Engine Trouble

[Tamera Beck]

So life never did work out like anyone wanted. It never did what was expected of it, and it certainly never catered to any one person's desires. It just kept ticking along with its' best friend Time, taking the willing and unwilling alike along with it.

Having grown up on her uncle's asteroid rig for as long as she could remember, Tamera Beck gave little thought to pursuing anything outside of mechanical work, and while life had certainly not given her what she thought it would (money, dammit), it had at least provided her with a way to sustain herself with what she knew and loved.

Of course 'love' was a relative term when you spoke of mechanics and their tools. It was even more murky when you spoke of mechanics and their projects.

And so it was now, on Nar Shaddaa, that Tamera found herself facing the conundrum of both love and hate wrapped into a single, delightful bundle of frustration. Buried halfway into the hood of an HG Anooba Sport, she cursed the Core and everything outside of it. Was it so difficult to place locking nuts in easy to access places?! Was it so difficult to allow at least a marginal amount of room to fit a ratchet spanner into place? Was it so difficult to make anything about this speeder accessible?!

A string of grumbled expletives poured from the sporty vehicle's engine compartment as she continued to work. Or at least tried to work. It was one thing if the speeder had been neglected and left to rot; it was an entirely other thing if the design itself was simply bad.

Rearing up from her perch, the young woman gave a distasteful look at what she had to work with, and wiping sweat from her forehead with a greasy arm, she ground her teeth.

Another moment later and she frowned.

"Impossible!"

Her spanner was tossed into one of the open drawers of her toolbox as she stepped back, away from the offending speeder.

"Who in the hell thought that it would be a good idea to jam the repulser generator up against the main drive cooling units?!!"

[Morgan Evanar]

The last month had not been kind to Morgan Evanar, nor anyone else on the Novgorod. Experiences change people, and this was one of the most horrific experiences a being could be subjected to. He'd taken leave as soon as possible, as he no longer wanted to be in the presence of the crew. The piles of bodies, the essence of beings sucked away and enslaved.

He needed something uncomfortable but familiar, and nothing could provide both those feelings better than Nar Shadda. His first order of business had been to get into a bar fight. Bar fights on Nar Shadda were not normal bar fights. In the wrong bar, it was an easy way to die. In the right bar, it was a way to say hello, a couple punches between "friends" was no thing. In Morgan's case, it was a bad case of misogyny and abuse that set the ball rolling.

In Morgan's case, it wasn't until the Gran hit him that he really felt anything. Most Gran weren't considered smart, but they sure could throw a punch. The day laborer that hit him had big shoulders and bigger fists. When the left slammed home into Morgan's gut it lifted the long-bodied slicer's feet from the ground and popped some air free from his lungs. He'd stumbled backwards over a patron's table, hand nimbly planted between glasses as he turned the fall into a vault. The gran rushed around the table, and Morgan hit him with a haymaker that could have felled a wompa.

He paid his tab, the downed Gran's tab, and walked out with a welt below his right eye and a dumb grin.

Next, get a speeder, go too fast, profit.

The door rang a wire with bits of speeder when Morgan entered. The industrial zone was warehouses and repair shops, and this was a specialist shop in things that went fast.

He heard a spanner hit a toolbox, and peered over the counter, into the repair bay.

“You need to pull the cooling system to do anything on a HG.” He called out.

[Tamera Beck]

She knew that voice. It was an old voice from old times, but recognizable all the same.

It still did nothing to alleviate her aggravation at the devil's engine she stared at, though.

Leaning to the side, Tamera peered down the length of the repair bay and through the open doorway which led into the entrance foyer. There was a smear of grease along her forehead, and an incredulous yet perturbed look on her face.

She gave Morgan Evanar a very terse look.

"Well look at you."

[Morgan Evanar]

With the exception of the shiner, Morgan didn't look much the same. Instead of a stick insect, he had filled out, and looked long limbed but solid.

He shrugged.

"Yes, well. Hi... Tamera." Her name came back to him in a rush of memory of a different time. Of slicing and speeders, of tinkering and general moodiness in bars.

"I'm looking for a speeder."

[Tamera Beck]

She made a face.

"I bet you are."

Disappearing back to her safe haven behind the raised hood of the HG, she let him stand behind the distant counter for a few moments. Staring at the HG's front end guts, Tamera knew with a sinking feeling that he was right. Still though, it rankled her little-used lazy streak; she didn't want to pull out the cooling system.

Eventually she reached an arm out, beckoning him to bypass the front desk and make his way into the main shop.

"If you're looking for another argument I'll not be badgered into it."

Which was a lie. She would.

[Morgan Evanar]

The last time he'd seen Tamera was when she was four speeder lengths behind him after a 10 kilometer run. He'd shown her up badly, and she remembered.

"I don't have a speeder right now, so I'm not sure how that would work."

Tamera was standing in front of the the hood, too wound to think clearly. Morgan grabbed a 14 millimeter spanner and slid down onto the stained but clean slab floor. The speeder hovered a half-meter above the ground and gave him easy access to the 8 bolts that needed to come off.

Thirty seconds later the cooling system was resting on his chest, and he worked his way out from under the speeder.

[Tamera Beck]

Well. Less work for her.

She watched idly as Morgan scooted himself back out from beneath the speeder before herself moving over to her toolbox. Grabbing a ten box-end, Tamera moved to lean back into the HG's engine bay, intent on focusing on the offending repulser generator.

"So. You've got no speeder," she started.

"Why ever would you come here for one. If that's what you're here for."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan put one side of the cooling system down, slid out, and then lowered the other. The entirety of the repulsor generator was visible now.

"To Nar Shadda? I needed something familiar but crap." Why did you come back? Why would anyone come back?

"Call it a misplaced flight of nostalgia. I missed the bad booze, the bar fights, and the smell." He graced her with a lopsided smile in response to a look of complete bewilderment.

[Tamera Beck]

"Well the booze and fights I can understand, but nostalgia?"

She gave a sniff, and lifted her spanner to wave it in circles between them.

"That's not something you look for around here."

She at least afforded him a lopsided grin as she went back to work.

"As for the smell, I know you don't miss that."

[Morgan Evanar]

“No, it smells awful.” He agreed. Nothing except a roach or a rat might miss the smell.

“And yeah, misplaced nostalgia...“ Morgan trailed off, his tone haunted. “Well, it’s not entirely misplaced. There are worse places.” He added with finality, and returned to his feet. Morgan didn’t use to stand up as straight, so more than before, he towered over Tamera.

“And yeah, I’m looking for a speeder. You were the only decent mod shop in this district, so I’m here. I figured you might have a lead or two.”

[Tamera Beck]

"Your faith in this garage is noted," was her only wry answer as she quickly proceeded to loosen the bolts that held the generator in place.

An empty hand came out then, pointing blindly at her toolbox.

"Third drawer down; hand me the caliper gauge."

As Morgan turned to the toolbox, she went on.

"I've got a few leads, but with us being where we are, you'll be getting either a rusted out heap of junk or some tricked out pile of garbage that isn't worth the chrome accents it might have.

"Lucky for you though, I'm here to put right all of the engine wrongs that make their way into this little den of speeder delights. Got a project I've been working on out back, actually.

"Help me get this generator out and I'll show you."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan handed Tamera the tool.

"Cool." He said, curious. With two sets of skilled hands, the generator came free quickly. Tamera went to remove the heavy device with a hoist, Morgan simply grabbed it free with a quiet grunt.

"Where do you want it?"

[Tamera Beck]

That made her stop, and with one hand still on the hoist, Tamera looked at Morgan as if he'd begun to sprout antennae from his head. Before she'd only given him a cursory glance as she'd worked, but now she afforded the man a boggled look. As if noticing him for the first time, she let her eyes travel from his head to his feet. He'd certainly filled out since the last time she'd seen him.

"Whatever you've been doing while you were away, I'd say you did a good job."

And then, remembering herself, she shook her head, gesturing to the concrete floor.

"Just set it down for now. It's not going to be going anywhere, so we can let it be."

Releasing her hold on the hoist, she returned the 10 and 14 to her toolbox.

"You ever driven a Sansin?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Nope."

Morgan had dabbled in many other speeders, often by borrowing them, unasked. He'd only heard of a Sansin, but never seen more than a glimpse of one.

Tamera had his curiosity piqued.

[Tamera Beck]

She smiled, an almost evil grin from ear to ear while grabbing one of the many shop rags that littered her work area.

A gesture for him to follow, and Tamera led the way towards the back door.

"Got it for practically nothing; previous owner had run it too hot for too long without doing any maintenance, so I said I'd take it off their hands for less than a fraction of what they go for normally."

They stepped through the small doorway and out into the backlot.

Along the far fence sat a small speeder built for two, its' body still in relatively pristine shape. It had the look of something built for brutish speed yet delicate handling.

Tamera's grin took on a look of pride.

"Rebuilt the engine from top to bottom; even added in a few extra bits to go along with it."

[Morgan Evanar]

The smallish Sansin was a vehicle of minimal compromise twoard speed. Aside from the parcel shelf behind the front two seats, there wasn't much cargo space. The low hood ended above aggressive air intakes for cooling. The bottom of the body was flattened as much as possible. There were active control surfaces on the rear decklid, front and rear fenders, and on the bottom, too.

Morgan took a closer look inside. The interior had been pared down to the essentials, and the stock seats replaced with lightweight ones. The stock belts were replaced as well for a multipoint affair that would keep the occupants in place during high-G maneuvers. There was no entertainment system, although a comm system had been installed, along with a transmission scanner and active sensor detection system. Not only was it built to run, it was built to run from the law.

"Dang." Was all he could manage.

[Tamera Beck]

Leaning on the hood, Tamera gave a humble half-shrug. She did turn her face to the side though, hiding the smile she couldn't completely contain.

"It was a fun project, but other than it being a daily driver I've not had any time to really stretch the engine."

Ticking a fingertip on the weathered hood covering, she looked back to Morgan with the beginnings of a thought nagging in the back of her mind.

"Wanna take it out for a drive?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Sure." Morgan said. He somehow kept his face from exploding into a mile-wide smile.

He pulled the door open and contorted himself into the driver's seat. He found he had only a few centimeters to spare in every direction. Tamera was already strapped in when he had settled in. Of course, the straps needed to be re-adjusted. He put the key in, and pressed the starter button. There was a high pitched wine followed by a menacing low hum that reverberated through the small alley.

Morgan quickly familiarized himself with the controls. The right stick controlled pitch and yaw, while the foot pedals controlled roll, and both feet in would flare all of the control surfaces for air braking. The left stick controlled the power plant. The gauges were also presented in a similar, no nonsense fashion. If they were pointing up, in the middle, everything was fine. Green was good, blue was bad. The temperature gauge did not show green yet.

He taxied the speeder out toward a slow space lane. They joined traffic with the larger freighters, and a half minute later, the gauge cluster was a sea of softly glowing green. Morgan pulled the craft around a freighter, and gently fed it more power. They overtook the large craft effortlessly.

Tamera looked impatient. Morgan checked the gauges again and buried the throttle. They were shoved into their seats. The pitch of the powerplant changed from a low hum to a frantic scream. The freighter in front of them grew from occupying most of the windscreen to being able to observe the welds and bolts that held it together, if you could make it out through the blur as they passed below with only a meter to spare.

Once they cleared another cargo ship, she stole a glance at him. His face was an impassive mask of pure concentration. His eyes flicked rapidly from object to object. She looked back at the windscreen and regretted it. They were headed into a cross-traffic skyway.

"Morgan." His only response was to push the throttle wide open, and then back off a touch. She looked at him with horror. His hands, feet and everything around them became an incomprehensible blur as the speeder spiraled and twisted through the flying metal.

"I'm a Jedi." He stated, as if that would at least explain some of it when they had merged back to traffic and were back to dodging things normally.

"You're fucking crazy."

[Tamera Beck]

Grinding her teeth as she spat out those three words, Tamera at least maintained an outward show of calmness, and other than the tone of her voice one wouldn't have guessed her tension.

For a few moments she said nothing more, rationalizing what he'd said and assuming that his claim of being a Jedi was merely to excuse his driving. She surmised that he was simply that talented behind the steering yoke.

"Don't make me regret letting you in the driver's seat," she finally huffed out while turning to look out her window at the never-ending stream of traffic. With a grunt, she went on.

"What d'you need a speeder for anyway? From your driving I'd hazard that you're marginally suicidal, and my reservations of providing you with any sort of vehicle are growing."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan looked at Tamera during a gasp into an open skyway, his gaze uncomfortable. His eyes turned back to the lane. He wondered if he was suicidal?

Morgan backed off, his flying was merely aggressive, that of someone comfortable with a craft and their skill. His margins were no longer vibro-scalpel thin. The look on his face went from hyperfocus to intent. He felt cold as the throb of adrenaline left. He looked at his actions through a filter that wasn't his own, and then through his own filter. Morgan frowned, and then took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair, or sane." He acknowledged Tamera's rational, justified discomfort. He found her evaluation of his actions plausible. If any of that stunt had gone wrong they would have either been killed instantly or likely plunged a mile or more to their deaths. Maybe.

[Tamera Beck]

While the part of her brain that clawed at self-preservation was most assuredly prominent, there was a smaller portion that at least filed away his driving technique into the small file of 'VERY USEFUL'.

"Just be careful next time, yeah?"

She probably sounded a bit more breathless than she'd intended.

"You didn't answer my question though," she settled a little bit more in her seat now that he'd calmed down his driving.

"Unless you've got a line on a venue, I can't imagine what you'd want a speeder for."

[Morgan Evanar]

"Just flying around Ossus. I've been with the Alliance for several years." Morgan explained.

"I haven't had one in a while, and I think I need some simple joy in my life. Sometimes things come up and they reorder your priorities." Would a speeder be useful on Ossus? Maybe. This had good range and could be effective for exploring, but that was mostly an excuse. Morgan gave up his original speeder to help Serena, and now he needed a speeder to help himself. He decided he definitely needed some kind of help. Saul would have been ideal, but Saul wasn't with them any more.

[Tamera Beck]

Speeders had a way of providing the 'simple joy in life' that Morgan spoke of, and Tamera couldn't help but nod silently at his last words. It was mostly the same for her own self; except for the times where her livelihood depended on her abilities to coax beauty (as well as at times life) from the vehicles that so often ended up in the shop. There was always new and different ways to make art, and while she had found a roundabout way to generate a cashflow from that art, it was still a job. It only became enjoyable when she worked on her own private projects.

Of course she'd not ignored his statement of being with the Alliance - she'd had numerous friends say as much themselves.

And, owing to the nature of her own upbringing, she couldn't help the soft heh from escaping her lips.

"Surprised to hear you say that."

An obvious falsehood. She knew it, and so did he. Tamera stared straight ahead for a long while as her own memories took her back so many years. Eventually she broke the silence they shared.

"So which branch have you been punching your card with?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Like I said, I'm a Jedi." Morgan stated. He flew them in a graceful arc around a passenger liner, and gave a little body wag to some young children staring out the window.

"I volunteered for an assignment on a frigate managing an E-War system, but everything is set up well enough now that it should pretty much run on it's own now." He added before she could respond. He did not mention the AI on the ship, nor the fact that it was based off of a Quantum Noise Generator. We encountered a species that drains the life essence from other beings and puts them into machines. It's the most fucked up thing I've ever seen in my entire life. He wanted to say it, but not yet.

"You've been keeping your head down?" No one was expected to play things completely honestly on Nar Shadda, so keeping one's head down mostly meant not taking big risks, avoiding the big shots and hard drugs, that sort of thing.

[Tamera Beck]

"Always."

It was just one of those things you did when you wanted to stay alive in places like Nar Shaddaa. You didn't do anything that put your neck on the chopping block, and you certainly didn't do anything that ended with bulletholes in your chest.

"Haven't had much chance to get off this rock, to be honest."

That Morgan had made his way out and had seemed to make something of himself was heartening news; if not cause for a bit of jealousy. Of course his reiteration that he was a Jedi elicited a sideways glance in his direction. If he was telling the truth, it would explain a lot, at least.

"So. Ossus, huh?

"I thought that planet was abandoned."

[Morgan Evanar]

"It was." He said matter-of-factly.

"Since the Alliance gained some legitimacy, the Jedi decided to build a more permanent home. Not that I've been there yet. I finished my tour with the frigate 3 days ago and have been freighter-hopping this direction. From what I understand it's more like a big camp than anything permanent. A new colony almost. No infrastructure to speak of except what was brought."

Morgan gave her a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. She regarded him with scrutiny. He was going to have to put up or shut up sooner than later.

[Tamera Beck]

"Sounds kinda fun, actually."

Which wasn't entirely far from the truth.

Nar Shaddaa had become too normal. You found your routine and stuck with it if you wanted to keep your head attached to your shoulders.

"Kinda like those old holos of that guy who'd go out and try to survive out in the Dune Sea on Tattooine with nothin' but a letter opener and a matchstick."

She turned a sidelong look to him.

"You goin' out there anytime soon?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"I should." Morgan said.

"Probably? I don't have a set agenda right now." He didn't look forward to going back to the Jedi right then. As the first Knight of the reincarnated Jedi Order, he felt like he had let the entire organization down after falling apart internally after they had pushed the Ssi-Ruuk back. He had let himself down. He could not shake the feelings of dread from the piles of dead bodies and enslaved life-essence, nor the rage it had caused.

Morgan’s own rage had left him doubt of his self-control.

[Tamera Beck]

Tamera pursed her lips as she stared ahead. She could read enough between the lines to know that'd it would be best to not pry. Of course that meant that a good distraction would be the order of the day. Luckily for Morgan Evanar, Tamera Beck knew all about distractions.

"You know, if you're not really keen on goin' to Ossus just yet, I might have a bit of something to take you back to the old days."

Reaching forward, she unlatched the glove compartment and pulled out a hastily folded map. They'd stopped to allow other traffic to pass by, and she unfolded the map to show a wide swath of Nar Shaddaa. A highlighted route started in New Vertica and ran through the Corellian Sector, the Refugee Sector, and the Red Sector before going on through countless other districts and zones to end at some no-name city.

It was an exceedingly long route, but nothing that couldn't be done. It was also instantly recognizeable.

"You interested in maybe being the driver to my navigator in the Turbolaser Run?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan paused. Of course he wanted to do the Turbolaser Run. With the modified Sansin they had a solid chance at flat smashing the record.

"In this thing we'd have a good chance of getting that record, but it would feel like cheating. I can predict the path of nearly every object we'd interact with. Aw, let's do it anyway. It'll still be a challenge." He took a look at Tamera.

"How long have you been planning this?"

[Tamera Beck]

There was a knowing grin on her lips as she settled deeper into her seat, her eyes locked on the map she held.

"I'd say 'bout six months now. Never had anything that'd be worth racing with until I fixed up the Sansin.

"Never even really had a partner I felt like teaming up with either. Till now."

Morgan could drive, she knew that even before the stunt he'd pulled just a short while ago. And with him behind the wheel of the speeder that she'd rebuild specifically for this purpose, they would without doubt cross the finish line with a record time under their belts.

Though, it was also an opportunity, and Tamera wasted little time in pouncing on it.

"We set the new record, and I'll let you have the Sansin. But, you're gonna have to take me off this rock when you leave."

[Morgan Evanar]

"Deal." Morgan agreed immediately.

He took a glance at the map. They would definitely need to recon the route the day before at moderate pace. The Turbolaser Run was a waypoint race, where you had to pass through certain waypoints in a linear order, but the route between those points was free. He knew pieces of the route well, but he'd never done the whole thing as a coherent whole.

"We'll need a few days to do this right. I'm hungry. Let's get food."

[Tamera Beck]

His mention of food only served to remind her that she hadn't had anything to eat since first leaving her small apartment that morning (at the ungodly dark hour of 'before the sun came up'). Her stomach chimed in with its' own thoughts, and Tamera gave a purposeful nod.

"Food sounds wonderful. So long as its' edible, I don't care where we go."

She trusted Morgan's choice of establishments for the most part.

When you spent any amount of time on Nar Shaddaa, you tend to remember where the more worthwhile places for eating were. Didn't matter how long you were away for, either. Decent enough food that didn't make you sick the next day was a rare find here, and when you discovered it, you committed it to memory.

He could've been gone for a hundred years, and even despite that amount of time she was willing to bet good money he'd know where to go for a meal when he eventually showed back up.

[Morgan Evanar]

Fun, but often overlooked fact: Verpines are, when they bother, great cooks. But not chefs usually: it is an important distinction. The food make look weird, but it's almost guaranteed to taste at least decent and be incredibly nutritious too. That engineering expertise translates well to a short order kitchen, where precise timing and assembly-line precision can be put to great use.

Zai'tre's Late Night was a hole from the outside as a piece of strategic camouflage,8 but inside it was nearly surgically clean. Zai'tre's host of droids essentially operated the restaurant while Zai himself maintained the droids and experimented with food. He developed species flavor profiles. Morgan had been a willing participant in some of those trials to establish the "human flavor spectrum" outside of experimenting on other takeout available on Nar Shadda. It was free food after all.

They ordered. The menu even came with a warning that the food would taste as described, but might appear in a different shape or texture.

"You ever been here before?"

[Tamera Beck]

She'd read the warning on the menu, but chose to say nothing of it out of sheer curiosity.

"Never even knew this place existed," she finally admitted.

Making a strange face, Tamera then gave Morgan a knowing look.

"Then again I generally stick with the first place that doesn't turn me inside-out."

She smiled wide then, leaning back and making herself comfortable.

"I trust you."

[Morgan Evanar]

A thousand rapid-fire sarcastic remarks crossed his mind and were binned.

"Thank you." he said with a wary smile.

"I'll just do a sampler or four. Got a bit of everything, conveniently labeled." He punched the order into the keypad. It would be a mix of light Chandrilian, lightly to moderately spicy Zeltron, and heavy Corellian favorites. Tamera would like something in that mix, he hoped.

[Tamera Beck]

She gave him a shrug.

"As long as it's edible."

Pulling out the map once more, Tamera gave a longer look to the route she'd begun to chart a few days previous. It was as simple as she could find, without any detours that'd cost too much time on the clock.

The only problem lay with the local law enforcement outfits, and while she was confident that the Sansin could outrun anything they chased it with, she didn't want to discount the dumb luck that she'd seen on too many holo-programs, where the getaway driver drove like some gifted Jedi wizard through backed-up traffic lanes, only to land the nose of his speeder into a tree.

"Detours from my original route are probably gonna be unavoidable, but if we can minimize them that'd be wonderful. And so long as we keep as low of a profile as possible, it should help with the blue and white types."

[Morgan Evanar]

"If you have alternates with corner calls we should be fine." Morgan referred to the practice of pace notes for co-driven races. If the blues wised up, they'd be in a bit of a stick, because the Turbolaser Run meant they had to go through exact intersections.

The neatly cubed, pyramided and half-spheres of multi-colored foams, gels and solids of food were mean to be eaten one at a time. Morgan fired them down the hatch whenever he wasn't discussing routes with Tamera, who had slowly warmed up to a mix of the available foods. Morgan wasn't really paying attention to what she was eating, hence the sampler.

They charted out alternate routes to 2 levels, one of a minor re-route that would run parallel for a few tens of kilometers, and hard alternates that would take them into a distinctly different path. They'd chart it out with combined long term knowledge of Nar Shadda's skylanes, although Morgan always deferred to Tamera. He knew he wasn't current. Morgan gave each branch a time estimate, down to the tens of seconds.

Morgan chewed on a reconfigured hawkbat egg and swallowed.

"We've got a solid shot at this."

[Tamera Beck]

Swallowing her own bite, Tamera kept her eyes on the map for a few moments longer before looking up to meet Morgan's gaze. She nodded in agreement.

"I'd say we have a better than expected chance, yeah."

Fingers seeking out another morsel (one of the few left at least), she plucked a cube of what she guessed was Zeltron spiced shaak sausage. That's what the last one she had tasted like at any rate.

"The next available starting time is in two days."

Popping the cube in her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully before swallowing once more.

"You got anywhere to stay till then?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"Nope."

"I've got a loft above the garage."

"Cool."

----
Morgan was awake before Tamera, and had commandeered several holoemitters and a datapad. The wires snaked from the datapad to a series of holo controllers, to the emitters themselves. It was actually a decent wiring job. Morgan chewed on a ration bar as each section of the Nar Shadda traffic control system updated his route counters which were also being weighted by vehicle class and type. It wasn’t realtime, but it didn’t have to be.

"I already ate." He explained to the sleepy eyed Tamera. The semi-rearranged pile of sheet and pillow had been moved to one side when inspiration had hit him.

“I made hawkbat eggs, they’re still warm.” He added as she stumbled. Unlike the somewhat slop, there was no evidence aside from the results that he had used the kitchen at all.

“And cured nerf, too. And veg.” He added. Morgan was running simulations, but the sim routes didn’t always agree with Tamera’s plotted course, although most of it did. The spots that they agreed were bright green. Her route was blue, and the computed route yellow. High traffic intersections were orange, and known police locations were bright purple. Waypoints were marked with Blue exclamation marks.

Tamera noted after breakfast that Morgan hadn’t added his own input yet.

“Still thinking about it.”

“We should probably get you more familiar with the route.”

[Tamera Beck]

Still somewhat groggy, Tamera set her plate down on the small table and hungrily shoved a forkful of nerf and hawkbat eggs into her mouth. Playing mental catch-up as she chewed, she took her time before swallowing.

"Your sims telling you 'bout any changes we need to make?"

Another bite, this time of the vegetable medley.

"I plotted as much of the course as I could with my own equipment, so I know it's not the best. Still though, it's a decent start. And if you can come up with a detour that might save us some time, all the better."

The breakfast he'd made did well to pull her from her sleepy state.

[Morgan Evanar]

"I've got some ideas based on raw numbers, but if we spend the day scouting the run we can probably get it sorted before tomorrow." Morgan said, and glanced over the computer generated route. It had some issues with certain spots, because it was based on traffic statistics and not maintaining speeder speed. They both knew Tamera’s route was good.

Breakfast finished in relative silence, when Tamera flipped the sign over to closed, and they piled into a former patrol speeder. It lacked the agility of the Sansin thanks to a lack of active control systems and double the mass, but was sturdy, reliable, and not stock either.

They cruised through the start point, and Morgan began to drive aggressively, although nothing that would raise an eyebrow. The turbolaser run at a full clip would take over six, perhaps nearly seven hours. At this pace it would be closer to 14. They had a long day ahead.

“Six left, 200 meters into 3 right low.” Tamera called over the dull roar of the big engine. Not only was this important to scout the route, but it gave both of them a sense of timing. Tamera’s note reading had only gotten better, and she’d quickly learned that Morgan could handle a string of corners thrown at him rapid-fire. They’d also marked some of the computer’s bad assumptions off, choosing Tamera’s known routes instead. Despite doing nearly double the advised speed, they’d only caught trouble from the Blue’n’white twice, and Morgan’s skilled flying combined with the anonymity of the speeder hid them away before they had a chance to do anything. The Sansin would have to get by on speed alone.

They stopped a total of four times, each for food, liquids and bladders, and clipped the proposed route wherever it grew too technical and slowed the speeder down too much.

After eighteen hours in the speeder, they were spent. Bed so seldom looked so inviting. Fortunately, the race didn’t start till mid-morning, because no one got up quite that early. The Sansin was already prepped. The pair donned helmets and set off for the start line.

[Tamera Beck]

As Morgan navigated the Sansin to the starting line, Tamera fastened the neck-strap of her helmet. Their map lay folded in her lap as her hands were otherwise occupied, and she tapped at the built-in earbud to test the mic's pickup. It worked.

They'd gotten breakfast on their way out the door, something light that would sit in their stomachs, and Tamera had at least been mindful enough to make sure the small pack nestled between her legs had enough ration bars and water safely tucked inside so they wouldn't have to make unnecessary stops.

Morgan nosed up to the line, and she unfolded the map.

"I made sure to wear my lucky bra today," she offered for no real reason other than to break the anticipation and silence.

The race officials (not a large bunch, as the Turbolaser Run wasn't exactly a 'sanctioned' event) were in their own little group, with a few talking on comms to the finish-line watchers. At least that was what she figured.

One of the men looked up, gave a nod at the occupants in the Sansin, and held up a finger to indicate they were almost ready.

Both Tamera and Morgan nodded back.

[Morgan Evanar]

“10 SECONDS!” came through. The impromptu start line had a holographic countdown on it. Morgan primed the powerplant without feeding the repulsors. Tamera checked the cameras to record the run, all worked when she flipped through each on the second screen she had.

A flag, an airhorn, a giant GO! floating in the air was a big enough hint. Repulsors screamed, powerplants growled and howled. The Sansin shot forward from the back, and Morgan and Tamera found themselves in 20th place of 30 speeders, as the pack poured into Route 20, which was fine. The first hour was not where the race would be won, but where it could be lost. It was the busiest sector of the race, short of the finish.

The Turbolaser Run wasn’t run by any sanctioned body, and much like the Kessel Run, it could be deadly. In a run what you brung contest, some brung the gun, with the co-driver as a gunner. Morgan and Tamera had a degree of comfort that no one with that strategy had won the race, at least as far as anyone knew.

Morgan kept the Sansin clean as the pack of airspeeders flowed through the traffic like a rush of water between stones. 19 kilometers before the first checkpoint, the speeders began to divert to different routes, away from R20, before it dumped into one of the busiest intersections on Nar Shadda, near the Southern Hemisphere’s busiest cargo port. With the traffic thinned, the Sansin started to chew ground. Morgan aggressively exploited gaps in traffic. He passed a bigger, more powerful, modified T-24 when he slipstreamed under the belly of a cargo hauler and squeezed between a pair lane-changing common transports. Tamera did not bat an eye, and simply continued to call the route for whenever it needed to change. She kept an eye on the progress of their competitors. Morgan had worked them up to 18th on the first segment. His face was a mask of seldom-blinking concentration.

“Ten klicks, 90 left.” The posted limit was 200 KPH, and the Sansin was currently pushing 550. They had to slip the speeder into a window roughly 200 by 200 meters. The airbrakes on the Sansin flared airbrakes at 2 klicks, and then the T-24 attempted to pounce. A turret dropped from the nose. Moran blipped the throttle and mashed the the brakes again. Blaster fire sailed past where the control surfaces had been a moment prior. Tamera gasped.

“11 high!” she called as the T-24 gained, and Morgan fed the engines back, pointing the nose in during the turn, keeping the craft in a gentle “slide”. The T-24 was a brute, and simply couldn't corner like the Sansin.

“They've got a lot more motor than us, push.” Tamera instructed. The upcoming segment was a mutually agreed upon gamble of lower-traffic freight warehouses, but bulk containers would appear in the lanes suddenly. The Sansin screamed forward with a menacing hiss as the cooling system sucked down air like a greedy Hutt slurped food.

The T-24 was making the same gamble. Morgan juked the craft into a corkscrew to get around two bulk freighters. The T-24 simply flew over, gifted with ample time to adjust. At 650 KPH, they could hear the boil of blaster bolts spit past them.

“3 right, ten klicks.” Tamera called with a forced breath. Morgan slid the speeder left, ducked underneath a cruising light freighter which bore the brunt of the blaster fire.

“This guy is gonna get the blue and white all over the run! 3 right, 2 klicks!”

"Yup." Was all Morgan said.

Morgan lifted, the Sansin passing through the wide sweeper with only 3 meters to spare on the right, a perfect apex at 520 KPH. A dockhand on a smoke break was blown to his feet, and the Sansin made the turn with more than meters to spare. Turn complete, the air surfaces tucked back in, and power was thrown forward. The clumsier T-24 became a dot in the rear camera. With the luxury of what should be a quieter straight, Tamera did a quick systems check.

“Everything green!” She whooped. Morgan’s mouth pulled up a little, and asked the craft for that last few percent of power.

[Tamera Beck]

They were in the clear for now, but she knew that the respite was a short one. For the moment the course took a gentle weaving route to allow the drivers the chance to regroup and prepare for the next round of city corners, alleyways, and intersections. It was nice to take a moment between her calculations and send a quick glance out the side window. Somehow, at the speed and the gentle arc of the turn Morgan was executing, Nar Shaddaa looked almost... beautiful.

Of course the thought was something that she quickly brushed to the side, and Tamera went back to her map.

She gave a grimace of concentration, a finger tracing the route that they'd outlined.

"Ok, got The Drop coming up soon."

The Drop. A pitch straight down that most drivers never came up from. And it had to be taken at almost full speed.

She instinctively reached up to make sure her harness was secured.

Satisfied (least as much as she figured she'd be), Tamera set her mouth in a thin line.

"Get ready in 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... "

No hesitation. Nothing. They were committed now.

"ONE!"

[Morgan Evanar]

The Drop. Nearly 10 kilometers of automated garbage collection tractor beams designed to snag ejected debris for reprocessing, designed because the original company's monopoly was a series of now still crushing screws at the bottom. At the bare minimum, a driver needed to keep speed above 500 kph to keep from being snared. Either enough shielding or skill was required to navigate the nearly perpetual debris field. The Sansin had absolutely no shielding. They hit the drop a sneeze over 530. Control surfaces rippled while Morgan rapid inputs kept their descent trouble-free. The beams were visible through the haze of dust and light debris that pinged gently against the hull.

The tractor beam projectors gradually swept across the air, like a series of fingers walking a keyboard. Twenty seconds, and they crested 600 kph when a corner was brushed by a tractor beam. Time seemed to come to a standstill. One of Tamera's hand came off the map. Her lips pulled back, her mouth began to open

Morgan cut throttle as the ship rotated into an ugly flip. When the ship had rotated roughly 270 degrees, Morgan nailed the throttle and corrected. They'd shed 70, which meant they were still in the safe zone. The craft twisted around the collection of suspended dust as they sped toward the ancient, rusted hulks of scrapping screws scattered with destroyed craft who didn't make it. With 200 meters left, they passed the last beam. Morgan partially reversed the engines, and every drag increasing surface that could be used to slow things down was. Tamera held her breath as the nose of the craft rotated up, the Sansin still projecting for a deadly belly-flop when the engines roared back to full power, full forward.

She gave a loud, short whoop when they flew into the canyon that opened into the remains of the open-air scrap processing facility.

[Tamera Beck]

There was a sort of manic excitement that followed a stretch such as The Drop. She'd only ever really heard of it, and seen the aftereffects of those who'd not made it. Gruesome, to say the least. But, the elation of successfully navigating the tractor beams and screws was like a drug that planted an almost permanent grin on her face.

Shooting out over the rest of the processing facility, Tamera gave a last look out her window before burying her nose into the map once more.

"Mostly a straight shot for now, looks like."

A finger traced over the highlighted route.

"Got a section of the next district that's a maze through alleys and some main intersections, but nothing that should strain the speeder too much."

She'd become well-acquainted in a very short amount of time with Morgan's driving style - it seemed a bit different than it'd been all those years back. Quicker, but smoother and as if he knew where the vehicle needed to be at just the right time to maximize the engine's output.

[Reginald Buckley III]

Hidden behind one of the larger pieces of crushed detritus, a single squad speeder sat idle, its' lone occupant waiting. This time of year was like a gold rush for the district's deputies, and in his long tenure, Sheriff Reginald Buckley the Third had netted himself a healthy amount of drivers who thought themselves skillful enough to complete the Turbolaser Run.

A few inevitably got through, but there was never any realy way of truly outrunning the long arm of the law, and that long arm was Reginald Buckley.

When the Sansin shot out of the canyon and sped along the remainder of the waste disposal facility's dumping grounds, he knew that he'd found his prize for the day. A smile, and he threw his own speeder into drive, jamming the accelerator to the floor. Like a pouncing anooba the blue and white shot out into the open after the Sansin, the lights littering the top of the hood coming alive in a kaleidoscope of illumination.

[Morgan Evanar]

Multicolored lights danced against distant surfaces as Morgan piloted the speeder at speeds that anyone remotely sane would avoid. The small, nimble Sansin was built for pure agility and speed, and the sled behind them was gaining, it's quad engine power plant growled and gulped as the big beast shot forward. They'd have problems on the straights.

"In pursuit of small speeder craft near the Drop."

"10-4."

The corrupt entity that passed for law enforcement on Nar Shadda had taken interest in Turbolaser competitors. The over-engined pig behind them was evidence that given enough bodies to throw at a problem, almost anything could be solved. It was certainly a former competition craft. None of the PD's regular atmospheric craft could remotely keep up.

Tamera and Morgan were in a problematic situation: there was only one way out of this ancient waste processing facility that wouldn't bleed time, and that call meant they'd have a welcoming wagon to meet them there.
Morgan almost wished they'd spent the weight for a RF tracking package, but they only had illegal comm equipment and self-tracking gear to keep them on the charted course. Tamera continued to call the notes, and when Morgan rounded that fateful corner, he had already reached out ahead and known that portable ion batteries had been set up. The craft behind them kept relatively close, herding them toward the trap.

"Speeder inbound." came the call over the RF.

Morgan rounded a corner with mere centimeters to spare, pilot and co-pilot squished into their seats by nearly 15gs of force. Tamera's g-suit struggled to keep her blood in her brain, and when Morgan completed the turn he could hear her suck breath back into her lungs. Blue bolts of energy spat at them, a potentially deadly spray Morgan weaved through. The initial volley was meant to put them in line for a larger ion cannon, salvaged from a capital ship. It fired thunderous bolts that made the hair on their skin stand up as they sped past. Morgan pointed the Sansin directly at the massive turret, the pair of deadly barrels unable to fix on the slim craft, too narrow to hit with the default targeting alignment. Bolts illuminated the bare interior of the craft, it's plain grey sealant surfaces illuminated in lightning blue.

Frustrated, the turret operator sprayed randomly. Tamera sucked in breath as Morgan danced around the bolts that would end the day. They passed the multi-story ion cannon, mounted on a old cargo barge. To anyone outside, it sounded like a hyper, angry T-47.

[Tamera Beck]

It was as if they'd taken a second go at The Drop, and the map was forgotten as both hands went out to grab hold of whatever they could, holding tight with a white-knuckled grip. The lancing blue bolts were so close that Tamera would've sworn she could feel them hit, and yet still the Sansin remained undamaged, Morgan's piloting precise and surgical in every way.

And as they passed through the gauntlet unscathed, she let out a long breath through locked teeth that she only just realized she'd been holding in. Unclenching her jaw, Tamera slumped in her seat.

"I think you just took off five years of my life."

[Reginald Buckley III]

He'd taken his speeder high, out of the line of fire to watch from above. He'd smiled as the first volley raced to meet the racer, and as each successive wave of ion fire missed, his smile vanished bit by bit until - as the Sansin passed by the ion cannon - his mouth was set in a distinct frown.

"Yer shittin' me," he grumbled, throwing his speeder forward and down, swooping in from above to once more plant himself behind the Sansin, his lights still flashing.

Reaching out, he snatched up his radio.

"This is Sheriff Reginald Buckley; continuing pursuit of the Sansin racer," He mashed the accelerator, coming in close.

"... plates read ell-oh-ell-ay dash ar-ee-en-tee."

[Morgan Evanar]

"I'm glad you're long lived!" Morgan called back after he righted the Sansin, a little more excitedly than he intended to. Jedi or not, adrenaline thundered through his body.

"They're still coming." He added. Tamera took a deep breath and recovered the course notes, and called the next corner. The blue and white probably wanted to bump them out of the sky, but a few quick jukes by Morgan kept the big beast off them in the straight.

"2 klicks, 3 right into 1 klick keep low to high 6." She called through the helmet comm. The hard charging police beast had to slow it's larger bulk for the tight 3 corner, it's angry baritone contrasted against the Sansin's soprano scream.

They'd covered half the course, and undeniably the toughest obstacle. The key was to stay free of mistakes keep fingers crossed that the little racer held together.

[Tamera Beck]

They would prevail, that much she knew. If they could make it through The Drop, then they were home free, and being that they'd come out ahead of every other racer entered, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion. Even the blue and white giving chase behind them (and losing ground with each turn) made no difference.

She only hoped that Morgan knew the precarious nature of their situations once they crossed the finish line. The Sansin was a wonderful craft, but a space-faring vehicle it was not, and once the two racers crossed the finish line, they had nothing to get them offworld.

Not unless Morgan had some sort of ace up his sleeve.

"You've got the lay of it till the ends," her hand came up to swipe across the map she held.

"Hope you got us a way out of it afterwards though."

Tamera hitched up, turning her torso to look out the narrow back window of the Sansin.

"I know that speeder," she grumbled ominously.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan was quiet for the better part of a minute while he piloted the Sansin through a complicated series of corners.

"Good. Tell them to go away." He said, his eyes never moving from the course. Tamera wasn't certain if he didn't catch her meaning or he was being a smartass. He was in a trancelike state of nearly pure focus, so external stimulus took time to register. He knew what Tamera's calls would be before she made them. It didn't make them redundant. Part of the process was the fact that she still said them.

"You know that speeder in a negative context." Morgan stated after his brain registered her tone during another relatively empty straightaway. He hadn't worked his way backwards to getting offworld yet.

[Tamera Beck]

The map was partially folded, and worming about in her crashstraps, she peeked around the headrest at the flashing blue and white lights that gave a constant chase.

"Yeah, I know 'im."

Morgan made a hard left, and she felt her body compensate, shifting a bit before nudging into the door panel at her side. When he straightened back out, she was back to her perch, eyes narrow.

"Seriously?!"

A huffed sigh, and Tamera came back to face the front.

"Buckley," she intoned darkly.

"Hope you got us a way to get off this vertical rock once we cross the finish line."

[Morgan Evanar]

"No." Morgan stated flatly. Tamera's face scrunched up. What did he mean, no? They were basically on a milk run now.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Not yet." He replied. Tamera fumed, incredulous.

"They're at the finish line." Morgan added. Tamera was not surprised. Well, she was surprised. How did he know that? But she wasn't surprised at the fact that the blue would do that. They'd be flying right into a trap. I wouldn't be the first time some putz had tried to reign in illegal street racing. Their misshapen shadow appeared in the distance as they set up for the next corner. There was less than a minute remaining. Based on the tracking devices every competitor was using, the Sansin was the clear leader by over fifty seconds.

The final checkpoint corner was a tight double-s before a 15 kilometer straight for a flying finish. The blues had staged a series of patrol craft just after the double-s, with a spotter in the middle to make sure they would not be the ones flatfooted. Tow cables would probably be ready for the craft to slow them, too. He brought the Sansin in high, so they could take advantage of the little extra boost gravity could provide on the way out. The small, grey craft carved a perfect flight path through the buildings. Every useful meter was used. There wasn't single newton of wasted motion. It was so smooth that it looked deceptively slow. Morgan managed the exit, and put the Sansin into a gentle dive above the Market District's primary drag.

Morgan sensed the patrol speeders that roared to closed the gap before they were seen, tow cable launchers primed. One fired, and the magnetic tip disappeared. It's partner speeder attempted a shot, and Morgan tapped the airbrakes and cut power for a moment. The cable passed harmlessly in front of them. A gentle jank of the controls avoided the errant cable.

The Sansin crossed the finish line above the West Market District entrance full bore, engines screaming, the "law" in pursuit.

[Tamera Beck]

She would've had a grin the size of a planet had it not been for the fact that - rather than being able to slow and receive their due congratulations - they shot past the law, past the finish line, and past everything else.

For a moment, Tamera thought about crumpling up the map, but reconsidered as they'd need it. Leaning forward, she popped open the glove box and pulled out a small holo-emitter, and a bit more rooting about yielded a small datachip that she plugged into the emitter's base. It flared to life, projecting a small image of their current location, and a tiny red blip that indicated their position.

"Ok," came her tense voice, "... gonna have to make it to the next district."

Of course, doing so was much easier said than actually done, as she leaned over slightly as Morgan leveled the Sansin out on a straightaway. Her eyes went over the gauges.

Fuel was going to be a problem.

"If you could Jedi Mind Trick us some more fuel, that'd be stellar."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan paused for a moment and his eyes did a gauge sweep. They had enough for another 150 kilometers, if he backed off their current level of gluttony. They might not be able to.

"I've never done fuel. Take the directional and keep her steady." Tamera took hold of the control stick center-most in the speeder and Morgan backed off the throttle to allow the pair of T-24 speeders to get closer. The distance shouldn't matter, but it made it easier to keep track of them amidst the noise. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel the entire vehicle giving chase, but he focused on the fuel tank. It's tank was much larger than the Sansin's and it took a moment for him to get a sense of the difference in volume between the Sansin's own fuel tank. The fuel was bunched up toward the rear due to acceleration. New sweat formed on his brow while his mind sectioned off a portion of fuel to fit in the smaller Sansin and then moved it.

The Sansin's tank responded with a loud slosh. Morgan's eyes shot open and he sucked in a deep breath. The fuel gauge bounced off empty and then moved to 3/4 full.

"Okay." He sounded frazzled, but cogent. He waited a moment before restoring full throttle and replacing his hand with Tamera's on the control stick. A short series of back street maneuvers and they lost the pursuing pair. Without working tow cables, their attempts at chase became half-hearted.

[Tamera Beck]

There was a brief moment as she relinquished control; a moment that seemed to live in the impossible world of craziness. It was a world of magic and fairy tales and purple eopies that danced in fields of glitter-sparkle flowers. To her, it was the world of the Jedi, with their bizarre command of all around them. She'd only been joking earlier, but staring into the face (or gauge) of a now mostly full fuel tank, Tamera Beck almost felt as though she should pick her bottom jaw up out of her lap.

Instead, she clamped her jaw shut, let Morgan take over, and sat back in stunned silence.

"I didn't think you'd actually be able to do that," she breathed out finally.

She blinked, and he'd sent them into a wide, sweeping turn while angling the Sansin up and into higher skylanes. The blue and whites were like an afterthought, almost.

"Don't suppose you can magic us a big bag of credits, eh?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"That's not exactly how it works." He said.

"I, uh, moved, the fuel from their tank into ours. Teleportation, I think." He explained.

"It's really my only definite aptitude as a Jedi. That and the ability of spatial awareness, which is probably interrelated. Some of us sort of have a forewarning or a danger sense. I just can see the physical displacement of things around me. It's part of why it works, I guess. The teleporting thing. Also makes for easier speeder piloting. It's apparently super-rare. Also my mom was a genetic experiment and I'm a physical freak. So you know."