My contacts in the old cluster have grown deathly quiet since the end of the war. During my darkest nights I dream that my faceless old friends in the resistance are dead. Negative thinking never got me anywhere so I always try to shake them off. After the days travels throughout the Contingent I always go back to scanning the old channels. Hoping for a certain kind of static that belies a message of hope, or a cry for help. One night-cycle I had just about finished scanning for the day and was reaching to power the Battle of Baham's receivers down when I heard the static I was looking for. It was just a dull hiss but to my trained ears it was like a clutch-mother singing to a new group of hatchlings. I locked onto the signal and the Baham's specially programmed computer turned vague lines of archaic code into a message.
3Last Message. 8Package for you. 6Z University. 3Two Cycles.
The message itself was laughably coded, but it didn't need to be indecipherable as nobody would even think to be looking on such an anchient band of transmission anyway.
HW 3-863. The Soul Reaper's Academy.
The trip to HW didn't take two cycles so I had a fair amount of time to kill. I got to know a few over priced robots and tried to blend in amongst the vagrants that frequented the Soul Reaper Academy's public areas. One evening after a particularly harsh bout with a Z-16 fighter I was sitting in a dimly lit pub enjoying some Rotanevi liquor with no flavor and I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I looked over my shoulder and found myself tail deep in the biggest darkest female eyes I had ever seen in my life. She was smaller than a typical Keldon female and she had red marks on her scales not dissimilar to my own.
"I am Luna Fuwuyothi formerly of Urlafa but now a refugee with no home. My friends and family have all perished so I could live and bring you this."
She held out her hand and showed me a small droid module.
"You had gods damned better be worth it."
