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.

 

Shoutout again to @Findswoman for the use of her characters and for her assistance on the section of this chapter containing them!

Chapter 6: Day One

From space, Pasir resembled Lothal, only much greener and with more water. If you haven’t seen Lothal from space, picture Naboo, only much less green with less water. If you haven’t seen Naboo, picture Corellia, because Pasir is essentially the Corellia of the Outer Rim, if you remove all the smog, shipyards, and galactic significance. (And, if we want to be pedantic, two of three moons.)

Leela was captivated by it. It was so much more vibrant than Monderon, its surface far less uniform in color and texture. Her father smiled, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “That’s our new home, Leela.”

“It’s so pretty!” Leela exclaimed.

“It certainly is,” Glockel agreed. “I came here once on a business trip. Wait till you see the city streets.”

Leela’s eyes widened, as did her grin.

“I’ve already made the arrangements,” said her father. “We’re going to live in a nice, quiet apartment, and I’m going to buy you lots of books. I intend to provide you with a good education, Leela. I’m going to teach you everything you need to know.”

“See that you do,” said Telfien pointedly.

Leela’s father did not return her stare.

Lutecia, Pasir’s capital city, was built on the banks of the Sidon, which wound longer than the Solleu of Naboo. Leela stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the waterfalls. Looming over the capital city was the mighty fall of Gratia, and at the outskirts of the city cascaded the fall of Debitum which fed the sea of Culpa. Leela, of course, did not know all these names, but she entirely bewitched, having never seen a waterfall before, let alone two as breathtaking as Gratia and Debitum.

The Rose Evergreen docked in the spaceport at the foot of Gratia Falls. Before disembarking, Com told Leela to stay in the cockpit while Glockel and Telfien followed him into the storage room, where he opened the box of credits. Glockel watched as he withdrew a bag and began counting credits into it. She couldn’t see clearly with his back turned to them, but he seemed to be taking slightly longer than she would have expected. Finally, he turned around and placed the bag in her hands. “Ah!” She almost dropped it. “This… feels like more than we agreed on.”

“It is,” the client confirmed. “Compensation for coming so far out of your way. I understand you were en route to Nal Hutta when you turned around to pick me up.”

Glockel smirked. “Technically, we were about to set out for Nal Hutta when Delphine had a hunch we should go to—”

“Yes, and I’m very grateful she did,” said the client hastily, frowning. He stuck his head out the storage room door. The cockpit door was still shut. “Please accept the extra credits as a token of my thanks.”

The client turned to the box, shutting the lid and locking it closed. “Thank you both— and your droid— and may the Force be with you.”

“May the Mists guide you,” Telfien replied. Then, tilting her head, she added, “And may they bless you with wisdom and prudence… and protect you from doubt.”

The client tucked the box under his arm and nodded to them.

After Leela bid goodbye to Telfien and Glockel, the Rose Evergreen departed from the spaceport. Leela’s father took her hand and began walking. “Papa,” she said, “what’s in the box?”

“Never you mind,” her father replied. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Lutecia was a quaint city; Leela marveled at the cobbled pavement, the streets lined with two-story shops. Unlike Monderon, where virtually every building was flat-topped, the housetops in these streets were sloped and colorful. The shingled roofs alternated red, grey and yellow, the domes in polished white and shining gold. Leela marveled at each shop window, the tables set outside each cafe and restaurant, each outdoor stall. The black lamp posts that towered over her— she wondered what they looked like at night when they were lit. And the people! Leela had never seen so many people at once, all walking, chattering, sitting— humans, Ithorians, Rodians, Duros, Gran— even Twi’leks like Leela. She stared wide-eyed at a pair of finely-dressed Twi’lek women as they walked down the street, lekku wrapped around their shoulders like scarves, carrying parasols. They giggled as they chatted with each other, and Leela’s eyes followed them as they passed by. Above the babble of the town, the notes of a hallikset rang, echoing through the street, played skillfully by a Bith musician. Leela’s father tossed a credit to him as they walked by.

Though the city street took Leela’s breath away, it was nothing compared to the view of the river.

Leela had never seen a body of water like the Sidon before. Monderon had rivers, but Leela had never lived near one. This river was vast, shimmering green in the midday sun, teeming with ships like swans on the water. Long brick bridges stretched across it, water skiffs passing through their arches as pedestrians crossed over. A grin spread across her face as her father led her to one of the bridges to cross it.

Suddenly, her father stopped. Leela looked at him, then back at the bridge. Amongst the pedestrians, two people in black and white armor were standing looking out over the river and chatting. Leela’s father turned back, leading her away from the bridge. “Let’s take the ferry.”

Leela was excited for a bit, but when they boarded the ferry, her father sat on the center bench in the cabin. Leela couldn’t see much through the windows of the boat with the other passengers in the way, and her father wouldn’t let go of her hand. She sensed he was on edge about something.

They stuck to the back roads as much as possible after they disembarked from the ferry. There was much less traffic there; there was only the occasional passerby. A Gotal, a Chadra-Fan— the one that caught Leela’s attention most was the armored individual who walked out of a shop just as they turned the corner. They weren’t armored like the people in black and white; theirs was grey and green, metallic rather than plasteel, a T-shaped visor— but before Leela noticed any of those things, her eyes widened at the two tendril-shaped appendages that sprouted from the back of their head.

Her father merely nodded to the individual with the lek-like protuberances, but when Leela spotted another one of the people in black and white, her father ushered her down a different street. “Are you afraid of those people, Papa?”

“They’re police troopers,” her father responded with an anxious glance over his shoulder. “The Empire puts them here to protect the city, but you must be very careful around them. Do you understand?”

Leela nodded and clutched Creampuff a little tighter.

Their new home was at a three-story apartment building on the outskirts of town. “Here we are,” Leela’s father nodded, reading the sign above the door. “The Elephant House.”

“What’s an elephant?” asked Leela curiously.

“I don’t know,” her father replied, furrowing his brow. “I’ve never seen a picture of one, only things that are supposed to look like them.”

The lobby was sparsely decorated in bright blue— the rug, the wilting flowers hanging from the ceiling, and the signage were all the same cerulean shade. Everything else looked grey and grimy. “Let’s see… Room 101…” Leela’s father stopped at the door with the number 101 painted on the door in faded blue stencil, where moderately loud jizz music could be heard from the other side. Leela’s father knocked on the door and the music switched off. After a moment, the door opened. Leela’s eyes traveled up the column of a very tall swivel chair to see the strangest creature she’d ever laid eyes on. Their dangling feet ended in suction-tipped fingers. Their squat, rotund torso was armless. Most unusual of all was their face, with a long, bulbous snout and two floppy ears draped over their nonexistent shoulders. And they were as blue as every piece of halfhearted decor in the building.

“Are you the landlady, Ms. Gurbo?” asked Leela’s father.

“That’s me,” the blue creature nodded from high in her bowl-shaped seat, though Leela couldn’t tell where her funny little voice was coming from since she couldn’t see any mouth. “You the new tenant?”

“Antilles,” her father confirmed.

Ms. Gurbo spotted Leela out of the corner of her beady black eye. She gripped the joystick on the underside of her seat with one foot, lowering herself to Leela’s eye level. “You didn’t tell me there were two of you. You sure you want 202?”

“Absolutely certain,” Antilles nodded firmly. “Would you be so kind as to show us to our room?”

“Absolutely. Right this way.” Ms. Gurbo’s chair shot back up as she whirled around and pressed the button to shut her apartment door. She turned and began wheeling towards the large silver door at the end of the hall. Leela noticed the fat, fleshy growth hanging down the landlady’s back and wondered what in the galaxy it could be. A third ear? Some kind of lek? She wondered what other strange things she would learn about her fascinating new landlady.

They followed the landlady into what looked like a closet with buttons in it. Ms. Gurbo pressed the button labeled 2 with her index toe. The door closed them inside and Leela was confused momentarily before she felt something change. She couldn’t be certain, but she felt as though the ground was rising. Then the door swiveled open again and the room outside was different.

A grin spread across Leela’s face.

The corridor contained three doors aside from the lift marked 201, 203, 202 and 204 in the same faded blue paint. “Here you are,” said the landlady, stopping in front of the door to Room 202. The door slid open when she pushed the button.

Antilles frowned. “It’s unlocked?”

“Lock’s busted,” Ms. Gurbo apologized. “Hasn’t worked in a while. Can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. But if you ever do, the combination’s 226.”

Antilles thinned his lips. “I see.”

As Ms. Gurbo wheeled back to the lift, Leela followed Antilles into their new home. Unlike the lobby, halls and the landlady’s own apartment room, there had been no attempt to spruce up No. 202. The only patch of color was the cover of the faded blue bed in the corner. There was a single window above the desk, and another to be seen through the open refresher room door. Aside from the bed, the desk and a small conservator, there was no other furniture to be seen. Leela opened the door next to the refresher and found it was an empty closet. It was small, but so was she. She could sleep quite comfortably inside once she got something to curl up on.

Her father’s shadow appeared from behind her. “No coat hangers,” he mused, observing the closet’s bare interior. “I’ll have to buy some later. Leela, if you could move, please?”

Leela scampered out of the way as Antilles placed the large chest from before on top of the closet shelf. He turned around with a smile as the closet shut with a beep. “This is your bed. Do you like it?”

Leela gasped and turned around to face the blue bed. “This is mine?”

“Of course it is,” Antilles nodded. “It’s high time you had your own bed.”

“Oh, thank you, Papa!” She beamed and threw her arms around his middle. Suddenly, she pulled away, frowning. “Where will you sleep?”

“On the floor, of course,” her father replied. “Right here.” He pointed to the spot beside the bed.

Leela furrowed her brow. “Are you sure, Papa? That doesn’t look very comfortable. You can have the bed if you want.”

“No, Leela, the bed is yours.” Antilles rubbed the top of her head. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I need to go into town and purchase some things to make our stay here comfortable. I’ll be back in about an hour or so with lunch. Can you be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, Papa,” Leela nodded eagerly.

“Good,” Antilles nodded. “Now, I need you to listen to me carefully. I don’t want you answering the door for anybody, not even the landlady. Pretend you’re not home and don’t say anything. I want you to only open the door if you hear me knock like this.”

He took her hand and tapped her palm with his finger. Tap tap-tap-tap tap tap tap tap. “Can you remember that?”

Leela bit her lip, concentrating, and tapped the sequence on her leg. She nodded.

“Excellent.” Antilles nodded and went to the door. “I won’t be long.”

Leela played with Creampuff for a while, holding him and stroking him and rocking him like a baby. Then she decided to make him run around, pretending he was chasing a runaway ball of string. She tossed him lightly across the room as if he were pouncing. “You got it!”

She went on like this for about half an hour before there was a knock at the door.

Knock knock knock.

She froze. That wasn’t her father’s knock.

Everything was silent for a moment.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

Leela held Creampuff tightly and searched frantically for a place to hide. She crawled under the bed and tried to make herself as unnoticeable as possible.

The person on the other side of the door did not come in. After several minutes, Leela cautiously poked her head out, then decided she would stay under the bed until her father came home, just in case.

After a while, there was another knock at the door.

Knock knock-knock-knock knock knock knock knock.

Leela scrambled out from under the bed and ran to open the door. She stepped aside as her father walked in with several bags on his arms and a smile on his face. “Was everything alright?”

Leela nodded. “I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“Good.” Her father set the bags down on the desk. He removed a stack of books and a datapad with a stylus from the bags, leaving the remaining contents inside, then turned to another bag and removed two white containers, bearing the logo of some establishment Leela couldn’t read the name of. “Lunch.”

Lunch consisted of an assortment of stewed vegetables drizzled in a light sauce. Leela had never seen food so colorful. As she ate ravenously, her father switched on the datapad and picked up the stylus. “While we eat, let’s do some learning. How much of the alphabet do you know?”

“Um…” Leela thought for a moment, trying to remember the names of the letters. “Aurek, besh, cresh, dorn, esk, forn, grek… herf? …isk… j— jenth…? …krill and leth.”

Antilles nodded. “That’s a good start. Enough to spell your name. Write down the letters you know.”

He handed Leela the stylus. Leela carefully attempted to recreate all the Aurebesh letters she could remember. She got three of them backwards and the besh sideways, and her shapes were uneven, but she managed to remember what each character looked like, minor errors notwithstanding. “Very good,” said her father. “May I see?” He accepted the stylus from her and corrected her mistakes, writing the proper letterform above each of Leela’s slightly errant attempts. “You see?”

Leela nodded. “Good,” Antilles nodded. “Let’s learn the rest. This letter is called mern.”

They studied for around an hour. Leela spent even more than that practicing writing the letters she’d learned, hyperfixated on her new knowledge. She wrote her own name several times over, asked how to spell Creampuff’s name and wrote that. Her penmanship saw vast improvement in the space of those hours.

When the sun began to sink, Antilles asked Leela if she would like to go to the park. She eagerly agreed. They stopped by a bakery to purchase seeds to feed to the dacklers, and bread with soup to eat themselves.

Leela had thought Pasir was green from space. That was before she saw the Caluula Gardens. Never in her eight years had she seen a place as verdant as that park. Leela had never seen grass that bright. In fact, from a distance, she almost didn’t realize it was grass. Against the backdrop of the shrubbery and the field were beds of flowers in more colors than Leela had ever seen at once. And the trees, unlike those of the Monderon woods, stood majestically along the paved duracrete paths, shading them with their broad red canopies. The pink cloudy sky reflected on the shimmering waters of the great pond where the dacklers swam.

Leela grinned.

They approached the edge of the pond, where a raft of dacklers paddled inquisitively toward them. Leela gasped as a dackerling swam to the edge of the pond and looked right at her. Antilles smiled and handed her the seed bag.

Leela reached her fingers into the bag and drew out a small handful of seeds, which she tossed into the water. The dacklers quacked and nibbled them off the surface of the water. Leela giggled with delight and reached into the bag again.

They tossed feed to the dacklers until the bag was empty, at which point Leela cast off her shoes to feel the grass underneath her feet. Antilles watched her run laughing around the pond. There were a few other children playing a game nearby, and he saw her run towards them. He smiled as he watched her introduce herself and join their game.

One of the children’s parents, a well-dressed human woman, stood beside him to observe their own. “Is she your daughter?”

Antilles caught his breath. As if realizing it for the first time, he said, “Yes. That is my daughter.”

“She’s adorable.” The mother looked over at him and noticed his plain poncho. Antilles didn’t notice that she remained silent from that point. He was too busy watching Leela laugh and chase the other children.

A Gungan child in rags and an exceptionally small Wookiee with dirt-caked fur attempted to join the fun, but one of the kids noticed and began shouting at them. “Get out of here, scrumrats!”

The other children jeered in agreement, shaking their fists and making rude faces. “Stop!” Leela cried as the two urchins were shoved to the ground. She began tugging the arm of the girl who had shouted first.

Antilles broke into a sprint. “That’s enough!” he thundered as he rushed to them. “That is enough.”

The children froze, the bullies’ fists raised in mid-punch, Leela looking to her father, the two children on the ground lowering their hands from shielding themselves to see who had come to their rescue.

“Why would you treat these children this way?” Antilles demanded. “Why can’t they play with you?”

“They… We… We don’t like them,” mumbled one of the children, his pale blue eyes refusing to meet Antilles’.

Antilles folded his arms. “Why not?”

“Mummy says I’m not allowed to play with scrumrats,” sneered a pale little brunette, the only child who didn’t seem to be ashamed or cowed by Antilles’ disapproving frown.

“That’s no way to treat anyone,” Antilles declared firmly. “Stop it.”

The little brunette burst into tears. The other children ran to tattle to their parents about the scary man who made their friend cry, while the girl stood stubbornly weeping, hoping to make Antilles change his tune and apologize. Antilles stood his ground until he noticed Leela squirming, then he took Leela’s hand and led her away, leaving the blubbering child alone. The two urchins had fled in the opposite direction. Leela looked over her shoulder at them as they ran from the scene as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Are you hurt?” Antilles asked as they walked to sit down on a bench.

Leela shook her head, saying nothing.

As they sat on the bench, eating their dinner watching the sun disappear, Leela asked, “What’s a scrumrat?”

Antilles thinned his lips. “It’s a nasty name for a gamin.”

Leela cocked her head. “What’s that?”

Antilles stared off into the horizon where the two ragged children had vanished. “A child who lives on the streets. They don’t have a home or parents and have to fend for themselves.”

Leela bit her lip and looked wistfully at her bread, of which she had taken one bite. “They must be hungry.”

Antilles nodded, swallowing. “I imagine they are.”

As the sun sank lower, Antilles urged Leela to drink her soup and finish her bread as they walked back home. As they left the park, they spotted a ragged man slumped against the wall of a building, a flimsiboard sign against his knees and a rusty tin in his hands. As they drew closer, Leela guessed in the dim that he was a Weequay.

“‘Scuse me, sir.” The beggar lifted a wrinkled grey hand. “You ain’t got a cred or two to spare, by chance?”

Antilles dropped a handful of credits into the beggar’s tin. Leela looked at her half-finished bread and handed it to him.

“Aw, thank ye’ kindly, little lady,” the beggar smiled, a tear coming to his eye as he accepted the bread. “Y’all have a good night.”

The city looked very different to Leela as they walked the rest of the way home.

When they had returned to their floor, an old Gran woman poked her head out her apartment door and spotted them coming down the hall. “You must be the new neighbors!” she bleated cheerfully, extending a six-fingered handshake, ears and antennae perked up. “I’m Mrs. Oogi. What’s your name?”

“Antilles,” Leela’s father replied, accepting the handshake. “This is my daughter.”

“Well, hello there, little one!” Mrs. Oogi stooped to offer her hand to Leela. “What’s your name?”

Leela clung to her father’s jacket.

“She’s shy,” Antilles explained. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Oogi.”

“Stop by any time!” she sang, winking her rightmost eye as she watched them enter their apartment. “I’m just across the hall if you’d ever like to visit for a nice long chat.”

Leela put on her new pajamas and crawled into her bed. As Antilles tucked her in, he asked, “Are you afraid of Mrs. Oogi?”

Leela thought for awhile. “I feel like I don’t want to tell her anything.”

“Hm.” Antilles thinned his lips thoughtfully. After bidding Leela goodnight and switching off the light, he laid down on the floor to sleep. Time would tell if Leela’s instinct was right.

 

Chapter 7: Life in the Elephant House

“Come on, Zoe, you’ve got to have more than that.”

Mrs. Oogi had invited her good friend the landlady over for a glass of Toniray, as she did regularly to gossip about the other tenants. It was never real Toniray, as the actual stuff was far too expensive for someone like Mrs. Oogi to import all the way from the Core, even before Tarkin made it the rarest wine in the galaxy. Nevertheless, Mrs. Oogi’s substitute was almost as strong— stronger, when Mrs. Oogi had made a few additions to it.

Ms. Gurbo sat on a high stool with her feet dipped in a large bowl filled with the imitation Alderaanian wine. It was her second bowl. “They don’t talk mush, I dunno,” she slurred as she slurped through her toes. “You shee who got eliminated on Eligible Alien lash night? I didn't get to watsh it 'caushe my eksh took her holoshave back.”

The landlady, being one who interacted with each of the tenants on a regular basis, was the best-positioned source for Mrs. Oogi to get the scoop on her neighbors. With a little alcoholic persuasion, the old Gran was usually able to coax some juicy tidbits out of her Ortolan friend. Unfortunately, in the case of Mr. Antilles and his daughter, there had been little to coax, even after months, and Zoe Gurbo was not the type to go out of her way to stick her blubbery nose in other people’s business. If Mrs. Oogi wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was up with them, she would have to do it herself.

And she was going to get to the bottom of it. Mrs. Oogi knew everything about everyone in the entire building except for the man with the Twi’lek daughter. They hadn’t told anyone anything about themselves. Even his daughter’s name she had learned from overhearing Antilles use it, and not from the child herself. They never went to any neighborly parties, especially not hers. They only went out together when the sun was going down, and whenever the father went out alone, the daughter refused to open the door for anyone, even for her friendly old next-door neighbor.

It was all very fishy, if you asked her.

Leela and her father would study all day. Leela was thirsty to make up for lost time, desperate to gain the ability to read. Antilles had to make sure she paced herself.

Still, she was learning extremely quickly. Whenever they would go out— always just before dark— Antilles would point to signs and Leela would recite them. And when there were no signs to read, Leela would spell words out loud to prove how much she knew. Leela’s obsession with letters only grew as she learned more words.

After a few months, Leela was reading fluently in Aurebesh for a child her age, and Antilles decided it was time for her to learn some new writing systems. “Leela,” he said, “how would you like to learn the Outer Rim Basic?”

Leela had always been intimidated by the Outer Rim script. It was jagged and haphazard-looking compared to the straight, orderly lines of Aurebesh, or the elegant geometric strokes of Clynese, and looked impossible to write, let alone read. But what Leela soon found was that most printed type in the Outer Rim Basic was highly stylized, and not so complicated to write by hand as it first appeared. The inky splotches became much easier to decipher as Leela mastered the penforms of the characters.

Soon, she could read in both Aurebesh and Outer Rim. Now that she had mastered two alphabets, Antilles decided it was time for her to start learning additional languages. Huttese seemed a practical and natural starting point. He asked Leela how much Huttese she knew. Leela proceeded to rattle off a series of vocabulary words that made the blood drain from Antilles’ face. She listed some additional words whose meaning she wasn’t sure of.

Antilles decided it would be best to start from scratch.

By the end of the month, Leela could make a phrasebook’s worth of conversation. Her vocabulary resembled the language Tarkay would use with customers. She learned in Outer Rim for the time being so as not to be overwhelmed by Huttese’s complicated native script. As always, they would spend their evenings in the park after their lessons and leave at sunset. There was no curfew in Capitol City at that time, but stormtroopers would patrol the streets all the same, hoping to catch street urchins or dirty dealers about the neighborhood. Antilles was eager to avoid them at every opportunity.

Language was not the only subject Antilles undertook himself to educate Leela in. Every day, they would practice basic arithmetic, and Antilles would read history to her. Leela loved studying history, but she had a subject she was particularly interested in, and was beginning to grow disappointed that it had yet to surface in her history lessons. “Papa, when are we going to read about the Jedi?”

“I don’t know.” Antilles swiped through the book. “There’s no mention of them here anywhere.”

Leela checked herself later, and could not find a single instance of the word Jedi in the textbook. “It’s not important,” her father assured her.

Mrs. Oogi’s friendliness grew less and less genuine the more her suspicion increased. She was beginning to suspect that Antilles had a grave secret he was hiding, and such a grave secret made it her duty to discover it. However, she could not discover the code to her neighbors’ apartment door; no matter how many combinations she tried, the lock refused to beep open. Zoe Gurbo was absolutely no help. Mrs. Oogi suspected Antilles had changed the combination himself and did so frequently. She’d realized he did the same thing with the way he knocked on his door whenever he returned from a trip around town. If he changed it every day like he did with his seemingly random knocks, she’d never be able to guess his combination.

Leela often felt that someone was hanging around outside their apartment when her father was away. She had a strong feeling as to who it was by now.

Sometimes, Leela would have nightmares about the Tarkays. Whenever she woke up in the middle of the night, she would look over the side of the bed and see her father sleeping next to her, and that always made her feel better. But she was concerned for him; the floor did not look comfortable. Sometimes, during the day, she would ask about it. “You should buy a sleeping bag.”

“I don’t need it,” he would smile.

“You should at least wear pajamas,” Leela would say, remembering how comfortable the ones he’d bought for her were. “Don’t you get cold on the ground?”

“My coat is warmer than pajamas and the carpet is soft.” (The carpet was flat as a rollerball alley and not half as colorful.) “I’m fine, Leela. Don’t worry about me.”

One day when they came home from the park, they found Mrs. Oogi waiting for them as usual. “Good evening, friends!” she sang in her bleating voice. “I’m hosting an ice cream social for everyone in the building. I don’t suppose you would like to attend?”

“When is it?” asked Antilles. Mrs. Oogi thrust a flimsiplast flyer into his hand in reply.

Antilles looked at the date and handed it back immediately. “I’m afraid that’s not a good time for us.”

“I can reschedule!” said Mrs. Oogi, snatching it back. “I want everyone to be able to attend!”

“We’ll see if we can make it,” Antilles nodded. “Good night.”

When they had closed the door to their own apartment, Antilles smiled and said, “We’ll have our own ice cream party. I’ll go buy some tomorrow and we’ll eat it together. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful, Papa!” Leela grinned.

Mrs. Oogi decided to host an open house and patrol the halls waiting to invite Antilles and his delightful daughter to join the fun. She would periodically duck outside to see if Antilles had happened to come out of his apartment, but she never saw him. She would usually stay on the lookout for five minutes at a time, except around 1400, where she seemed to have a lapse in her memory, and around 1500, where she was similarly foggy. She vaguely remembered poking her head out and returning almost immediately, instead of waiting her usual five minutes, but she was fuzzy on it. “Your memory’s finally going, you old goat,” she grumbled to herself, thinking of all the gossip she would forget when age claimed her powers of remembrance. Well, she didn’t keep a diary for nothing. All the more reason to get the scoop on Antilles— if only he would pop over and have a scoop.

“What do you keep leaving for?” asked Zoe Gurbo, the only guest who had stayed the entire time, as she sucked away at a bowl of blue vanilla with one set of toes while scooping Nectrose Freeze into the tiny mouth under her proboscis with a thin, small spoon she’d brought herself.

“To see who else is coming,” Mrs. Oogi replied, rolling all three eyes.

“They’ll knock,” Zoe replied. “Or you could leave the door open, since it’s an open house. Which is probably why you don’t have that many guests. I mean, there’s only twelve rooms in this building, eight of them occupied, and you’ve had four people come, eat, and leave. Not everybody appreciates ice cream as much as I do.”

“I know,” Mrs. Oogi sighed as she cleared away three empty cartons. She’d chatted with the guests who’d already come, but none of the gossip was fresh. “Still, doesn’t anybody want to visit a lonely old lady?”

“I do,” Zoe piped up.

Mrs. Oogi did not mention that her friendship with the landlady was founded almost entirely on bribery, mostly because friendship wasn’t actually all that high on her list of priorities in a friendship. “I’m going to go door-to-door and see who hasn’t come yet.”

“Well, don’t bother the man across the hall,” said Zoe with her mouth full. “He likes to be left alone.”

“And that doesn’t concern you?” Mrs. Oogi retorted.

“What concerns me is that he pays rent on time, which he does,” Zoe returned.

Mrs. Oogi rolled her eyes again.

Antilles and Leela, meanwhile, enjoyed their own ice cream party. Antilles brought home six different flavors, which Leela found quite extravagant. Each one was absolutely delicious and unlike anything Leela had ever tasted before. Leela ate until she felt she would burst. Once, Mrs. Oogi came knocking. “We’re not home!” Antilles called, waving in the general direction of the door. Somehow, that worked. He noticed Leela’s amusement, however, and the next time there was a knock at the door, he simply ignored it.

The next morning after breakfast, Antilles took out the datapad. “I thought we would start learning High Galactic.”

Leela brightened at that. She’d always wanted to learn High Galactic.

Antilles took the stylus and wrote LEELA on the datapad in Aurebesh. Then, beneath the first letter, he started to draw a rectangle, but stopped after two strokes. “El.”

Underneath the second letter, he made the same shape, then added a line in the middle parallel to the one on the bottom, then another one at the top. “Ee.”

He wrote the second letter again under the second esk in Leela’s name, then repeated the first letter beneath the second leth. Then he made as if to write a xesh beneath the aurek, but drew the last line through the middle instead of closing the triangle. “Ay.”

He let her get a good look at the screen. “That’s your name in High Galactic.”

Leela took the pen from him and copied what he had written. “Like that?”

“Exactly like that,” Antilles smiled. “Now let me teach you the whole alphabet.” He wrote out the alphabet from aurek to zerek, then beside each letter wrote its High Galactic equivalent. “…ex, why, zee.” He set the pen down.

Leela frowned. “Isn’t there… more?”

“What do you mean?” asked Antilles.

“When I see High Galactic, sometimes the letters are smaller,” Leela explained. “I don’t see any of them. What do those letters stand for?”

“Ah.” Antilles smiled. “Those are called lowercase letters. Not every alphabet has them. Huttese does; that’s the only other one I can think of. Sometimes Aurebesh is written with them. You’ve seen signs where the first letter of each word is bigger than the rest, haven’t you?”

Leela nodded. “But in High Galactic the little ones don’t look like the big ones.”

“Well, some of them do,” Antilles replied. “It’s easy enough. I can teach you the lowercase ones later, once you’ve learned how to write the uppercase letters.”

“Can you show them to me now?” Leela asked eagerly. “Just so I can see what they look like.”

Antilles smiled. “Alright.”

Beside each High Galactic letter, he wrote its lowercase equivalent. Leela watched with fascination. The elegant curves of High Galactic demonstrated her father’s beautiful penmanship. When he had written the last letter— zee, Leela remembered him calling it— he gave the pen to Leela.

Leela looked at the chart he had written, then at her name where it was written in Aurebesh and uppercase High Galactic. She copied the uppercase el, then consulted the chart and wrote two lowercase ees. Antilles smiled as she drew a lowercase el and finished with a lowercase ay. Leela looked up at him. “Like that?”

“Yes, Leela,” he said, rubbing the top of her head. “Exactly like that.”

When Antilles opened the door for their evening outing, Mrs. Oogi was waiting for them in the hall. “Hello, neighbors!”

“Good evening,” Antilles nodded, motioning for her to move aside so they could exit their room.

“I noticed you never came to the event I hosted yesterday,” said Mrs. Oogi as they moved past her. “I told you you could stop by any time you wanted.”

“And we did,” Antilles replied, shutting his apartment door behind him.

“I didn’t see you,” Mrs. Oogi insisted.

Antilles raised a meaningful eyebrow, took Leela’s hand and entered the lift.

Mrs. Oogi stood fuming for a moment, then turned toward Antilles’ door. She punched in a series of random numbers. The panel did not beep. Rolling her eyes, she punched in another sequence. As expected, nothing. Just for kicks, she pressed the door to open the button anyway.

To her utter surprise, the door slid open.

Slowly, the truth dawned on her. “‘Got it fixed,’ did you, Zoe?” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she stepped inside. She should’ve tried that from the beginning.

The room was small. She started with the conservator. To her disappointment, there was only food. She rooted through the conservator’s scant contents, hoping to find a bag of refrigerated spice, at least, but there was nothing.

She closed it and moved on to the desk. The datapad inside the first drawer was only a drawing pad and contained no incriminating information. The other drawers contained only holobooks, none of which were of particular interest. She pulled the blanket off the bed and found nothing; she peered under the bed and saw nothing. She sighed and moved on to the closet.

The closet door whooshed open. There were three hangars. One was bare, the others had a change of clothes each— one with a poncho draped over it, the other a dark blue ankle-length jacket. Mrs. Oogi moved the jacket and heard it jingle. Her eyes widened at the weight.

She reached in the closest pocket and drew out a handful of credits. Her eyes grew even wider as she checked the other pockets. There were so many she couldn’t even find them all, but her fingers found credits in every one they slipped into.

“Why would someone keep this much cash in their coat?” Mrs. Oogi wondered aloud, narrowing her eyes.

She looked up and noticed the box.

With a little effort, she was able to get it down from the shelf. The contents rattled as she brought it down. To her great disappointment, she could not manage to get it open no matter what she tried. She settled for shaking it a few more times. The rattle was definitely credit-like. Antilles was loaded.

Mrs. Oogi wondered where he got that much money.

Or how.

She replaced everything exactly as she had found it. Antilles and his daughter suspected nothing when they came home. Antilles only remarked that it was pleasantly odd not to find Mrs. Oogi waiting for them in the hall.

Mrs. Oogi was not in the hall because she was using the holocomm.

“I think my next door neighbor could be a con of some kind,” Mrs. Oogi said huskily, glancing over her shoulder.

“Are you acting on evidence?” asked the police receptionist, voice almost as fuzzy as the holoimage itself from the cheap projector.

“Yes,” Mrs. Oogi nodded vigorously. “I was in his apartment and I found several credits’ worth crammed into his jacket pockets, and a chest of credits as well. I think he stole it, or embezzled it. He could be involved in some very shady business.”

“Could you describe him?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Oogi nodded. “His name is Antilles. Don’t know his first name. Human, male. I’d guess around fifty or sixty. Grey hair and a beard. Very large and intimidating. He keeps to himself, he has a little Twi’lek girl with him he claims is his daughter.”

The receptionist jotted down Mrs. Oogi’s description on her datapad. “Are you absolutely certain your information is accurate? The Lutecia Police Department is very busy at the moment with—”

“Excuse me.” The police receptionist’s head turned in the direction of the new voice. Its owner appeared in view of the hologram moments later, their image fuzzy in the cheap projector. “Good evening, madam,” they nodded. “I’m the new police inspector. Rest assured, we will investigate.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Oogi nodded.

The police inspector took the datapad from the receptionist. “I’ll need an address.”

 

Chapter 8: Hunted

As they walked back in the dark, Leela spotted the Weequay beggar they always passed on the way home. But the warm feeling she usually experienced in his presence was missing that night.

As they drew closer, the mendicant did not turn his head and watch them approach, as he usually did. Antilles reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of credits.

The beggar’s cap was pulled down, hiding his face from view. Antilles dropped the credits into his tin and the beggar looked up.

It wasn’t the Weequay. It wasn’t even a Weequay. His skin was smooth, grey-green instead of brownish-grey, his gaunt jawline had no protrusions. And his eyes were not the small, sunken, warm black eyes of the man she was familiar with— they were bulbous, yellow, and glittering in the moonlight.

The stranger’s nonexistent lips spread, baring his pointed teeth. “Thank you.”

Antilles gripped Leela’s hand and hurried her from the scene. Leela asked no questions; Antilles seemed in too much of a hurry to answer any. But when he hastily tucked her into bed that night, her dreams were haunted by round yellow eyes.

The next day Leela could hardly focus on her schoolwork and kept making mistakes. Antilles excused her from language studies and suggested she read a book. She curled up in her bed with a copy of the encyclopedia on sentient species, scrolling through and looking at each illustration.

Suddenly, an image caught her eye. Leela recognized the same reptilian eyes, the bisected nose, the gaunt cheekbones and grey-green skin that she had seen in the man who had replaced the Weequay beggar. The entry read Clawdite.

Leela’s heart raced as she read the entry. Clawdites are a reptilian race originally from Zolan in the Lambda Sector[1] of the Mid Rim. They are one of several species with the capability of shapeshifting.[2] Like all changeling species, they face wide distrust from the rest of the galaxy. Clawdites will often hide their identity from others, disguising themselves as other species to avoid suspicion or persecution.

The beggar was a changeling! It all made sense now. The Weequay had been a Clawdite the entire time. Leela and her father had earned his trust, and so he had revealed his true form to them.

A small doubt nagged Leela in the back of her mind, but she dismissed it. The uncomfortable feeling had simply been surprise at his altered appearance.

When the sun began to go down, Leela asked, “Aren’t we going to go to the park?”

Antilles chewed his lip. “Yes, but we should be careful.”

On the way home from the park, Antilles started to take a different route from the one they usually took. Then he stopped, turned back and hastened down the usual way, as if there were something he had to see.

Once again, Leela saw the mendicant and felt his inherent trustworthiness, in contrast to the way she had felt before. But he was in his Weequay form again.

Her father seemed relieved as he approached him briskly. “Are you a changeling?”

The Weequay looked at Antilles, spooked by his abrupt interrogation. “What?”

“Are you a Clawdite?” Antilles reiterated. “Can you shapeshift?”

“No.” The beggar shook his head. “I ain’t no Clawd.”

Antilles nodded, shoulders relaxing. He dropped a handful of credits in the mendicant’s tin.

The beggar turned his tin over, spilling the credits on the ground. “You keep ‘em,” he mumbled, eyes averted. “Ain’t right for me to accept.”

Antilles frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t say nothin’,” the Weequay insisted, eyes darting. “I ain’t lookin’ to lose my skin. I’m sorry.”

Antilles furrowed his brow, troubled. “What are you talking about?”

The Weequay bit his nonexistent lip. “I think y’all’d best be headin’ home now.”

Antilles bit his lip, then walked away, leaving the credits with the beggar. Leela glanced over at the beggar, whose head was hung between his knees.

When they got home, Mrs. Oogi was not waiting in the hall for them, which was the third time this had happened in the last three days. “Maybe she’s finally given up,” Antilles muttered hopefully.

The next day, just before evening, a certain man entered the Elephant House. He wore a bucket hat with goggles, a dark blue spacer’s jacket over a plain off-white shirt, brown pants tucked into black shin-high boots— the standard uniform of a civilian.

He buzzed the door that said 101 (Proprietor) on it. The landlady answered the door, perched on a high mobile stool. “Can I help you?”

“I would like to inspect one of your rooms,” said the man in a clipped Coruscanti accent.

“You looking to rent a room?” asked the landlady.

“I could be,” the man replied with a tilt of his head.

“Just for yourself, or with roommates?” asked the landlady.

“I would like to inspect a room on the second floor."

“You’re in luck,” said the landlady. “We’ve got two open. Right this way.”

As the lift door shut, the landlady, by way of small talk, asked, “So, does the Guild pay good?”

“The Bounty Hunters’ Guild offers reasonable rates for those who carry an Imperial peacekeeping license,” replied the man. “Why do you ask?”

The man did not seem to realize he probably should have taken offense, so the landlady was able to save face by not revealing she had automatically assumed he was a bounty hunter based on the fact that he was a Clawdite. “I, um… I’m thinking I might take up bounty hunting.”

The man regarded her closely, looking her up and down. “No,” he declared. “Your eyes are too close together.”

When the lift beeped, the man said, “I will require absolute silence.”

“Why—” the landlady started to ask, but the Clawdite shot her a powerfully withering glare as the door swiveled open. He stalked down the hallway to the end of the corridor, turned one hundred and eighty degrees to put a finger to his lips, and stepped in front of the door to Room 202.

“‘—apenkee,’ spee du Duro,” a little girl’s voice was saying. “‘Haku sa do pee kasa?’ spee du peedunkee. ‘My pee kasa Shrubo Zagob,’ spee du Duro. ‘My pee kasa…”

The voice stopped for a moment.

“Keep reading, Leela,” said another voice.

“‘My pee kasa Todd,’ spee du peedunkee,” the girl continued hesitantly. “‘Mi bosco de e’nachu. Dobra ree kayfoundo.’”

There is an intuitive power, innate in all law enforcement agents, that allows them to sense things that others cannot. This uncanny ability is so ubiquitous among officers of the law as to be unnecessary to speak of or name. At least, such was the understanding of this Clawdite, who was in fact an undercover police inspector. He had possessed this gift since before he was a prison guard on Trolorn, and he could sense with it that Com Narcom was still alive, standing in Room 202 of the Elephant House.

Koss grinned triumphantly and marched back to the lift. The landlady wheeled after him. “Wait,” she said, raising a confused index toe. “What about the room you wanted to see?”

“I have seen all that is necessary,” Koss replied. “I may, perhaps, return.”

“Um… Alright.” The landlady wheeled into the elevator just before the door swiveled shut. Koss had already pressed the button.

Within the hour, Koss returned with a full squad of patrol troopers. As they surrounded the building, he took four troopers and proceeded directly to Room 202.

The door fell to the ground with a thud, smoking as Koss strode across it into the room. “Com Narcom, by the authority of the…”

He looked around. The room was empty.

He checked the refresher. He checked under the bed. He checked the conservator. Com Narcom was nowhere to be found.

Koss snarled and ripped his comlink from his belt. “Lock down the spaceports! I want an all-points bulletin on Com Narcom!”

As the manhunt for Com Narcom began, Antilles and Leela walked briskly through the rapidly darkening streets. Antilles’ head was constantly moving, eyes searching as they walked. Leela clung tightly to his hand, clutching Creampuff to her chest.

“Come on, come on, where’s a taxi when you need one…” Antilles muttered as they moved through the streets. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a squad of patrol troopers cross the street behind them. “Dank farrik.”

They ducked behind another street corner. This one was a little busier, with people walking in and out of various drinking establishments. Antilles bit his lip as he considered his options.

“What are you doing, Papa?” Leela asked quietly.

Antilles gripped her hand tightly. “Follow me.”

They ducked into a cantina. “Stay behind me,” Antilles warned in an undertone. “Try not to attract attention.”

Leela stuck close to her father as she looked around the dimly lit room. There were all kinds of species here, many Leela had never seen. A strange, thuggish-looking creature sauntered past, double-jointed legs drawn up in front of him as he walked on his hands. A Toydarian sat arguing over a dejarik move with a snake-like creature coiled on the opposite stool. Three human men and a Devaronian were singing along to the song playing on the cantina’s radio, the lyrics of which Leela was thankfully too young to understand.

Leela cowered behind her father as a black-furred giant in spiked armor passed a scowling eye over them. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” her father whispered.

Antilles approached the bar, stepping between a Bith and a bushy-haired woman in a skeletal metal mask scrolling through a datapad. “Excuse me,” he said to the Quarren at the counter. “Do you know of anyone here who could take us to the spaceport right away? I’ll pay very well.”

“How am I supposed to know?” the Quarren replied.

Antilles placed a handful of credcoins on the table. “I’m not being coy,” the Quarren insisted with a twinge of annoyance. “I don’t know what line of work every random customer in my— Well, I think I will take this regardless.” He scooped up the credits with his wiry orange fingers before noticing Leela. “Is that a kid? You’re not allowed to bring kids in here.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying,” said Antilles, fishing another credcoin out of his pocket. “For your trouble.”

As he got up to leave, the masked patron smacked the table with the back of her cybernetic hand. “Ya, íb-ku huul!” She held up her datapad. “They’ve shut down the spaceport!”

Disgruntled mutters and groans rose from several of the patronage, mostly the non-human customers. Antilles’ brow was hard as he exited the cantina. He glanced around to see if there were any stormtroopers about.

“Papa, what’s going on?” asked Leela anxiously.

A pair of troopers emerged from an establishment next door to the one Leela and her father had just exited. Antilles grabbed her hand and walked briskly away from them.

“You there!” Antilles increased his pace. The troopers broke into a sprint, and Antilles did the same. “Hold it right there!”

As they ran across the long bridge, Leela heard zapping sounds behind them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the troopers firing blue rings at them, which dissipated only a few meters behind them. Her eyes widened with terror.

Antilles suddenly crouched. “My back, quickly!”

Leela climbed over his backpack and threw her arms around his neck. Antilles took Creampuff from her so she could hold on. Without her having to keep up, they ran much faster. “Tightly now,” said her father.

They made it to the other side of the bridge. The troopers were in full pursuit now and comming for backup. At the first intersection, Antilles put on a burst of speed. Leela’s stomach lurched as the world blurred for nearly two seconds. Suddenly they were another block away and sprinting down another path. They’d lost the troopers.

As Leela tried to figure out whether she’d imagined it or not, they came to a stone brick wall, almost twice her father’s height. Antilles looked it up and down, stuffed Creampuff into his jacket, then jumped. Leela felt a gust of wind beneath her father’s leap as he caught the wall nearly three quarters of the way to the top. He scaled the rest of the wall with ease. As he swung over the edge, Leela looked down at the squadron of patrol troopers below. One of them wore an orange pauldron on his shoulder. “He’s not here, sir,” said one of the troopers.

“He can’t have gotten far!” the trooper with the orange pauldron snarled. “Find him!”

The troopers rushed back into the main street, dispersing to redouble their efforts. Leela clung tightly to her father as they watched the troopers disappear. “Hang on,” he urged. He let go of the wall, pushing off and landing on his feet in the grass below with a soft thud.

By now, the light had vanished completely from the sky. There were no streetlights on the other side of the wall. Leela took her father’s hand as he guided her through the darkness.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Antilles whispered back as he looked around.

They seemed to be in a walled field. All they could see ahead of them were the silhouettes of trees against the inky blue of the sky. Antilles cautiously proceeded forward.

Leela’s eyes searched the darkness, finding nothing, but feeling as if they were being followed. She squeezed her father’s hand tighter as her heart pounded. A twig snapped under her foot and seemed to echo through the night. She froze as if she had just brought a legion of patrol troopers down on them.

Antilles looked around. “Keep going,” he whispered. Leela, trembling, took another step.

Antilles looked to his left. “There.” He pointed to a small, shed-like building. “We’ll hide in there.”

They made their way to the shed. Antilles gripped the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. He closed his eyes and sighed. The lock clicked and Antilles slid the door aside.

Leela entered the shed, her father close behind her. It was even darker inside the shed than it was outside. She quivered, breath quickening, her heart beginning to race as panic flooded her. Her terror skyrocketed as her father closed the door, plunging them into total blackness.

Leela turned frantically around to run to her father, but missed and crashed into a set of rakes and shovels. She cried out as she fell backwards, and the tools on top of her.

“Corrie!” Her father’s hands reached for the tools, yanking them up and finding Leela. He grabbed her arm and helped her up. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said as Leela wept. He took Creampuff out of his jacket and handed it to her. “Here.”

Leela took Creampuff and squeezed him to her chest. “If only I’d thought to buy a flashlight,” Antilles muttered with frustration. “Can’t see a blasted thing in here.”

No sooner had Antilles said this than he and Leela realized they could hear footsteps in the grass. They were heavy, and accompanied by a slight whirring sound. Leela bit her lip and clutched Creampuff as the footsteps grew closer and closer.

Antilles raised his fists as the footsteps stopped just in front of the door.

“I know you’re in there!” said a voice behind the door. “I heard you snooping around. Come on out, or I’ll shoot!”

“Stay here,” Antilles whispered. “I’ll handle this.”

Antilles slid the door open just wide enough to step through, then shut it again. The man outside wore a canvas jumpsuit, brandishing a flashlight as if it were the forestock of a rifle, complete with the butt of an imaginary stock pressed against his shoulder.

Antilles raised his hands and stepped close to the man. “Please, sir, I beg you,” he said in a low voice. “I will give you one thousand credits if you let us stay here. My daughter and I are in grave danger.”

The old man lifted his weapon, blinding Antilles’ eyes. He gasped. “Minister Halmath?”

Antilles shielded his eyes from the light. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, Broque!” said the old man, briefly abandoning the pretense of a blaster to shine the flashlight on his own wizened face. “Is it really you, Minister?”

“Who are you?” asked Antilles. “What is this place?”

“You mean you don’t remember me?” the old man exclaimed. “From Montal! You saved my life, remember?”

“Not so loud!” Antilles hissed with a glance over his shoulder.

“The incident with the repulsorcart!” the old man insisted. “Old Broque! You must recognize me!”

“Broque!” Antilles exclaimed in a whisper. “I remember now! Come here.”

Antilles led him a few paces from the shed. “What is this place?”

“It’s the Vod’tsad’s morut, of course!” said Broque, pointing the barrel of his gun at their feet so as not to shine its beam in Antilles’ eyes. “You sent me here! After my legs went—” He bent his knee a few times, making the servos whir beneath his trousers. “I didn’t think I would see you again! How did you come here, Minister?”

“That’s not important,” Antilles replied. “Listen. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything, Minister!” said Broque eagerly. “I owe you my life!”

“If you help me, then I will owe you mine,” Antilles replied. “Listen. My daughter Leela is in that shed. You can’t call me Minister Halmath around her.”

“Why ever not, Minister?” Broque gasped.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not a minister anymore,” said Antilles. “Call me Antilles instead.”

“Antilles!” Broque nodded. “Yes, I can do that!”

“We need protection,” said Antilles. “We’re being hunted. I need to stay here.”

Broque hummed hesitantly. “I don’t think the vode would let you.”

“This is life and death,” Antilles pleaded.

Broque nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Antilles returned to the shed and opened the door. “Come on out, Leela.”

Leela emerged trembling from the shed, her face stained with tears. Antilles scooped her up. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Leela whimpered, throwing her arms around her father’s neck. “Don’t worry, child,” Broque reassured her. “You’re safe for now.”

“I need to speak with Buir Entyela immediately,” said Antilles.

Broque lowered his head. “Buir Entyela passed away just yesterday. Buir Atin’la is Alor’buir of the morut now.”

Antilles’ brow wrinkled. He cast his eyes to the ground in ponderation.

“You’ll be in deep trouble if you’re discovered here,” said Broque, looking over his shoulder. “Come. Inside my hut, quickly.”

Broque led them to a small cottage situated against the corner of the northwest wall, ushering them quickly inside, holstering his flashlight. He closed the door behind them, switching on the light. The front room of the cottage contained two doorways opposite the entrance: on the left a bedroom, with two doors either side of the bed for a closet and a refresher; and on the right, a kitchen.

Broque wrung his hands as he looked his guests up and down. “Are you tired? Hungry?”

“I’m sure Leela is tired,” said Antilles, looking down at her. Leela yawned. When her mouth closed, her teeth chattered.

“And cold, too!” Broque tsked. “Come this way. Take the bed. I’ll sleep out here in my chair.”

Leela climbed into Broque’s bed, pulling the thick cover over herself. Broque tucked her in and returned to Antilles in the front room. Antilles had seated himself at the small wooden table, deep in thought. Broque joined him on the opposite stool. “We need to stay here indefinitely,” said Antilles quietly. “We’re being hunted by—”

“Say no more, Min— Antilles,” said Broque, holding up a hand. “You saved my life, and now I have the opportunity to save yours. If you need to stay here, I’ll find a way.”

“The Vod’tsad does not allow outsiders inside its sanctuaries,” Antilles frowned, lacing his fingers. “And if I’m discovered here with you, surely we’ll all be in trouble.”

“Well, you won’t be discovered for tonight,” Broque smiled. “We’ll think of a plan in the morning.”

Antilles nodded. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“You!” Broque exclaimed. “In my debt! Oh, Mi—ister Antilles, do you really forget the people you rescue so quickly? Where is your gratitude?”

He had no answer to that.

 

Chapter 9: Buir Atin'la

The Mandalorian religion has followed a rather pragmatic evolution in the thousands of years the Mandalorians have existed. In the days of old, the Mandalorians gave glory to Kad Ha’rangir, god of destruction and warfare, who opposed Arasuum, god of stagnation and sloth, and feared Hod Haran, trickster god of fickle fortune. Eventually, the belief in literal gods became obsolete in the Mandalorians’ eyes, and they began to worship war itself. This worship of war gave way to a mandate of cultural preservation. The modern Mandalorian subscribes to six cardinal commandments: to wear armor, to maintain the Mandalorian language, to defend one’s clan, to raise one’s children as Mandalorians, to contribute to the welfare of the clan, and, when the time arose, to set aside all tribal disputes and rally to the Mand’alor, the sole ruler of the Mandalorian people.

There was an issue with this sixth and paramount tenet: due to the kratocratic nature of Mandalorian succession, schisms were relatively frequent across their history. In the decades before the Clone Wars, the position had been vacant— at least, of a holder ubiquitously considered legitimate— and in the intervening years, the reformed government of Mandalore underwent a revolutionary reform and ceased to recognize the title of Mand’alor all together. Though the opposing traditionalists unanimously argued there should be a Mand’alor once again, none of the clans could come to a consensus as to which of the many mercenaries who vied for the title should be granted the mantle.

The Vod’tsad be Kad Ha’rangir, or Brotherhood of Kad Ha’rangir, came into being during this dark age, founded on the premise that the Mandalorians should not idly wait for a new Mand’alor to emerge, but prepare actively for the Mand’alor’s return. To that end, they established monastic boot camps across the galaxy, training young Mandalorians for the day that the Mand’alor would call upon them.

Broque awakened before dawn to find that Halmath— Antilles— had been sitting at the table all night. If he had slept, Broque could not tell. “Good morning,” he whispered, so as not to wake the child in the other room. Broque had slept in his armchair.

“Morning,” Antilles grunted.

Broque rolled up the legs of his trousers and reconnected his braces to his unmoving legs. After a few slow, whirring kicks, he stood and went to the caf machine. “Have you ever had Mandalorian caf before?” Broque offered as he tore open a packet and emptied it into a cup. “Nothing like it for early mornings. The spiced blend is quite invigorating. Don’t know how I ever got by on the regular black stuff.”

“I’m fine,” Antilles waved.

“You don’t look it,” Broque frowned, dispensing hot water into his cup and stirring. “Did you sit here all night?”

“Where else would I have sat?” asked Antilles.

“I’d have thought perhaps you’d have taken the bed,” said Broque. “You and the child could both have fit on it.”

“Leela was already asleep,” said Antilles. “I didn’t want to disturb her by asking her to move over.”

Broque shrugged and took a sip of his caf. “I could have let you have the armchair, if I’d known you weren’t going to move from that stool all night.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” Antilles insisted. “Not with your age and condition.”

“Bah!” Broque waved, opening another caf packet. “For you, Minist— Antilles, I could survive one measly night on my feet.”

He placed an unsolicited cup of steaming caf in front of Antilles and stared until he took a sip. “Thank you,” Antilles murmured, wiping brown from his off-white lip hairs. He took another sip, careful not to wet his upper lip again, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We’ll need a plan if I’m to stay here.”

“I have just the thing,” Broque smiled. “I could tell them you’re my younger brother and I want you to come work here because I’m getting too old to manage these big grounds by myself. If they say yes, you’re in.”

“Hm.” Antilles furrowed his brow. “For that plan to work, I would have to get out first and come back in.”

“For any plan to let you stay here, that would be crucial,” Broque agreed. “Can you sneak out the way you came in?”

“No good,” Antilles frowned. “The area is crawling with police troopers. I can’t be spotted.”

“Hm.” Broque finished his caf. “I’ll think of something.”

He frowned as the band on his wrist began to vibrate. “They’re calling for me. It must be about Buir Entyela.”

Broque locked the door behind him as he went out to answer the summons. His windows were all shut, so as long as Antilles and his daughter were quiet, no one would suspect anyone was inside. He made his way toward the northeast tower, where there was a door on the side. This was one of the few areas of the morut that Broque was allowed to enter; at the top of the tower was Buir Entyela’s office.

Broque walked past the stairs and took the lift up to the top. Leadership of the morut had passed to Vod Atin’la; he worried somewhat about convincing her to allow his brother to live on the morut grounds. She had not taken the name Atin’la for nothing; he happened to know that some of the verd’ike called her Vod Muun’shebs.

Broque stuck his hands behind his back as the lift door slid open, to keep himself from wringing them. Vod Atin’la— Buir Atin’la now— sat at Buir Entyela’s desk. Her cornette-shaped helmet was on the desk in front of her, revealing her Abyssin features— a rare occurence. Her singular eye flicked up at his approach. “Tomad. Jate.”

Broque had a few nicknames around the morut. It was Old Club with Buir Entyela and most of the other Mandalorians— an affectionate play on brok, beating instrument. Sometimes it was Vorp’buir— literally, Greenfather. Among the cheekier Mandos, it was Old Servo-Knees. With Buir Atin’la it was simply Tomad— ally.

“A lick, Vod Atin’la— Alor’buir,” Broque nodded, swallowing. What he meant to say was elek, meaning yes. “You summoned me?”

“Buir Entyela wished to be cremated.” Always direct. “This is tradition.”

“Moff Amulon passed a law against that last year, didn’t he?” asked Broque, chewing his lip. “There’s a requirement now for all bodies to be buried in a designated cemetery.”

“Elek.” Buir Atin’la laced her gloved fingers. “We will not capitulate. We cannot fight. We must employ cunning.”

Broque pondered this. “Deceive the Empire?”

“Precisely.”

Broque stroked his chin. “We could bury an empty casket.”

“I leave that to you,” said Buir Atin’la. “The Vod’tsad will be in your debt.”

Broque saw an opportunity. “Actually, Alor’buir, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask. I was going to ask Buir Entyela, but now that she is key radish—”

What Broque meant to say was kyr’adyc, meaning passed away. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor, sensing that Buir Atin’la wanted him to get to the point. “Well, you see, I’m getting old, Alor’buir, and I could use some extra help. I actually have someone in mind.”

“Who?”

“My younger brother,” said Broque. “Ether. He is family, so I know he is trustworthy. He has a daughter. She could receive a… a badger, here.” What Broque meant was a bajur, which is to say, a Mandalorian education.

Buir Atin’la steepled her fingers. “After the funeral, your brother may present himself. We shall see.”

“Oh, foray, Alor’buir!” Broque clasped his hands; he meant vor’e, meaning thanks, though he should have used the formal vor entye. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

“See to it,” Buir Atin’la waved. “Hod Haran be with you.”

Broque returned with good news. “They’ll let you come live here,” he said joyfully. “All I have to do is bury an empty casket. Nothing could be simpler!”

Antilles frowned, stroking his chin. “Except that in order to come in, first I have to get out.”

Broque’s face fell. “That is difficult.”

Antilles pondered the situation. “Why is the casket empty?”

“Because Buir Enteyla wished to be burned,” Broque replied. “So V— Buir Atin’la asked me to bury the casket without her inside.”

“Why bother with a casket at all?” Antilles furrowed his brow.

“Because the Empire won’t let us burn her,” Broque explained. “I don’t know if you had heard, but Moff Amulon has placed stricter regulations on burial practices. If we don’t bury Buir Entyela in a designated graveyard, the Vod’tsad will get in serious trouble.”

“So the idea is to make the Imperials think you’re complying.”

“Precisely.”

Antilles stroked his beard. “Does the casket have antigrav?”

Broque pursed his lips. “As a matter of fact, it might not,” he replied, furrowing his brow. “In that case, whoever was loading the casket would feel that there was nothing in it.”

“Then put something in it.”

“What? Dirt?” Broque chewed his lip. “I suppose I could purchase a few bags of soil and claim they were for the garden. I don’t think that would raise suspicion. …Then they would let you come work here.”

“After I get out.”

Broque nodded. “After you get out.”

After nearly five minutes of headscratching, Broque clapped his forehead. “Ah! We’ve been thinking of two solutions the whole time. It’s right in front of us! We can kill two mynocks with one blast!”

Antilles leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”

“The casket!” Broque exclaimed with a grin. “That’s how we’re going to smuggle you out! You’ll get inside the casket so the Imps don’t suspect Buir Entyela isn’t inside, and the Vode will never realize you were here. Then I can bring you in as my brother and hope they’ll take you on. Isn’t it brilliant?”

“It sounds incredibly dangerous,” Antilles frowned. “There are several ways this sounds like it could go wrong.”

“It’ll be simple,” Broque assured him. “I’ve thought of everything. All you need is an oxygen tank, and I can get that from the armory.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Antilles. “Come back and dig me up?”

“Better— I’ll get you out before the hole is even filled,” said Broque. “My friend Narqton loves a good pint of black ale. I’ll give him a bottle as a present and tell him I’ll finish the job myself, and while he’s off drinking, I’ll get you out and bury the empty casket.”

“And you’re certain that will work?” Antilles mused. “This isn’t going to backfire immediately?”

“This is my chance to repay my debt to you,” Broque pleaded. “I know Narqton. He would never pass up an opportunity to go home early. I can make sure you’re never in any danger.”

“Then I have to do it.” Antilles looked to his daughter. “What about Leela?”

“I’ve been giving that some thought as well,” said Broque. “I sell jogans to a family grocery store. I’ll hide her in the basket when I go out into the town. She can stay with them.”

“Am I going away again?” Leela’s lip trembled. She looked from Broque to her father, eyes shimmering.

“No, Leela,” said Antilles, dropping to one knee and laying reassuring hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to come right back for you.”

“That’s what Mama said,” Leela started to sniffle. “Mama said the Tarkays would take care of me. She said she’d come get me when she saved up enough money, and then…”

Leela burst into tears. Antilles drew Leela into his arms, patting her back. “I promise I will come back for you,” said Antilles firmly. “I won’t be gone for more than twenty-four hours.”

“My friends are good people,” Broque reassured her. “They’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry, child. I’ll make sure you’ll see your father again.”

Leela clung to her father. “Please come back,” she whispered. “You have to.”

“I will,” Antilles promised with determination as he held her tight. “Nothing will stop me from coming to get you, Leela. It never has.”

 

Chapter 10: A Placebo to Appease the Pit

“Come on,” Broque smiled. “Into the basket.”

Leela reluctantly pulled away from her father, biting her lip hard.

“I’ll be back well before nightfall tomorrow,” Antilles promised. “Mr. Broque will make sure of it.”

He squeezed her hand and nodded towards the empty dolly basket. Leela glanced over her shoulder at him one last time as Broque helped her climb inside. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you, Leela?” Broque asked.

Leela shook her head and slipped Creampuff under her drawn-up knees. “Good,” said Broque, “because there’s going to be a lot of joganfruits on top of you.”

Antilles began taking jogans from the crate and putting jogans into the basket. Broque helped. Leela eventually disappeared under a sea of striped purple orbs. Antilles would ask periodically if she was comfortable, that her lekku weren’t feeling squished, that Creampuff wasn’t squished, that she could breathe. Leela responded in the affirmative. When the basket was full, Broque drew the cloth flap over it, fastening it closed. “I will come back for you, Leela,” Antilles reassured her one last time.

Leela’s hand wriggled out from under the jogans and appeared from under the flap. Antilles squeezed it. “I promise.”

Broque pulled the cloth flap over the basket as Leela’s hand retreated back into the jogans. He gripped the handles of the dolly basket and tilted it, wheeling it out of the morut.

When he came to the back door of the morut, he found two patrol troopers waiting for him. He gulped. “How do you do, gentlemen?”

“Whatcha got here?” asked one of the troopers.

“Just a few jogans I’m taking to the market.” Broque smiled innocently.

Broque’s heart raced as the troopers lifted the flap. One of the troopers took a jogan from the top, and for a brief instant Broque feared that Leela would be exposed. But she was buried deep enough. The trooper bounced the jogan in his hand and closed the flap. “You can go about your business.”

The trooper removed his helmet and took a bite of the jogan he’d appropriated. He wasn’t kidding, Broque thought as he wheeled the basket down the street. The outside is crawling with police troopers.

As discussed with Broque over comlink, the grocers promised to take good care of Leela until Broque returned. Leela seemed to discern implicitly that they could be trusted, so Broque left her in the hands of his friends and returned to the morut, where the delivered casket was surely waiting for him.

By some miracle and deft choice of route, Broque was able to sneak Antilles through the morut unnoticed and into the room where the casket lay ready. He’d swiped an oxygen canister from the armory. It had been difficult to sneak inside, but no one would miss one less canister; the Vod’tsad rarely had a purpose for such apparatuses in their current living situation, so the compartment where they were stored was rarely opened, and the canister’s absence would not be noticed before Broque refilled and returned it.

As Antilles connected the breath mask to his face, Broque said, “There’s a timer right there on the tank that will tell you how much air you have left. You’ll lay in here until it’s time for the funeral, and then the hoverhearse will take us to the cemetery and you’ll be out with at least half an hour of oxygen to spare.”

Antilles nodded as Broque slid the lid of the casket shut. It sealed with a click and a hiss.

In a few short hours, the casket was loaded onto the hoverhearse and the Mandalorian procession proceeded to the cemetery. Broque followed the pallbearers with his shovel in hand. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was tell Narqton to head home and leave the job to him. He knew old Narqton wouldn’t say no to that, especially if Broque sent him home with a bottle of ne’tra gal. The Vod’tsad made the best Mandalorian black ale, and Narqton had been hooked on the stuff from the first sip. He always said he was one glass away from taking the creed.

When the hoverhearse arrived at the gravesite, however, Broque didn’t see the old Duros. He only saw a young Duros, sober-looking and dressed in less soil-stained clothes than he was accustomed to seeing the other gravedigger wear.

Broque frowned. Where was Narqton? Surely he hadn’t picked today, of all days, to retire. That would be cosmically inconvenient.

The Mandalorians unloaded the casket from the hearse, placing it near the grave. Buir Atin’la stood at the foot of the coffin to deliver the eulogy. “Brethren, sisters and friends, we gather here today to bury Buir Entyela, Alor’buir of the Vod’tsad, a valiant warrior in life who goes now to join the ranks of the manda’akaan’ade.”

Buir Atin’la turned to the Mandalorians assembled, of which there were no more than twelve, plus Broque. She raised her fist. “We still live, while you are dead!”

“We still live, while you are dead!” the Mandalorians echoed, raising their fists.

Buir Atin’la brought her fist to her heart. “As we remember, you are eternal!”

“As we remember, you are eternal!”

The Imperial official rolled his eyes. “Alright, Mandos. That’s enough fist-brandishing. Let’s get the stiff into the hole.”

Buir Atin’la’s helmet snapped toward him, cyclopean eye hidden beneath her helmet, withering glare apparent nonetheless. Then she approached the casket as if there had been no interruption, bent low, and whispered, “Entyela.”

Each Mandalorian filed past the casket, each bending low and whispering Buir Entyela’s name. Broque couldn’t help feeling a lump in his throat as he approached the casket to pay his respects, remembering how generous Entyela had been to take him on. The funeral was done for the benefit of the Imperial present; the real ceremony would take place at the morut and be performed in Mandalorian. Still, the sentiment was true and it was Mandalorian, and even knowing Buir Entyela was not in the casket did not prevent a few tears from entering Broque’s eyes. In fact, a small uneasy part of him feared he dishonored her by the deception taking place.

He whispered her name softest of all. “Entyela.”

The casket was lowered into the grave. After a bouquet was tossed in with it, the Mandalorians bowed their heads and solemnly filed out of the cemetery. As they marched back to the morut, they murmured a Mandalorian hymn.

Ner sur’haaise haa’tayli kote be ibac dral tuur
Sha ca’nara Mand’alor yaimpa shuku munit uur
Bal kaysh jorso’ran an’gyce sha ca’nara kaysh rusu
Tsikala mhi pare

Kote, kote, oya manda
Kote, kote, oya manda
Kote, kote oya manda
Tsikala mhi pare

Broque smiled as the song of the Mandalorians faded down the street. The Imperial official looked at Broque and the young Duros. “Well, I think you have everything covered.”

Once the official had left, Broque turned to the Duros and asked, “Where’s Narqton?”

“Mangott Narqton is no longer an employee of the Lutecia Funeral Bureau,” replied the younger Duros. “I am his replacement, Hiuj F. Tuul.”

“But… But what happened to Narqton?” Broque protested. “He’s been the gravedigger here for years.”

“And now the gravedigger is me.” Tuul picked up a shovel.

Drat, drat, drat. “Why did Narqton lose his job?”

“He got arrested for identity fraud,” Tuul replied. “Turns out he was lying about being a Duros.”

Broque cocked his head in confusion. “How does one lie about being a Duros?”

“Ask a Clawdite,” Tuul smirked. “Let’s get to work.”

Broque gulped as Tuul jammed the blade of his shovel into the pile of soil next to the hole. With a fluid motion, he jerked a shovelful of dirt from the mound and flipped the shovel.

Antilles heard a shovelful of dirt hit the casket with a thud. He frowned. Broque had said he would be out before they started filling the hole. Maybe Broque was making it convincing by letting a few shovelfuls get thrown on before he pulled out the bottle of ale.

More shovelfuls fell onto the casket.

Broque pulled the bottle of ale from his pack. “Say, er… Tuul, you like black ale?”

“I don’t drink,” Tuul replied without glancing away from his work. “Besides which we have a job to do. Put that bottle away and start helping.”

“Ah…” Broque stammered.

Broque’s mind raced in circles as Tuul dropped shovelful after shovelful onto the casket. This wasn’t the plan. He had to do something get Tuul away so he could free Antilles and the dirt was piling thicker and thicker and—

“Are you going to help, old man?” Tuul snapped.

“Yes!” Broque blurted. “In fact, I’ll do the rest for you! You can go head on home and let me take care of everything.”

“Not a chance, old man,” Tuul snorted. “I want this job to get done, I’m not leaving some slacking layabout to finish it.”

“Layabout!” Broque jabbed his shovel into the dirt like a stake and marched up to the impudent Duros, wagging a finger. “Listen here, you big blue-headed upstart! I did not work from the age of seven years old pruning bushes and chopping wood with my own hands, grow up to slave away at a university to get a degree in technological— Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Broque yanked the shovel out of Tuul’s hand; the Duros had started shoveling again, ignoring him completely. “I got a degree in technological sciences so I could open my own factory. I built—”

“Give me back my shovel, old man!” Tuul yelled, seizing it. Broque jerked it back.

The two diggers engaged in a tug of war for the spade. Despite his years, Broque was surprisingly strong. “I built my own company from the ground up and ran it for decades!” he hollered, refusing to yield. “That’s longer than you’ve been alive, you impudent lout!”

Broque finally wrenched the shaft from Tuul’s hands and sprinted with it. “What the hell are you doing?” Tuul shouted, giving chase.

“Even after my factory was bought out,” Broque continued to exposit loudly, “I kept on working! I got a job in the delivery industry driving cargo on a hovercart!”

Broque’s heart was racing almost as fast as his legs. He was offended by Tuul’s accusation of laziness, but more importantly, he had to buy time and stop Tuul from adding any more dirt to the hole until he could think of a way to be rid of him. “You’ll notice that even after retirement, I’m still working!”

Broque’s braces began to whine, legs beginning to falter under him. He was forced to slow his pace to a stumble. “I have labored and toiled for sixty-four years of my life…” he wheezed, hurling the shovel as far as he could, “…which is at least forty years more than you can say, so you keep your flat, impertinent mouth shut! Nobody calls a Broque a layabout, least of all this… one…”

He turned around and saw that Tuul had stopped chasing him and instead taken Broque’s own shovel to continue working. The Duros threw him a look. “Whatever you say, part-timer.”

Broque swallowed, too angry and exhausted to snap back. Antilles was running out of time. He had to do something.

The only thing Broque could think of to do was help Tuul fill the hole. The faster the job was done, the sooner Tuul would go home, and then Broque could dig Antilles out.

But digging him out would take long too.

Antilles looked at the timer on the oxygen tank. The second he glanced, the gauge ticked over from 10% to 9%. The dirt kept falling and falling. The thumps were growing more muffled now. The hole was getting shallower. Antilles could almost feel the weight pressing on the casket lid above him.

Broque shoveled even faster than Tuul now. “Come on, come on!” he urged. “Work faster! Who’s the slacker now?”

“Alright, so I was wrong.” If Duros could roll their eyes, which Broque wouldn’t be able to tell was possible or not because their eyes were solid red, then Tuul definitely rolled his. “You’ve made your point.”

They dug for several minutes, much longer than Broque would have liked. He had to do something. Antilles was going to suffocate if he couldn’t get him out.

The hole was half filled. The sun was getting lower and the casket-shaped mound had disappeared under a smooth blanket of soil.

Antilles blinked and 5% became 4%.

“Ohhh…” Broque fretted. “Oooooh…”

“What are you whimpering about?” Tuul snapped.

“Are you sure you don’t want to let me finish the job?” asked Broque. “You’ve seen how fast I can work now.”

“It’ll be done quicker with two,” Tuul insisted.

“Yes, but you can be done right now if you just let me do the rest,” Broque cajoled.

“Thank you,” said Tuul firmly, “but I don’t need a break.”

The Duros’ pace, however, was beginning to slow ever so slightly.

Broque scooped a shovelful of dirt and noticed one of Tuul’s belt pouches was open. He’d forgotten to clasp it shut. Broque noticed because something small and gold inside caught his eye.

Tuul panted, flipping a large shovelful into the hole. He stopped for the briefest moment to rest a hand on his knee. Broque’s fingers dove for the object and picked it from his pocket. For a brief, heart-stopping instant, he feared the Duros had felt him pick his pocket, but Tuul just went right back to shoveling.

Broque looked at the small gold-colored chip in his hand. He grinned and pocketed it the moment he realized what it was.

“Say, uh… Tuul.” The Duros continued to shovel without acknowledging him. “You know you’re supposed to have a license for this job, right? The Imperials don’t let just anybody dig graves.”

“Of course I have a license,” Tuul replied.

“I just wanted to make sure you remembered to bring it with you,” said Broque innocently. “You could get fined for not having it.”

“Well, I do have it, it’s right—” Tuul’s knobby gloved fingers reached for his license. “I always keep it—” He looked wildly around, trying to spot it in the grass.

“Maybe you left it at home!” said Broque.

“I never leave it at home!” Tuul dropped to his knees, searching frantically for his missing license chip.

“You run back home and make sure,” Broque urged. “I’ll stay here and look for it.”

“But—”

“Go!” Broque dragged him to his feet. “There’s no time to argue! The fine is 200 credits!”

Tuul was off like a shot. Broque didn’t wait for him to disappear over the horizon. He hopped into the grave and started shoveling away, desperately racing to uncover the casket. Antilles had run out of oxygen several minutes ago.

His shovel struck the casket lid. It took too many agonizing minutes to move the dirt from off of it so he could open it.

Finally, the lid was entirely unencased from the oppressive soil. Broque abandoned the shovel and jammed his fingers into the packed dirt and dug away to get at the button to release the casket lid. Finally, he found the switch and clicked it.

The seal released with a click. Broque lifted the lid off to see Antilles, eyes closed, face white, rigid and unmoving. He grabbed the oxygen canister.

It was empty.

“He’s dead!” Broque wailed. “He’s dead! I wasn’t able to save him in time! Oh, Minister, what am I going to tell your little girl?”

Broque fell on Antilles’ broad chest, weeping bitterly. “What a fool I was to think this could work, I’ve killed you, Minister Halmath, I’m so, so, sorry…”

After what seemed like an eternity of sobbing, Broque thought he felt Antilles’ chest move. A second later, there was a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, Minister!” Broque rejoiced to see Antilles’ grey eyes wide open. “You’re alive after all!”

“So it would seem.” Antilles pushed himself into a sitting position and clutched his head.

“Minister Halmath!” Broque wagged his finger. “You are a horrible, rotten scoundrel! Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

“I won’t.” Antilles stood and reached over the lip of the grave. “Can you climb out?”

Antilles pulled himself from the hole. Broque tossed his shovel over, followed by the empty oxygen canister and mask, then allowed Antilles to help him up. “I’ll finish this,” Broque said. “Go tell Leela you’re alright! The grocer is on Prune Street!”

Antilles nodded, brushed some soil off his clothes, and took off.

Leela watched the sky grow darker and darker. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. Her father had promised to be back long before nightfall. Tears streamed down her face as she stood outside the shop, staring down the empty street.

The shopkeeper’s wife laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There, there, child. Your father will come for you.”

Leela wiped her nose.

He’d promised to be back before nightfall.

It was past nightfall.

Suddenly, Leela heard the sound of someone running. She turned around to see her father sprinting towards them. “Papa!” Leela to him. He scooped her up into his arms.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Leela,” Antilles whispered. “I’m here now. You’re going to be alright.”

Broque left Tuul’s license with the cemetery groundskeeper, who promised to return Tuul’s license to him. He did feel it might have been a bit underhanded to filch the man’s license, but on the other hand, maybe that would teach the young twerp a lesson in humility. Broque didn’t hold his breath.

Antilles spent the night with the grocers, thanking them for taking such good care of Leela and compensating them well for their trouble. The next morning, he would meet Broque at the morut, and they would introduce the Vod’tsad to Broque’s younger brother.

 

Chapter 11: A Mandalorian Education

Broque fretted over how he was to bring Antilles for his interview with Buir Atin’la with police troopers posted outside the morut. But the inspector called off the search that very same night. Koss had been waiting for the Mandalorians to turn Com Narcom over to the police, as they surely would, considering their strict policy against entry into their sanctuary by non-Mandalorians, a category which certainly included the wanted fugitive Com Narcom. When the Mandalorians did not present Koss with his prize, he knew that Com Narcom could not have trespassed there. If any of Koss’s superiors saw a flaw in his logic, they said nothing; not only did Narcom lack the importance to warrant pressing the issue, but the Empire was disinclined to believe the inspector’s assertion that Narcom had somehow escaped Jon Davan’s cargo hold, to use an old spacer’s expression. So, when Broque discovered that morning that there were no stormtroopers outside, he took a speeder to the fruit stand and brought Antilles and Leela to the Mandalorians.

Buir Atin’la received them in her tower office. “Your name?”

“Ether,” said Antilles. “Ether Broque.”

“Where are you from?”

“We lived on Garel before we came here,” Antilles replied. “I was born and raised on Montal.”

“And your occupation?”

“Botanist, Alor’buir. I also have experience with manual loadlifting.”

Buir Atin’la tilted her head, showing her approval thus far. “Are you familiar with Mandalorian flora?”

“No, Buir Atin’la, but my brother can enlighten me.”

“That’s right,” Broque nodded. “And we also have some common plants you will be familiar with. The jogan tree, for example.”

“Very well.” Buir Atin’la crossed her arms. “Mr. Broque, you will instruct your brother in your duties.”

Buir Atin’la turned to Leela. “You, child, what is your name?”

“C-Calisuma, ma’am,” Leela mumbled, looking away.

“Speak up,” Buir Atin’la prompted.

“Her name is Calisuma,” said Antilles. “But we call her Leela.”

“And how old are you, child?” asked Buir Atin’la.

“Almost eight,” Leela replied meekly. “My birthday’s coming up.”

“Excellent.” Buir Atin’la clapped once. “Perfect age to begin your education. You will be instructed well here.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Alor’buir,” Antilles nodded.

Antilles was given a room in the morut where he and Leela could live. Leela’s tuition began under Vod Baj, who was responsible for teaching the young Mandalorians reading and writing, both in Basic and Mandalorian; science and mathematics; and Mandalorian history and religion.

The Mandalorian script was much harder to read and write in than Outer Rim. Almost every character was tall and thin, with many repeating shapes that were modified only slightly, and at times Leela had trouble distinguishing them. A fellow student, a girl Leela’s age named Sarad, offered to help. Sarad showed Leela a new way of writing the Mandalorian youth had invented. Rather than the narrow, rigid forms of traditional Mandalorian, Sarad’s writing was full of cute little loops and, more importantly, varied width. Leela thought it was absolutely adorable and found it much easier to read. Vod Baj, however, did not accept assignments written in copikla’gaan, as it was called. “But it’s easier for me,” Leela said.

“Mando’a is difficult for outsiders to decipher quickly by design,” Vod Baj insisted. “It makes for more secure communications. Memorize the proper forms and you will have the advantage.”

Leela practiced writing formal and informal Mandalorian letters side-by-side, which helped her memorize the proper forms. This, in turn, made reading and typing Mandalorian much easier for her as well. Spelling, on the other hand, was a different matter. It was almost intuitive; Mandalorian letters almost always made the same sound— single vowels and doubled vowels sounded very similar— but, just like in Basic, there were multiple ways to make certain sounds. It took Leela a while to remember that yc was eesh and not ick, and that cy was sh or shee and not sigh or s’yuh. She wasn’t quite sure why Mandalorian also had an sh like in Basic when cy already existed, either, but at least whenever she saw an s and an h together, she didn’t have any trouble pronouncing it. But she couldn’t quite pronounce the vh sound; it was like trying to say f and v at the same time. “Don’t curl your lip toward your teeth like in Basic,” said Vod Baj. “Just blow. Like this.” With a little practice, Leela got the hang of it. She never really found out, however, the rule that determined whether ay sounded like a High Galactic A or I. She got the feeling Vod Baj didn’t actually know either.

Broque and Antilles— who was now referred to as Ashi’brok, the Other Broque— lived in the small hut together. Their work took most of the morning, tending to the vegetables, pruning the jogan tree, clearing leaves from the grass and keeping the bushes neatly trimmed. When Leela and the other children would run outside to engage in their training exercises. Once, Leela saw her father and ran to him. She was scolded by the overseeing vod for abandoning the training exercise. She did not do that again.

Leela was not completely barred from interacting with her father, however. At 1600 the children were allowed an hour of free play. Leela, feeling she spent enough time with her peers during their war games, elected to spend it with her father and uncle. Leela would talk about the things she was learning, and proudly display her ever-growing fluency in te joha Mando’a. Broque would teach her about botany and the Mandalorian recipes he had learned. “How hey-ticklish do you like your tingy-lar, Leela?”

Leela grinned. Broque grinned in return and spooned a large dollop of orbak root paste into the pot.

Tiingilar is an extremely versatile dish, as most Mandalorian dishes are, consisting of whatever one can get their hands on: a necessity of the Mandalorians’ nomadic lifestyle, their spread throughout the galaxy. The version served at the Lutecia morut contained ground bantha, Cronese radishes, and chopped carrotins, seasoned heartily with ginger, lightning powder, and generous amounts of orbak root. It became one of Leela’s favorite foods after she got used to the nostril-scorching heat.

“Give it a good mixing now,” Broque instructed. Leela stirred the ingredients as Broque poured the vegstock. Leela glanced at her father, who was watching with a smile tucked under his bushy mustache. His eyes were misty; Leela supposed that was probably because of the orbak root.

While the stew was simmering, Leela regaled her father enthusiastically with her academic happenings. “We learned about Tarre Vizsla today. He was the first Mandalorian Jedi! Did you know there were Mandalorian Jedi?”

“No, I can’t say I did.” Antilles furrowed his brow.

“There were!” Leela listed them off on her fingers. “There was Tarre Vizsla, Mora Vil, Tor Peregrine, and Aaloya Awaud.”

There were, in fact, others, but Leela would not have known of them. Mandalorian Jedi were always rare, but their recorded numbers were rarer. I have heard accounts, many impossible to verify after all these centuries, of Mandalorian children abandoned by their families and taken in by the Jedi, and former Jedi shunned by their Mandalorian kindred when attempting to return to their roots. It is possible that Tarre Vizsla was only the first recorded Mandalorian Jedi, and that there were abandoned Mandalorian infants who were never aware of their heritage. And there were a few other Mandalorian Jedi too recent to be recorded in Mandalorian history at this time. Leela would not learn this until later in life.

“How does a Mandalorian become a Jedi?”

“Well, usually, it’s a Jedi who becomes a Mandalorian,” Leela explained. “Like with Mora Vil— she was born to Clan Vil, but raised by the Jedi. She joined the Mandalorians later, becoming both a Jedi and a Mandalorian.”

“And the Jedi were alright with that?” Antilles cocked his head.

“Oh, she left the jetii’droten,” Leela explained. “But she kept her laser sword.”

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t make you a Jedi,” Antilles frowned.

“Lightsaber?” Leela blinked.

“Laser sword,” Antilles clarified.

“Why’d you call it a lightsaber?”

“That’s… just what I’ve heard them called.”

Leela shrugged. “Well, anyway, Tarre Vizsla had a kandosii sword! Vod Baj showed us a holo of it. It was black and shaped like a beskad. It was called Te Dha’kad.”

“Oh?”

“It’s famous,” Leela grinned. “Vod Baj says there are legends around it. He says that it’s still around, and whoever holds it—”

The chrono on the wall beeped. Leela’s grin vanished. “Aw, no! Already? The tiingilar’s not even done yet!”

“Don’t worry,” Broque reassured her. “We’ll save some for next time.”

“I didn’t get to finish telling you about Te Dha’kad,” Leela frowned, turning to her father.

“You’d better hurry back,” Antilles insisted. “You don’t want to get in trouble.”

Leela threw her arms around her father, then her uncle, and ran back to the morut’karta.

The day after one of Leela’s visits, Antilles was approached by Buir Atin’la while trimming the jogan tree. “Ashi’brok, may I speak with you?”

“Of course, Alor’buir,” said Antilles, climbing down the ladder.

Buir Atin’la folded her arms. “Calisuma has become very interested in the Jedi.”

“I know she’s been learning about them in her studies.”

“Her interest extends beyond her studies,” Buir Atin’la replied, in a tone that suggested she was thinning her nonexistent lips under her helmet. “Her curiosity is insatiable. I fear it may interfere with her commitment.”

Antilles laced his fingers, leaning back against the trunk. “To the Mandalorian creed.”

“Precisely,” Buir Atin’la agreed. “To be a mando’ad is to pledge yourself to your tribe, to your honor, to a Supreme Mand’alor, to the manda which surrounds and binds the soul of every worthy Mandalorian to the universe. To be a jetii is to pledge yourself to a cult of obfuscating mages, to a dead Republic, to the whims of a corrupt and squabbling parliament, to some cryptic Force in order to work foolish magic.”

Antilles frowned. “Alor’buir, there are some who still believe in the power of the Force.”

“That is well and good for the arue’uvet,” said Buir Atin’la, “but this morut is a place of Mandalorian worship.”

“Not everyone within these walls is a Mandalorian.”

Buir Atin’la cocked her head. “Ashi’brok, are you implying that you are a jetii?”

“If by jetii you mean Jedi, then no, I am no such thing. I simply ask that you speak of the Force more respectfully.”

Buir Atin’la was silent for a moment. “The point is, Calisuma cannot afford any distractions to lead her away from the commitments she intends to make.”

“Leela tells me there have been Mandalorian Jedi,” Antilles replied, furrowing his brow. “She learned about them in your very classrooms.”

“There are jetiise who have become mando’ade, and mando’ade who have become jetiise,” said Buir Atin’la. “Never have there been mando’ade who were also jetiise. To become a Jedi, one must forsake the Creed. To become a Mandalorian, one must forsake the Code. A Mandalorian who is also called Jedi is only called such because they wield a jetii’kad. Even Tarre Vizsla, revered by the Mandalorians and Jedi alike, was not both at once. He wore the armor, but it is not the armor that makes the Mandalorian, just as the laser sword does not make the Jedi. I do not believe Calisuma understands the distinction.”

“I don’t want Leela filling her head with dangerous fantasies,” Antilles mused. “I want her to learn to protect herself, not aspire to become a Jedi.”

“It would be a waste if Calisuma were to be seduced by such delusions,” Buir Atin’la agreed. “She shows great promise as a commando. If she passes her verd’goten when she comes of age, we would like to send her to our elite commando academy on Endros Gamma.”

“What?” Antilles’ eyes widened.

“It is unusual, but she is extremely gifted,” Buir Atin’la explained. “That is why we would send her there and not to one of our other morute where mando’ade from thirteen to eighteen are trained. She has already been taking some advanced training courses remotely with mine and Vod Baj’s permission and is performing extremely well.”

“What about my permission?” asked Antilles. “I wasn’t aware of any of this.”

“You brought Calisuma here to receive a Mandalorian education,” Buir Atin’la replied, cocking her head, “and that is what she will receive.”

“Would I be going with her to Endros?” Antilles demanded.

“That is not likely to be permitted.” Buir Atin’la shook her head. “Besides which, we need you here.”

Antilles chewed his lip, casting his eyes to the grass. “What if she doesn’t want to go?”

“That is her decision to make.”

Antilles laced his fingers under his nose. “The decision has not been finalized,” Buir Atin’la added. “Calisuma’s education is far from complete. We will have to continue monitoring her progress to determine whether she is truly the prodigy we suspect her to be. It is too early to inform her of our considerations and risk disappointing her.”

Prodigy.

There was no question. Leela would not remain with him. That Buir Atin’la had used that word confirmed the very thing she was not yet sure of. When Leela turned thirteen, it would all be over.

His eyes drifted toward the children training in the yard with prop swords. Leela leapt and twirled with her sword, in stark contrast to the precise, utilitarian strikes employed by her fellow trainees. He heard Vod Goran the weaponsmaster gruffly correct Leela’s form.

“I didn’t know Mandalorians fought with blades.”

“An antiquated weapon,” Buir Atin’la replied, turning her head in the direction Antilles was looking, “but one with a noble history. All our verd’ike are trained to wield the beskad as well as the blaster.”

Antilles hummed thoughtfully.

“Well?” asked Buir Atin’la. “Will you speak to her about this… Jedi fixation? She cannot afford any distractions if we are to see the full fruits of her training.”

Antilles watched Leela resume her motions as directed. Even adhering to the Mandalorian form, her strokes seemed more fluid than that of her peers, as if she were a holorecording with a high framerate. Antilles chewed his lip thoughtfully beneath his mustache.

Distractions.

“It’s just a phase,” he replied, casually waving the matter aside. “I’m sure it’ll pass quickly.”

Buir Atin’la tilted her helmeted head.

“I’ll mention it to her,” Antilles promised hastily.

To his relief, this seemed to appease her.

Later that afternoon, Leela burst into the hut, full of things to share. Antilles sat in Broque’s chair waiting for her. Leela gave Broque a quick hug and sat down in front of a bowl of tiingilar. Her father laced his fingers with a warm smile. “So, Leela, have you learned any more about the Jedi?”

Spoiler: Note

This is the last chapter of Sanctuary! Next week, I will post a link to Part III: Revelation.