Star Wars: Impulse

Shomwe was in an even better mood than usual. She did a dancing walk in rhythm with the musical tune she was playing out in her head. Beside her, the repulsorlift flatbed kept up with her jovial pace. Atop the truck were containers, large and plentiful, of goods that had been obtained illegally and that she absolutely did not have the licenses to distribute.

On her way to distribute them, she walked the streets of Shinca, a town on Dantooine that was rather quiet apart from the Republic fort it harboured. It was, however, big enough to have its own starport, so that was something.

The Mirialan drummed her hands on one container, actualizing the beat she danced to. As she went, she waved to familiar faces. They all returned the gesture, though not with the same degree of enthusiasm.

Today was a good day. The weather was… mostly clear, her flat's lock had successfully engaged on the first try, and best of all, today was a gift day. Every few months, she accrued enough of her earnings to afford something nice for herself; nothing big, nothing crazy. Just something to show a little self-love. This time, she knew exactly what she wanted.

There was a clothing shop just off the main street – a small place, owned by that Aqualish guy - the one with the cybernetic eye – and when he rotated inventory a few weeks ago, a side cape had gone up on display. It was a beautiful piece, black with tasteful purple embroidery. It was gorgeous and Shomwe simply had to have it.

And have it she would. With the earnings she anticipated from the sale of the goods she walked beside, she would have enough to fulfil that cape’s destiny as an addition to her wardrobe.

She arrived at the arranged sale location; a warehouse used rarely enough to provide shelter from prying eyes. It was big, mostly empty, and on a sleepier side of town; perfect. Inside, her six buyers were already waiting for her.

“And how do we fare today, my brave boys in uniform?”

“Hey! There she is,” one of the clone troopers declared gleefully.

“There’s our favourite vendor!”

“We’re always good with you around!”

“Oh, please, please gentlemen, you’re too kind,” she responded, positively basking in the flattery. She drew the truck to a halt and the soldiers gathered around like children receiving presents. Popping the release, she flipped the lid clear of one container and reached inside. “For Chinny, I have your monthly Top Thirty Holonet Pop Hits.”

“You’re the best, Shom’.”

“For Mister Ankles, I have your Corellian romance novels.”

“I was fully healed three weeks ago; you can stop calling me that now.”

“For Blue Hair, I have your extra-salty Naboo junk food.”

“Thanks, Shomwe. By the way, I know I didn’t put it in the order, but do you remember those sweets you brought a while back?”

“The nuts with the candy coating?” Shomwe raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Yeah those. Would you happen to…”

“… Have any with me?” With a smug expression, the Mirialan raised a bag of the very treat he was referring to. “Oh, I don’t know. I may have some lying around…”

“I love you, Shomwe.”

“Darling, I know it.”

Things went along smoothly. Shomwe distributed the goods, collected her payments, and continued to call the clones by the nicknames she came up with to save herself the trouble of remembering everyone’s chosen names.

They all look the same. How am I supposed to keep them straight?

She was passing out some of the last of the goods when she felt a tap on her arm. She turned to face a clone that was close enough to keep an exchange between the two of them.

“Uh, hey Shom’. Do you have my, erm, fix?”

“What do you take me for? Some low-end Coruscant marketeer?” Shomwe reached into one of the boxes and did away with the false bottom. Out came her hand with a sealed brick of spice that was bigger than her palm. She noticed how the clone’s eyes widened subtly at the sight of his next high. She passed him the spice, and he passed her the credits.

When all was said and done, the clones waved goodbye, departing with their booty loaded into backpacks they had come with. Shomwe sat atop the now empty boxes as she was left alone in the warehouse. She would kill about half an hour there before heading back to avoid suspicion.

She practically skipped on her way back to the storehouse. She could not get her mind off the credits she had hidden the container. With the cut that she did not have to pass up to her superiors, she would finally make that side cape hers.

Come evening, she sat at a table in the local bar across from Seak Tranx, her friend and co-worker. She had been beaming from ear to ear since arriving.

Seak raised her glass to take a sip but was stopped by the downright goofy expression on Shomwe’s face. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s got you even more titillated than usual?”

“Notice anything…” the Mirialan woman conspicuously brushed non-existent dirt off her new article. “… different?”

Seak looked over the garment with all the enthusiasm of a fambaa. “You put a cape on wrong?”

“You think my side cape looks stylish and elegant? Why thank you for saying so!”

“How much did you pay for that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I can already tell that it will be worth it.”

The Quarren woman shook her head, her tentacles swaying gently.