(no subject)

Atton frowned at the computer, pointedly ignoring the hole in the side of his ship, and the wreckage of the old computer. After the ninth read-through, he reluctantly pressed the ‘send’ key, resisting the urge to blow up this computer too as a chirpy theme started to play.

Thankfully for all parties involved, the tune stopped after several seconds.

- Lyman.

Right. I thought I’d send a message instead of going to see you personally - You did say you didn’t want to see me again, after all.

I’m not sure where to start this. So, right, okay. I’m not after your money - Do you even have any money? No offense, but you’re on a backwater planet and your paychecks come from the Ithorians, and everyone knows they’re the worst employers in the galaxy, and that they pay as low a wages as possible.

And there are loads of rich business-sentients out there who’ve lost family members, right? Loads who never got bodies, and probably wouldn’t recognise said family. If I wanted to con someone into getting money, I’d go to them, not you. I have some common sense, you know.

And they’d be senile, too, if I got them old enough. And you’re not senile, right? Just a stubborn kriffer who likes yelling a lot.

So, I’m not a conman, okay? Alright, I am, probably should come out with that right now so that you don’t go digging up stuff about me and find I’ve been lying. But I’m not trying to con you. Really.

I know that Republic records has me marked down as missing in action. But records’ve been wrong before.

Just wanted to get that out there. I’m not trying to con you.

And I didn’t even steal any of the nice trinkets scattered around your apartment, I think that shows remarkable self restraint.

- J.

Atton waited. After fifteen minutes, he started pacing. After forty-five minutes he started running diagnostics and fiddling with the engines. A whole two hours later, the computer whistled. Atton stopped himself from leaping on it and opening the message as quickly as possible.

He quietly sipped his caffa, resolving to finish it, and, after a quick glance revealed that it was still half full, poured it down the nearest drain instead and dashed to the computer.

- Whoever you are.

Alright. So, assuming this isn’t just some elaborate trick, and you really are my brother - Why now? Why haven’t you tracked me down before, I’ve hardly been making myself difficult to find. I looked for you. Even if I didn’t find you, even if all I found were the records of a pilot who was supposed to have died at Malachor V, I at least tried. Did you? Or did you just abandon me?

And now, I have a job, friends, a fiancee, a perfectly happy life that doesn’t involve you, and you come and mess things up. Make things difficult. You’re years too late.

And who are you, anyway? You have a fake name, an identity for whom there aren’t any records for stretching back further than, what, three or four or five years? You’re marked missing in action, and despite the fact that you’re supposedly alive, you never told the Republic. What, did it slip your mind? Are you Jaq Tae or Atton Rand?

I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here.

- L.

P.S: Not stealing doesn’t show any self restraint at all.

Atton frowned, running a hand through his hair and hastily writing up a response. It was done pretty quickly, and Atton didn’t bother editing it. It didn’t occur to him.

- Lyman.

I’m both. They’re just names, after all.

I didn’t look for you at all, it didn’t even occur to me to try. I assumed you died, forgot about you, and went to war first chance I got. Everyone makes mistakes, I suppose. And maybe I shouldn’t be trying to worm my way into your life, but I think it’d be another mistake if I didn’t try, you know?

I didn’t tell the Republic I was alive because I never returned to the Republic. I followed Revan, and became a killer for the Sith, instead. And when I deserted them, too (moral reasons, I might add), I changed my name to hide from them.

You’ll probably hate me even more now. But risks smisks, right? Not much else I could do except tell you.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to achieve here, either, to be honest. But I don’t want to just leave.

- J.

P.S: It does if you’re me.

Atton waited. Two hours, three hours, four hours, and no response came. He considered sending another message, considered going to see him, and dismissed them both.

Eventually the caffa ran out, and shortly after that, so did Atton’s energy. And the bunk wasn’t soft, or warm, but it was at almost comfy, and he didn’t have to worry while he was asleep.