“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck.”

-Obi-Wan Kenobi.

//System Location: Christophsis System, Aboard the (LH-3010) Captal Freighter Class Lucerhulk: Necessity

//System Date: 0:1:12(ReSync)

The fine line to the price of obedience and risk of treachery was something that was taught early on in Neimodian culture. As a species that produced 'Grubs' that stayed in that state until roughly the age of seven, and forcibly kept together with inadequate food to force them to become increasingly treacherous in order to produce the kinds of adults that they believed would be the best able to survive the galaxy. But in the absence of a facility, and the difference in species, the crew of the Necessity had relied on alternatives instead of raising their youngest and only non-neimoidian member. The fact that she was now roughly thirteen years of age and still kicking was nothing short of a miracle. To say it was also brutal was an understatement.

The life aboard the Necessity was double sided as far back as the child could remember. 'The Carrot and The Stick' they called it, but so very few carrots were ever actually given. She dwelled on the harsh lessons of self sufficiency, food wasn't a given. After she reached five years of age, each meal became a battle. Be it stealing a roll of bread from a tray and running while scarfing it down, or sneaking into the kitchen in the midnight hours to beg scraps from the droid cooks. Each week was ever unstable, and Zona remembered many such nights of being unable to eat at all. The result was a skinny frame as she entered her pre-teens, and an ever growing sense of need and a constant pain of hunger in her stomach.

If that was all, it might have been alright, but as she hit the age of seven more was added on. Education. Lessons. Analysis and protocol droids became teachers of math and language when they weren't busy, and when it was proven that she had a knack for technical work, she added engineering of both starship and droid repair to her list of learning subjects as well galactic economics and neimoidian history on top of far more numerous boring subjects subjected to her by her 'Father', as Yunuva declared themselves. Whom of which, the young Lepi wasn't sure what to think of.

Of all the Neimodians, the big honcho himself seemed to be the closest thing to comfort she could find. Other neimoidians talked softly around the big man. His figure was wide, almost jolly if it wasn't for a perpetual scowl that coated his face and the yellow eyes stained with black cracks that went along his folds. She had only seen his face once, for he kept a mask as part of his style these days, but the way his mere presence caused discomfort among the many mechanics and economic scholars of the Necessity was awe inspiring for the young Lepi. Which wasn't to mention one of the other small benefits that being nearby in the core of the Lucerhulk provided.

Being in or near their presence made the headaches stop, and it seemed the further away she was from Yunuva's presence, the more she suffered. Yet during her few meetings with him he had showed wondrous powers beyond her understanding, and not only punished her, but rewarded her too. It made her wonder if he was truly different, for the mere gentle touch of a hand atop her head was more kindness than she could recall ever from another of the crew, save the droids. At least the droids never engaged in a bit of ear pulling or rough handling that left bruises on her.

The fur helped, at least against blows of the body. But learning droid maintenance had forced a required trimming. Black poorly kept fur was tangled and knotted up till one reached the arms, where they were kept short to the point where the skin was visible beneath the fur. Zona wished desperately that they had gloves fit for her, but Neimodians did not have fur, and thus didn't need nor have the gloves required for her to work in comfort. She supposed that it was lucky at all that she kept the pads on her hands, given the low effort attempts at suggesting they be removed to match closer to Neimodian hands. Yunuva's objection to that was one of the many reasons the strange fat neimoidian was her favorite person on the ship, not that there was a long list of those.

So between the work of learning three languages, countless subjects, and scheming on how she would get her next meal, bruises from the beatings, and 'earning her keep' by repairing droids and starships in the Necessity's hangers, It was little surprise that what little remained of her time was dedicated to...

Zona awoke from the dream vaguely aware that someone was coming before she could even hear the footsteps. It was the same dream again. Colored clouds of sickly green circling around a black storm that seemed to suck them in one by one. The fleeting thought slowly driven from her mind as she stretched. Her back was sore from her chosen perch, but no one ever came up here, at least not regularly. It had been the same senseless dream, of colored clouds of sickly green rolling beneath a storm of tempest red. The rabbit's head rose from its perilous bed, ears hanging in the hanger air. Black fur was hard to spot thankfully among the ceiling of the hanger, though that didn't stop her 'bed' from worrying incessantly as the droid chirped.

Napping on a Vulture Droid mounted to the ceiling was definitely against regulations, but made for the most peaceful hiding spot yet. The spot between the vulture's legs and her mechanics coat made a perfect place to rest one's legs and head if you didn't mind balancing on a thin beam that was the back rim of the vulture's body. She cheated though. Mag clamps were a perfect tool to tie oneself down and not 'roll off' to certain death hundreds of feet below, and despite itself, the droid that had brought her up there against its own protests had worried constantly in the cute chirps of Binary till she had fallen asleep. Though at some point she had lost her coat to the distant hanger floor below, as a familiar and unwelcome sight came marching across the hanger floor, the faint sounds of polished metal shoes clanking and echoing across the sealed hanger space ever so faintly.

Zev was here, her 'Sitter', at least when it came to work related tasks. Immediately the bunny rose to a sit, wary of looking idle as Zen's voice carried across the hanger, "Zona. Come out right this instant. You better not be slacking off, Yunuva wanted those Vultures repaired as of last week! You also have a repulsor lift to check out in the neighboring hangar!"

The rabbit sighed, part of her wished the secret spot was a bit more secret, but it's time had come to an end she thought. Mayhaps another vulture droid might entertain the idea, but she leaned down as the still active starfighter tilted its head up at her inquisitively, "Yeah, yeah I know, V-83b. It'll only get worse if I stall it. Thanks for letting me have some peace and quiet, yeah?" Zona straightened herself out, as she adjusted the clamps, "Mind bringing me down?"

[[Roger Roger. If you want me to kick him, I will.]] The Vulture chirped in binary.

Learning binary was perhaps the best thing she had gained thus far aboard. Astromechs were full of gossip, and understanding the chirps of the vultures made maintaining them a breeze as they voiced their system issues. Zona reached down with a booted foot to pat the Vulture droid as both her hands clung onto the clamps, "Maybe next time buddy. I wouldn't want you to get a memory reset on my account."

The vulture nodded, as the tell tale sign of the hum of its engine and the release of its docking clamps caused it to begin to descend. For its part, V-83b got some satisfaction out of the sudden landing in front of her neimoidian mechanic counterpart. Cursing and jumping back as the Vulture reoriented and landed within a second, staring them down as Zona slid down its chassis and then its legs, clamps slowing her descent, "I'm here... I was checking the docking clamps with this guy's complaints about a loose connection. It's all fixed up now." Zona lied smoothly, to the affirmative chirps of her co-conspirator.

When he recovered from his own minor heart attack, Zevs anger became more evident as they turned to ignore the vulture droid and focus on her, a datapad clutched in his arms coming down with a painful bonk on her head, "I do not care about a docking clamp, I want a status report on the repair work you were assigned."

"I completed the job, and worked on additional repair projects with the time left over." Zona told partly the truth as she rubbed her head, the pain was unpleasant, but not nearly as hard as what she was used to. The work was done, and properly so, but she had spent the remaining time 'repairing' her lack of sleep. Work on a several mile long ship was endless, and the ship didn't have nearly enough Astromechs or repair droids to maintain the entire ship. Appearing busy was easier than being sent on one task after another until collapse, and gave her a chance to scheme how best to get her next meal.

Perhaps the second wack was warranted as Zev bonked her again with the datapad, "Your coat has been on the floor for the last two hours, try again."

Zev revealed the security recording of her coat falling to the ground with a timestamp highlighted in a corner, before hooking the datapad onto their belt, and crossing his arms with a larger frown than usual. Red eyes furrowed in anger.

"It was a really... Um stubborn loose clamp? Have you ever tried tightening a clamp while riding a vulture that's attached to it? The crew still doesn't allow me to ride a hover platform or want to teach me to drive a STAP recon platform, how else am I supposed to get up there?" Zona protested, and Zev shuddered at the thought.

"STAPS emit lethal amounts of radiation back upon their driver, the only ones fit to drive those things are our droids. Even then, doing repair work atop one of those? You'd have to be insane! There's no safety features for organics on those things for a reason you menace. Unless you want to die a relatively slow and painful death, don't ride a STAP for any period of time, and if you do, get treated immediately, you hear? Or did you sleep through the part where we have to scrub those things and their drivers down between patrols so they don't start poisoning the crew?"

"That would explain the weird suits we were wearing the other month, here I was just thinking the mud they had on them was just super gross and you didn't want anything to do with it without a full suit on." Zona tried to distract them, and that partially worked.

Zev sighed, his fingers running down his forehead and the bridge between his eyes, as dark green wrinkles continued to furrow after the unpleasant memories, "I am still worried that I did not take enough precautions during disposal, and waxing those floors back to a clean polish took days, let alone stopping those droids from trailing mud everywhere else." Zev shuddered, but his glare returned, having caught on to what Zona was doing, "If all your tasks are done, go get a meal and report to Hanger J-6. I have a Droideka in need of a check up regarding its shield battery, and I know you've been all but dying to repair one of the Colicoid designed security droids. If you behave, today may be one of those days."

"I have already worked on a Bio Cannon droid and a Hunter-Seek-." Zona recalled, only to get flicked on the nose by Zev and wince, grabbing at her own face.

"Bio Cannons are a form of tank, and Hunter-Seekers are classified as Starfighters on their design documents, droid brain or no." Zev argued semantics as the black furred bunny hid her pout beneath her hands as she now rubbed her own nose, "Now go, before I assign you an entire regiment of the old HKB-3 droids to do maintenance on."

"Roger, roger!" Zona squeaked, before she started to double time it out of there, only turning to run backwards as she gave a brief wave to the staring vulture droid, which for its part tilted its head before moving to quite clearly glare at Zev, the red lights on its eyes dimming slightly. Zev didn't notice the glare behind him as he rolled his own eyes, and by the time he turned to address the Vulture, it was already back in its rack on the ceiling. The mechanic looked upwards, and sighed, before taking back out his datapad and tapping away as Zona ran out of the hanger.

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The halls of The Necessity were monotonous and long, an easy structure to get lost in unless one had lived in it for a significant period of time. But the real trick to getting from place to place wasn't memorization, it was dealing with the people along the path you took, or taking a path that avoided them all together. The downside was that the routes of people varied day to day. To counter this? There were three tactics she employed.

The first? Keep a brisk pace. Zona never stooped below a jog and kept a look of concentration on her face. The crew was less likely to stop her, add chores, and be outright bullies if it looked like she was already busy with another important job. Even if it left her legs sore to keep up the pace running across the multi-mile long ship day to day. The second tactic she applied was to check any corner before turning into it, unless doing so would slow her pace in front of another member of the crew. Too often she had found members of the various departments loitering in the halls almost as if waiting for her to pass by, and navigating for empty hallways was a challenge for both instinct and her hearing.

The crew, as a large percentage, tended to look for any excuse to be mean. Zona didn't really fully understand why, but she supposed it was to toughen her up. At least Yunuva said that, though it didn't make the beatings any more pleasant when they noticed an oil stain on her standard jumpsuit, or her fur just slightly at the wrong angle from laying on the floor to work on a Scarab fighter's power couplings. Some, such as the engineers like Zev, took it easy on her. Only a firm bonk with a datapad, or at worst a light shock to remind her to mind her workspace, but what of the other groups among the ship?

Zona took a sharp right as she could hear the tell tale click and chatter head, moving to hurriedly climb a ladder in a maintenance hatchway and up onto another floor to avoid the bureaucrats ahead. She didn't like them, acting with glib tongues and endless praise for Yunuva, but alone, they treated her little more than an insect or toy. At the best case? They'd use the Electro-whips and she'd collapse from pain for the mere offense of being 'in the presence of her betters' instead of 'out of sight'. She hated them. She hated the apparent Zygerrians who had apparently invented them, as well as the continued fact that one of the few consistent facts that Yunuva approved of their training whenever they could fit it into their busy schedule. The hate stemmed from being on the receiving end more than once, and the fact that if they saw her, she instantly became target practice in an attempt to earn Yunuva's favor.

Her stomach ached, her nose was dry, and her mind drifted back to the subject of food. The third part of her sacred three rules of navigating the ship was to have at least five routes prepared to reach any destination. The problem was she had no idea where to go to eat. There was the mess hall... If she wanted to get challenged to a non-consensual round of gambling over her food until she lost it all, or get bullied out of the majority of it. She never went there except during a small window of time when no one was at the mess, and given Zev had bothered her? That meant the engineering crew was done with lunch, and the second shift of security forces would be heading off and into the mess hall. Security was the second worst from the lot, thinking it a favor to use clubs against a little bunny like her was overkill, no matter what Yunuva said.

With the mess hall out, that left Zona with one of two options. Wait till the night, and get punished for not eating when her stomach inevitably rumbled over the next task, or...

Zona detoured to one of the more out of the way break rooms, hoping her luck was good enough. Brown and gray halls, signs written in the native pak-pak language, and as she approached the automated door, she hesitated before placing an ear against it. What she was going to do would get her in trouble if discovered, but that was the way of things. Get caught? Punishment. Don't take care of yourself? Larger punishment. She was still wearing her toolbelt, but when she reached down it wasn't to grab a tool, but rather access a hidden compartment. Right where one of her pouches began, she had worn a small hole into the sturdy leather with a knife, that'd only be noticeable if the belt was taken off. The toolbelt itself was made for larger men, and fit ill across her thin waist, but improvisation had made it hers and hers alone. Only she knew that there was a slit between two layers of leather that had just enough space to store a small identification chip that she had 'Borrowed' a month before from an unattended console on the upper levels.

The hiss of the door opening as she scanned it against the access pad was relieving in itself, but as she entered one of the few carpeted rooms in the necessity, she suddenly froze in place, alarmed. Laying in a lounge seat, was a member of security, and one she recognized. Sitting, or rather laying against a plush seat that Zona direly wished she could steal and add to her quarters, was Remm 'Stone Face' Huenaor. Zona's breath caught, as 'Stone Face' Remm was quite possibly the worst member of security she could have had the chance of running across, given the fact that Remm was not only the Head of Security, but a former Neimoidian Royal Guard, if the rumors were to be believed. The kind of Neimodian who little black bunny girls shouldn't anger with criminal trespass, let alone be within thirty meters of him. She once witnessed him send another guard aboard flying across the mess hall in an arm wrestling contest, and of the crew Yunuva valued, it was often Remm's words of caution that he valued most!

Her heart slowly retreated from her mouth as nothing else changed in the room, only then did she note that the well armored Neimodian was making like a Krayt dragon. His eyes were shut, at least, and he was breathing deeply. Zona swallowed, and took a quiet breath, attempting to recalculate her next course of action. The vending machine she had been aiming to use was right there, across the room. But if he woke up, she'd be screwed. Zona debated leaving, but the next break room was further away, and wasn't guaranteed to be empty either. Taking another deep breath, she finished weighing the risks, and made her decision.

Every day had risks. She knew this. It didn't make it any easier, but there was always worse fates. The chance to avoid punishment was there; she just had to be smart about this.Slowly, Zona moved to undo her shoes. No matter how softly she could step, the magnetic boots meant to clamp and keep her from being blown out a hanger if the shield went down would clank happily on any flooring, and sweaty fur with the beans of her toes would be infinitely quieter in every single regard. As she crouched down and removed the boot, she frowned at the faint smell coming from them. She blamed a lack of socks, personally. Neimodian footwear fit her poorly, with far too much space in the toes, and too narrow besides.

At least she got to feel the soft carpet. Another envious sensation. Her toes practically wanted to dig themselves into the soft embrace of the coarse threads, but she resisted. She was in the room with a blue armored sleeping Neimoidian of whom she had no idea when they might wake up. Instead she took slow steady steps across the room. One foot in front of the other. Her gaze switched between the floor, and the stoic gray-blue skin of Remms face.

Stay asleep! Stay asleep! She quietly prayed, swallowing another mouthful of both nervousness and anticipation. Her ears were fully raised and tilted towards him, and in her concentration she could hear him breathe in his sleep. Steady long and slow drawn out breaths, evenly spaced. Remm was one of the most formal and heavily disciplined members of the crew, even the way he slept was orderly. Zona had to envy that, her own sleep was sporadic and prone to interruption, either from outside events or her own panic that someone might be coming. Her concentration was so focused on that, she almost noticed too late when her gaze turned, and she was less than an inch from kicking the side of the vending machine. She almost jumped, then and there, but frayed nerves managed to stay intact as she adjusted her toolbelt.

She wouldn't be able to pay for a ration, she wasn't paid, nor did she have a credit chit to withdraw funds from, but the bunny didn't need it. Instead, she quietly unfolded a bit of a homemade tool from her belt that she was allowed to keep specifically because it helped her on the job. The device was two old R1 astromech arms more or less fused together, and rewired so that it could be bent at the halfway point, and manipulated from the other end to grip or change out parts in hard to reach places. The manipulator hand was a small clamp, which didn't have much pressure, and if it was applied wrongly, Zona knew it would snap at the shaft. The use for it became clear as she fed one end of the arm into the deposit slot, and began to fiddle with it to try and lift a ration out of the pay walled slot. Thankfully, the vending machine was one of the old fashioned metal coil models, as the laser gradient versions were more expensive and thus only used with more expensive treats and snacks than the rough shod rations sold in the mid-ship break rooms.

She was still sweating beneath her fur though as the clanks and thuds of her arm struggled like a drunk pulled at what rations along the bottom two rows she could reach. None of them were loose, and whoever packed it had done a good job. Every minute or so, she would check behind her back towards the lounge, but Remm thankfully was still asleep, there was not even a change in the way he breathed. Something about that was odd, but Zona didn't know what. But after several minutes she was forced to give up as the arm started to break after unsuccessfully barely managing to get one bar only a tiny bit out of position.

She quietly cursed her lack of luck and skill, her gut was begging her to get even one crumb of the stuff inside, but if she broke the glass, or tried hacking the machine itself, surely Remm would wake up. Zona quietly placed her hand on the glass, between her and food, wiping off a bit of drool that had formed on her mouth from looking at those succulent treats denied. But froze as her stomach rumbled, a loud growl filling the quiet space. Her gaze snapped back towards Remm, as her heart skipped another beat.

Still asleep. The amount of panic that had just filled her chest told Zona she was done. She'd rather risk being chewed out by Zev across the next few hours and working on a bunch of the old HKB's than risk getting caught by Remm in a place she didn't belong messing with a machine she shouldn't have access to. Carefully, she stowed her tool, and began to sneak across the room, when she noticed something she previously hadn't.

There was a half eaten ration left on a small table against the wall at Remm's side, and her body paused again as she considered it. He was still breathing as deeply and evenly as before, but part of her instincts screamed not to go for it as she hesitated another step. He hadn't been disturbed so far, was he a deep sleeper? Zona inhaled, and held her breath as her path changed, one step, two. She was almost in arms reach of the soldier after the third, before she paused, the sense of danger slowly increasing as she stared at the sleeping figure of terror again. Another, slower and careful step, and all she would have to do is take it. He probably wouldn't even notice, half eaten, he might just assume he had eaten it all when he woke up...

Her hand half reached for it as she began another step, but paused. Something still wasn't right.

Zona stepped back the way she came, before making her way back to her boots, picking them up instead as she quietly left the room, closing the open door to the mess behind her. She'd beg for some scraps tonight from the mess droid if she had to. A few bonks from Zev wouldn't be that bad.

After the door shut, the gray Neimodian continued to breathe deeply, but cracked an eye open the shut door, his face a stone wall of a frown, a natural look of disapproval that hid the true thoughts behind it like a mask, it was only after he was sure the bunny had gone that spoke to himself, "How interesting." He would have to make a report to Yunuva that Zona was ready for the next step in her training. The rabbits' instincts were sharp, and their sense of judgment was sound. She might not have noticed the glue keeping the rations stuck in the machine, or that he was in fact in meditation rather than asleep... But everything else had been spot on. Today would mark a month since she was last caught in the halls. It was now time to push her into the next step.

Remm pressed a hand against his helmet, activating a hidden communicator within, "Yunuva, I believe your apprentice is ready."

It was only a few moments before he heard the response, "About time. Inform the crew and enact plan 'Rancor 1'." It was only with a slight bit of hesitation before Remm responded in turn, "As... You wish, my lord."

Remm could only wince as he got up and tossed the stale ration in the trash. Zona was going to have an unpleasant night sometime in the next week, even more so than usual. Sometimes he was wondering if they were pushing her too far, but according to Yunuva, if she were to become his apprentice... It would be required. He only hoped the once bright bunny that now resembled a scrapper from Tatooine would forgive them someday. But the security of the Necessity and its legacy years down the line would hopefully make up for the unpleasant business that his duty entailed.

Quietly he changed channels back to security and informed them, "Grek, Cannek, Retoc, Plan Rancor 1 is a go."

The fact the crew seemed to delight in it, left him even more worried for the future.