2.01

Compared to the enormous profits from the Bacta deals, the few dozen million credits of the risk bonus, the standing bounty on pirates, and selling the pirates' corvette were a small changes. Back on Earth, a supertanker carried its own price in crude oil on each trip. With pharmaceuticals being more expensive than crude oil and the Doughnut being the size of a city, the sheer wealth we'd been carrying had been astronomical. As in, it could buy some of the least-developed star systems. All that money did not belong to Father and me, of course. The vast majority had come from using discretionary family funds - a loan of sorts if one without bankers involved. Losing it would have hurt the family and Kuat Drive Yards far more than the loss of a single ship. Even after returning it with the appropriate interests though, we still had more wealth in our hands than most people ever dreamed of.

Some of the profits would go to refueling the Doughnut for another four years, as well as upgrading and replenishing its maintenance droids. No significant damage had been dealt with during the boarding and subsequent... battle with the pirates, and as long as the hundreds of thousands of tireless automated repair and maintenance crews worked, the ship would only need yard work for the heaviest of damage. The remaining funds were still much larger than our usual haul, and Father decided we'd take up more cargo here, then return to Coruscant.

"It always struck me as odd that such an industrialized planet would also export foodstuffs," Father commented as the two of us sat on the bridge. "Then again, I never quite understood humans. In Arkania, we invested heavily into industry so we could be the best we could at what we did."

"Understanding humans is impossible, Father," I said as I finished going through the Doughnut's cargo manifests. "We're too irrational for it. Some memetics professors even insist we aren't sapient but rather perpetuate conditioned behaviors from generation to generation." I frowned at my datapad, going through a few lists. "Sixty megatons of alcohol. Think it'll be enough?"

"Two-hundred and fifty-six megatons; that's the average daily consumption for Coruscant," Father informed me with a snort. "I daresay it'll sell pretty fast. A pity our providers didn't have more at hand."

Kuat, I'd learned in my lessons, was very much the Star Wars equivalent of Japan. Extreme industrialism, but also the preservation of the planet's natural beauty. A nobility system, with the leader of House Kuat being very close on an emperor - or in this case empress. The emphasis in honor and tradition, coupled with a strong expansionist streak and a long history of warship production. Seeing the ship's manifests, it wasn't really surprising that the rest of our holds were full of food. For all its high population density and limited farming area, Japan did export food back on Earth; it sold high-quality foodstuffs and imported a larger amount of relatively lower-quality ones. Kuat did the same, only without the food deficit of other industrial worlds. With its grains, fish, and alcoholic beverages considered almost as high-quality as its starships, we would make a profit in any heavily populated world. Therefore...

"Why Coruscant? It might be the capital, but there are other options."

"Because I am considering your suggestion," Father replied, staring at the highly-detailed holomap of the Kuat system. It was so full of traffic one could barely make out individual ships, let alone navigate through the chaos. And yet he seemed to be in his element, weaving the Doughnut's bulk in and out of traffic lanes as if it were a mere frigate. "Besides, Daughter, consider who uses the same services we have need of. Other possibilities like Nar Shadaa might provide such things openly, but does that speak for the quality and competence they have to offer? It is in the highest echelons of power, however seemingly benign, that such services are required, after all."

He was right, of course. Foreknowledge might have given me an idea of what - and whom - to look for, but Father's choice of location made more sense. Security was needed most by those, like us, who had a lot to lose.

xxxx xxxx xxxx

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We arrived in the capital wasteland - there was no term more appropriate for a planet-spanning metal city - only two days later, and Father had already begun negotiations and market research, his skills undiminished even in transactions of dubious legality. Once again I would be staying on the ship, and it was my choice. Visiting the vast ecumenopolis had very little to offer insights and points of interest and no, its legendary three-dimensional traffic jams and even more crowded streets did not count. I had always been more of a country gal, and Coruscant was all the worst aspects of all cities ever, gathered together in one place. No, thank you.

Instead, I submerged myself in the Bacta tank after another day of high-gravity life. Studies back on Earth had shown small but significant metabolic and cognitive improvements across the board for long-term hypergravity exposure in mammals. This galaxy's far more extensive studies - especially from Father's home planet - confirmed and expanded upon the findings, especially how to counter its drawbacks. Bacta therapy worked in repairing any damage from the practice at the same time it sped up the body's adaptation to the new environment. Denser muscles and bones, more responsive nerves, and a sharper awareness could be achieved far faster than with exercise... if one could afford the very expensive daily use of the healing tank.

Being ridiculously expensive physical therapy and enhancement was only one use of the tank, however. Many people around the galaxy simply could not stand the feel of Bacta on their skin or endure being submerged for expended periods of time. In addition to claustrophobia and hydrophobia, Bacta itself had an entirely alien, slimy consistency... which made sense, since it was an alien bacterial soup. I didn't mind though; I rather enjoyed the isolation. Sleep and lights had never mixed for me, perhaps because I was a rather private person. Submerged in bacta, the sights and sounds of the outside world gone, the only company my own slow breathing... it was... peaceful.

Peace had been an elusive state ever since the pirate attack. The nightmares came almost nightly, lingering even unto the following day. The equivalent of a sensory deprivation tank was more restful than my own bed. Even as I floated, cut off from the world, I felt less anger, fear, and helplessness at the terrible things that had already happened... and those soon to come. I had no eyes on the world beyond, no contact, and yet there was still a flickering awareness of all things nearby, a strange sensation that seemed to extend beyond the tank's limits.

I wasn't an idiot, or as ignorant of the more mystical aspects of the Star Wars universe as its average citizen; no twelve-year-old would have been able to save the ship from the fake pirates without the help of the Force. That, coupled with Astra's downright inhuman ability to correctly guess people's emotions and possible thoughts, were obvious signs of Force-sensitivity. Floating inside the bacta tank in total darkness and silence and yet still sensing my surroundings somehow had merely confirmed it.

That particular development was dangerous in too many ways to count. First, the obvious; being influenced by the Dark Side. The same qualities that helped with survival also made one a sociopath; it was just a matter of degrees. The so-called Light was little better; dogmatic adherence to principles, inability to adapt, and contemplation rather than action would be just as lethal as sociopathy in the end. Ultimately, the Force was not good or evil but just power, one that destroyed those without the ability to control it. In addition to those self-destructive tendencies, it would also make me a target - either for Sidious or for others. Last but certainly not least, if orphans in Outer Rim worlds that had not seen a Jedi in generations somehow found themselves involved in galactic affairs, a merchant princess that was already involved would have no chance of running away whatsoever. I bet that if I somehow commandeered a ship and tried to get lost in Wild Space, the hyperdrive would malfunction and I'd drop out of hyper, on top of some judiciary cruiser full of Jedi... or Count Dooku's personal yacht.

So all the hours spent in the Bacta tank were a time of reflection. Not meditation, trying to strangle my emotions as the Jedi of this era did; that would make me a little better than a droid. Nor gleeful basking in the chaos I'd already caused; that would have me thinking that ramming the Doughnut to Coruscant at half the speed of light was the best way to remove all my potential opponents at once. Instead, I reviewed my actions, remembered how terrified, furious, and irrational I'd been, how disgust and horror the deaths had me losing my lunch and given me nightmares, and... tried to accept. That I couldn't have done better, not with what I knew then. That they were necessary for my new family's survival. That more violence would occur in the future whether I was involved or not. That doing nothing would not avert the deaths of trillions in the coming war, and others more distant. I tried to accept, and see where I could do better next time.

Several days later, my nightmares had not miraculously vanished. I saw them less as nightmares and more as reflecting on the past to improve the future.