2064/A Few Small Repairs

A Few Small Repairs
Date of Scene:	20 April 2015
Location:	Void - Space Ways
Synopsis:	Juno Eclipse bumps into Lowri Revan-Shan, enigmatic Jedi Knight extraordinaire, in a repair shop on the world of Malastare.
Cast of Characters:	414, 428

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Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
In certain familiar galaxies far, far away, there lie predominant hyperspace travel routes known as hyperlanes. These relatively safe corridors wind through navigationally-safe regions of space, free of debris, black holes, planetoids, or other hazards that would represent a danger to ships travelling faster than the speed of light. Many of these criss-cross the galaxy, providing a reasonably safe mode of travel; and one often used by merchant ships.

Among the more prominent hyperlanes of the galaxy that a certain enigmatic starfighter pilot hails from is the Hydian Way, a major hyperlane that carves its way right through the middle of a lot of galactic holdings, presenting an interesting slice of galactic life; from the stable and prosperous Core Worlds to the lawlessness of the Outer Rim.

In the Mid Rim lies Malastare, the high-gravity jungle homeworld of the quadrupedal Dug race. Forests, deserts, methane lakes, rivers, and other natural hazards make it of relatively little value in the Imperial scheme of things; trouble with the natives makes it even less savoury. It's a popular podracing planet, even though the sport is ostensibly banned under Galactic Imperial law, and there are all sorts of black market hotspots sprung up in its major spaceport, Port Pixelito.

It's also a popular hotbed of Imperial resistance, given the former's token presence.

That might explain why there's a certain blonde starfighter pilot here on the planet; albeit in her disguise as a smuggler or mercenary. Only an idiot would wear Imperial black in a world where Imperial presence is just barely tolerated.

Juno Eclipse, known better to most of her neutral contacts under the callsign 'Blackout,' has managed to find a small repair shop. All kinds of junk passes through here, and at the moment, she's haggling with the three-eyed Gran shopowner. Or clerk. Maybe it's not the owner. The sign outside promises in green and faded yellow pixels, 'REPAIRS - NO QUESTIONS ASKED.' Two Kowakian monkey-lizards squawk and chase each other amongst the shelved debris, adding to the general uproar inside, plus the noisy street filtering in from outside.

Not really the place for an Imperial, now, is it? Still, skilled as she may be at blending in, Juno can't completely erase the Corulag accent from her voice, and that might explain why she's not having much luck with the irate Gran behind the counter... but parts are parts, the Rogue Shadow requires some pretty specialised stuff, and they really don't ask questions here...

Revan (414) has posed:
It certainly had been quite some time since the "Prodigal Knight" had guided the Ebon Hawk though the hyperlanes beyond the reaches of her native galaxy. Some were familiar, charted even in her time, but there were many more which had not been discovered until centuries – even millennia – later. Technology seemed to be either much more advanced or almost primitive in comparison, but the known galaxy always seemed to become larger when she came across galaxies which mirrored hers.

Idly, Revan found herself wondering how the Unification would ultimately change her own galaxy, both in physical terms as well as how it was seen by the people in it. Would technology significantly change or even improve? And what of those in the future who would have made these discoveries, only for those discoveries to already have arrived with Unification?

But perhaps she was thinking too much on it; the Jedi had learned first-hand how easy it was to merely avoid the warpgates. Even after Unification, there didn't seem to be many who would take that bold step to move outside their own universe. Of course, the Sith she now hunted – and ultimately the mysterious threat she was currently attempting to track down – might have seen the Unification as an opportunity, or even a salvation...a way to change their own destiny. she had studied some records from multiversal archives in an attempt to find that elusive lead, only to be frustrated by the lack of any concrete records. Had recordkeeping become a lost art over the ages?

Well, she was once more getting ahead of herself, she realised as she guided the Ebon Hawk to yet another unfamiliar planet. T3 had protested that the smuggler's freighter was in dire need of certain repairs, and the jungle world on the charts seemed as good a candidate as any to search for salvage or, ideally, a halfway-reputable shop. The Force was with her when readings conveyed a good-sized spaceport. "Looks like we hit the jackpot, T3," Revan commented as she guided the Ebon Hawk in.

It became increasingly clear to her that the Force was certainly with her when there were none of the "Imperials" from the future in sight. As she had learned, there would be a point in time where the Jedi had been hunted to near-extinction by the forces of a "Galactic Empire" which, strangely, seemed to have been led by a Master and Apprentice pair of Sith. Yet, even the Sith themselves had appeared to be a rarity.

Well, it wasn't something she could necessarily involve herself in just yet. There was still the issue of saving her galaxy in her own timeline. And for the present? The more mundane, day-to-day task of keeping that bucket of bolts in the air.

In spite of the lack of obvious Imperial presence, Revan once more decided to play it safe, donning a worn outfit which could have belonged to either a mercenary or a well-armed smuggler. Her service rifle was strapped to her back, while her lightsabers were carefully hidden away....but within easy reach. Instead of her heavy braid, her hair was messily tucked up into a thick bun at the nape of her neck.

Fortunately, it didn't take the Guardian very long to locate a shop and, even better, no questions asked. Thank the Force.

Upon entering, it seemed as if there was a customer already there, so Revan affected the surlier attitude of a mercenary, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, affecting a mask of impatience as she observed the inside of the establishment. Not to mention that voice sounded oddly familiar...

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The Gran at the counter is haggling noisily with the shop's singular customer, while the Kowakian monkey-lizards continue chasing each other noisily throughout the shop. They bang debris over, upset things from shelves, and threaten to knock the flimsier arrangements over wholesale. The pair even makes a lap or two around Revan's ankles when the Jedi Guardian walks in.

Juno, however, slaps the flat of a hand down on the counter, either clearly at the end of her rope, or perhaps putting on some theatrical airs for the sake of landing whatever bargain she's after.

"Damn it, that's not a fair price. This is hyperlane robbery! Just because these components are easier to get hold of on Malastare doesn't mean I'm giong to pay you an exorbitant price like that for them!"

"So don't pay them," the Gran responds, shrugging. "We have other customers with deeper pockets than yours, smuggler. Like that one." He flicks a few fingers at Revan, leaning against the doorway, one of his eye stalks lifting briefly to appraise her.

Juno turns over her shoulder, casting an annoyed glance—

—and stays that way, staring for a second or two.

At least she's not wholly defenseless, herself. Juno might not be carrying lightsabers, but she's carrying a blaster at each hip, and their grips are just worn enough to suggest she knows how to use them.

"You," Juno snaps, glaring somewhat. It's a sour enough greeting, although even she has to admit privately that it's nice to see a familiar face in such a godforsaken place as Port Pixelito. "What are you doing here?"

There's a faint sound of parts and shelves knocking about, and then the wall simply flips around behind the desk. Out comes a man with a mop of blonde hair, darker than the white-gold of 'Blackout,' and merry blue eyes. "What seems to be the trouble? Surely we can settle on a price everybody's happy with, ladies."

"Who the hell are you?" Juno snaps, turning from Revan to glare at the arrival.

"I'm the repairman, of course. The name's Berkelium Shyre." The man sketches a bow, which draws attention to a potentially disturbing detail – he's a machine from the waist down, a three-legged stool driven by powerful motors and repulsors to account for Malastare's uncomfortably high gravity. His upper body seems to be well-toned, very much so, thanks to Malastare's unique conditions. His muscles are well-toned, and he doesn't move with any kind of infirmity despite the lack of legs. This Shyre fellow could probably put up a good fight if he felt threatened, or if anyone tried to rob him, no doubt about that.

Juno huffs a sigh. "I'm not paying such an outrageous price for this. I could go to any junk shop on Tattooine and get it for half the price." She takes up the part, which seems to be a component for a hyperdrive coolant array, and squints at it critically. "Look, it's not even gently used. I can see where it's been treated a bit roughly, there and there. What did you do, use it to sharpen a vibroblade?"

"No questions asked," Shyre reminds her, cheerfully. "I don't ask about the provenance of my parts, Miss...?"

"Blackout," Juno grumps. "Call me Blackout. That's all you need to know."

"No questions asked," Shyre repeats, just as cheerfully. "It's good enough for me. What about you, Miss?" With a whine of the gyros in his stool-legs, Shyre turns to Revan. "What seems to be the trouble? Is there something specific you're looking for...?"

Revan (414) has posed:
It almost seemed, Revan reflected, as if at least a dozen ships had managed to crash-land in the precise same spot, and somehow the outline of a building fell directly on top of it. The monkey-lizards chasing each other around did nothing to dispel the ambiance of walking into a place which was less of a shop and more of...well, most junkyards seemed better-organised. Come to think of it, the only place which could have possibly been worse was the Taris Undercity. At least there were no rakghouls here that she could detect. And, after all, she couldn't be too picky, what with trying to keep a low profile without having to Force persuade anyone to forget her presence, even if that might not have been completely necessary in a far future which had apparently forgotten her name. Thank the Force for small mercies.

"We got a problem here?" Revan settled into faking a mercenary persona, her voice surly, planting her hands on her hips. "How much ya want for this rustpile?"

The Jedi pretended not to recognise the Imperial pilot; though she probably had no reason to remain so cautious, it was – as the adage went – better to be safe than sorry. "What? Ya got a problem with me, smuggler? It's a public establishment, so shove off if ya don't like it."

The hint was clear enough: You probably shouldn't admit we know each other right now. Chances were that 'Blackout' would probably benefit even more from her ruse than Revan would; she seemed as paranoid as the last time they had met. Not that the Guardian had any room to be critical of that...and come to think of it, she seemed to always end up around paranoid people.

Violet and grey eyes shifted slightly to the repairman as he entered, a dour expression settling over her features as she scrutinised him. While she didn't expect trouble, it never hurt to be prepared. "Hmph. We'll see..." she grunted.

Even as she studied Shyre physically as he introduced himself and considered possibilities – she suspected he had been military, given the tone of what was left of his body, possibly medically discharged following serious injuries – she reached out subtly through the Force for what she couldn't observe with mere eyes and ears, nor reason through logic alone. Not that she knew exactly what to look for, but that was why she allowed the Force to guide her where it would.

She had to admit, patience had its benefits, even if it went against her nature.

She continued to glower silently through Juno's tirade, watching. And found herself agreeing; that thing looked as if she could have grabbed that at random from the Ebon Hawk. Sure, it was probably solid enough, but after more than a dozen run-ins with Sith fighters and a crash-landing on Lehon where Carth had been forced to jury-rig something to get it flying again enough to make a trip up to the Star Forge, the said component was likely due for a replacement. "How much ya chargin' for that again? Don't give a Hutt's backside where ya got it, but I ain't payin' for useless junk."

Revan folder her arms again, shifting her weight as she affected a bored expression. "'Fleet' Onasi," she answered, avoiding trying to be cute by simply making an anagram of her 'real' name. She might have been being paranoid, but 'Blackout' was nobody's fool.

The Guardian fished what looked like a repulsorlift component out of a large pocket of her trousers, which someone knowledgeable would recognise from the Aratech Repulsor Company. Fortunately, parts from her era from companies with long histories was hardly unheard of. "Need a fix or replacement for this..." she replied, tossing the part to Shyre. "Cleaned most of the gunk off but I ain't got the tools to get down in the cracks."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Berkelium Shyre is more or less what appearances might dictate. The surface of his thoughts are calm and unperturbed, with an affable veneer. Despite Malastare's civil unrest and the nature of life in a seedy spaceport like Port Pixelito, Shyre hides his distress well. For there is distress in him, a steady discordant undertone beneath his affable smile; something sufficient to cause the worry lines around his eyes.

It's not an easy thing to rebel against the largest institution in the galaxy, especially when the cost of that rebellion may well be his life, and the lives of anyone he might hold dear.

Several stools line the front counter, if one's lucky enough to see them through the stacks of junk. Juno drags one over and climbs onto it with a grateful sigh, leaning over to massage her aching calves. Malastare's monstrous gravity is uncomfortable in any circumstances, let alone after having to endure it for more than fifteen minutes or so. Even standing gets painful. Her calves are killing her.

"I guarantee all my work, Fleet." Shyre offers another one of those affable smiles. "It'll work, or you'll have your credits back. Any shop with a reputation for faulty goods doesn't stay open for long in Port Pixelito."

Either it's truth, or he believes it with such certainty that it may as well be truth.

For her part, Juno drums her fingers on the counter, annoyed both by the Gran's stubborn haggling and the appearance of somebody she wasn't quite wholly prepared to speak with again. Not at length, and not in person. She knew that 'Lowri' was some kind of Force-user, and she has a particular reason not to trust Force-users. How much of a peek can they get into her head? How much do they know...?

"I'm a mercenary. Get it straight," she snaps to 'Lowri,' glaring. "Business isn't so bad that I'd lower my standards that far." There's still a token Imperial presence here, and it's better not to draw that much public attention to one's profession. The stormtroopers might tire of mopping up riots and chasing Dug and Gran insurgents around in circles.

Juno sighs, leaning against the counter. She tries to ignore the all-over ache of intense gravity, and she does her level best to push her aggravation aside.

"Aratech, hmm? That's a good piece of work." Shyre takes the repulsorlift component, squinting as he turns it this way and that in his large hands. "A little battered, but I think this is salvageable. They're one of the best for repulsortech. Don't worry. I can fix this, and it won't cost you too much."

"He's actually right, smuggler." Juno takes a certain pleasure in turning that around. "Shyre does good work."

"Another satisfied customer," the crippled repairman states cheerfully. "Pleasure to see you again, Blackout. Is that sublight acting up again?"

"The sublight's fine. I need something for the navcomputer. It's acting up with the multiversal coordinates again."

Shyre sighs. "I'm hearing that same complaint a lot, these days. Well, I'll see what I can do for you. I certainly appreciate your business."

"I'll appreciate it more when I can get out of this place. The locals are noisy today. Something going on I should know about, Shyre?"

"The usual." He shrugs. "The Dugs are getting restless. The Imperials aren't really appreciating it. I couldn't tell you the specifics, because I don't know them."

Juno sighs, dropping her chin into a cupped hand. "Ugh. That's wonderful. I hope they stay away from the berths. I'm not really looking forward to being stuck here for a few hours or days. The high-g's killing me..."

Revan (414) has posed:
Hiding both sets of observations behind her disguise, Revan continued to appraise both the wares as well as the situation. She'd had little time to really study the events of the Galactic Empire and the Rebellion thoroughly in lieu of concentrating on dealing with her galaxy's own issues. Yet, it seemed the Force was guiding her into dealing with both crises at once...something she thought would have been more than she was capable of chewing. Apparently, the Living Force believed she could handle it, and it might very well be that there was some connection to her present and the distant future. The Jedi wasn't so sure, herself...but where It led, she had decided it was best to follow.

And right now, It had led her to Port Pixelito, Berkelium Shyre, and the mysterious pilot only calling herself 'Blackout.'

The gravity was brutal even to Jedi-trained muscles, though thankfully some of that could be alleviated with a little judicious application of Force-based abilities. But being able to handle it might as well have been a red flag that she was more than just a garden-variety merc. Though she didn't quite need to sit down, Lowri claimed a nearby stool, sitting down heavily with a grunt and a feigned grimace. Unfortunately, Juno wasn't likely to be fooled by the act.

She appeared to consider his words, already trusting her instincts and Force insight, but she kept up the facade, her expression shifting from outright distrustful to merely dubious. Likewise, she deliberately ignored the dour pilot nearby who was irritably drumming her fingers on the counter. She did, however, raise a pale eyebrow involuntarily when he recognised the manufacturer...which would probably give Juno some small satisfaction. He was certainly good at his job. "Ya sure know your parts, all right. The last few crooks I took it to had no idea who made it. Doubt they even knew how to fix it, just tried to sell me on some other worthless junk of theirs. Well, Shyre, ya got yerself a deal."

She didn't look directly at 'Blackout,' but Lowri idly gestured to the military-issue pulse rifle strapped to her back. "Ya blind? Really think a smuggler needs this?" She considered sniping back just to get an annoyed reaction out of Juno – she found just a little too much pleasure getting a rise out of people, sometimes – but it would probably compromise her cover if she reverted to form. Besides, she was here on business, not for an argument...as much fun as one of those would be.

So the pilot was a regular customer. Interesting. Revan filed that information away for later; perhaps a little bit of digging was in order, but later. Currently, there was an entire treasure trove of information here. All of which were giving the Guardian the start of a decent picture. With a little bit of direction, she might just be able to milk a little more out of the situation. "What's the deal with those natives, anyway?"

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Where the Jedi Guardian has the Force to lead her, the Imperial pilot has nothing but her own instincts. Fortunately, those aren't too shabby, and they've kept her alive through some pretty hairy situations in the past. Maybe the Force does guide her through her intuition. She'll certainly never know the difference. Juno Eclipse is about as Force-sensitive as a fencepost, and she's ultimately content with that. Her instincts haven't failed her yet.

Those blue eyes flick sidelong as 'Lowri' makes a show of sitting down in clear discomfort, feigned enough that she has to question whether the other woman actually feels it as keenly as Juno herself does. She's seen the lightsaber hilts; recognised the robes.

She's not buying it, and although it's subtle, it shows.

"I should hope so, or I wouldn't be in business," Shyre replies affably. "I never know what's going to come through my shop. If I want to stay ahead of the competition, I have to have a broad working knowledge of what's out there... besides, if I'm not mistaken, the Imperials use Aratech. They tried to branch out into a few other fields, but their landspeeders are the best."

Drumming her fingers in a way that suggests distraction more than impatience, Juno glances over to the shopowner and incognito Jedi. "Every hotshot pilot wants one of those before they graduate to starships. Maybe they're not the flashiest landspeeder, but the workmanship's solid."

"That's about the size of it," Shyre agrees. "I've done work for Imperial landspeeders, and they're quality machines."

Juno doesn't comment, but she raises an eyebrow. TIE pilots got the short stick if the landspeeders hold up better than the TIE fighters. Maybe she should've enlisted as a scout trooper instead...

"You haven't been around the Outer Rim for very long if you think a smuggler doesn't need that." Juno bares her teeth. It's not really a smile; it's more a grimace. "If I want your opinion, you scruffy nerf-herder, I'll ask for it."

"Ladies, ladies." Shyre holds up his hands. "Surely we can behave like responsible adutls?"

Juno grumbles something that might be an apology.

It's not very sincere.

"Natives?" Shyre looks up from his inspection of the Aratech part, raising a brow. "Oh. You mean the Gran, and the Dug. Well, it's complicated, or so I've heard. You must be from out of town; I don't recognise your accent at all." A subtle prod, but as the sign says, Shyre doesn't ask. "The way I hear it, the Dug are native to this world. They were subjugated a ways back by the Gran. And now they're chafing against Imperial rule, too. It's an unfortunate cycle, and maybe the Empire can settle things peaceably."

Somewhere outside, a distant explosion rocks the building.

Shyre doesn't so much as look up, sighing. "Or not."

Even Juno doesn't look alarmed; it must be a regular occurrance on Malastare. "Could've been some clumsy ass' fuel line," she speculates, dropping her chin into her cupped hand. "Too close to a methane lake. Boom."

"Sounded like explosives, to me."

"Scuttle, maybe?" Juno picks up her head, as though intrigued by her own hypothesis.

"I doubt it. Scrap's too valuable."

Juno sighs. "Let me have my optimism, Shyre."

"Only because you asked nicely," Shyre responds, with a grin. "Besides, you're waiting so patiently, Blackout."

"It's going to get impatient if you don't hurry this along," Juno warns under her breath. She's not entirely acting. The high gravity is making her entire body ache fiercely. "I hate high-grav worlds," she grumbles, dropping her chin back into her cupped hand.

Revan (414) has posed:
Too many Jedi – and Sith, for that matter – relied entirely on the Force to inform them, so much so that to deprive them of that connection would have been similar to striking a non-sensitive deaf and blind. In some ways, they were every bit as limited as Juno, who had only her eyes and ears, yet could no doubt observe things even Masters would miss. Yet, Revan treated her Force senses as just that; and extra set of senses, using them in concert with her others to paint a fuller picture than what would be possible otherwise.

In brief flashes of distant memory, she had seen herself surrounded by non-sensitive, not to lord her powers over them, but to gauge their insight without the Force...and to train them as special assassins for the purpose of slaying Jedi who opposed her.

The Prodigal Knight concealed those dark thoughts, and the chill such memories brought with them, focusing on the tasks at hand. The first was not to blow her cover; though 'Blackout' wouldn't be fooled, the idea was to prevent anyone else from figuring out what she was. Fortunately, it wouldn't have been a good idea for the other woman to call her on it, since such a reveal would likewise expose her. So it was mutually beneficial for them both to keep the secrets of the other...if for no other reason that their vulnerabilities were likewise mutual. Like having the throat of your enemy in your gasp...while he has yours in his.

But maybe, she was just being pessimistic. Who really could know the thoughts of the mysterious pilot...at least without some very Dark Side techniques, and that was not a road she wanted to travel again. But it hardly demanded anything beyond simple observation that the blue-eyed pilot knew quite well that Lowri was not suffering the same amount of gravitational stress that she was. Oh well...the idea was to fool Shyre and anyone else who might happen in.

Not only landspeeders, but swoop bikes, like the one parked in the bay of the Ebon Hawk where she grabbed the device from. But knowing that Imperials tended to favour their work...now that was useful to know. "Used to have a sniper rifle of theirs..." she murmured as if musing out loud, fiddling with the Czerka-made flamethrower attached to her armguard, pretending to examine it, frowning. "Need some replacements..."

Not that she was particularly enamoured of Czerka Corporation – well, at all, given their penchant for thinking slave labour was acceptable – but passing herself off as a mercenary or a bounty hunter possibly in their employ was entirely believable. Unfortunately, with Juno around, it was doubtful Revan was going to get any Imperial sympathisers to open up a little.

The Guardian tried not to look smug from getting under Juno's skin, albeit not entirely successfully. The pale-haired pilot was as much fun to troll as Bastila. In some ways, more; the Sentinel could be just as snappish, yet not quite as quick with a sarcastic comment. Which, of course, only encouraged the Guardian. She started to open her mouth to fire off a blistering retort, only to be cut short by Shyre's interruption. What might have looked like a sullen glower at being kept from her return volley, however, Juno would have been able to discern it was closer to a sulk, like a child who had been ordered to come inside from a day of playing.

In other words, Shyre had brought her amusement short.

Lowri shugged. "I moved all over," she answered to the unspoken question anyway. Which was true...mostly. And it wasn't as if she could remember much about her past aside from a few brief flashes. Hence, cobbling together how the various Mandalorians spoke when speaking Basic into the patchwork of odd accents from a warrior culture which subsumed those it conquered.

Inwardly, she made a mental note to look into making a communication effort with the Gran and the Dug, possibly investigate whether or not such explosions were accidental or deliberate. She doubted there was much she could do to ease tensions even if 'mediator' was part of the Jedi job description, given that said tensions were directed toward the Empire for the moment. Perhaps she could exchange information...

Outwardly, she asked a different sort of question. "Not causing enough trouble for the Imps to start pickin' 'em off or hirin' bounty hunters?"

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The Jedi and the Sith might have the benefit of Force-tuned senses, but most people had to make do with more ordinary means. That's hardly a point against the mundane masses. Some of them learn to hone those instincts as sharply as any Jedi relying on the Force; some even hone them further than those who rely completely on the Force. While Juno can hardly claim the latter, her instincts are still very good. They've kept her alive thus far.

There were times when the odds didn't look so good. There were certainly times when she was certain she was going to die – but her instincts had led her on, had told her not to give up; and if there's one thing Juno Eclipse is good at, it's being stubborn against all logic.

For her part, the enigmatic pilot seems to have an unquestionably tight grip on her emotions. Perhaps it's because she knows of or suspects the connections to the Force that Revan has. Or, maybe she has some other reason to keep a lid on her surface thoughts... whatever the case, her bluster is only that – bluster, aside from the occasional flash of real irritation at Revan's needling.

Even still; when it comes down to it, it's like trying to stare through a solid durasteel bulkhead. 'Blackout' is extremely well-guarded for a normal, mundane person. Suspiciously so.

She's hiding something.

"I'll stick to BlasTech, thanks. Reliable, solid, and easy to do repairs on if you know anything about their manufacture." Juno pats the holster at her hip. "They're not the fanciest thing in the galaxy, but they get the job done with a minimum of fuss."

Even Juno casts Shyre a withering look, which he seems to affably ignore. She was having a little fun with the back-and-forth, too. Teasing Galen is one thing, and a comfortable routine all itself – but past a point she doesn't have the heart to bring that sarcasm and sharp tongue to bear against him. Past a certain point, she takes refuge in their closeness, gentling; he's the one person she can feel that way with.

Revan, on the other hand... Revan is fun to harass, just as much as Revan seems to enjoy hassling Juno in turn. It's an enjoyable back-and-forth that has absolutely nothing to do with their alignment or allegiance, and everything to do with their natural personalities.

"I wasn't about to ask anything," Shyre protests, with that easygoing smile. He turns the Aratech part over in his hands, reaching under the counter for a tiny hydrospanner, poking and prodding at it with a critical eye. "But that's as good an explanation to me as any."

"The Imperials don't really have a reason to be here." Juno shoots that hypothesis down with a careless, dismissive wave of one hand. By this point she's hunched over the counter a little, looking sore and weary. Malastare's gravity is not for the faint of heart, and it wears even on the stubborn and the proud. "There aren't any particular resources of interest, unless they really want to crack down on podracing, and it's too popular here to risk it. They'd have an open revolt on their hands, I think."

"Very fast. Very dangerous," Shyre observes. "I guess that's why the locals love it so much. Isn't one of those famous racers a Dug fellow? What was his name..."

"Sebulba," Juno supplies.

"Sebulba," Shyre agrees, considering. "Anyway, Blackout here's right. There's nothing the Imperials really want here. The only reason they'd descend en masse would be to make a public example, and I can't imagine they'd do that unless things really got out of hand in a spectacular way. It's more valuable as a somewhat neutral port. Pixelito gets a lot of traffic. It's why I do such a good business here." His expression brightens. "I can get my hands on parts and learn techniques I wouldn't have a chance to, anywhere else."

Juno leans her chin in her cupped hand again. Her expression is one of boredom, and what little can be sensed in the Force seems to corroborate that. She must really be here for work, so she hasn't got much choice but to wait. "I wouldn't expect anyone to cause that much trouble here. It's more of a low-grade chaos most of the time."

"There's not really enough individual activity to warrant Imperial attention," Juno continues, "or at least not enough to make it worth their while... I guess I can't blame them. Malastare's nice, if you like jungles, but I hate high-gravity planets. My calves are killing me," she complains, mostly under her breath.

Revan (414) has posed:
Stubbornness might be considered at times to be a flaw, at least where Jedi were concerned. It had made Revan defy the Jedi Council and lead those who followed her against the Mandalorians. It had made Bastila proud. Even otherwise older and wiser Masters seemed arrogant in spite of the emphasis on flexibility of thinking, so convinced that illumination came not from the Force, but from Jedi teachings themselves. But it was that very stubbornness which could mean the difference between victory and defeat, life and death, and the Guardian had never been the sort to simply accept defeat, or simply roll over and die.

As she had once told her former friend and apprentice, "Apparently, I'm hard to kill."

Moreover, it would seem 'Blackout' was every bit as stubborn as she was, possibly more so. Likewise, very bit as much the enigma as the former Sith Lord no doubt was had the situation been reversed. She knew her own reasons for being secretive, but what were Juno's? It was certainly one of the more difficult puzzles she had encountered. Fortunately, Revan enjoyed puzzles, perhaps a little too much. Her needling wasn't entirely out of personal amusement, after all. When there was something she wanted to know, she would hunt relentlessly for the truth until she found it...even if it didn't necessarily lead in pleasant directions.

"I like to...diversify," Revan drawled, as if she hadn't simply amassed the junk she had along her various travels, not to mention more than a few firefights.

Come to think of it, the Guardian couldn't recall being that sharp-tongued even with Carth after they had landed Taris. Oh, they had frequently annoyed each other more than a little, but as she had pointed out to the Republic pilot, they were on the same side and needed to work together. And, of course, there was the fact that he had saved her life. In spite of how paranoid he had been at first, their mutual ribbing had something of a friendly air. On the other hand, the verbal sparring between the two women was even more of a defence mechanism for the both of them just as much as something to amuse themselves with.

"Don't really got a reason to bother hidin' it," Revan replied to Shyre with another shrug before propping her chin on her fist, elbow resting on the counter. It had been several years since she had last entered a swoop race, so there was more than likely some hints the bike had been sitting idle in spite of her almost obsessive maintenance. "It ain't that unusual."

The subject of pod racing was well after her time, a subject the Guardian was not especially well-versed in, so she feigned a disinterested expression. Inwardly, the pale-haired Jedi mulled over the possibilities. 'Blackout' likely had no reason to lie about Imperial involvement, which seemed to confirm what she had observed when the Ebon Hawk first made planetfall. There was a noticeable lack of the facilities necessary to exploit any natural resources, and such industry was nigh impossible to conceal. As Shyre had noted, the only real use of the world appeared to be the port. The tactical part of her mind kicked into overdrive, analysing the possibilities and how supply lines might be sabotaged. As a military target, however, it was quite obviously low on the Rebellion leadership's objectives, possibly requiring at least several other points along the Empire's supply chain in order for a surgical strike to have any effect.

At the moment, however, Revan already had different objectives. If an opportunity presented itself, she would take it...but for now, that proverbial door was closed. "Convenient set-up," she observed drily. Strangely, from the sound of it, the Imperials hadn't put the sort of brutality into suppressing that 'low-grade chaos' to the extent Czerka had on Kashyyyk. What that necessarily meant though, Lowri couldn't yet guess.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
In spite of Shyre's affable exterior, his mind is as sharp and hard as durasteel. His surface thoughts betray his motives as he considers both women. Apparently he doesn't know any more about Blackout than Revan does, but he considers her someone whom he might be able to winnow information out of.

According to his thoughts, he hasn't quite decided what to think about Revan. 'Wait and see,' maybe, and probe her for more information in the meantime... but gently. He isn't in the habit of asking questions, and actions have always spoken louder, anyway.

Still, Blackout remains an enigma. Why would an ordinary pilot without any evident Force-sensitivity go to such lengths to conceal information about herself? She's obviously hiding something, and hiding it behind the tightest, most impenetrable walls she can muster.

A cautious attitude of 'wait and see' seems to be what's on her mind, too. And maybe a bit of snide distaste for such feigned airs. That accent is lip-curlingly atrocious, she wants to say, but she knows better than to blow both their cover.

"I don't think anyone's thought of it in those terms," Shyre reports, shrugging one rock-hard shoulder and setting the Aratech component down. Malastare's gravity might be awful, but it's great for developing muscle tone. He could probably break the average Imperial or Rebel pilot in half if he could get his hands on them. "Like I said, it sounds like there's just nothing here for them. Malastare doesn't have any shipyards. It doesn't boast any unique planetary resources."

"The locals will entrench themselves so hard if the Imperials call in the fleet that this place will never be under full Imperial control, so forcing the hands of the Gran and Dug isn't worth it to the Empire, I imagine. And while it's officially banned in the Empire, Malastare's podracing does do a handy business." One blunt-fingered hand gestures, nebulously. "It's good for the economy, and there's always someone who's going to want to grease the repulsors and make nice with the Imperial aides."

"But that's all idle speculation," Shyre adds, shrugging again. "Me, I just repair things. Makes no difference to me who's in charge. Everybody has broken things that need fixing at some point or another, right? Malastare's hell on landspeeders and repulsorcraft if you don't calibrate them right. I do a good business on those." Perfectly legitimate. And not even a lie! "Offworlders come down all the time through Pixelito, and they always wind up with their favourite landspeeder in my repair bays."

Juno shifts on her stool. Speaking of gravity, it looks like it's pulling pretty hard on her. "Uh huh. Well, if that's it, I'm leaving for a while. I hate high-grav worlds and my everything is starting to hurt. I'll check back later, Shyre, and I'll bring you a sample of that work."

"Damn navcomputer needs a once-over again," she mutters, gingerly hopping off the stool and taking a second or two to reacclimate to being on her feet. "Well, good luck with the business, Shyre. I'll be in touch."

Not really. But it's what a merc would say.

With that, provided Revan doesn't motion to stop her, Juno will gingerly head for the door back to Port Pixelito's crowded, noisy streets.

Revan (414) has posed:
Lowri was careful to only skim some surface thoughts and feelings, lest she risk teetering into Dark Side territory, to say nothing of causing harm. Of course, the act of harming someone in itself was a quick trip to Sith ways, but there were times she wondered if some Jedi understood why that was. It seemed to her that one didn't necessarily have to worry about falling if one truly put others ahead. Then again, that might lead to attachments and possibly even love, things they tried to avoid in equal measure, and she had to admit she failed to understand it. She had fallen without any help from love whatsoever, and it was one of the things which prevented her fall a second time.

So it seemed 'Blackout' was a mystery to a lot of people. That much became apparent after multiple radio conversations she both participated in herself of else merely observed, but Shyre's demeanour projected trustworthiness, and he hadn't had any more success than anyone else. It was likely that her allies were privy to more knowledge, but Revan somehow doubted they knew that much more. and while she had to admit she enjoyed the hunt itself, the Guardian had the feeling that she was going to need whatever she could uncover. Some might have questioned the wisdom in tracking a lone Imperial pilot in the grand scheme of things, but she had won wars that way. The former Dark Lord wasn't about to stop now.

Unfortunately for the mechanic, he wouldn't be getting that much information out of the Jedi, either. At least, not yet...not until she could puzzle out whether he was on a particular side or not. It was possible to perform a mind-wipe, but the very idea of tampering with a person's memories repulsed her for personal reasons as much as Dark Side potential. The Council had meant well enough by wiping hers, and it had given her a second chance, but a part of her couldn't help but feel some lingering resentment. Especially given than she could no longer remember what it was she was hunting.

Juno might not have liked the false accent very much, but it was the safest way to make sure their memories remained intact once she had the information she needed.

"Just seems too much trouble over some backwater port," Revan grumbled with an apparently dismissive air. It might not be vital in itself, but the port clearly had some value, or the Imperials would have simply left the planet to its own devices. Yet, not enough for the Rebel forces to launch an assault to claim it; Malastare was not anywhere near as valuable as Manaan had been. At least, not until its eventual replacement by bacta.

Similarly, she suspected that while the deadly sport of pod racing was officially banned, someone in the Empire was much more long-sighted and used it as a method of keeping various populations adequately pacified. What was much more likely was that Imperial officials were carefully looking the other way. Well, there were ways to test that theory.

"Unless the Imps're bigger racing fans than they let on," she quipped with a grin.

The Jedi also didn't miss the hint that there were more than a few able mechanics in port, Shyre himself possibly being among the best, or at least the most trustworthy...most likely both. But though Shyre wouldn't talk, the odd-eyed Jedi decided against brining in her swoop bike; the mechanic wouldn't be the only one to catch sight of what was now an artefact from the distant past. That would no doubt draw attention she didn't want just yet. She really should look into obtaining a landspeeder, however.

Revan made no move to hold up Juno, yet not before something of a parting shot. For old time's sake, it seemed to suggest.

"K'oyacyi!," she quipped in flawless, perfectly-accented Mando'a, literally, 'Stay alive'. Whatever Juno's opinions on her feigned accent were, it was apparent enough that she could, in fact, speak the language. Not the sort of language Jedi were known to study, though her connections might have more insight on the subject.

Rather than leaving immediately, 'Fleet' performed some light maintenance on her rifle, which fortunately had enough wear and tear on it to hide the fact that she hadn't used it for some time in lieu of the standard Jedi weapons. Once done, she grunted and stood, readjusting to the intense gravity. Just because a person had Force abilities was no excuse not to keep one's physical abilities honed. "Better check on some things, myself....be back later," Revan half-grunted as she stood to head back to the Ebon Hawk. There was a database to search where no one could look over her shoulder.