Of Smoke and Stardust [[COMPLETE]]]

CHAPTER 10-PARKER

            Parker rubbed at his neck and shoulders, uttering a slew of curses. From everyone he's met so far, it seemed the primary requirement to be a Hawk was to be angry and abusive.

After cleaning up his face with some random bandages and alcohol swabs he grabbed from a drawer, he poked his head out of the infirmary door. There was only one staircase that led up and a small corridor stretching behind it—most likely that lead to the engines below.

He took in a deep breath and started upstairs. After Zion and Alya left, no one else came to claim him or shove him into a cell, but he was still cautious. Zion didn't completely agree to his proposal; he could still toss him back into prison.

He made his way up the stairs, slowly; trudging up each step like it was a death walk. When he got to the top of the stairs, he scanned the different hallways. The walls were painted in off-white and grey, with strips of motion-sensing lights lining both sides of the floor where it met the walls. Parker's eyes scanned over the walls, looking for a floor map.

"Of course," he mumbled to himself, when there was none to be seen. "Sense of direction, don't fail me now." He followed his instincts down the hallway to the left, and only made it halfway before an announcement echoed around him—the captain's voice—that the ship would be docking shortly. Parker noted that his voice was rough. Guilt churned in his gut.

Zion hadn't announced where they were docking. It could have been a nearby planet, or an intergalactic business transportation hub. It could have been a shitty refueling station. Clever of the captain, since the prisoners and himself were listening...

Parker's limbs iced over. The fear of the Hawks charging down the corridors after him, and being thrown into the same hell he escaped, sent panic racing through his body. He stood there, frozen, listening, waiting. But there was no stomping of boots, or shouts. No one was coming after him.

He relaxed, only a bit, and continued down the hall, keeping close to one side of the wall, just in case.

Eventually, he came to a door with a window in the center. Next to the open lock was a small plaque that read "surplus storage." Parker peeked in and a grin instantly lit his face up. Attentively, he pressed a red button on the keypad. It opened with a whoosh of stale air. He shouldn't have been surprised. Why would they need to lock up extra uniforms on a Hawk's ship?

Quickly, he snuck into the room and shut the door behind him. He was still barefoot, dirty and had only the old prison uniform on. He scanned over the shelves of uniforms; his eyes landing on the far back shelf of boots.

His toes wiggled with anticipation. If he was going to go back to prison, the least they could give him was a pair of shoes. Parker looked them over and found the perfect pair at the far end of a rack. They were charcoal, sturdy, work boots; not quite regulated military combat boots, but more like curb stomping boots. Next to it, he found a box of brand new socks and yanked them on, followed by the boots with a pleased grin. They were perfect.

He snuck back out, letting the door close after him and continued down the passage. Just as he made it to a large landing with a metal railing, overlooking what seemed to be a loading area, another announcement rumbled—this time the voice thick with an Ethrakian accent—that they were docking.  Parker made his way to the railing and leaned over. The prisoners who made it onto the ship stood in a line, waiting. Zion and Rowan had positioned themselves at the door. Rowan had a nice blaster strapped to his back that might not have been solely for show. Zion looked up, right at Parker. He did not look happy.