JEDI HoloNet

She was trapped. As she tightly clutched the credit chips in her webbed hands, it dawned on her. She was being mugged. Again. Her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and her gills began to twitch. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a hulking gang of Gamorreans, all standing cross-armed, glaring at her. She knew it was her fault. She had been in this exact situation just under a year ago. Why did she not remember? When would she learn?

“Kark it,” she sighed as she shoved the credits into the outstretched hand of the young Human boy in front of her.

The boy accepted the credits from the Mon Calamari with a nervous smile, stating, “Thank you for choosing the Ringed Moon Cantina for your pre-flight refreshment.”

After placing the credits in the till, the boy took a moment to watch the Mon Calamari shuffle off with her Iloh Pale Ale. He continued to study her as she stopped to check one of the departure boards dotted around the cantina. He knew it was expensive, but the Ringed Moon was still the cheapest cantina at the Coruscant Central spaceport.

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the three large Gamorreans slamming their credits down on the counter. Three Mud Horn Meads. He indicated it would take a while, and he would bring them directly to their table.

As the viscous grey sludge slowly oozed out of the spout into the first cask, Miro looked out across the cantina, spotting his Neimoidian father clearing tables, his Duros aunt serving drinks, and his Duro-Neimo grandfather tweaking a broken holoboard with his hydrospanner.

He had been abandoned at the Ringed Moon Cantina nearly nine years previously, left on the baby changer in the refresher. Sending him to an orphanage was never an option for the My’morim family, so they had raised him alongside their Duros-Neimoidian children. Miro naturally stood out from his siblings, a human amongst the pack. Despite the routine jokes that he had grown up to be the most Duros-Neimo looking human in the galaxy, Miro was always self-conscious about his identity. He knew he was incredibly lucky and was grateful for his parents. He felt it disrespectful to ruminate too much on his birth parents, although, from time to time, he did wonder if they ever returned to the Ringed Moon to check on him from afar.

Placing the second cask under the tap, a yell from the kitchen broke his train of thought. His mother needed service. He glanced about, hoping someone else would be available to serve. He felt a pang of anxiety; it was going to have to be him. Growing up and living in the chaotic 24-hour cantina meant that he ought to be confident and outgoing like his siblings, but truth be told, he found the chaos made it easier to hide and go unnoticed.

As the final cask was being poured, his mind wandered back to the Mon Calamari he had just served. Where was she going? Who was she? What were her dreams? I’ll write about her tonight, he decided. Writing stories about the patrons that breezed through the Ringed Moon was his favourite pastime, using his imagination to picture the galaxy on the other side of the check-in gates.

Miro scooped up the three large casks, the sludge-like mead clinging to the glass. Swinging by the kitchen hatch, he collected the portion of fried dianoga rings that sat on the pass. He made his way across the cantina floor, deftly dodging a rowdy Zeltron bachelor party enthusing about gambling their money away on Canto Bight.

He placed the casks on the table, ignoring the small tip the Gamorreans had left. Just left with the dianoga rings, he spotted the hooded figure sat in the corner. Approaching them, he dropped the portion onto the table with a curt and polite nod.

“How did you know it was me?”

Miro froze, not answering, anxious under the piercing gaze from underneath the hood.

“I watched you,” the gentle voice said. “You didn’t even look at what table that food was for.”

Miro didn’t reply. Instead, he hurried off back to the safety of the bar. It wasn’t unusual for him to just know where orders went; he never really had to look, he just knew, and seeing as he was never wrong, it had never been noticed.

He peeked out from behind the bar and watched as the figure stood up and approached his father. A quiet conversation ensued, one that he couldn’t hear but felt its significance.

He didn’t fully understand what happened next. Discussions held in spare moments between service, whispers about some untapped potential. Finally, he was informed by his family he would be going to the Duneeden Temple to train to become a Jedi.

Most would have been disappointed; Duneeden was only a short hop from Coruscant, but to him, it might as well have been the other side of the galaxy. As he packed his few belongings, he took one last look around the cantina. The Ringed Moon had been his sanctuary, a place of chaos and comfort. The cantina would continue to bustle with life in his absence, but for now, Miro’s own life was just beginning.