Avon boarded the ship, J-6 and Vernestra on either side. Avon couldn’t help but stare at the lightsaber on Vernestra’s hip. The weapon was powered by a kyber crystal. She’d heard amazing things about them, and the one time she’d seen the Jedi use her lightsaber, the blade had glowed purple with pure energy. Avon had tried to talk Vernestra into letting her examine it more closely, but the older girl had politely refused.

“A Jedi and her kyber are linked through the Force. It sings to me and my spirit returns that call. It’s not a mere energy crystal, Avon. I am sorry. But no.”

Avon had decided long ago the worst thing about Vernestra was how aggravatingly nice she was. Always apologizing to Avon when she told her no. It was almost as bad as J-6’s constant nagging about her clothes.

“Mistress Avon, we must retire to the cabin set aside for you and prepare for dinner. I also have a dress for you that your mother sent along. It will be perfect for the dedication of Starlight, but it has to be altered before we get there,” the droid said, all rose-gold annoyance.

“Yes, that is a good idea,” Vernestra said. “Although, you should have a good bit of time to alter the dress. Master Douglas said that because of the recent hyperspace disasters we will be spending more time traveling by sublight until we can get to a safe jump point mid-system, and then entering lightspeed to continue our journey. So it would probably be a good idea to get comfortable since we’ll be aboard for a long while.”

“Oh, that is a delight to hear. This ship is state-of-the-art, unrivaled luxury,” J-6 said, her mechanical voice lilting with joy. “I cannot wait to plug in and update my programming. And it’s been so long since anyone oiled my sockets.” The droid gave Avon a meaningful look, and the girl snorted.

“Last time I tried to give you an upgrade you freaked out.”

“That is because you added an entire dictionary’s worth of Aqualish curse words to my lexicon! You are a terrible child who is ungrateful and mean.”

Avon grinned, because there was no real heat to J-6’s words. “Yeah, but think about how great it was when those wine haulers came through and you tried to greet their captain. I didn’t even know the Aqualish had a sense of humor, but that crew almost passed out from laughing so hard.”

Vernestra’s pale green skin darkened several shades, and her dark eyebrows shot so far up her head that they almost reached her hairline. “So that’s why Master Douglas had to come down to the docking bay and break up a fight amongst the Aqualish. And they weren’t laughing, Avon! Those whistles were Aqualish sounds of challenge. Och, one of these days your mischief is going to have real consequences.”

Avon shrugged and waved away Vernestra’s admonishment. “Whatever, Vern. You still in charge of making sure I show up to things on this trip?” Avon had planned on staying back at Port Haileap. With the Jedi off to Coruscant and out of the way (the Force always seemed to tell on Avon long before sensors and droid guards did), she’d been planning on finally finishing her latest invention, antigravity shoe inserts. But then J-6 had started packing up her room and said that they were traveling to Starlight Beacon with the diplomatic envoy from Dalna. The only upside was that Vernestra had been stuck with babysitting duty, which meant that maybe Avon would get to see the Jedi’s lightsaber again.

“Avon, you are old enough to get to dinner on your own,” Vernestra said with a friendly smile, the crinkling of her eyes compressing the designs in the outside corners. Like most Mirialans, Vernestra bore the markings of her family, six tiny black diamonds stacked in two rows of three on the outside corner of each eye. “I’m here to keep you and the ambassador’s son safe, not chase you from task to task. At your age I was a Padawan traveling the galaxy with my master. Dressing for a meal surely cannot be beyond your ability.”

Avon scowled at Vernestra. “That was only like two years ago. Stop acting like you’re so mature,” she muttered, realizing full well that talking back was the opposite of being grown-up about the matter.

Ugh.

Vernestra didn’t seem to mind. She gave a wave and disappeared down the corridor to find her room. Avon turned to J-6.

“I suppose you know where we’re staying?”

“Of course, Mistress Avon. That is my job, is it not?”

Avon turned and followed J-6, a little of her bad mood melting away. J-6’s response had been less than cordial, and while most would find that distasteful in a protocol droid, Avon was intrigued. A month before, she had uploaded a slow-acting code along with the lexicon of swears (there had been half a dozen) that would gradually strip away the factory programming and let J-6 in essence reprogram herself. Avon had always disliked how droid personalities seemed to be hardwired when they were built, and it seemed fairer to let J-6 decide what kind of droid she wanted to be.

Avon was hoping it was something more interesting than someone who cared way too much about etiquette.

They turned the corner to another corridor, and a human-looking woman with bright pink hair and a pair of greasy coveralls came running toward them. She was so busy looking over her shoulder that she didn’t notice Avon and J-6, and before Avon could call out a warning, the woman ran right into the protocol droid.

J-6 did not move, but the woman went stumbling backward before landing hard on her rear end. It was pretty funny, and Avon couldn’t help letting out a little laugh.

“Are you okay?” Avon asked. The woman jumped to her feet, refusing to meet Avon’s eyes. She had a piece of silver wire woven around her lip, the metal piercing the skin several times like it had been stitched into her face. It was a strange sight, and reminded Avon a bit of how the Mon Calamari liked to hang beads and other jewels from their barbels, those whiskers that grew around their mouths. It was fascinating, and Avon wanted to ask the woman if setting the wire in her face hurt, but the woman’s fierce expression didn’t exactly invite conversation.

“I’m fine,” the woman spit out. “You should teach your droid to watch where it’s going.”

“And you should actually watch where you are going,” J-6 said, and Avon’s breath hitched. Oh, that was definitely not part of the droid’s original protocol programming.

Excellent, this would require further observation.

The pink-haired woman said nothing else, just continued off in the direction she’d been headed. Avon and J-6 went to their quarters to prepare for dinner, the incident quickly forgotten by both the girl and her droid.