patience, no more tolerance left. “If you want the landing to be the nicest one I can manage, you’ll put that fucking blaster down.” He hadn’t realized how angry he felt. He wanted to hit something. Possibly his own head against the metal of the console, as destroyed as it was. “Or did I not tell you that there is no landing assistant?”
The man sighed as he sat down in the other navigation chair, a relic of times in which commercial companies hired two pilots instead of one. “You’re insane,” the guy said. Hanbin was insane? What about the stowaway currently sitting next to him, all clad in black and dark brown, pale and with dark circles under too shiny eyes? Wasn’t he the insane one? He, who’d boarded a random transport ship and hid away in its cargo hold for something like ten hours — and for what? What would this man have done once Hanbin got inside WK Industries? There was very little else aside from manufacturing industries on that planet. Still, Hanbin kept quiet. At least the blaster wasn’t pointing at his head anymore, even if it was still in the man’s hand.
“Bori,” Hanbin turned to the droid. “Hold yourself tight, it’s gonna be a bit rough.” The droid beeped in assent. “You’re a good droid, so please, let’s come out of this in one piece. Alright?” Another beep. Hanbin flipped a couple switches and the engine roared alive. The ship might be more dead than alive, but if there was something Hanbin was good at, it was flying. And he would fly this ship to the ground one last time.
Hanbin had learnt to fly with the worst ship he’d ever piloted. The current state of the WK1-24 could rival the conditions of the wreck where he and his classmates had learned to maneuver flying vessels. No flight assistant, no shields, no autopilot — those were the prerogatives of the Old Skel , as they called her. But it had made all of them excellent pilots in the end, and that had been the mission of their old teacher, a woman so dried from old age that her skin looked like reptile leather. If you can fly the Old Skel safely among the mountains and crevices of Anduo, you can fly anything anywhere. Hanbin had limited flying experience, in terms of ships. He’d only ever flown big cargo ships, and the WK1-24 wasn’t an exception. But he was confident in her teachings, and he wasn’t going to let the damage inflicted by pirates destroy his abilities.
He focused on keeping the ship stable, limiting the fuel consumption and regulating the heat-dispersion device so that they wouldn’t catch on fire as soon as they impacted with the planet’s atmosphere. The stranger — the dangerous man with a gun and criminal tendencies — was silent to his side. He had stretched his legs in front of him, but his back was straight, and he never relaxed in the long hours the flight took at such reduced speed. The silence was unnatural, even for space travel. Only the engine was making some noise, but having no working navigation system meant that B0-R1 was useless, forced to quietude. There was no saving grace in such a situation. Hanbin felt restless, even as he tried to only think about flying.
The planet they were approaching looked like it was largely uninhabited — desert-like in its appearance, an orange, sandy type of soil making up most of it, thin creeks streaking the surface. It looked like it had no mountains. Hanbin knew he had to slow the ship down if he didn’t want to kill everyone on board — and, despite everything, he really did not want to die — but it was going to be a very awful impact, nonetheless. He cursed under his breath when he realised that the landing apparatus was completely gone. Nothing about it responded to his commands. They were gonna crash down at the lowest possible angle and hope for the best. Way too close to the ground, Hanbin skirted a fuel station and a desolate-looking mechanic-shop (its landing strip too short for the WK1-24’s sorry state) and aimed at a barren strip of sand just outside the smallest conglomerate of houses Hanbin had ever met.
The hit with the planet’s surface was rough. Both he and the hijacking stowaway had fastened their harnesses, which is usually a very unnecessary safety measure on commercial flights. Hanbin didn’t miss how the stranger closed his eyes upon the impact while the ship crashed and cranked and tilted to one side. Hanbin waited for the noise to stop, one last echo of a metallic panel breaking and falling to the ground followed by another loud creak of the parking support breaking in half under all the mis-distributed weight. The ship gave another jolt. Then, it all quieted down.
Hanbin pressed the button to open the door. The ramp didn’t fully extend. “I got you to the ground,” he voiced.
The man was already looking at him, something like distrust in his gaze. He got himself free and got to his feet, even if standing upright was impossible with how uneven their floor was. Hanbin watched him move uneasily across the ship, go back to the narrow interstice he’d come out of, and disappear there. Hanbin didn’t move from his seat. It wasn’t long before he saw the stranger walk in the desert in front of where the ship had crashed. He was carrying a cross-body bag. His dark boots were already covered in orange dust. He made for an interesting silhouette, all dark clothes and dark hair, on such a bright background.
“Bori, we’re disembarking,” Hanbin said out loud. “I’ll carry you down. You won’t be able to get off this ship by yourself.”
Footnotes :
1 Galactic credits, currency. [return to text]
2 Navigation droids were usually small droids helping pilots in navigation, usually by connecting to the ships’ navigation systems. The most famous ones are R2-D2 and BB-8 . [return to text]
3An alternative dimension in which ships traveled much faster. It could be reached by traveling at the speed of light (and then it works like a space highway, basically). Ships could be equipped for the “hyperspace jump” with a hyperspace drive, which was a prerogative of larger vessels, while - usually - no fighters could go into hyperspace. (The Rebellion equipped theirs to be able to). Jumping in/out of hyperspace while inside a planet’s atmosphere was considered impossible (in canon, only Han Solo did it). [return to text]
4 Protocol droids were built and programmed to interact with people, helping them in various kinds of relations, often diplomatic. The most famous one has to be C-3PO. [return to text]
5 The Rebel alliance took down the ultimate imperial weapon, the Death Star, thanks to the marvelously executed shot of young pilot Luke Skywalker. It also jump started the events of the canon saga, since it’s the plot of the first ever movie. [return to text]
6a class of large ships, used across Galactic history. https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Destroyer [return to text]
PLANETS:
Coruscant: a planet that was also a city, the capital of the Republic first and the Empire later.
Anduo: Hanbin’s home planet, it was a mild-climate place, with primarily agricultural activities. Smaller cities were present there, with few industries and few exporting activities.