*First attempt. I'm super rusty. Apologies in advance - but that's what these are for right? Fun and practice. Goal for this small mini-series: to setup where other characters may be in relationship to Culu and get a kind of serial storyline started.
Two years. Two miserable years – had it really been that long? – surely not – she had fought against the slave trade here on Nar Shaddaa. Once, she thought she could win. Instead … they had been right. Val’ris. Others. All she’d gotten was Republic ire at her destroying the delicate balance of power and trade here on the smuggler’s moon. She stared at her tattered boots. Where had everything gone wrong? she wondered. In the beginning, it had seemed so right! The SIS had put her on a watch list – and even the Jedi had withdrawn their support – for Elenawe, known associator with Sith and Imperial personnel – never had a great reputation. “You’re wasting your time,” Master Daveris’s voice echoed in her mind. “The Jedi are to be examples – ministers of the force, surely. But not random vigilante idealists.”
All those people she had saved – some had made it – some few – into new and better lives. But others just didn’t know how or were not able to live on the right side of the law. Others joined gangs and were slaughtered in other ways. Still more were hunted down and re-enslaved. Pushing on the system had made it push back – and then some. She shoved away a tear. Had she really helped?
Now, there was nothing left. The last job she had run had failed. She had lost track of time since Culurien's disappearance. After that, everything had fallen apart. Cmd. Massey dead. Her Republic connections drying up, denouncing her, dying or disappearing like flies. And Culurien – she did not want to think about that. She would not.
She picked up a broken piece of mirror from the table, staring at her face, eyes marred with dark circles. A strobe light glinted from a hole in the shack's roof and she blinked.
“So much has been lost,” she whispered. “So many good people … I wish …” As if it didn't matter, she laid the mirror shard aside.
The door behind her opened with a jerk and a whine, shedding a beam of dusty brown light across her back. Smell of acrid smoke filled the air as the servo motors failed, froze, and died. She didn’t even pay attention. That would be her droid bringing in the last load of gear. Come morning, she was leaving Nar Shaddaa for good. She’d done all she could here. She stared into her lap, terminal before her. One last message … she raised her fingers to type, pausing to yell behind her,
“DC-TK, the servos failed again! You know what to do. … DC!”
A different voice spoke instead. Someone familiar, she’d only heard in her dreams. “I’m no droid. But if you want those fixed ...”
She gasped, jerking up to see the reflection of Culurien’s wane, but smiling face peering at her from under a threadbare hood.
With a force push, she did a wild back flip with more energy than she’d shown in months into her friend’s waiting arms, tears running down her cheeks. The crate she had been sitting on promptly fell apart with the force.
“I thought I would find you here,” Culurien smiled, and buried her in a hug.