Sherobah Angau stood in the shadow of an alleyway, briefly illuminated by the stuttering flicker of neon lights, and watched with cold eyes as the Stormtroopers paced by. Her hands trembled, so she closed them tighter around the small, stolen blaster. No one had heard the sizzle of blasterfire or the dying squeal of the Ugnaught she had stolen the blaster from. Her fingers still prickled with the memory of wrapping around his throat. With luck, no one would find his body in the dumpster behind her, covered beneath so much filth and detritus. Sherobah waited the length of ten heartbeats, then let her hold on the blaster slip. No one was coming. Without looking back, she exhaled and stepped out into the flow of Port Town’s foot traffic.

Ahead of her, she could see the white helmets of the Stormtroopers. Occasionally they paused, lazily turning their blaster rifles towards shop owners or pedestrians they had taken a disliking to. Sherobah kept her distance, crossing from one alleyway of stalls and peddlers to another, but never letting the Imperials fully out of sight. Not until she found the doorway to a cantina and slipped inside.

It was as if she had slipped into the engine room of a freighter. Dark and loud, the air thrumming with a mechanical baseline. Patrons huddled in booths, hunched over their drinks as if peering into the innards of machinery. Sherobah studied the shadows, looking for the stranger she had been told to seek out. Her gaze caught on the shape of someone. Could that be them?

With no time to waste or need to hesitate, she approached the table where they sat.

“I understand you’re looking for passengers.”