Saga - OT Stars In Their Multitudes, Book II: Sanctuary

Author: rktho
Title: Stars In Their Multitudes, Book II: Sanctuary
Era: Early OT era, spanning 11 BBY-6 BBY
Characters: Original characters: Ether Antilles, Leela, Tarkay, Mrs. Tarkay, Koss
Genre: Drama
Summary: With Com Narcom returned to prison, there is no one to rescue Leela from her horrible guardians, the Tarkays. Meanwhile, Leela awaits her salvation, unaware that her mother can no longer return for her.

Book I: Entrapment

Chapter 1: The Death of Com Narcom

Limhi Zeniff rubbed his silver temples, taking in everything Commissioner Praxon had just told him. The moff had been woken in the middle of the night with an urgent message from the sector commissioner, informing him that they had a Jedi in custody.

That would have been ponderous news enough. Then Praxon had explained who the Jedi was.

It was a convicted thief by the name of Com Narcom. But that was not the name by which Moff Zeniff knew him. Com Narcom was the true name of Minister Aberon Halmath.

A man Zeniff had appointed himself.

Aberon Halmath was a wealthy industrialist who had emerged some five years ago on the planet Montal. Zeniff had seen the good he brought to the world’s community and made him minister of industry and commerce. Before and after his appointment, he used his great means to provide aid to the poor and impoverished, working personally on Montal and funding relief efforts in the surrounding systems. He’d witnessed firsthand the prosperity Halmath’s philanthropy had brought to the world he had placed in his care. Halmath was the kindest, most generous man he had ever known.

Even learning his true identity had not changed that.

Zeniff had known a handful of Jedi in his time. They had all been good men and women. Hearing of their betrayal was no easier to swallow than to learn that Aberon Halmath was an impostor. He’d always wondered how they had betrayed the Republic. Certainly the Jedi might have been capable of a secret coup, but not any of the Jedi Zeniff had considered friends. Yet they had been executed all the same, before such a plan could be put into motion. Late at night, he often wondered:

What was their crime?

Aberon Halmath’s— Com Narcom’s— was assuming an alias to help people in need, and shedding that alias to save an innocent man.

Zeniff could hardly believe the incredible story even as he read the official HoloNet report. It was all true; Halmath was Narcom, and Narcom had risked his life to rescue a scapegoat from a wrongful conviction.

Commissioner Praxon’s only source on Com Narcom being a Jedi was the eyewitness account of one of his subordinate officers, a Clawdite named Inspector Koss, whose squad was responsible for Narcom’s capture. This inspector had entered the room alone and engaged in a scuffle, in which the inspector claimed Narcom had used his alleged Jedi powers to throw off his aim and then hurl him against the wall. This was the only evidence of Narcom’s connection to the Jedi they possessed; the search of Halmath’s residence and offices for hidden Jedi texts, artifacts, weapons or even apparel had yielded nothing, and Narcom himself had not said a word since he recovered consciousness— and no wonder, Zeniff thought with disgust, since Praxon said he had been hit with no less than four stun blasts at once.

No, if there was ever any truth to the claim that Com Narcom was a Jedi, it was in his compassion. His selflessness. His courage. Zeniff knew the Jedi, and if any man alive embodied their character, it was Aberon Halmath. And if Aberon Halmath had truly been no more than an alibi, then Com Narcom would never have come forward to reveal it. More than anything— especially the word of a single, likely concussed officer— that noble act alone proved to Limhi Zeniff that Com Narcom was a Jedi.

Protocol demanded he turn all Jedi over to the Inquisitorius.

Zeniff had only met an Imperial Inquisitor once. They had only spoken briefly, but even that small interaction had lingered in his nightmares.

If the Inquisitor who answered Zeniff’s summons observed Narcom and determined that Praxon’s officer had been correct, Narcom could be executed— or worse.

Zeniff looked over Inspector Koss’s report and ruled insufficient evidence.

Com Narcom was shipped off back to the vicinity of Trolorn, but not the prison moon itself. Since his release, a new satellite had been constructed around the gas giant Meissa, bringing the total to three: Trolorn, Diff, and now the combination penitentiary drydock known as the Meissa Installation. (Drydock is one of several nautical holdovers I’ve never understood. The starship is never any dryer than it was before it was docked. I’ve argued with my colleagues in the linguistics department many times that the term should be retired in reference to space installations, but they’re far less passionate about the subject than I’d think they would be.) Trolorn being overcrowded, the Empire began to slowly funnel the prisoners offworld and onto the space station.

Com continued to remain mute, retreating inwardly to ruminate, outsourcing control of his physical body to whoever happened to be giving orders. He had nothing. He was nothing. His final promise would go unfulfilled. Kaltha— Kaltha had trusted him to bring her daughter to a safe haven, and he had failed her. He would die with that failure on his conscience.

When Com was delivered to the Meissa prison he was given the designation 12387. As with his previous prison stint on Trolorn, he was assigned to make repairs on spacefaring vessels. At the Meissa station, however, the vessels were quite different. Com went from repairing light freighters to repairing light cruisers.

The Arquitens-class light cruiser was once a staple of the Republic military. After the Clone Wars, it was one of the few ship classes to enter regular Imperial service with minimal modifications, excluding a fair number which were recalled for extensive refitting. At first glance it appeared to be a miniature Star Destroyer, which it essentially was, but upon closer inspection one noticed that the middle of the foresection had been removed, creating a triangular prong shape. These prongs held docking clamps which could hold a complement of three TIE fighters or a Sentinel or Lambda-class shuttle.

Some ships received even more extensive upgrades.

The Artemis was among the first in a brand-new line of vessels designated the Class 546 command cruiser. Even more gargantuan than its predecessors, the width of its jaws was so great a Lambda craft could dock within the hangar proper. These new, far larger prongs exchanged the docking clamps for an accelerator tube from which an entire squadron of TIE fighters could be launched like bolts from a railgun. When dissidents over Jomark attacked the Artemis, the behemoth put its new prongs to the test. The vessel took a moderate beating in a sudden attack, but the insurgents were swiftly and totally defeated, and though the vessel suffered external wounds aplenty, the damage was all superficial.

That is, until one of the TIE pilots attempting to reenter the central hangar discovered too late that his craft had a malfunctioning stabilizer, consequently crashing into the inner side of the cruiser’s left prong. That accident caused more substantial damage than any caused by the light battering the warship had emerged from.

It was to the repair of the Artemis that Com Narcom was assigned to on the fateful day of the accident.

The work area, as with most Imperial work yards, was surrounded by a bubble with artificial gravity, simulating planetside conditions and eliminating the need for tethers. From the station’s tower the supervisors observed the prisoners at work. Orange specks swarmed over the grey and blackened surface of the vessel. Scaffolding was erected so as to allow access to the side, as it was easiest for the mounted generators to project the artificial gravity in one direction— downward relative to the station dock and the cruiser itself.

On the exterior of the cruiser, near the fore section, trooper JR-605 stood supervising the laborers, sighing boredly through his breathing tubes. He kept his eye on the mute prisoner with the shaggy whitish hair and short unkempt beard that was currently obscured by a vacuum mask. He’d heard about this prisoner. Back on Trolorn, before JR-605 had entered Imperial service, he had lifted the front of a carrier’s prow on his shoulders alone. JR-605 regretted that he had not been there to see it, but he had caught a glimpse of him before his release. Now he was back, and if the rumors were true, he had tossed a police officer through a wall— and not just any police officer, but good old “Frogeyes” Koss himself, the very same Clawdite who had been a guard on Trolorn a number of years ago when JR-605 was first deployed. JR-605 desperately wanted to ask him if it was true, but the prisoner seemed to have lost the ability to speak entirely.

A security droid patrolled the area, marching past the prisoners on its lanky black legs while staring down at them with a proportionally small hunched head. In its hand it held a mechanism capable of activating the shock collar on any given prisoner. It made JR-605 feel a little redundant, to be completely honest. At least they hadn’t given the lumbering tin can a blaster, or JR-605 wouldn’t have known what to do with himself.

Actually, seeing as there were currently no prisoners attempting to escape, that was already the case.

The stormtrooper cast an annoyed glare toward the shiny robotic enforcer before turning his gaze back to the mute prisoner. Wasn’t he supposed to be the guy who’d tried to escape five times? Everything JR-605 had heard about this Narcom had suggested he was some kind of powerhouse, but although his build was decently impressive, the man didn’t seem to have a single spark of energy left in him. How old was he supposed to be, fifty? JR-605 was pushing forty-five. He decided to stare at a different prisoner for a while before he got even more depressed than he already was.

Think I’ll yell at a couple of them to quit slacking, JR-605 thought, looking around the inky backdrop of orbit. Truthfully, he didn’t know enough about the prisoners’ assigned tasks to know what slacking off looked like, but it wasn’t like that it would make any difference.

As JR-605 made an effort to feel useful, one of the prisoners repairing the damage done by the errant TIE fighter, a Green Nikto with a missing right pinky, frowned, thinking the front left corner of the platform upon which he was standing was beginning to tip. That was when the end of the cable broke away from the platform’s faulty connector, sending the man sliding. He gave a panicked cry that attracted the attention of the listless JR-605, who rushed to the edge to see what had happened. He found the prisoner hanging from the corner of the platform by his fingers, pinky-lacking hand clinging for dear life and the other desperately trying to grab hold of the dangling platform as well so as to pull himself up. “Hopa!” the prisoner screamed. “Hopa jee, kolka!”

JR-605 blinked. He didn’t know the protocol for this.

“Hopa jee! Kickeeyuna!” the prisoner cried, bulbous black eyes bulging. “Jee koona ta nee choo!”

“Somebody help him!” cried one of the prisoners on the other prong. This was met with a pulse of his shock collar. Nevertheless a chorus rose up to save the imperiled man before the artificial gravity pulled him into the vacuum of space.

“Let me help him.” JR-605 turned around and to his shock saw Com Narcom staring fervently into his eyes. “Let me try and save him.”

“You can’t save him!” JR-605 replied as the Nikto’s screams grew increasingly more frantic. “I give him about five seconds before he loses his grip. No use wasting—”

JR-605 had no recollection of what happened next. What everyone else saw was Com Narcom wave a hand in front of the trooper’s face, or at least, that’s what they remembered it looking like. JR-605 then removed Narcom’s shock collar. Narcom began to descend the loose line.

Every prisoner and guard trooper gasped as they watched Narcom climb down the side of the prong toward the flailing wretch. The droids did not gasp, but a few sparks went off in their cranial circuits as they witnessed Narcom climb to the end of the detached cable. The prisoners on the other hanging platforms had the best view of what happened next.

The rescuer clung tight to the cable with his knees, swinging upside-down to free both his hands and take hold of the dangling Nikto. He caught the man’s free hand first, pulled him up a little, and took the other one. The entire gallery watched with bated breath as Narcom helped the Nikto grab hold of one of the cables that was still secured, and press his feet against the platform for balance. A cheer went up from the platforms and trickled upward to the other spectators.

Narcom looked up at the troopers, prisoners and droids who were staring over the edge at them. “Pull us up!”

The troopers at the top could not properly hear what he said from that distance, but they understood by context. One of them ordered the platform to be raised. JR-605 stood blankly staring ahead instead of downward at the scene like everyone else around him. The platform began to rise just as the supervisor’s voice crackled on one of the troopers’ comms. “Taskmaster, what is going on down there?” the supervisor demanded. “Why has everyone in sections A-1 through D-24 stopped working?”

“There’s been an accident, sir, but don’t worry,” said the trooper as human and Nikto emerged into view. “The situation has been resolved.”

The Nikto’s feet made contact with the surface of the cruiser’s exterior. He walked a few paces before promptly collapsing. Narcom, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble with the cable, which was swinging.

A trooper approached to help him just before Narcom lost his grip and went plummeting at a diagonal angle. A collective cry gasped out as the man fell out of the gravity bubble and went hurtling into the void.

It was very fortunate no one was killed in the massive riot that ensued, or else Narcom’s sacrifice would have been rendered moot. The Empire didn’t even bother to waste time retrieving him; the Nikto was lucky Narcom had even convinced JR-605 to allow his rescue in the first place. JR-605, for his part, was reprimanded for allowing the incident to occur. He should have let the prisoner fall, his superior insisted. Now they were still short one prisoner, but a massive uproar had arisen as a result of the unnecessary escalation JR-605 had allowed to transpire. He was demoted to civilian and went back to being Tillie Swibbles (although from that point on he went by Tillie B. Swibbles, as if that would help.)

The eventual brief HoloNet article only referred to 12387 by his prison number, but Koss intuited almost immediately that Com Narcom had been the individual the article referred to. That’s what compassion gets you, he sneered. How typical. He wondered if, in his final moments as the oxygen in his vacuum mask ran out, Narcom had realized what a fool he was.

With that particular chapter of his life now over, the inspector moved on without a second thought.

News of the entire Halmath affair reached the Grand Moff’s desk shortly afterward. Zeniff was removed from office. In his place a new governor was instated, a man by the name of Amulon. All the while, a little Twi’lek girl on Monderon wondered when her mother would return for her.

 

Chapter 2: The Path in the Dark

It was an exceptionally good night at the General of Wotalu. The proprietor, one Mr. Tarkay, sauntered around the room with a bottle and a rag draped over the sleeve of his uniform. He hadn’t had this many customers in ages; for once, it was difficult keeping up.

“More wine, sir? On the ‘ouse, just for you!” The innkeeper grinned as he refilled the cup of a Gungan whose eyestalks were beginning to wobble. Tarkay’s attentive gaze fell upon a slumped Rodian and he hastened to his table. “Oi! Wake up!” He shook the man. “You’re drunk!”

The Rodian groggily lifted his head as Tarkay helped him to his feet. “Why don’t you ‘ead upstairs to your room,” he suggested, leading the Rodian towards the stairs. “Nasty ‘eadache you’re goin’ to ‘ave tomorrow, eh?” The Rodian stumbled up the stairs, while Tarkay patted the credit pouch in his pocket that had been hanging on the Rodian’s belt a few seconds ago.

“Weequay! Andoba boga noga!”

Tarkay rolled his eyes. Where did they think they were, Tatooine? He wasn’t some Hutt lackey, he was a self-made businessman and he had a name. Never mind. A paying customer was a paying customer. “Tagwa! Wanga boga noga! Wermo kung…”

He glanced around the room and called out, “Anybody want more wine?”

Several hands went up accompanied by shouts. Tarkay hefted the wine bottle. “Keepuna,” he muttered. “Almost out.”

He made his way to the bar where his wife was preparing a stew for the tavern guests. “Move, cat,” he grunted, pushing aside the tavern’s tooka with his foot, causing it to scamper off to the corner. “Oi, muni, we’re out o’ wine an’ table three wants another round o’ Huttese ale.”

“Where’s the worm’ead gone off to?” Mrs. Tarkay grumbled. “Leela! Caba dee unko!”

Several seconds later, an emaciated Twi’lek girl of seven came scampering in, holding a grimy rag. “Coona tee-tocky malia?” the Weequay woman demanded.

“I was cleaning the—” Leela stammered, but the excuse had been demanded rhetorically. “We’re out o’ Corellian Red!” barked Mrs. Tarkay. “Yatuka! Ateema!”

“Yes, Mrs. Tarkay!” Leela yelped. She scampered off again, this time to the cellar. As she ran, the two Tarkay girls took notice of her. The younger one got an evil grin on her face and followed her. The older one abandoned their play to see what her sister had in mind.

Leela pressed the button to open the cellar door and switched on the basement illuminator. It flickered dimly, providing barely enough light to see by. She ventured timidly into the shadowy chamber.

Leela walked along the row of wine canisters, looking for the Corellian Red. She didn’t know how to read, and only knew her aurek-besh-creshes up to leth. But the Corellian wine wasn’t labeled in Aurebesh or the Outer Rim Basic; instead, the stamp bore a pointy, calligraphic script that was easily recognizable in a sea of Aurebesh, Huttese and High Galactic. She just needed to remember which was the white and which was the red—

Suddenly, the light went out. Leela whirled around to see the younger Tarkay girl dashing from the head of the stairs. The door shut as the Weequay girls giggled, plunging her into pitch black darkness. Leela ran in a panic for the door to switch the lights back on. “Port!”

She cried out as she smacked her head into the wall, missing the stairs by a foot. This was met with snickering from outside. “Stop!” Leela wailed, tears streaming down her face. “That’s not funny!”

“Watch out, Leela!” the older Tarkay girl sang from behind the door. “The rat’s going to nibble your tentacles off!”

Leela’s skin crawled as the girls made squeaking noises. She’d seen a rat down here last week that was as big as a tooka-kit. It was almost certainly still there. She felt her way to the switch as fast as she could.

Just as she reached the switch and turned the light back on, she heard a dull beep accompanied by a click. The blood drained from her face.

“Let me out!” Leela pounded the door frantically with her fists. “Port! Mona!”

The Tarkay girls cackled as they walked away from the cellar. “Let me out!” Leela sobbed. “Open the door!”

It was no use appealing to the girls and she knew it, so she decided to just scream as loud as she could until someone opened the door for her. “Help! Help! I’m stuck! Get me out of here!”

She banged the door with her fists for what seemed like a quarter of an hour before she realized no one was coming. Filled with dread, she curled into a ball at the top of the stairs and awaited the inevitable.

She sat there weeping for a while before the door whooshed open. “What ‘ave you been doin’ down ‘ere?” Mr. Tarkay snarled. “Thought you were fetchin’ more wine. Out o’ my way, you useless lump.”

He almost kicked her down the stairs as she quickly uncurled and scampered aside. Quickly locating the Huttese ale, he pulled a canister from the rack and set it on the ground. “Take that out an’ be quick about it. I’ll get the wine myself.”

Leela hastened to comply as Tarkay perused the wine barrels. She lugged the canister up the stairs, knowing she’d probably receive a paddling later for her involuntary tardiness, if not worse. As she made her way quickly to the kitchen, Mrs. Tarkay met her with a scowl. “The ‘ell ‘ave you been doin’?”

Leela trembled as she set the canister down. “Mona and Port locked me in the—”

“There you go again with your filthy lies!” Leela stumbled backwards as she dodged a slap. Mrs. Tarkay’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing. “You’re not gettin’ dinner after a trick like that, you disgusting little worm’ead!”

Leela picked herself up, the daggers in her stomach twisting. The only thing she’d eaten all day was a crust she’d stolen off Mona’s plate, and she’d been punished for her thievery by being made to go without lunch as well as breakfast. That would make four missed meals.

“Useless,” Mrs. Tarkay muttered as she set the ale canister on the counter and began filling mugs. “The ‘ell do we keep you around for? That deadbeat mother o’ yours ain’t making it worth our while, by Quay’va. Ain’t good for nothin’, you aren’t.”

Leela stood there resignedly waiting for Mrs. Tarkay to give her something else to do. It was technically past bedtime for the Tarkay girls, but that rule hadn’t been enforced since Leela arrived. Leela deeply wished it was past her bedtime so she could go lie down on the laundry pile, but it was never past her bedtime.

“Poodoo,” said Mrs. Tarkay suddenly, having opened the water canister. She thrust it in Leela’s face. “Fill this up.”

Leela stared at the bottom of the empty canister, her deep brown eyes wide as moons. “Now?” she whimpered, trembling. “But the vaporator’s on the other side of the woods.”

“And?” Mrs. Tarkay sneered. “Too lazy to walk, you little brat?”

“It’s dark out,” she pleaded. “Please don’t send me out there in the middle of the night! Not by myself!”

“‘Oo gives a bleedin’ bantha tick if it’s dark out?” The Weequay woman rolled her eyes. “Grow up. Only wolves out anyway. An’ get some polystarch while you’re at it.”

She fished a credcoin out of her apron pocket. “Lose this an’ you won’t be able to sit for a week,” she hissed as she handed it to the quivering Twi’lek. “Nudd chaa! Yatuka!”

Leela scampered out the door as if being shoved. The moment she was outside she stopped in her tracks. The door shut behind her with a hiss and a clunk that seemed to echo through the blackness. The wind made the long grass whistle, the icy breeze cutting through Leela’s skin, slicing her exposed shins, biting her lekku. She stood there shivering as she gazed down the road, dust coating the soles of her bare and blistered feet. The neon orange glow of the lamp posts that lit the street only served to remind the child that there would be no such comfort past the edge of town. The mistress had not even provided a flashlight.

Leela began the long journey to the vaporator well. The street was little more than paved dirt, and Leela’s feet were soon caked in it; it was only by the dim lamplight that she was able to avoid the occasional sharp pebbles embedded therein.

Not far from the tavern was a shop, just across the street and a few doors down. In the window of that shop was an assortment of stuffed animals. In the center was a stuffed loth-kitten, life-sized and incredibly lifelike, with friendly black eyes and a contented smile on its spherical, striped face. It lay on a tall red pillow under a lamp, its scute-covered front paws dangling over the edge, bushy tail draped over the other side. Leela would often stop to admire it whenever she passed that window, and wishing desperately to procrastinate venturing beyond the borders of the illuminated outdoors, she did so now, a small hand pressed against the window and the other clutching one of the handles of the canister. She imagined what it would be like to touch it, to stroke its striped fur, to hold it in her—

“Achuta! Twi!” Leela jolted as Mr. Tarkay stuck his head out the door of the tavern and spotted her loitering. “Nudd chaa, u beeogola nechaska! Move your lazy carcass!”

Leela scampered onward toward the forest.

By the time she had reached the edge of the village, her feet were already stinging in several places, since she had not been careful with her footing in her haste; she had not dared to stop running the whole way. She stood there, a trampled footpath leading directly into the wood, and encircling the perimeter thereof, a less uniform path where speeders had somewhat flattened the topmost part of the grass. She’d tried to follow that speeder path once, to seek a kindly Weequay bantha rancher she and her mother had met when they first came to Monderon. But she’d gotten lost in the near-endless fields that lay between the village and the scattered farms and homesteads beyond, and how dearly she had paid when the Tarkays finally rescued her. Since then she had never gone wandering anywhere beyond the village, and as for the woods, she only ever followed the path to the vaporator. And never in the dark.

Tonight it was so dark she could barely see the path.

Still, the sooner she was in, the sooner she was out.

Leela took a deep breath and started into the forest.

There was only one moon out tonight— the smaller, more distant one— and it was waning; its dim light barely penetrated the canopy. But Leela kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, terrified that if she turned her head even slightly, the trees would blur together in the blackness and she would lose sight of her surroundings entirely. The vaporator had little lights on it; she kept an eye out for tiny red and white dots.

She thought she heard the sound of something rustling in the trees behind her. More than a little apprehensive, she walked ahead briskly in hopes of putting distance between herself and whatever had made the noise. The thing— almost certainly a tarantu-lizard— scuttled off in the opposite direction.

She was almost to the vaporator now; she was close enough to see the blinking lights. The winds were moaning in the night and she was beginning to shiver— and not just from the cold. Just a few more yards to the vaporator—

She cried out as she tripped over a root. She’d been so focused on the vaporator she hadn’t seen it in the blackness. The empty canister tumbled from her hands, and— unbeknownst to her— the credcoin from her tiny pocket.

Dirt caked her shins and knees. She pushed herself up, lip quivering. She gritted her teeth as the cold wind stung her scrapes. She picked up the canister again and continued walking, ever-fearful of another tripping obstacle.

When she reached the vaporator, she inserted the canister into the apparatus. With a beep, the machine began to fill the canister. She looked around as she waited, now that she had no fear of losing her way. She thought about her mother, all the way across the stars on Montal, working to be able to come for her. She wondered, as she did perpetually, if tomorrow would be the day her mother would call the Tarkays and tell them to bring Leela to her.

But Mama hadn’t called for days now. Many days. Leela swallowed back tears. She would call, eventually. Everything was going to be alright.

The vaporator beeped again, signaling that the canister was full. Leela detached it from the vaporator and sealed it shut as best she could with the broken mechanism. Then, struggling to her feet as she lifted the full container, she turned around to return to the house.

Walking back was always the worst. Leela’s arms were weak from malnourishment, and progress was slow when the canister was full. Still she trudged along, careful not to let the leaky side of the canister tip too far. She kept her earcones perked up at every sound around her.

She wasn’t alone.

Ordinarily, Leela might have been troubled by the feeling, fearing that if she turned round or walked ahead she would come face to face with an inquisitive doonga or a hungry wolf. But this was different. It was like she had a—

A guardian angel. That’s what it was. Her guardian angel was here, somewhere, in the wood. She could feel it. Someone was very close by, and despite the darkness, despite the eerie sound of the night birds calling in the far-off branches, their presence was comforting and seemed to soothe her fear. She smiled and thought of her mother. Her mother must have prayed for her and sent this angel. It filled her with hope.

She forgot about the root again.

Leela’s big toe slammed into the root with a jolt. She cried out in pain, the canister slipping from her hands—

—and into the arms of a tall stranger in front of her.

She looked up. In front of her was an old man, his features obscured by the darkness, yet seeming to glow with a certain radiance in Leela’s heart. He had on a large poncho, and though she could barely make out his expression, she could sense its kindness.

Her guardian angel.

“This is very heavy,” said the man soberly as he looked at the water canister. “Let me carry it for you. Did you hurt yourself?”

“A little,” Leela winced. “I stubbed my toe really hard.”

“Mm.” The man relieved her of the canister. “Is it bruised?”

“I… I don’t think so,” said Leela, dropping to one knee to massage it, and miraculously, it seemed to be true. There was no bleeding, and her uncut toenail didn’t seem to be bent, either. There was only a slight scrape from the bark and the dull throb was quickly fading.

“It’s very late for a child to be walking in the woods alone,” the man observed, tilting his head. “Where do you live?”

“In the village, just over.”

“Vermau? That’s quite a ways. I just came from there.”

“No, Fermal, right nearby,” Leela replied.

“Hm. I didn’t realize Fermal was that close,” said the man. “I’m glad to hear it. Would you take me there? I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.”

Leela nodded. The man began walking beside her, following her lead as she walked the road back to the village. The man walked briskly even while hefting the weighty canister, but Leela kept up with him easily. The pain in her toe was subsiding, and the relief at not having to carry the water canister was the best feeling Leela had experienced all night. He was a very nice angel to take it from her. Leela always thought guardian angels were only something you could feel, and not someone you could meet, much less someone who could talk with you and carry things for you. Was he really an angel? When Leela had first come to the Tarkays, she had had a bad feeling about them, even before they revealed their nasty side the minute her mother left. This man gave her the opposite feeling, like the nice Weequay rancher.

“What’s your name, little one?”

So, probably not her guardian angel then, or he would have already known her name— at least, she thought that’s how it worked. But she wasn’t disappointed. “I’m Leela.”

At this the man jolted slightly. He turned his head towards her. “Leela?”

“Yes, sir,” Leela nodded.

“Hm.”

Leela cocked her head. What was the hm for? “Mhm. It’s short for Calisuma,” she explained.

“Is it now?” They were approaching the edge of the forest now, and the light from the streetlamps could be seen. The man turned to get a good look at her. He was clean-shaven, with short hair that was beginning to whiten, and he had bushy eyebrows and a rather large nose. From the lines on his face, he looked to be both very tired and full of determined energy at once. His brow was furrowed with concern. “Where are your shoes, Leela?”

“I don’t have any,” Leela replied, looking down at her dirt-caked feet.

“And no jacket, either,” he observed with a frown. “Did they send you out into the cold like this?”

“It’s not that cold, sir,” Leela replied even though it was freezing. “It gets a lot colder in the winter.”

“It’s not winter here?”

“It is,” Leela mumbled. “But it gets colder.”

“And do the— do they give you a jacket then?”

Leela bit her lip. “No.”

The man grunted, set down the canister, and lifted his poncho off his shoulders. When his head reemerged, he handed it to her. “Take this for now. It’s a little big, but it’ll keep you even warmer that way.”

The thing was like a woolen tarp. When Leela found the hole, she poked her head right through it without having to thread her lekku through first. The neck fell down to her scrawny elbows.

The man’s brow creased. “Well, I suppose you can hold it like a blanket.”

Leela lifted the folds of fabric, considering them. She’d never walked with a blanket before. The Tarkay girls did, when they were pretending to be queens. She tugged the back of the neckhole over her shoulders, scrunched the front of the poncho to her chest and held it there. The stranger picked up the canister again.

As they walked the road back to the house, the man asked her more questions. “You’re about seven, aren’t you?”

Leela nodded. “Yes sir.”

“You’re very small. Are you fed well?”

Leela chewed her lip.

“I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me.”

Leela shook her head.

“No, I didn’t think so.” The man’s brow was stormy. “Tell me about these people you live with.”

“Well, there’s Mr. Tarkay,” said Leela quietly. “He’s the owner. He drinks a lot.”

“Hm.”

“Then there’s Mrs. Tarkay.” Leela swallowed hard. “She tells me what to do. She sent me out here to get the water.”

“And they’re in charge of caring for you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do they have a child of their own?”

“Two,” said Leela, holding up two fingers. “Mona and Port.”

“And do they treat their own children the way they treat you?”

“No, sir!” Leela shook her head. “They let them do whatever they want. Even if they keep me from doing my chores. They do it on purpose to get me in trouble.” Leela bit her lip. She rubbed a welt on her earcone that was beginning to sting in the growing cold wind. The man noticed it and thinned his lips.

As they neared the tavern, they passed the shop window with the stuffed tooka in it. Leela spared a brief glance as she walked past. The stranger’s eyes flicked in that direction as well. “Well, I should very much like to meet these Tarkays. Is that the inn up ahead?”

Leela nodded. “I’ll take the canister now.”

“It’s alright; I’ve got it.”

“Mrs. Tarkay will beat me if she sees I’m not carrying it.”

The man’s brow grew stormy again. “I see.”

He set down the canister and exchanged it for the poncho. As they went up to the back doorstep, the man turned to Leela. He looked down at her with a warm, sober countenance. “Don’t worry, Leela. Everything is going to be alright.”

 

Chapter 3: Mr. Antilles

The defining virtue of a Weequay is shushuh, which is central to the Weequayan concept of ethics. It is roughly translated as “authenticity.” To have shushuh means to be frank about the type of person you are, even if you are a backstabbing liar. Take the most notable Weequay in recent memory, the fallen pirate king Hondo Ohnaka, who was and is to this day very upfront about the fact that he is driven by profit above all else, changes loyalties on a whim, and will not hesitate to swindle or rob you. And yet, despite the nakedness of his duplicitous nature, he remains one of the cleverest tricksters in the galaxy, having once held Count Dooku himself for ransom alongside the pair of Jedi Knights who came to collect him, a story I only believe because it is corroborated by sources other than Hondo’s own drunken, unreliable mouth, though I will concede his account holds the most entertainment value— not as much value, however, as the contents of my wallet which mysteriously vanished sometime between leaving the cantina and arriving at the shuttlebus station.

The opposite of shushuh is ushe, and possessing too much of it is an exilable offense. Traditionally, to the uninhabitable moon of Quay to die of starvation or heat stroke, but offworld, this policy becomes difficult to enforce, both because of the offender’s remote proximity from Sriluur and the disparity between the moral standards of the Weequay race and the rest of the galaxy. Naturally, shushuh-lacking Weequays abound in the wider galaxy, though since Weequays without a bone of ushe in their body are still permitted to lie and cheat, outsiders generally can’t tell— or more precisely, don’t bother to learn— the difference.

It should be clear by now what kind of Weequay was the proprietor of the General of Wotalu.

Things were beginning to wind down at the Tarkays’ inn. Most of the guests had gone upstairs to bed or departed the establishment. The only patrons remaining were three Duros and an exceptionally drowsy Gran engaged in a quiet game of sabacc. Mr. Tarkay took a swig from the nearly-empty bottle of Corellian Red as he mentally counted the credits laying in the palm of his other hand. “Nagoola,” he muttered with a grin, pocketing them. Sidling over to the counter, he mused, “When d’you suppose the Twi’s gettin’ back?”

As Mrs. Tarkay opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock at the back door. “Finally,” she grumbled, pressing the button to open it. “Where the ‘ell ‘ave you been? Get—”

She noticed the man standing behind the girl and frowned. “Can I ‘elp you?”

“I would like a room,” the man replied solemnly.

“Excuse me!” said Mr. Tarkay, marching over. He passed the wine bottle to his wife. “Take this to the table. Twi! Set that down over there.”

Those orders given, he put his hands on his hips. “You know, sir, the front door would be over there.”

“Beg your pardon,” the man grunted. “Do you have a room?”

“Well…” Tarkay looked the man up and down, poncho to boots, observing the shabby state of his dress. “‘Fraid not.”

“Do you have a basement, or a shed?” asked the man. “Put me there. I’ll pay full price for it.”

“I don’t care ‘ow funny you think you are, we ain’t got room.” Tarkay folded his arms. “Besides which the price is forty creds.”

Forty credits?">“Fohtee creedas?” the Gran player bleated, narrowing all three of his drooping eyes. “Soong tweentee, nobata? Jee nopa koona ta wamma andoba tweentee creedas.”

“Soong ta jeeska du wermo sleemo nenoleeya,” Mrs. Tarkay explained under her breath with a warning finger to keep quiet. She cast a glance toward the man to see if he had heard the card player. He did not appear to have understood.

“We don’t lodge bums,” Tarkay snapped. “Beat it, wermo.”

“Forty, you said?” The man produced a credchip from beneath his poncho.

Tarkay furrowed his brow. The man was definitely the type of riffraff the double-price policy was supposed to keep out. But forty credits was forty credits…

He had asked to sleep in the shed. “Alright then.” The innkeeper took the chip, squinting at it to make sure it was real. “I’ll check you in.”

“Thank you.” The man went over and sat at one of the tables, watching the little Twi’lek crawl under another table and rest against the column.

“Could I get a name?” Tarkay requested as he scanned the credchip with a datapad.

“Antilles,” the stranger replied.

“Antilles,” Tarkay muttered. The datapad beeped. The chip was real. Tarkay handed it back.

As if reminded of credits by the beep of the chip authenticator, Mrs. Tarkay put her hands on her hips and glared at Leela. “I don’t see no polystarch.”

“Oh!” Leela cried, suddenly remembering. “Um… they were closed.”

“I’ll find out tomorrow,” Mrs. Tarkay threatened. “If you’re lyin’ to me, you’re goin’ to get it. Fine then. ‘And over the cred-piece.”

Leela fished through her shallow pocket with her finger for the coin. Fear shot through her.

“Come on!” Mrs. Tarkay barked, walking over with a demanding hand. “Let’s ‘ave it!”

“I don’t know where it is!” Leela wailed, cowering under the table. “I must have dropped it!”

“You’re either careless or a liar!” Mrs. Tarkay barked, dragging the child out by the ankle and raising a hand to strike her. “I’ll teach you to lose my money!”

“Excuse me,” said Mr. Antilles.

Mrs. Tarkay looked over, arm frozen in midair.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the coin you’re looking for, is it?” The man pointed to a credcoin by his foot.

Mrs. Tarkay furrowed her brow and lowered her hand. Antilles picked it up off the floor and handed it to her.

It was a ten credit-piece. Mrs. Tarkay had given Leela a five.

“That’s the one,” she grunted, closing it in her fist. She cast a glare back to Leela. “You be more careful in the future, you ‘ear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Tarkay,” Leela trembled.

Mrs. Tarkay shoved the coin into her apron pocket and kicked Leela’s foot. “Get to your sewin’.”

As Leela went to retrieve the little sewing machine from the corner, Mrs. Tarkay went to her husband and exchanged a few words with him in muttered Sriluurian, showing him the credcoin Antilles had produced. Mr. Tarkay raised his brow and glanced at the man, who had still not taken his eyes off Leela. How curious that it had not occurred to the man to pocket the coin when he saw it lying on the floor, instead of “returning” it. Even more curious that Tarkay had not spotted it there before— he had a sharp eye for loose change.

Just as Leela started on her work, the two Tarkay girls came downstairs, having grown bored of their bedtime, their unbraided, horsetailed hair flying behind them as they ran, giggling.

“Oi! U doba.” Mrs. Tarkay wagged a leathery brown finger at them. “Bata ta koga foo uba, ateema.”

“Aw, boska, niuta? ” the older one pleaded.

“Tagwa, u-bi,” the younger one nodded, making her tiny eyes as large as possible. “Niuta?”

“Oh, eniki,” Mrs. Tarkay relented, rubbing the tops of their little bald heads. “Un minkee tee-tocky. Okey-okey?”


“Okey-okey!”

the girls chorused, nodding vigorously before heading to the corner opposite Leela to play, taking as little notice of her as if she were an old dog.

The Tarkay girls had a little tooka doll, about the size of a handheld navigation computer, and, like your standard tooka doll, star-shaped and purple. Leela watched them wistfully as they rocked it and hugged it.

“Aha!” Leela jolted at the sound of Mrs. Tarkay’s voice. “Caught you slackin’! I’ll paddle your backside, I will, you lazy, good for nothin’ brat!”

Leela threw up her hands and whimpered, shrinking from the terrible woman. “No, no!”

“Excuse me.” It was Mr. Antilles again. “Why is she not allowed to play?”

“We don’t feed ‘er for nothin’,” Mrs. Tarkay growled. “She don’t work, she don’t eat.”

“And you make the other children work for their food as well?” The man cocked an eyebrow.

“Those are my daughters!” Mrs. Tarkay cried indignantly. “This one’s a tramp’s kid we took out o’ the goodness of our ‘earts, an’ she ain’t been nothin’ but trouble since. ‘Er deadbeat mum ‘asn’t wired us in weeks, probably lyin’ in a ditch somewhere.”

Leela bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.

“I see,” said Mr. Antilles with thin lips and a hard brow. “What’s her work, then?”

“Sewin’ new socks for my daughters— an’ bein’ slow about it,” Mrs. Tarkay added with a huff. Leela nodded and showed the man the pink woolen fabric.

The man stroked his chin. “If I were to buy them right now, would you let her take a break from working on them?”

As Mrs. Tarkay opened her mouth to reply, the man placed one ten cred-piece on the table, then another, then another, then another, and then finally, one more. The Weequay woman gawked at the money; her husband came over and scooped it up. “Sure, alright.”

Leela’s eyes sprang wide, and she looked between Tarkay and the stranger. The stranger nodded. “Go on. Go play.”

Leela glanced, dreamlike, toward the innkeeper’s wife.

Mrs. Tarkay threw a scowl at her. “Go on then!” she snarled, batting the air and stalking off to the bar.

Leela went off to her little corner to play. But she had precious little to do when she owned no toys. The Tarkay girls had their tooka doll, but Leela had only a toothpick she’d saved from when a patron had dropped it. She took it from the crack between the wall and the floor where she kept it and held it between her fingers. She waved it around a few times, then began to thrust it through the air, making little whooshing sounds in imitation of what she thought a laser sword might sound like. She’d only read about them in books— well, her mother had read them to her anyway, since, again, she barely knew more letters than were sufficient to spell her own name— and had never seen a holo where they were actually used.

While the little Jedi Knight was cutting her way through a sea of tiny opponents, the house tooka wandered over to the Weequay children, distracting them from their own play. They decided they’d rather play with the cat at that moment than the stuffed facsimile thereof, and began to chase it around the room. The tooka doll lay temporarily abandoned on the floor.

Leela noticed it.

Her longing was such that she thought to crawl over and pick it up, to hold it for a few minutes while the girls were distracted, and leave it before they noticed.

Unfortunately, they noticed almost immediately.

“Mummy!” yelled the younger Tarkay girl pointing a wild finger at the offender.

Mrs. Tarkay stormed into the room and laid her eyes on Leela, frozen, clutching the tooka doll in her hand. She dropped it, but it was too late.

Mrs. Tarkay’s eyes smoldered like coals. Slowly and silently, nostrils flaring, she marched over to the terrified child. She yanked the doll up off the floor. It quivered as she shook with rage. “You ‘orrible… evil… nasty… thievin’ little… worm’ead!”

As Leela burst into tears, a terrible sound thundered through the room. It was the sound of Mr. Antilles’ chair scooting out from under him as he rose with a storm on his brow. “Now what exactly is the problem here?”

“She stole my children’s property!” Mrs. Tarkay shrieked.

“I saw her pick it up for the briefest instant,” said the man evenly, eyes hard as beskar. “Is that what you would consider stealing?”

“She touched it with her filthy little hands!” the Weequay mother snarled. “‘Oo gave ‘er permission to take it, the thievin’ little schutta!”

Leela began to sob, loudly. Mrs. Tarkay rounded on her. “Will you shut up!” She grabbed Leela by the arm, yanking her to her feet. “I’ll teach you to steal from my daughters!”

“So that’s it.”

Mrs. Tarkay’s head jerked back toward Mr. Antilles, whose arms were crossed over his broad chest. “Wait one moment.”

This was said with such power that Mrs. Tarkay involuntarily released Leela’s wrist. Mr. Antilles removed his poncho and set it on the back of his chair. This done, he turned, walked to the door, and left the tavern.

Mrs. Tarkay’s fist clenched around empty air where Leela’s wrist had been. Her eyes snapped toward Leela with a sneer. “‘E’s not ‘ere to protect you anymore.”

As Leela cowered beneath the woman’s terrible gaze, her husband stared thoughtfully at the door. He furrowed his thick, leathery brow.

The younger Tarkay girl crept up to her mother, took the doll from her hand, and stuck her tongue out at Leela, who sat quivering with her knees drawn up, swimming eyes pleading for mercy. The sympathetic players looked at the child as if to go to her and offer comfort, but she didn’t dare look back. The slightly less sympathetic player stuffed down his own disquiet and urged the other players to sit back and down and make a bet. They didn’t sit back down.

Mrs. Tarkay held up a warning finger, bending down low to hold it close to Leela’s face. “You listen to me an’ you listen to me good,” she hissed. “You learn your place, you tail’eaded sleemo, or I’ll beat you black an’ brown an’ boot you out the door for good, you ‘ear me?”

“P-please,” Leela sobbed whisperingly. “I won’t do it again, I promise, I—”

“Get back to work.” Mrs. Tarkay jabbed an arm towards the sewing machine.

Just as Leela had crawled over to the sewing machine, the door whooshed open again. Mr. Antilles stepped into the tavern again, carrying a life-sized plush loth-kitten in his arms. All the Tarkays’ mouths dropped open.

“Leela,” said Mr. Antilles, approaching her, “this is for you.”

Leela could not have been more astonished if she had been declared the successor of the Emperor himself. Her hesitant, hopeful tongue coaxed out the words:

“It’s… mine?”

The man nodded, and knelt down to give it to her.

Leela looked at Mrs. Tarkay, whose face was pinched with a very odd expression. “Take it.”

Leela accepted it with trembling hands. It was the same loth-kitten she had always stared at in the shop window. And now she was holding it.

Its fur was even softer than she’d imagined.

The younger Tarkay girl tugged on her mother’s skirt. “I want a tooka like that.”

Her older, more mature sister elected to express her envy in her gaze rather than verbalize it. But Leela did not feel the jealous eyes burning into her, or the resentful, outraged glare of the children’s mother. Nor did she notice the way that the master of the house was contemplating her benefactor, stroking his jowl frills with exceeding curiosity.

Leela placed the stuffed loth-kitten in her lap and began to stroke it. The Tarkays’ flesh-and-blood tooka came over and gave Leela’s plush gift a curious sniff. More than one “awww” escaped the sabacc table.

Tarkay sidled up to his wife and muttered to her from the corner of his mouth. “Porko moulee-rah, da wanga.”

Mrs. Tarkay’s upper teeth clamped down on the rim of her mouth. She addressed her daughters in a sweet, singsong tone that did not match her expression. “Tee-tocky tonka, minkee wangas. Tonka ta koga.”

This time, the girls did not protest, but slinked up the stairs, never taking their glaring eyes off of Leela and her new present. Leela was barely aware of their departure. Mrs. Tarkay watched Leela play for a few more moments, then turned to Mr. Antilles. “It’s gettin’ late.”

“It’s already late,” the man replied.

“Leela should be ‘eadin’ off to bed now,” said Mrs. Tarkay. “She’s ‘ad a long one, workin’ so ‘ard.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Antilles, raising an eyebrow.

Leela, happy not to be made to sweep up and finish the dishes before being allowed to retire, rose, snuggling the stuffed loth-kitten against her chest. “Come on, Creampuff,” she whispered to it as she padded off to the laundry room.

The sabacc players looked at the chrono and scooped their credits into their bags, each considerably lighter or heavier than they had been before, and made to withdraw to bed. The Gran glared at the Duros, a sour eye for each of them, and one of the Duros, in turn, issued the same for his fellow Durosians. The Duros who had come out on top seemed unaware of the acrimony the two harbored, but the one who came in second seemed more wary as he kept a bony hand over his credit pouch.

Mr. Antilles did not follow the other patrons to bed, but continued to sit in the same chair, deep in thought. Mrs. Tarkay cast a stewing glance toward him from the kitchen. “Where does ‘e get off?” she hissed. “What is ‘e playin’ at, givin’ ‘er a thing like that? ‘E’ll be buyin’ ‘er solid gold slippers next! What’s ‘is game?”

“‘E’s just ‘avin’ fun,” Tarkay muttered in reply with an easy grin. “Long as ‘e’s payin’, I don’t care what what ‘e lets the kid do.”

Mrs. Tarkay only scowled as her husband approached Antilles. “Allow me to direct you to your room, good sir.”

Antilles nodded and rose from his chair. Tarkay grinned and gestured toward the stairs.

“I thought my room was downstairs,” Antilles frowned.

“Well, as it turns out,” said Tarkay, “our best room just opened up.”

“I’ll be fine sleeping in the cellar. It’s what I paid for.”

“Banthafeathers,” Tarkay waved, ascending the staircase and motioning for Antilles to follow. “Ain’t safe down there any’ow. The rats’ll eat you alive. I should know. Bit me toe right off, if you can believe it. I’d slip off my boot an’ show ya, but I wouldn’t want to send you to bed with an upset stomach—”

Antilles was not paying attention to Tarkay’s rambling. Instead he glanced back down the stairs as he followed.

Tarkay opened the door to the best room in the house, which sported a king-size bed and a window which was shut along a diagonal seam. Tarkay pressed the button for the light. “There’s a button for the window, in case you fancy a view,” said Tarkay, pointing to a control panel on the inside of the doorway. “An’ that’s for the door, an’ this for the light, o’ course. You don’t seem to ‘ave anythin’ in the way of luggage…”

“I travel light.”

“Naturally,” Tarkay grinned. “Chrono’s two minutes fast. Need anythin’, just press that button right there.”

Antilles nodded. “Thank you.”

He closed the door.

Tarkay’s lips curled into a grin.

When he entered his own bedroom, he found his wife was not in a similar mood. She lay on her bed, implied lips clenched tight against trickling tears. As soon as the door was shut, she declared thickly in Sriluurian, “I’m throwing out the little tiib-chuul tomorrow!”

“He’s loaded, ‘e is!” whispered Tarkay, responding in the same language but not at all the same tone. “Don’t you see what this means?”

“I can see my daughters’ un’appy faces!” Mrs. Tarkay moaned, weeping into her hands. “I can’t stand it! They deserve better than that… that… that…”

There were several nasty Sriluurian insults she could have hurled at Leela, aside from the one she had just used, but she was too distraught to think of them. “We should never ‘ave taken ‘er in in the first place! What were we thinkin’, takin’ in scum like that?”

“Listen,” said Tarkay, slipping into the sheets, unable to contain his excitement. “I took in that kid because I knew she was gonna make us rich, and now she’s goin’ to.”

“‘Ow?” Mrs. Tarkay sobbed. “‘Ow is she goin’ to make us rich when that no-account mother of ‘ers ‘asn’t paid us a bloody centicred in weeks, she’s probably dead, the shluq-yag chuul!”

“Because that rich ol’ al-wath’s got a soft spot for the little qualdo,” Tarkay crooned. “An’ if ‘e ‘adn’t, we would never ‘ave known ‘e was a loaded ol’ nib-chuul. I’m goin’ to draw up such a nice bill for ‘im. I’ll squeeze two ‘undred credits out o’ the sucker for the bill alone, an’ then I’m goin’ to tell ‘im she’s sick an’ ‘oo knows ‘ow much ‘e’ll be willin’ to cough up!”

“An’ then I’m goin’ to kick the little tentacle-head out,” Mrs. Tarkay said viciously as she slammed her pillow over her head.

Spoiler: Story Notes

"Shushuh" and "ushe" are concepts invented by Tumblr user oldspongeyoda, now since deactivated. The other Sriluurian terms are my invention.

 

Chapter 4: The Bargain

The next morning, Leela woke up early and was surprised to find Mr. Antilles sitting at one of the tables. It wasn’t even sunrise yet. He had a backpack next to him that he hadn’t the night before.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning, Leela,” he replied softly. “Did you sleep well?”

Leela nodded. She was still holding Creampuff in her arms. “Thank you.”

The man smiled. His grey eyes seemed to shimmer as if they were suddenly damp. “You’re welcome, Leela.”

Leela glanced toward the stairs. “I should get to work.”

As she went off to put Creampuff somewhere safe, Mr. Tarkay came down the stairs. “Oh! Mornin’.” He frowned. “Bit early, innit?”

“I’m an early riser.”

“To each ‘is own,” Tarkay replied dubiously, shrugging. “Will you be stayin’ with us?”

“No, I’m leaving today.”

“Very good, very good.” Tarkay flicked on the lights, making Antilles blink once, then went to the kitchen and flicked on the lights there as well. The pantry door slid open. “Fancy an early breakfast? Got one packet o’ polystarch left with your name on it.”

“Alright.”

“You want an egg with that? An’ caf?”

The man thought it over. “Just a glass of milk, please.”

“Just a glass o’ milk!” Tarkay exclaimed incredulously under his breath. What kind of breakfast was that? “Bantha, groat, or synth?”

“Bantha, please.”

Tarkay pressed the button to open the conservator. “We’re out o’ bantha,” he said, staring directly at an unopened jug of bantha milk. “‘Ow about groat?”

“Synth is fine.”

Tarkay rolled his eyes and unscrewed the seal of the synth-milk canister. “Poodoo! It’s curdled.”

“The synth-milk is curdled?”

“Nasty stuff to begin with anyway,” said Tarkay, pouring it down the drain. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wantin’ groat milk.”

“Water is fine.”

“Looks like we’re down to dregs again,” said Mr. Tarkay, opening the lid to the not-at-all empty water canister. “Oi! Twi!”

“Groat milk is fine,” said Mr. Antilles hastily. He shook his head to Leela as she poked her head out from the other room.

“Suit yourself,” Tarkay shrugged, removing a carton from the fridge and pouring Antilles a nice big glass. He tore open a packet of polystarch, mixed it with a small dash from the carton, and placed it in the nanowave cooker for forty-five seconds. “‘Ere you are, sir,” he announced when the nanowave beeped, bringing the bread and milk to the table.

“Thank you.” Antilles took a sip of the yellow substance and almost choked. “It’s… thicker than I expected.”

“Creamy, innit?” Tarkay grinned. (It was cream.) “It’s imported.”

“I didn’t know groat milk was supposed to be this sweet,” Antilles frowned, taking a slightly larger sip and setting the glass back down.

“One o’ the many luxuries o’ the General o’ Wotalu,” Tarkay winked.

Antilles took a nibble of the bread and found it was similarly sweet. He glanced at Tarkay, who winked again.

Antilles sighed through his nose and took another bite. “I couldn’t help but notice Leela’s awake.”

“She gets up bright an’ early to do ‘er work, same as I do,” said Tarkay brightly. “So does the wife, usually, but she’s sleepin’ in today.”

“When does Leela usually eat breakfast?”

“Er…” Tarkay thought for a moment, trying to remember what time they had last let Leela have breakfast. “When ‘er mornin’ chores are done.”

“And when is that, usually?”

“Er…” Tarkay took even longer to answer. “Round… o’nine-ish?”

On a good day, even on an especially good day, it was not around o’nine-ish.

Antilles folded his hands. “You wouldn’t object to allowing her to eat now, would you?”

Tarkay thought it over. If he fed the kid now, she might be slackish later. On the other hand, appeasing the stranger hopefully meant credits, so he didn’t think it over very long. “Sure, alright.”

Antilles turned toward the other room. “Leela?”

Leela came out, head tilted curiously as she laced her hands behind her back.

“Would you like some breakfast?” He withdrew his wallet.

Leela’s eyes widened. She nodded vigorously.

“And what would the good sir care to order for the little— er, the little one?” asked Tarkay.

Antilles looked to Leela.

“Um…” Leela mumbled. “Could I have some polystarch?”

“I’m afraid I just gave the gentleman the last packet,” said Tarkay, tilting his head meaningfully. “If only someone ‘ad remembered to buy some last night, we’d ‘ave plenty. Now we’ll ‘ave to wait until the store opens this morning.”

“You can finish this,” said Mr. Antilles, handing her his polystarch. Leela’s hungry eyes consumed sweet bread, savoring each bite. Then she got onto a chair, took the polystarch, and began to eat it physically.

“Is there… anythin’ else you would like for breakfast, Leela?” asked Tarkay with a friendly smile.

Leela glanced at him anxiously, suspicious of his sudden generous affect, but Antilles’ comforting presence soothed her apprehension. “I’d like a… a meiloorun. And… s-some cereal. And…” She bit her lip, then looked at Antilles. “…Groat milk?”

“Excellent choice,” Tarkay grinned, jotting down Leela’s order on an imaginary datapad.

That breakfast, at 0500 in the dining room of the inn alone with Mr. Antilles, was the best meal Leela had ever had.

When breakfast was finished, Tarkay began to draw up Antilles’ bill. When the other guests began to arrive from downstairs around 0700, the bill was finished. He displayed it to his wife, who was still in a sour mood. “Look at it. It’s a thing o’ beauty, innit?”

“‘E’ll never pay that,” she grunted.

“You just watch.” Tarkay tapped the side of his flat, leathery nose.

Tarkay turned to see who had tugged on his sleeve. A troupe of burnt orange-clad Jawas jabbered to him, their leader holding up the gaggle’s bill and demanding an explanation for a series of additional fees.

“Exactly what it says on the pad,” Tarkay replied. “It’s a tavern policy.”

This was met with further irate jabbering.

“I did tell you,” Tarkay insisted. “One o’ you, anyway— I’m sure of it.” He had done no such thing.

Each Jawa had basically the same response. The translation of the particular word they used was something akin to “bantha spit.”

Mrs. Tarkay took Antilles’ bill from her husband, pinching the leathery fold of skin over the bridge of her nose with a loud sigh as she walked over to give the man his bill. He was watching Mr. Tarkay argue with the Jawas, which did not inspire her confidence. “‘Ere’s your… er… bill… sir.”

Antilles took the datapad and read it.

Lodging— 40
Deluxe room— 40
Imported Toydarian groat milk (2)— 30
Polystarch portion bread— 1.25
Meiloorun— 5
Cereal— 3
Service— 60
Discount(s)— -50
Subtotal— 179.25
Gratuity— [enter here]
Total— [ ]

Mr. Antilles furrowed his brow. “One hundred and seventy-nine point two-five credits?”

“Them’s the charges,” Mrs. Tarkay nodded.

“What did I get a fifty-credit discount on?” Mr. Antilles. “And what for?”

“Er… um…” She’d told him this was a bad idea. “You’ll ‘ave to ask my ‘usband about that.”

“I think I will,” said the man with a peculiar tone.

“Well, you see…” Mrs. Tarkay wrung her stubby hands. “We ain’t the richest folk. We got a lot o’ mouths to feed, what with two daughters, a cat, customers— when we get ‘em, because we don’t get too many these days— an’ o’ course the bloody Imps taxin’ everybody to death.” She grumbled and added, throwing up her hand, “An’ on top o’ all that, we’re saddled with that Twi ‘oose mother ain’t paid us in close to a month now!”

“Do you consider her a burden?” Antilles tilted his head meaningfully.

“Burden!” Mrs. Tarkay made a sound like a chuffing happabore. “Well, that’s— Well, we’ve certainly got our ‘ands full with ‘er.”

Antilles folded his hands and leaned forward. “What if I were to take her off your hands?”

“Take Leela off our ‘ands?” Mrs. Tarkay’s eyes shot wide. “You mean it?”

“Absolutely I do,” Antilles replied soberly. “Immediately. Have her pack her things and I will take her into my custody.”

“Yes! Yes!” Mrs. Tarkay giddily clapped her hands. “Leela! Caba dee unko ateema!”

Leela came at once. “Pack your things,” said Mrs. Tarkay eagerly. “You’re going to go with Mr. Antilles.”

Leela’s eyes grew wide. She looked at Mr. Antilles, then at Mrs. Tarkay, then at Mr. Antilles, and shot off to gather her possessions. Tarkay noticed her run by, excused himself from arguing with the disgruntled Jawas and sauntered over to his wife. “Everythin' alright?”

“I’ve just offered to remove Leela from your care,” Antilles replied. “I understand she’s become difficult for you.”

“Nonsense,” Tarkay waved. “Oh, my wife’s a bit short with ‘er sometimes, but we love ‘er to death. We could never part with ‘er.”

Mrs. Tarkay looked at her husband askance and was about to open her mouth when he picked up Antilles’ bill. “Why, this thing’s full o’ misentries!” he cried. “Terribly sorry, sir, let me fix that…”

He adjusted the bill and handed it back. Antilles read it and looked up. “Twenty credits?”

“That’s right, sir,” Tarkay nodded. Mrs. Tarkay stared aghast at her husband.

“Now, as for the girl,” Tarkay continued, “we can’t let ‘er go. It’s out o’ the question.”

“I’m prepared to compensate you,” Antilles replied, withdrawing a large wallet.

“That will most certainly not be necessary,” said Tarkay, folding his arms. “We’re not goin’ to barter off our precious Lilo like she’s some kind o’ antique trinket.”

“You mean Leela,” said Antilles pointedly.

“Please, leave the dialecticals to me, Mr. Antilles,” said Tarkay, holding up a hand. “Twi is a very difficult language an’ you obviously ain’t a fluent speaker.”

Antilles laid a handful of credchips on the table. “Five thousand.”

Tarkay gasped. “Now, sir, you insult me.” He clutched his leathery forehead. “To think we would ever give our little girl away is one thing, but for so little!”

“Disgraceful,” Mrs. Tarkay clucked. She was catching on.

Leela returned to the room, carrying Creampuff. “Listen,” said Tarkay. “Leela loves it ‘ere. She’ll be ‘eartbroken to leave.”

“Somehow, I don’t fully believe you,” said Mr. Antilles as Leela approached eagerly.

“I can’t just ‘and ‘er off to any passin’ stranger!” Tarkay cried. “We might never see ‘er again!”

“I can assure you,” Antilles replied pointedly, “that that is my exact intention.”

Mrs. Tarkay quickly squashed a grin.

Leela appeared in front of them. “I’m ready!”

This was perfect. The kid wanted to go, so now Tarkay could let her while still maintaining reluctance. “Sir… We can ‘ardly bear to give ‘er up. Truth be told, we can barely afford to keep ‘er, but we don’t mind that. Would this really be the best thing for ‘er?”

Mr. Antilles fixed Tarkay with a meaningful stare. “You know it would.”

Tarkay sighed and turned to Leela. He stooped down and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Leela, sweets patogga, peedunkee mufkin… Do you want to go with Mr. Antilles?”

“Yes!” Leela cried.

Tarkay sighed, closed his eyes, and bit the inside of his cheek. Unfortunately, he could not muster enough pain to bring himself to tears, so instead made a sobbing noise, stuck his hand in his mouth as if to quell tears, then wiped his eyes with his wet finger. Leela squirmed as he pulled her into an awkward hug, releasing her with a sniffle that would have put an aglophant to shame. Leela retreated to Antilles.

Tarkay wiped his eyes. “We’ll need some kind o’ compensation if we’re to part with our precious child.”

Antilles opened his wallet. “Ten thousand credits and my word that I will look after and care for her even more than you could have.”

“That’s very generous o’ you, sir,” said Mr. Tarkay, clasping his hands. If only saliva could run down his cheeks like tears, it would perfect the performance. “But given the immense financial strain we ‘ave experienced— not that we would ever do anything less for our dear little girl— could you find it in your ‘eart to spare twenty thousand?”

Mrs. Tarkay bit her lip. Her husband had just pushed their luck too far. Now he was going to back down, and then they’d be stuck with—

Mr. Antilles placed four five thousand-credit chips on the table and stood. The Tarkays gaped dumbstruck at him as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket, slung his backpack over his shoulders, took Leela’s hand with a smile, and walked out the door.

After an eternity, Tarkay slapped his leathery forehead, knocked his cap askew. “Koochoo! I should’ve asked ‘im for twenty million! ‘E didn’t even blink at twenty thousand!”

“Twenty thousand is plenty!” Mrs. Tarkay crowed, scooping up the golden chips in her fingers and admiring them.

“We can get more!” Tarkay leapt from his seat. “Go after ‘im!”

“I’m not goin’ after ‘im!” Mrs. Tarkay squawked back. “What if ‘e gives the kid back?”

“So what if ‘e gives the kid back?” Tarkay retorted, shoving a patron out of the way as he scrambled for the closet. “We’ve got ‘is money! Get out there! Where’s my bloody rifle?”

Unfortunately, not only was the closet empty, but the second he turned to search elsewhere, the Jawas swarmed on him again, their complaints redoubling.

As Leela walked down the road, she heard Mrs. Tarkay call, “Wait!”

Antilles turned around. Leela bit her lip as Mrs. Tarkay dashed up to them and stopped to catch her breath, panting heavily. “We’ve changed… our minds.”

Leela clung to Antilles’ hand tighter. Mrs. Tarkay extended her hand. “Come on, Leela. Back to the inn.”

Leela trembled. Even winded from running such a great distance to accost them, Mrs. Tarkay was an imposing figure, and Leela knew that if she wanted to, she could seize Leela by the wrist and yank her back as easily as picking a meechee from a tree. And then what would happen?

Mrs. Tarkay swallowed a gulp of air and put a hand on her hip. “Well?”

Mr. Antilles took a step forward. “You don’t want to take Leela back.”

Leela held her breath.

Mrs. Tarkay lowered her hand. “We… don’t want to take Leela back.”

Leela’s eyes grew wide. She looked at Mr. Antilles, who stared firmly at Mrs. Tarkay. “Leela will be in good hands.” This time, Leela noticed him wave his fingers. “Her mother sent me to collect her.”

“‘Er mother sent you to collect ‘er,” Mrs. Tarkay echoed blankly.

Leela gasped. Could it really be true? Had her mother sent her a guardian angel after all?

“You will give me full permission to take her into my custody.”

“I will give you full permission to take ‘er into your custody.”

A grin spread across Leela’s face.

“You want to go back to your husband and let us depart,” said Mr. Antilles with finality, waving her off.

“I want to go back to my ‘usband an’ let you depart,” Mrs. Tarkay declared, eyes unfocused. Leela watched in astonishment as she actually turned and began to walk back toward the inn. She gaped at Mr. Antilles, who kept his gaze on the Weequay woman, making sure she was truly leaving, before turning and escorting Leela down the road again. “I have a change of clothes for you in my backpack,” said Mr. Antilles. “When we find a refresher, you can go inside and put them on. You won’t have to wear those rags anymore.”

Leela beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Antilles.”

“You’re welcome.” Mr. Antilles returned the smile warmly and squeezed her hand.

“Mr. Antilles,” Leela asked as they walked, “are you a Jedi?”

Mr. Antilles thinned his lips. After a while, he said, “No.”

“How did you do that?” she asked. “How did you get her to leave?”

“I’ve read a few books on how to influence people,” Mr. Antilles replied. “I’m very persuasive.”

Leela chewed her lip, not fully satisfied with this answer, but not knowing what other questions to ask to determine whether Mr. Antilles had indeed used some kind of magic to convince Mrs. Tarkay to leave them in peace. Jedi or not, she trusted him, which led her to another question.

“Did my mother really send you?”

Mr. Antilles closed his eyes. “Yes, Leela,” he said heavily. “There’s… there’s something I have to tell you.”

Leela stared at Mr. Antilles as he turned and stooped to put a hand on her shoulder. “Your mother… loved you very much.”

Leela’s expression did not change outwardly, but she felt a warmth grow in her heart. It was a warmth tinged with sadness; she could already sense where he was going.

“She wanted to see you,” said Mr. Antilles. “Desperately. But… she passed on, before she could get you. So… she sent me.”

Leela nodded, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Antilles let her bury her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Leela. I wish you could have seen her again.”

Leela nodded, squeezing warm tears from her eyes, staining his poncho. He patted her back, gently holding her as she wept for her mother. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Your mother will always be with you, Leela,” he promised softly. “And so will I.”

Leela nodded and lifted her head, aquamarine cheeks stained with tears. Neither of them spoke. She slowly placed her hand in Mr. Antilles’ again. He nodded. As the two of them walked together into the sunrise, she felt a hand on her back, as if a third person was walking beside her. She smiled.

Mr. Antilles was telling the truth.

 

This chapter features @Findswoman's OCs Marya-Glocke "Glockel" Sternenkranz, Telfien Viurrannvi, and R1-K4 "Rika." Big thank you to Finds for letting me borrow her characters and for assisting me with this chapter to make sure I did them justice!

Chapter 5: The Providers of Passage

It would not be quite fair to say that Captain Glockel Sternenkranz was an impatient woman; it was not, after all, her fault that the universe seemed determined to challenge her tolerance for frustration at every other opportunity. In further fairness to Glockel, her line of work was not an easy one, and infuriating situations tended to abound in the business no matter who you were— whether it was a hyperactive child peppering you with questions while you waited to meet with your employer, or a contractor changing the terms of the deal in the middle of a delivery, or almost getting blasted from the stars because your confounded contact had an extremely counterproductive definition of the word “security,” or once again crossing paths with Hondo Ohnaka. (Fortunately, Glockel need not have feared that occurrence on that particular day, because I was in a cantina on the opposite side of the Outer Rim listening to him wax nostalgic about his service in the Battle of Onderon over a bottle of Toniray.) What was occupying Glockel’s mind at that moment was the individual they were currently awaiting in a spaceport diner; an individual who was, without a doubt, the strangest passenger the Rose Evergreen had ever had.

“Delphine,” Glockel wondered aloud, glancing at the chrono above the counter, “when do you suppose he’ll be back?”

“Telfien does not know,” replied her Gand associate.

Glockel glanced toward the door of the establishment as the bell chimed, but it was only a bickering Troig. She sighed. “Sometimes, Delphine, your hunches can be a bit less helpful than I’d like.”

“The Mists were very helpful to that man,” Telfien pointed out. “Without their guidance, you and Telfien would not have arrived in time to rescue him from the vacuum of space.”

“Yes, but I wish they would at least tell us his name, since he won’t,” Glockel replied, taking a sip of caf and grimacing. She glanced at the miniature sausages she’d ordered, trying to decide whether it was worth it to finish them. The eggs certainly hadn’t been, and she wasn’t nearly as particular about eggs. She decided to try the small brown piece of toast, which, despite resembling a piece of flimsiboard, no longer looked like the blandest item on her tray. With as much help as a packet of jam could provide, it was easily the best part of her overpriced meal. She sighed again. They could have been at Bonvika’s palace right now, eating cold Besnian sausage and jelly buns from the Hutt’s kitchen while they waited for their next job. Even Klatooine paddy frog sausage would’ve been preferable to these rubber nubs the menu claimed were nerf. Their client had been gone overnight, which meant he’d probably stayed at an inn, and Glockel was willing to bet they served better food than this place.

Maybe she wouldn’t have minded how tasteless the food was if the whole blasted planet wasn’t such a bland little grass ball. The sooner they got off Monderon, the better.

“Didn’t you say he was… you know… like you?” Glockel asked suddenly. “With the… what do you call it? The mist thing.”

“He does indeed possess the talent of the Mists,” Telfien affirmed. “He seems especially unwilling to discuss that subject.”

Glockel cocked her head thoughtfully. “I wonder if that means he gets little hunches too. He obviously didn’t have a hunch about us—”

Glockel's comlink beeped, cutting her off, which wasn’t the most inconvenient thing in the universe since she’d already finished her sentence, but the timing was still a tad awkward. She unclipped it from her belt and answered it. Her astromech beeped questioningly on the other end.

“No, Rika, he’s not here yet,” asked Glockel. “What are you asking me for? You’re the one who’s supposed to be watching the ship.”

Two defensive blips.

“Well, then, you call me when you see him.” Glockel clipped her comm back on her belt. She puffed a bored sigh and rested her cheek on her bony hand. “You know, he did leave that enormous box of credits on the ship.” She tossed her head back and laughed, a small, tinkling sound as musical as her uncommon accent.

“Marya-Glocke Sternenkranz, you and Telfien are not abandoning the client and stealing his money,” Telfien rebuked her.

“Only joking, of course.” Glockel downed the rest of her caf, immediately regretting having finished the toast first. Now her mouth was going to taste like that for the rest of the morning. “But who’s to say he didn’t steal it in the first place? What if he’s a pirate?”

“Telfien does not think he is a pirate,” the Gand murmured, stroking her transpirator with a thoughtful claw.

“He is paying us in buried treasure,” Glockel pointed out. “I’m certain it was buried. There was dirt caked on that chest and he made us buy him a shovel along with his new clothes when we arrived on Tamifrane.”

“Telfien remembers,” Telfien nodded. “Telfien selected the shovel herself.”

“Well, if he’s not a pirate, what do you think he is?” asked Glockel. “He must have been wearing a prison jumpsuit for a reason.”

“Telfien does not speculate what she cannot hope to discern by conjecture alone,” Telfien replied. “Telfien is searching the Mists, but the Mists have not yet revealed to Telfien any hint of where he came from, only where he would be when he needed us.”

“What if he killed someone?” asked Glockel. “You wouldn’t get a hunch that told us to go help a murderer, would you?”

“Telfien thinks she and you would already be dead if he were a killer,” the Gand returned.

“You’re not the least bit curious about him?” Glockel scoffed incredulously.

“The Mists will reveal all that is necessary to know,” Telfien replied sagely.

“Still, I think we should at least be—” Glockel’s comlink beeped again. Rika chirped.

“What do you mean, he’s got a smaller meatbag with him?” asked Glockel. “Those are called children, Rika. Where did the child come from?”

An uncertain bloop.

“We’ll be right over.” Glockel switched off her com and rose from her seat, fiery red braids bouncing behind her as she rushed out the cantina, her diminutive Gand friend hitching her coral-pink robes to match her haste.

The human-Gand duo made their way to Bay 4, where a green and gold SCT Scout Craft emblazoned with stylized pink rose emblems was docked, its ramp extended as a white and blue-green astromech waited nearby alongside a middle-aged human man of significant stature and the scrawniest Twi’lek Glockel had ever seen in her life, clutching the human’s fingers with one hand and a life-size stuffed loth-kitten in the other. She gaped at the two women with wide, round eyes. They sometimes had that effect on people, what with Glockel’s striking red hair and the fact that not everyone in the galaxy, this girl evidently included, had seen a Gand before. Glockel hoped this child was not as hyperactive as Soozoo, the small daughter of Bonvika’s majordomo who had a habit of following her around talking Glockel’s ear off whenever her mother couldn’t find someone to watch her.

“You’re finally back,” said Glockel, stopping in front of them and placing her hands on her hips. “Who’s the child?”

“This is Leela, my daughter,” said their client. “Leela, meet Captain Glockel Sternenkranz, and her shipmate, Telfien.”

The droid beeped tersely, a light flashing red below her photoreceptor.

“And— I’m sorry, madam, I’ve forgotten your name,” the client apologized.

Pleased at being addressed as madam, Rika allowed the snub to slide. She chirped an introduction.

“I’m not fluent in binary,” the client replied, looking at Glockel.

“This is R1-K4, my droid,” said Glockel, placing a hand on the astromech’s transparent aquamarine dome. “We call her Rika.”

“Hello,” said Leela quietly.

Telfien bowed slightly to get a closer look at Leela. “Telfien is pleased to meet you, young one.”

Leela smiled shyly, turning her face away slightly from the Gand’s pondering gaze. Glockel was glad that Leela and Soozoo seemed to differ in loquacity; she wouldn’t be able to handle a prolonged hyperspace journey in the Rose Evergreen’s cramped quarters with an over-energetic prepubescent kid asking her endless questions, most of which, if the little Theelin tyke was anything to go off of, would, in all likeliness, mostly be about her accent. (Children often regarded it as comical because it was an accent typically given in early morning holotoons to bumbling psychological therapists or whimsical researchers engaged in unethical experimentation. I once met a rather unpleasant Imperial official on Nevarro with a similar accent, but in the case of the Imperial official it came across as cold and chilling instead. At least I remember him having that accent; I may be confusing him for the narrator of a holo-doc I saw once about a man who tried to live with wampas, and in that case it might have been the documentary itself that was chilling.)

“Curious,” said Telfien, her compound eyes seeming to study the child. Glockel cocked her head.

“What’s curious?” asked their client with a slight edge, his brow creasing.

Telfien straightened. “Telfien was simply observing how familiar Leela seems, as if she has seen her before.”

“Have you?” asked Leela, her eyes widening. “I don’t remember meeting anyone who looks like you before.”

“Telfien is uncertain,” Telfien replied thoughtfully.

“We need passage to Pasir,” said their client. “Then your service will be finished.”

Glockel blinked. That was not as far as she’d been expecting. “Alright then. Let’s get going.”

As they boarded the ramp, Leela looked wide-eyed around the ship. It was clear she hadn’t been on many spaceships before, for the Rose Evergreen was much more interesting to look at from the outside than the inside. It was not technically a passenger ship by design; the standard SCT model was roughly twice the size of a VCX-100 light freighter and could accommodate eight passengers, but the smaller model, the Class 125, could only accommodate half that many, and with the modifications made to the Evergreen for increased cargo space, that number was halved again. It was therefore fortunate that Leela and her apparent father were not longterm guests on board. “This is the cargo hold,” said Glockel, gesturing to the relatively spacious deck before them. “That’s the sublight engine room and the turrets are there and there. I don’t expect we’ll get into any firefights, but your… erm… father assures me he’s had some experience behind the trigger of a cannon.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Leela’s father with resolute certainty. He was hunched somewhat to increase the few inches of clearance between his head and the ceiling.

“That is of course the sensor package,” said Glockel, pointing toward the front of the deck between the two gunner stations. “It was a big help in pinpointing exactly where in space your… Well, when your father was about to come hurtling past our viewport.”

“What do you mean?” Leela cocked her head.

“It’s a long story,” her father replied, before any of the crewmembers could. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

Telfien regarded him curiously, or so it seemed by the tilt of her head, since Gand were incapable of forming facial expressions beyond the movement of their insectoid mouthparts, and Telfien’s were hidden by her ammonia mask.

They followed Glockel up the ladder. “That’s for the main engines,” she said, pointing to the back of the craft, before turning to the central corridor. “This big door on the left is a storage room and these two on the right are our quarters. That room is mine and that one is Delphine’s. Don’t go in either of them, but especially not Delphine’s, because it’s filled with ammonia gas so she can breathe without her mask on. I don’t expect you’ll need to sleep on the way to Pasir, but if you do, ask me and I might let you borrow my bunk if you don’t touch anything. I’d prefer you simply stay awake. And that is the cockpit, where Rika and I fly the ship. And that’s the end of the tour. Any questions? Excellent.”

“I like the way you talk,” Leela piped up.

Glockel beamed at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Leela. You’re a very nice girl.”

Leela smiled shyly.

“Have you ever been in the cockpit of a starship when it made the jump to lightspeed?” Glockel asked her.

Leela shook her head.

Glockel placed a hand on Leela’s shoulder. “Come on. You’ll want to see this.”

All the passengers entered the cockpit. Glockel took her seat in the pilot’s chair. Telfien sat in the copilot’s chair, and Rika positioned herself in front of the droid interface panel. A scomp link appendage popped from one of her teal compartments, her transparent head swiveling to look to Glockel.

A hum filled the cockpit as Glockel powered up the engines, lights blinking and beeping as Leela stared with wonder.

The Rose Evergreen began to rise from the docking bay. Leela’s eyes grew wider and wider as it began to climb into the cloudy blue sky.

Her father put a hand on her shoulder and smiled as the ship breached the atmosphere, the blue of the sky giving way to black, starry space. A grin spread across Leela’s face as they sailed into the stars.

Glockel smiled too. “Rika, calculate hyperspace coordinates to Pasir.”

Rika whistled and inserted the apparatus into the socket, the terminal mechanisms clicking and whirring as the device twisted back and forth. The ship’s console beeped as the navicomputer finished plotting the trajectory.

Glockel reached for the hyperdrive lever. A hum slowly rose up as Glockel pushed the lever forward. Leela gawked as the stars elongated in time with the hum.

And then, suddenly, with a muted sonic punch, they were in hyperspace.

Leela leaned closer to gape at the rushing, cloudy vortex as they hurtled through it. Glockel smiled. “First time in space?”

Leela shook her head. “My mama took me on a shuttlebus when we came to Monderon.”

“Oh.” Glockel furrowed her brow, glancing at their client and then back to Leela. “Where’s your mother now?”

“She’s gone,” Leela mumbled.

“Oh,” Glockel replied, her expression changing. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She has me now,” said their client. “To look after her.”

“Ah,” said Glockel, putting the pieces together. “I see now. And how—”

“It’s not important,” he replied firmly.

Telfien tilted her head.

Glockel flicked a few switches on the cockpit dashboard. “Anyone for pazaak?”

“That sounds lovely,” Telfien replied, glancing at Leela and the client. “Would either of you care to join Telfien and Glockel for a game?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” said the client. “Leela, do you know how to play pazaak?”

Leela thought for a moment. “Is it like sabacc?”

“It’s a little like sabacc, yes,” Glockel nodded, furrowing her brow. “You don’t know how to play sabacc, do you?”

Leela nodded. “When I lived at the inn, Mr. Tarkay used to make me play against the customers.”

“Why in the galaxy would someone make a child play sabacc with strangers?” Glockel asked, appalled.

“Because I was good at it,” said Leela, squirming. “I could tell what the other players’ cards were. Like I could see them. It wasn’t any fun.”

The client’s brow hardened, his eyes widening. “Can you show me?”

Leela bit her lip, thought for a moment, and nodded.

The client looked at Glockel, who glanced at Leela’s thoroughly uncomfortable countenance. “She doesn’t have to.”

“Captain, it is imperative to Leela’s safety that I see this for myself,” replied the client firmly. “It’s going to be alright, Leela. Do you trust me?”

Leela nodded emphatically.

“Telfien knows what you are trying to ascertain,” said Telfien. “Telfien already knows the answer.”

The client turned to her. “Why don’t I come with you while you get the pazaak deck.”

“Very well.” Telfien stood and exited the cockpit with the client, who closed the door behind them.

As they walked the corridor to retrieve the box of cards, the client said, “We could be wrong.”

“Telfien’s intuition is not wrong,” the Gand insisted. “Telfien can see the Mists swirling around the child and you as clear as she can see you yourselves. You both have the gift.”

“Or that opportunistic tavernmaster taught her how to cheat at sabacc,” the client insisted.

Telfien pushed the button to open the storage closet and entered, opening the compartment containing the pazaak deck. “Telfien is confused that you insist on denying it. Is there something you’re afraid of?”

“I have to protect her,” said the client. “It’s my duty.”

“That is not it.” Telfien closed the storage compartment and turned around. “You brought back a box. But not the one Telfien saw in her visions. Where is that box?”

“I told you before,” said the client, snatching the cards from her. “I don’t like questions.”

He pondered the deck, turning over the box in his hand. “You’re right,” he said, handing it back. “We don’t need to see her do it.”

They reentered the cockpit, Leela and Glockel staring anxiously at them. Rika beeped questioningly.

“I’m not going to make you look at the cards, Leela,” said the client, dropping to one knee. “I believe what you can do.”

Telfien gazed at them. Leela’s shoulders slumped with grateful relief.

“Which is why you can never tell anyone else,” he said, gripping her shoulder firmly and staring into her eyes. “The Tarkays used you, Leela. There are more people out there like them. Never let them know what you can do.”

Leela nodded.

The client enveloped his daughter in a hug, then released her and stood, smiling warmly. Leela returned the smile, feeling its promise of security.

Glockel stood from her seat. “Come on, Leela. I’m sure we can find something else on this ship to do besides play cards.”

As they left the cockpit, Telfien turned to face the client. He was large for a human and she was small for a Gand. They stared vertically at each other.

“It is not wise to cause the child to hide and suppress her abilities,” said Telfien, her voice quiet and piercing. “Telfien has seen what comes of it.”

“I’m protecting her,” the client returned. “If anyone discovers her abilities, she will be taken advantage of. Better to let them fade.”

“It is better for her to develop her talents in safety,” Telfien urged. “You must help her grow them.”

The client pushed her aside, as if she were a curtain, moving past her to leave. He bowed his head, not only to fit through the door. “I can’t do that.”

Telfien watched as the door shut behind him.