Hyperspace Lane, Lahara Sector, Outer Rim
During the week of travel to Anteevy
Mirage takes a slow lap around the ship, her boots echoing off the metal floor. Her ship felt like home—a designated work deck, spacious habitation area, and cargo holds that could sustain the four of them for months, if not years. She’d turned habitation into a mix of storerooms, lounges, and her favorite: a distillery. She passes Raul and Fargo in the galley, who are wrestling over a dented tool kit, both grumbling over the last repair job they'd botched. Mirage smirks as Graves cheers them on from a hammock, his feet kicked up on some supplies. Anytime Graves or Fargo pick a new place to lounge on the ship, the hammock follows.
With the hyperdrive settled into a steady hum, they had a few days to unwind before reaching Anteevy. Mirage continues her patrol, stopping to check in on Donk and Konk, her modified Gonk droids and the backbone of her brewing operation. Donk, the “brewmaster” of the pair, is her pride and joy—a highly customized Gonk droid with brewing extensions she’d painstakingly engineered herself. Konk, the quieter of the two, had once been a mundane power droid but was now reimagined to carry two kegs on either side, his squat body rumbling as he lumbers forward, distributing the good stuff.
“All right, Donk, let’s see what you've got brewing today,” she murmured, running a hand over the droid’s patched-together chassis. Donk lets out a happy Gonk! and produces a faint hiss, releasing the aroma of her latest batch, a whiskey she’d aptly dubbed “Corellian Rocket Fuel.” Mirage couldn’t help but smile at the droid’s enthusiasm, watching as Konk sidled up, offering a sample glass attached to one of his keg arms. She grabs it, savoring the smoky, slightly too-strong taste before raising it to the droids in a toast.
“Keep up the good work, you two,” she says, downing the rest and patting Konk affectionately. Donk’s “Gonk” echoes proudly, as if he understood exactly how much he was valued here.
Mirage returns to the galley.
“Can you guys keep it down?” she teases, leaning against the wall. “Donk and Konk need their beauty rest.”
“Did we wake the brewmaster?” Raul asks, feigning horror.
“Not yet. But he’s temperamental,” Mirage shoots back, grabbing an empty seat. She watches the crew for a moment, a sense of contentment settling over her. The laughter, the banter, the sense of ease that only came from these long hauls in hyperspace—it was what made this life bearable.
As the night settled in, the rowdiness mellowed to a quiet hum. Graves sprawled on a bench, Fargo passed out beside him, and Raul was leaning back, his eyes closed but a smile on his face. Mirage takes a long look around, her mind drifting as she sips the last of her “Rocket Fuel.” For all the chaos waiting on Anteevy, she has this—a steady ship, a strange little family, and a quiet moment in the vastness of the Outer Rim.
Interlude, it's the perfect name.
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