The connection was terminated and Loki was left staring at the blank screen turning over a trio of thoughts: Dantooine. Two Days. The Lucky Pirate.
Forty-two hours, one stolen library card, two cold meals, and a long-haul interstellar journey in a cargohold full of livestock later...
Loki was on Dantooine. He found himself at a small outpost in the heart of nowhere. A tall perimeter fence flanked the lone port and the few buildings nestled around it and beyond was a vast expanse of crimson flats and fields of yellow ochre. He took in the night air, a concotion of engine fumes and fried meat, and winded through a small cluster of down-and-outs gathered around a stack of flour sacks. A farmer scaled the sacks and hand-picked his workforce, those left behind dispersed and shambled to the nearest source of shelter from the rain.
Then he saw it, The Lucky Pirate, written in blue lights above a door to one of the larger buildings. He hurried inside and dusted the water from his hair. Looking thoroughly unremarkable, he crossed the room taking note of the men lined up at the bar and the sight of heavily-liquored punters slumped in a corner leering at a half-naked woman dancing on their table in soft pink light. Loki scowled and hoped he'd encounter the mystery woman he'd spoken to days previous sooner than later. Suddenly, he was spun around on the spot, a heavy hand clamped upon his shoulder, and was presented with a tray of colourful beverages. It was forced into his open hands.
"Oi kid, I don't pay you to loiter! Table Six!"
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