Saga - PT The Hero of Both Sides: A Steadfast Story (2024 Spring Bingo)

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…​

“I hate this place.”

Mylo Lloyd was struggling to get into character. Before him lay a sprawl of decadence, decay, and death.

In reality, of course, the ramshackle bazaar was very much alive, teeming with life of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of sentience, but there was no way it would fool Mylo with its carnival atmosphere. He could look beyond the raucous laughter, the hearty back-slapping, the smirks as currency changed hands, and see the denizens of this market for what they really were.

Situated atop a rocky plateau on the dark side of Apsef Minor, this was illegality running riot, masking the true extent of its cruelty behind a few neon lights and gaudy flags.

This was an Outer Rim slave auction.

Just as every surface was coated with a thick grunge, the night air was thick with obnoxious grunge music, designed to dampen the details of deals being struck as scumbags walked within close earshot of fellow scumbags. Negotiated price tags were being put on other people’s lives left, right, and centre. Only a scant few pop-up cantinas broke the cycle of greed with a little gluttony, because why should anyone be expected to buy and sell innocent souls while sober? And then the spice and death stick pushers would pick up any slack. In this kind of venue, they didn’t have to be subtle.

It was everything Mylo loathed, all summed up in a single picture, as though specially painted for his personal displeasure.

He would need his anchor more than ever.

“Weesa pitty early,” Ludo Gum noted aloud, standing right beside him. The supportive Gungan’s eyestalks were bobbing up and down as their bulbous yellow stare scanned the scene. “Meesa no sees any cages out dere. Dey must be presentatin’ da bidd’n remotee.”

Mylo appreciated the intuitive attempt to keep him on-task. “Yep, I reckon they must be,” he agreed, chancing a lopsided smile up at his gawky partner. “You ready, pallo?”

Ludo looked down and nodded discreetly (or rather, as discreetly as his perpetual enthusiasm would allow). “Yuh-huh!”

There was no turning back.

It was time to commit to their performance.

“Okay then,” Mylo grimaced ruefully. “Let’s go be scumbags…”

***
The Hero of Both Sides
A Steadfast Story​

Author: Happy Sando
Timeframe: Saga - PT (approx. 27 BBY)
Characters: Mylo Lloyd, Ludo Gum, Jayo the Droideka, Mama Gum
Genre: Open to interpretation

Summary:
Working a fresh lead, the crew of the Steadfast infiltrate a slave auction on a backwater planet.

Notes:
This project is an entry for 2024 Spring Bingo and a follow-up to Star Wars: Episode I - The Steadfast Wreckage.

Any and all feedback would be extremely welcome, but most importantly, I just hope that anybody passing through enjoys the experience!

***​

Preparation for this mission had been predominantly mental, with no special uniform required to pass as a galactic dreg. Neither man had changed their day-to-day appearance; they had gone overboard the first time, and learned their lesson well.

Mylo was wearing his favourite flight suit, a light grey one-piece with purple accents stitched along the edges of its banded collar, cuffs, and various pocket flaps. Tall brown rigger boots (made from synthetic rancor hide) matched fingerless gloves and a well-stocked survival belt, from which hung twin hip-mounted holsters. He had grown rather adept at dual-wielding since leaving Naboo.

The most discernible alteration he’d made in those five years was to his hair, which was no longer shaved, at least not all over. Whilst he originally intended to grow dreads long enough to sweep across half of his face, Mylo had (quite literally) stopped short and settled on a sharp, neatly modest high fade crew cut instead. In trying to hide his scar, he’d inadvertently found a style which kinda complemented it.

Ludo had approved, too. Never one to hide anything, the eternally upbeat Gungan frequently urged his partner to be proud of his identity, and to embrace it, scars and all.

“Baby steps,” had become Mylo’s default reply, always delivered with a gracious grin.

For his part, Ludo was more than comfortable staying in his usual engineering outfit. A pair of light brown overalls and a rough-hewn vest kept a set of everyday tools in their pockets, but more importantly kept his arms bare and free to work. Protective goggles were draped around the bottom of his long neck, but he hardly ever used them, considering that they were of Human design.

Together, as a double act roaming any part of the galaxy, whether it be civilised or barbaric, they blended in. Heck, if anything, they were at risk of being too generic, so amateurish were their dabbles in spycraft (thankfully, nobody had ever seemed to notice, or care… yet).

As they slipped past a thinning crowd, they came to a confluence of three pop-up cantinas, amidst which a haphazard eatery had formed, with none of its tables or chairs matching the others. Mylo ducked aside and went to nonchalantly lean against the cleanest wall, before realising that ‘cleanest’ was a relative term and thinking better of it.

And then gently, he touched his right ear. “Comm check,” he said under his breath.

“I got you, boss,” a female voice crackled back.

“Drinn?” She wasn’t who Mylo had expected to talk to. His frown briefly thawed his chill. “What happened to Theo?”

“He’s taking a break. Mama’s orders.” There was an audible sigh on the line. “You know how he gets when he’s fasting. Runs himself into the ground and can’t be told otherwise.”

That made sense. “Intransigence, thy name is Theo Ahmst.” Mylo shook his head as he regained his poise.

“This place makin’ you all posh again, boss?”

Mylo glanced up as Ludo finished a lap of the eatery and returned to stand beside him. “You could drop Theed Palace on this plateau and it’d still be a dive.”

“I can imagine. Tell me what you see.”

“Cantinas. We’re in the largest open space, other than the auction floor, but it’s pretty empty. My guess is that everybody’s started drifting over to the main event.”

Ludo gave him a surreptitious nudge to draw his attention towards one of the cantinas. Mylo got the hint, wrapping his arm around Ludo’s midriff and linking up for a casual side-by-side embrace as he asked his earpiece, “Gonna grab a couple of props. Any recommendations?”

“None that you’d actually want, no.”

“Any warnings, then?”

“Oh, sure, got plenty of them.” Mylo listened to Drinn’s words of wisdom as he and Ludo walked close enough to see the cantina’s bottle collection. “The basic rule in this system is, if it’s red, avoid it. It’ll be dangerously alcoholic.”

“And if it’s green…?”

“Slightly less alcoholic. But could still strip paint.”

Mylo rolled his eyes. “Great, it’s one of those planets.” With one smooth motion, he diverted their course as naturally as possible. “We’ll pass, thanks.”

“Suit yourselves.” There was a pause, accompanied by a beep in the background. “Scanners just refreshed; I can see you now. Auction floor isn’t far. I don’t think you’ll need the extra cover. Looks like there’s all sorts of folks over there. You should be able to hide in plain sight, at least until you wanna be seen.”

“Copy that,” Mylo acknowledged, analysing the path ahead and keeping hold of Ludo. “I’ll send you a ping when her lot number joins the queue. Be ready.”

“Always, boss. Stay safe.”

The earpiece fell silent with a click.

“Everytink ookie-day?” Ludo asked him, still arm-in-arm as they left the eatery.

Mylo was given no time to reply. There was a yelp from their left, muffled by a makeshift door which suddenly smashed open to deposit a small, hapless Noghri at their feet. Mud (created by a mixture of rock dust and run-off from the leaky cantinas, and stomped into a quagmire by incessant boot, claw, talon, and tread traffic) splashed upon impact, the squelch competing with an injured cry to be heard over the bazaar’s droning dirge of a soundtrack.

The Noghri floundered to sit upright as the towering figure of an angry Feeorin male followed him out of the doorway and loomed forth with sinister intent. His was an impossibly imposing frame; the kind of top-heavy shape that never failed to widen eyes, with a writhing mass of tentacles flowing from the base of his skull to help his already-broad shoulders seem positively monolithic. While he rivalled the lanky Ludo in height, his bare torso’s musculature was a different story.

Aqua-blue biceps swelled as a bulky plasma rifle was unsheathed and pointed downwards.

Previously flustered, the Noghri began to panic. “No,” he pleaded in a high-pitched squeal, “no, no, no, please, no!!”

Reflexively, Mylo let go of Ludo and adopted a stance which was immediately familiar.

And so, the Gungan hastily turned, reaching an arm across Mylo’s chest to hold the would-be hero side-on. He then dipped his bill-shaped head, nuzzling the bridge of his nostrils against Mylo’s hair and closing his eyes. “No again,” came a hushed reminder. “Yousa stoppen dis an’ oursen mishie be done for.”

Despite the overwhelming love he felt for his partner, Mylo hated Ludo in that instant.

Because he was right. There was no real choice.

They had to remain neutral.

Luckily, while Ludo had recognised Mylo’s outrage, the Feeorin’s focus was entirely on his victim. “Trickster!!” he bellowed, at a volume which shook the air itself.

“No, no,” the Noghri wheedled pathetically, “no tricks! Just a bit of harmless fun, see?”

But the effort was wasted. “You’re in the wrong place for fun.”

“No, plea–”

It was a single shot. Through and through.

Mylo winced with regret as the Noghri abruptly went limp. Ludo kept his eyes closed.

“On second thought,” the Feeorin gloated, “that was fun.” The tendrils at the corners of his mouth twisted around a self-satisfied smirk as he finally noticed his audience. “Oi, you there,” he boomed at Mylo. “You got some kind of problem?”

Mylo used up all of his restraint to reign in his facial expressions and give a polite, “No, sir. No problem.”

There was an awkward pause. “That your Gungan?”

Karabast.

Ludo de-tensed to look up, and began to release his hold on Mylo, but the young Human stopped him and reeled him back in, indulging a modicum of boldness. “He’s not for sale.”

“You sure? His kind is pretty rare ‘round these parts.”

Heck, this jerk… he was determined to push all of Mylo’s buttons today, wasn’t he? But Ludo was right; non-engagement was the strategy here. Rising above the bait, Mylo emphasised their embrace as he dared to repeat himself. “He’s not for sale.”

It took the brute a beat to catch on. “Huh. Wow. Okay.” He turned to inspect the debris of a fluorescent light bulb that must have shattered in his prior altercation with the Noghri, and was heard to mutter, “Now I really have seen everything…”

After they had stepped around the Noghri’s mud-splattered corpse (as respectfully as possible), it quickly became clear that going directly to the auction floor would prove a costly mistake for Mylo. When Ludo spotted an abandoned campfire roaring just beyond the market’s vague concept of a boundary, he took the initiative.

Mylo didn’t resist. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to protest anyway.

Ludo wordlessly plonked him down on some slapdash attempt at a bench seat, and then patiently granted him a minute of personal space by sitting further away than normal.

Mylo’s gaze lost itself in the flickering of the fire, his brown eyes shimmering under the strain of his inner turmoil. Five years of this, and he still wasn’t jaded enough to accept certain situations. Ludo kept on telling him that his reactions were a good sign; that he should still hope to be upset by loss, any loss, after another five years, another ten, even another fifty… and yet, as insightful as the adorkable Gungan could be, it didn’t lessen the pain of each and every case.

It didn’t stop his remembrance of them, of all of them, every time he experienced another.

And this one? This was a random Noghri, encountered at an Outer Rim slave auction. Chances are, he was just as ‘bad’ as the Feeorin who shot him, perhaps even worse.

Nevertheless, that panic, that fear… that power balance, so cruel, so one-sided…

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

With typically prescient timing, Ludo shuffled along the bench to resume hug duty. Mylo took a moment to reciprocate, raising his hands to bask in the fire’s warmth first, letting his fingerless gloves store up a bit more residual heat.

“Yousa tinken ‘bout Zye?”

Well, that came out of nowhere. Mylo blinked hard, then frowned as he heard himself uncharacteristically snap, “The heck are you asking me about her for?”

“My no know,” Ludo shrugged, the gesture tightening his grip on his partner’s shoulder. “Anytink bein’ newsa dere?”

Mylo doused his short temper with a sigh. By way of an apology for the outburst, he finally slid his arm beneath Ludo’s long haillu ears and leant in. “You know Zye,” he grunted. “Same cryptic half-answers to the opposite of what you ask about. This ain’t the first time she’s up and left us. Doubt it’ll be the last, either.”

“Maybe issen just da Force bein’ all nutsen or sumtink,” came an ever-so-slightly mocking suggestion.

It made Mylo laugh, which also made him grateful. “Maybe,” was all he could chuckle.

“Yousa gunna be ookie-day?”

The chuckle settled back to a smile, followed by a deep, cleansing breath. “Oh, yeah. I’m ace.”

“Dat yu are.”

And then both men laughed.



“I got two hundred over here; do I see three? Three hundred, now four, four to five, five hundred… any more? Holding at five, I have five hundred, any advance? Going once, going twice… aaand sold, for five hundred peggats!”

To ensure that the finality of the sale was heard by all, the gavel slammed down with an electronically amplified bang. Its wielder, a six-armed Ardennian auctioneer, was simultaneously busy signing a ledger, scratching his head, and clearing the last lot’s listing from a giant holo-screen which towered over his podium. As master of ceremonies, it was his practiced overactivity that kept the auction flowing at a pace which defied disruption.

In fact, compared to the surrounding bazaar’s less-than-organised chaos, things here might have seemed borderline civilised… were it not for the lots themselves.

“Next up, lot number eleven-thirty-seven: an adolescent Wookiee male, freshly broken. No surviving family.”

The holo-screen flashed up all the details. For two of the auction’s attendees, they made for harrowing reading.

Ludo did well not to emote his disgust, copying the example set by the dense crowd around him, but it was Mylo who looked away first. He just couldn’t bring himself to finish a rundown of such cruelty; if he did, he felt as though he would cry out, leap up to the podium, and do something he’d regret.

He tried to take solace in their plan. If they were successful here today, then they’d get a chance to free everybody up for sale, but they had to be patient. All they needed to do was stay in character, hold their nerve, and wait for the next lot number.

Eleven-thirty-eight. That was their chance.

Bidding on the Wookiee got underway. While his Gungan partner kept eyes forward, Mylo eased into the part of a blasé bystander, styling out his revulsion to glance around.

“Dank farrik,” he suddenly hissed, thankfully under his breath.

Only Ludo caught the curse. “Wassen up?”

“Pykes.”

Sure enough, by following Mylo’s line of sight (and with his extra height advantage), Ludo located them quickly.

Pyke Syndicate enforcers. Rows of them, six long and three deep, standing guard at the flanks of the auctioneer’s stage, with their angular hexagonal masks keeping a cold, stoic watch. Weapons already in hand, not holstered.

“Oie boie, dat’s no bombad. Wassen wit all da guns? Yousa tinken dey be expect’n crunchen?”

“Dunno,” Mylo whispered back, risking an obviously clandestine conversation in light of the unexpected development. “But then, I didn’t even realise this was Pyke territory.”

Ludo rocked up on his tiptoes. “Weesa no sees any of da captives paraded on stage yet.”

“Yeah, it’s as we suspected. Remote auction. Which means there’s no chance of any slave uprising, either.” Mylo considered their options, speeding his train of thought through this latest revelation, but it arrived at the same destination. “Stick to the plan, and we should be outta here before they can connect the dots.”

“Ookie-day,” came the reliably unshakeable support.

Mylo smiled. He always felt safe with Ludo at his side, even here, standing among a hundred slavers who would kill him on sight, if only they knew.

But the Pykes knew. Not all of it. Not enough to abort the mission. But they knew.

Were they here for him? To stop him?

It was too late for such misgivings. “…aaand sold, for a thousand druggats!” Well, that was the Wookiee’s fate sealed, at least for the time being. Neither Mylo nor Ludo clocked the winning bidder, but it hardly mattered now.

“Next up, lot number eleven-thirty-eight.”

Mylo took a deep breath. He twitched his bare fingertips as Ludo furtively brushed his own against them.

This was it.

With a static fizz, the holo-screen changed again.

“Here we present an adolescent Brakshin female,” the Ardennian auctioneer narrated, pitching over a collective murmur of interest. “Yes, that’s right, this is a very rare opportunity to own a member of a species we know so little about! She is compliant. Family status…” A note was checked. “Oh, shame. Family status unclear.”

Except that it was crystal clear to Mylo.

“Still, quite the curio. Let’s not make any drastic reductions, then; who’ll start me at five hundred peggats?”

Somebody did. Then somebody else chipped in. After some back-and-forth between them, a third party got involved. The price crept ever higher; one thousand two, one thousand three.

Mylo stared at the holo-screen, wrestling with himself to hold his gaze this time. The image of the Brakshin girl fit the handful of verified descriptives, silvery metallic skin and glowing azure eyes affording an artificial droid-esque vibe to a humanoid who was, in actuality, a purely organic being. This one had dark curly hair, pictured wearing nothing but rags and a hauntingly vacant expression.

And, according to the listing, she was barely thirteen.

This was not news to Mylo, yet seeing it touted as a selling point made him feel physically sick.

The second bidder bowed out with a defeatist wave, but the third was digging in. His opponent countered.

One thousand four.

The mood of the crowd peaked, then began to diminish. The cut-and-thrust of a noteworthy lot was proving predictable.

All the while, Mylo watched and waited.

The next bid maxed out the holo-screen’s estimate. There was no further counter. One thousand five.

“Going once…”

Mylo narrowed a piercing glare at the apparent winner, a Britarro of intolerable smugness. “You got him?”

“Uh-huh,” Ludo certified with a throaty gurgle.

“Going twice…”

And then Mylo made his move, by raising his hand and shouting, “Two thousand peggats!”

The attention of the entire auction floor wheeled on him. Faces of all colours, shapes, and sizes. Eyes ablaze with scrutiny and incredulity, not to mention murderous envy.

His churning stomach did a backflip, but he stood fast.

As professional as he was trying to be, the auctioneer was caught off-guard for a few seconds. “T-two?!” he stammered to clarify, before loudly repeating, “Two thousand peggats! From the gentleman with the random Gungan!”

“Dat’s dat, den,” Ludo quietly quipped as he gave a sheepish little grin and shrugged, “Weesa nocombackie here ever again.”

“The Britarro?” Mylo kept him focused.

But a stunned silence had befallen the other bidder. He was out of his depth, with his pocketbook out of cash. The auctioneer’s experience told him as much without needing to ask. “Two thousand peggats,” he began to conclude, “going once…”

Mylo was about to buy himself a slave.

“Going twice…”

“Two thousand two!!”

Suddenly, nobody was looking at Mylo any longer. They were all looking at the source of that thunderous interruption, made at a volume as loud as the auctioneer’s gavel.

Mylo recognised the voice. Slowly, half a beat after the rest of the crowd, he turned to confirm.

It was the Feeorin. The brute from the bazaar.

The murderer.

Ludo said it for him. “Meesa gotta baaad feelin’ abouts dis…”

But Mylo wasn’t about to be deterred, certainly not by this nerko. “Two thousand four,” he immediately escalated, spinning back toward the podium with arm aloft.

The Feeorin began barging his muscle-bound way into the throng of underworld movers and shakers as he met the challenge without any hesitation. “Two thousand six!”

“Two thousand seven!” Mylo was desperate to stay in the game.

Alas, he’d already shown weakness.

The Feeorin relented long enough for the auctioneer to underline Mylo’s error to an audience that, right then and there, cared more about the showdown’s entertainment value than any monetary sum. “Only seven…?”

The goading worked. “Eight,” Mylo corrected, to a faint ripple of boisterous cheer. “Two thousand eight!”

“Um, pallo?” Ludo reminded him through gritted teeth, “Weesa no gots dat kinda mula to spare!”

“Trust me,” Mylo tried to reassure him, in a tone which sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself.

He couldn’t lose. Not to this skughole. He had to hold his nerve.

But there was no need.

The Feeorin put it over the top. “Three thousand!!”

Mylo opened his mouth once again, apparently more than willing to keep this ludicrous spectacle going for another few rounds, but Ludo was done being subtle. The Gungan made a sharp quarter-turn, coming face-to-face with the erratic Human and filling his sightline with a non-verbal plea.

The intervention worked, just like it always did.

Not only did Ludo’s palpable concern break Mylo’s tunnel vision, but it also broke his heart. He purged his stubborn streak with a lengthy reset blink before softly resting an open palm on his partner’s chest and sighing. When he eventually looked up, his bashful bearing conveyed shame and strength in equal measure.

He then peeked out from behind a pair of haillu ears to make eye contact with the auctioneer. “Any more?” the Ardennian was obliged to ask him, but Mylo shook his head.

And with that, the sale was made. “Three thousand peggats; going once, going twice… aaand sold, to the large Feeorin!”

The lot’s excitement dissipated with the echo of the gavel. People became enamoured with their data pads and drinks again. Some got up, either for refills or to use the refresher. As soon as he finished scrawling in his ledger, even the auctioneer took a recess.

Mylo was left to dejectedly contemplate five words.

“Wassen weesa gunna do now?”

Ludo wasn’t upset with him. Ludo was never upset with him. For whatever reason, that made Mylo feel worse.

He would have to unpack that emotional baggage later.

The Feeorin was headed over, barrelling his way through a swiftly parting crowd; his aggressive power appeared universally intimidating to slavers, killers, and sleemos alike. When he reached Mylo, he flexed to full height and, with tendrils slithering around its corners, sneered a wicked sneer.

“Bad luck, freak,” he relished, betraying that the bidding war was merely petty revenge by leering at Ludo and adding, “You should have sold me your boyfriend.”

Mylo said nothing. He was too scared, but his fears were not born of the beast before him.

They were for his own fury. For how it might manifest itself.

Internally, he re-forged his resolve with a self-controlling thought and came up with a new plan.

Fighting back is always futile. Don’t fight back.

Fight forward.

Realising that his latest victim would not be easily provoked, the Feeorin scoffed in derision and turned to walk away.

After a single step, however, he felt a light tap on one of his burly blue shoulders. Slowly rounding back on the foolish move, what started out as a seething scowl loosened into a frown when he was met with an offer of a handshake.

Mylo rose above his animosity to sell a slight smile. “Hey, no hard feelings, okay?”

Rendered all but mute by the bizarrely magnanimous behaviour, the Feeorin recoiled as he emitted yet another dismissive noise from his non-existent nose.

And then he simply left.

It was precisely the reaction Mylo had hoped to elicit. He growled through his forced grin as his new nemesis stomped off. “See ya soon… ya big moof-milker…”

The edges of his grin remained as he returned to Ludo. Somewhat perplexed by what he’d just witnessed, the Gungan silently repeated his earlier query with an inquisitive head-tilt.

Mylo dropped any hint of a smile and locked a sincere stare in its place. “First things first: thank you, for… well, y’know.” He squirmed with humiliated humility. “I would be totally lost without you. I’m real sorry it happened again.”

Ludo squeezed the hands that were suddenly holding his. “Yousa no needs to spake dat. Meesa geddit.”

“Which is why I do, pallo. You deserve better.”

Before there could be any argument (because it was obvious Ludo wanted to object to that last point, in a most vociferous manner), Mylo abruptly withdrew from the melodramatic moment, pulling back to nod low and touch his right ear. “Drinn, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear. S’up?”

“I just stuck one of my micro-trackers on a Feeorin, and I need to know where he’s lumbering off to, please and thank you.”

The priceless gasp of realisation which spread across Ludo’s face was something Mylo unfortunately missed. He needed to guarantee that his impromptu idea was going to work, and was therefore too distracted by his hidden earpiece.

There was a brief burst of static, along with some stifled beeping. “Seems like a private landing pad,” Drinn reported. “It’s out on the far side of the plateau. Pretty well-guarded.” More beeping rang out in the background. “Er, boss? Sensors are telling me that the area is crawling with Pykes. Did you know they were here?”

“We do now. Spin up the engines. Prep Mama for incoming, and magnetise Jayo to the boarding ramp; Bark Mode only.”

“Got it. Meet you there.”

Mylo looked up at Ludo, his eyes glistening. The Gungan beamed at the comeback, thrilled to see a spirit reborn, brimming with passion, courage, and an unstoppable tenacity (of the good kind; no more of that dangerous or expensive stuff).

The way he worded his question made Mylo laugh. “Weesa gunna go an’ rescue dis rescue?”

“Yep… that’s exactly what we’re gonna do!”

***​

She awoke betwixt clean bedsheets.

For several bleary seconds, she ignored them, thinking them part of some cruel dream.

Then reality set in. She lifted her dozy head from the pillow as an unfamiliar room swirled into focus. Graceful white walls swept around her large bed, encircling the mid-sized living quarters. There were two doors on either side, both currently closed. Ancient texts and random trinkets filled a couple of shallow shelves between them. Strip lighting shone up from the floor at a low, ambient level, and, to her right, a glass of water sat on a bedside table.

While, on her left, there was a… a hammock? It was hand-woven, patched up in parts, all tatty and threadbare. It definitely didn’t match the rest of the décor.

But otherwise, there was no dirt, no dust. No rust.

This place was pristine.

The soft smell of laundered fabric flooded her nostrils. When she pulled back the duvet, she discovered that she was wearing a fresh pair of comfortable pyjamas. They might have been one size too big for her, but they were also as clean as the sheets.

This had to be a trick. Show her kindness and then snatch it away to discipline her. As a punishment.

But punishment for what? She hadn’t disobeyed, had she?

Had she?!

Her memory was clouded. She tried to form a mental picture, but failed to recognise anything useful in it. Everything was a jumbled mess of singular snapshots: lots of Pyke soldiers, waving their guns back and forth; a massive muscular blue guy, real mean-looking, with a bunch of tentacles for a hairstyle; cold air, which suggested she had been outside, but in the unhelpful darkness of night…

…and then? No. She shook her head. It was no use. Whatever had happened next, however she got here, in this bed, in these clothes… she had no idea.

She carefully got to her feet, walking over to one of the doors and finding it unlocked. Huh. That was a surprise.

Behind it lay a cosy bathroom, complete with refresher, shower, and mirror, into which she stared for a long moment. Her glowing eyes sparkled like sapphires when they saw that her metallic-effect skin was the cleanest it had been in weeks, and that her curly black hair had been washed, conditioned, and brushed.

But when she noticed her own spontaneous smile, it made her sad. This could still be a trick.

Don’t show them what they want. Don’t let them win.

Don’t trust anything.

She stopped reflecting on her reflection, leaving the bathroom to try the other door. Along the way, she peeked into the hammock to spot a pile of handhelds, all of which were displaying technical schematics and blueprints.

Double huh. Not what she had expected. She hit the second door’s control while still distracted.

Big mistake.

Because while it opened for her, there was no way she was getting through. She looked up and froze in terror.

There was a lot more to the large droid blocking the doorway, but all she saw were the twin blaster cannons welded to the ends of its arms, as well as its claw-shaped tripod legs. They clicked against the polished floor as its chassis flinched, shuffling back with a whir of gears. “There is no cause for alarm,” a vocoder buzzed in gruff electronica. “My name is Ja–”

But she wasn’t listening. She had seen her chance, and was gonna take it. She ducked through the new gap between droid and doorframe, making a break for it, reacting to the vocoder’s menacing timbre instead of hanging around to register its actual words.

She bolted off down the corridor beyond, fleeing for her life. She knew it had all been too good to be true. A trick after all, and now here she was, running away from it. Punishment would be severe if she got caught. No turning back.

Her heart was racing as fast as her feet. Her face became a portrait of panic. She had to find an exit, any exit.

And, tearing around the next corner, she did just that.

Daylight.

Shining forth, warm and welcoming, from the base of an extended boarding ramp. So, she was on yet another ship, was she?

Not for long!

And yet, she halted in her tracks when she heard a voice call out from over her shoulder. “Whoa dere, lil’ one!”

It belonged to a… er… well, she couldn’t identify her species, so she had no idea. But she appeared friendly enough; the third surprise in quick succession. Triple huh.

“Meesa no ‘specting to be seein’ yousa up an’ aboots!” Her accent was thick, but the runaway got the gist of its broken Basic.

She was a gangly amphibian. Her mottled pink skin was wrinkled with age, sagging around the smile on the end of her bill-shaped snout. Swaying on stalks beset by long lashes, a pair of compassionate cobalt eyes encouraged calm.

And the appeal might have worked on the girl, were it not for the ominous noise rapidly approaching.

It was cyclical, a sort of ‘clackity-clack’ repetition, getting louder and louder, its crescendo becoming deafening. As she turned away from the pleasant pink face to meet the cacophony’s source, anxiety reigned supreme. Somehow, the bronzium droid from before had folded itself into a wheel and was rolling after her…?!

She didn’t stop to watch it unfurl its armaments, meaning that she also missed the lanky lady’s frantic wave as she called it ‘Jayo’ and told it to give her some space.

She just ran down the boarding ramp and into the light.

It stung her eyes. She slowed up as she squinted, blinking past the pain to see where she was.

Which was apparently a natural wonderland.

Beneath her bare feet, a verdant wildflower meadow stretched out over the immediate horizon. Punctuated by an occasional tree, its lush carpet of multi-coloured blooms rippled in the balmy breeze of dawn’s early light. Golden rays shone from a single sun, its slivers cresting the snow-capped peaks of distant mountains. A variety of exotic insect life flitted from flower to flower, under the beady eyes of hungry birds who eagerly lined up along each tree branch.

She took an awestruck step from the boarding ramp, oblivious to the expansive chrome wings which were framing her departure. Myriad fragrances bombarded her sense of smell. Her attention was drawn over the crest of a hill, where three humanoid farmers prepared to manually plough their field with a rustic apparatus tethered to… wow, were those domesticated dragons?! All three of them were so tamely disinterested in the farmers themselves, not to mention the giant seed hoppers they would be dragging in their wake.

She was utterly enthralled. It was like looking at a scene from one of those romantic HoloNet epics she enjoyed watching with her fathers, its composition too perfectly picturesque to be believed.

She rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to clear what had to be an hallucination, yet there it all remained.

And then she heard them. Voices, behind and above her.

Bickering voices.

“…but I have faith in you!”

“Jus’ because meesa can be fixin’ dis, it no makin’ it smart to be crunchen it every week!”

“We named her Steadfast for a reason, didn’t we?”

“Issen was twice da size, pallo!”

“Which is exactly why I stopped to sense that it was empty before giving the order!”

“Dat not be changin’ da fact dat it was twice da size!!”

She craned her neck skyward to acknowledge the ship from which she had fled. Atop its gleaming silver hull, she found a pair of sentients sprawled on their stomachs, face-to-face, leaning over opposite ends of an open access hatch.

One was a handsome, dark-skinned Human male. From temple to jawline, he sported a rakish scar down his right cheek. She couldn’t tell whether or not his hip-mounted holsters were packing. The top half of his jumpsuit had been lowered, its knotted sleeves tied off around his waist; however, the copious amount of oil and grease smeared all over his bare arms and underlying vest informed her that his priorities didn’t involve shooting stuff, at least in this instance.

The other was a… ah, nuts, she still didn’t know. The other looked similar to that nice lady, but this one was masculine, a lot younger, and orange instead of pink.

And he was evidently the expert. “Da next time yousa be wantin’ to ‘bump’ sumtink, my begs you, taken una momento, and tink abouts da labour yousa be makin’ for meesa, ookie-day?”

The Human acted contrite, but nevertheless groused, “It was Theo who was at the controls.”

“Oh, dat’s bombad stinkowiff, an’ yu knows it!”

She suppressed a small giggle at their antics. There was no malice behind their argument; in fact, both men were smiling as they cheekily traded barbs. It sounded more like they were using their words to have fun, to play…

…or better yet, to dance.

The tension gradually began to leave her limbs. Sure, these people were strangers, but they didn’t seem all that threatening. Might she have overreacted? These idyllic surroundings were certainly doing their best to persuade her that she had… and, come to think of it, that scary roller-droid had stopped chasing her, too. She had never known a slave guard to do that before.

If only she could begin to recall what had happened to her. What had gotten her here.

But that would have to wait.

The expert stuck his beak into the access hatch and began patting down his overalls’ many pockets. “Can yousa be goin’ an’ gettin’ meesa my hydrospanner?” he asked of his verbal sparring partner, concluding their whimsical argument.

“Yes, dear,” the Human teased in defeat. He pointed his feet down the hull’s smooth slope, making ready to scooch off and descend on his butt to land precisely where she stood.

Which was amidst a scattered selection of semi-deployed crates, equipment containers, and toolkits.

Her survival instincts sent a jolt of adrenaline through her system. She nipped back to the boarding ramp and ducked under its shadow just in time. Phew. Safe. That was close.

A second later, the Human’s boots hit the ground. He peered from toolkit to toolkit until his gaze settled on an open box some ten paces away, and he exhaled a triumphant, “Gotcha!”

But rather than walk those ten paces, he stayed put. Only his chest moved, rising and falling as he took a deep breath.

There was a rumble, very low and localised, and then, right before her astounded eyes, one of the tools lifted itself out of the box and began to float its way up above the ship. The Human stretched out his hand to trace its path through mid-air and, after it left her line of sight, she heard a muted, “Tank yu!”

Seeing such magic triggered a memory. It helped her finally find her own voice, as she exclaimed, “You did that to me!”

The Human was startled into a hasty one-eighty. “Oh, um… hello there!” He glanced around, clearly confused by her sudden appearance, but spoke more softly than when he’d been pretending to squabble with the other man. “Well… I suppose I did, yes.”

“Past that big blue guy? The one with the…” She crept out from the shade of the ramp to gingerly raise her arms and waggle her fingers, briefly miming a mass of tentacles at the back of her head. “I was gonna go with him?”

“Again, yes, and yes.”

She paused to screw up her nose in frustration. “I don’t remember anything else after that.”

“Ah…” The Human’s demeanour became apologetic. “You never will. When I pulled you towards me, I also put you to sleep.” The hand he’d used to levitate the hydrospanner flexed by his side. “Same magic. The only way we could guarantee your safety.” And then it was his turn to pause, as a flicker of guilt crossed his expression. “Sorry. Everything was about to kick off, what with the Pykes an’ all, but it was kinda rude of me.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” she shrugged, just happy to get an answer for her memory block. Besides, if he was to be believed (and from all she had watched of him thusfar, she reckoned he was) then his plan had worked, hadn’t it? She was here, wasn’t she? In this veritable paradise, with nary a Pyke in sight? It was a lot to be grateful for.

Her next question was obvious. “Are you some kind of Jedi?”

“That’s, um…” Another pause. He scratched at his scar. “No, not really, no.”

His hesitancy re-ignited her scepticism. She shifted back a step as she thought hard. Belief was one thing, but she had to judge whether or not she could trust this man.

She had almost come to a decision when he randomly blurted out a peculiar word. “Mylo.”

“You what?”

“You were figuring out whether or not to trust me.” He was being confident with his empathy. “Mylo. That’s my name, seeing as you just decided that you can.”

Well, that sure weirded her out (and then some) but… eh, the heck with it. He was right, after all. “Tamara.”

“In the interest of said trust, I should tell you that I already knew your name. But thank you for sharing it with me anyway!” He tilted his head at a couple of the crates, ones which would make for solid seating. Tamara followed his lead, cautious but curious, as he took the weight off and faced the spectacular view. “We met your dads,” he revealed to her. “They got a message to us after you’d been taken. Hired us to come find you, bring you home.”

As she sat down beside him, the last shred of her defensive doubt made her ask, “Back to Kublop Springs?”

Mylo smiled at the girl’s smarts. “Kublop Springs isn’t home,” he passed her test, “but one of your dads, Tebren, does work there, so yes, that’s where he and Zeneshi are waiting.”

The extra details were more than satisfactory. “Thank you.”

“I just regret that things didn’t go to plan back there. We were set to ‘buy’ you, but that, um…” Mylo strengthened their bond by copying Tamara’s earlier mime, goofily waggling his oil-covered fingers behind his head. “He outbid us, so we tracked him to his landing pad, which is where I made you float.”

“Did you kill him?”

His reply was instant and assertive. “We don’t kill.”

“Shame.” Like many her age, Tamara would sometimes say harsh things that she didn’t really mean.

To his credit, Mylo seemed to ‘get’ her, as he let her teenage angst slide without reprimand. “We hoped you could lead us to the rest of the captives, but given what we saw back there…”

“We were kept on a ship. Lots of hyperspace jumps. No windows or anything.”

She bowed her head. Mylo carried on talking, unwilling to let her slip into a melancholy reverie. “Yep, that tracks. The Outer Rim slavers are getting wise… which is kind of our fault. We’ve been making more and more of a difference out here recently.” He then gently nudged her with his elbow and grinned. “Hey, we got you out of there! I’d call that a win, right?”

His buoyant ramble worked to hold Tamara’s concentration in the present. “So,” she asked, “who are you, then?”

Mylo looked amused by the inevitable inquiry. “This one time, I got called an ‘anti-slavery campaigner’, which was nice. Most folks opt for something a little less polite.” He folded his arms and leant back as he explained, “We’re a volunteer mercenary crew. We fight the galaxy’s slave trade.”

“By yourselves?”

His nod was tinged with lament. “My guess is that you’ve already met our healer, Mama, and our security droid, Jayo.”

Tamara was flabbergasted by that second bit. “Your rolling mini-tank has its own name…?!”

“And a lousy sabacc face!” He left her no choice but to accept the surrealism as he went on with the introductions. “Up top, that charming fella is Ludo. Then you got Drinn, and Theo. You’ll like ‘em. They’re off buying supplies, but they should be back soon.”

Mylo then appeared as though he was about to add another name, but whatever (or whomever) it was lodged in his throat, so the rundown came to an unceremonious end.

Tamara used the silence to confirm an assumption. “Mama would be the pink lady. Is she Ludo’s mother?”

“Yep,” Mylo proved her right. “Gungans, from the planet Naboo. Same planet I’m from.”

As if on cue, a gurgled grumble of frustration accompanied a loud mechanical clanging sound. Its convenient timing made her frown, but only lightly. “And what’s his problem?”

“Oh, the, er… the transport you came in on was taking up the only parking space, so we, um… we made it move over.”

Sure enough, as she took stock of the ship she had ‘escaped’ from, Tamara saw the damage to its starboard wing. Practically every inch of ornate chrome hull plating had been wrenched and mangled, all the way up to the engines embedded near the central fuselage. It must have been a violently sustained metal-on-metal collision.

It gave context to something she’d overheard earlier. “He said that you ‘bumped’ them.”

“Yeah, but he enjoys fixing things,” Mylo protested with sarcasm. “Honest. S’all good.”

Tamara took his word for it. The story of her rescue’s recklessness almost had her wallowing in the mire of those cold, dark memories but, with an outward shudder, she was able to keep them in check by herself this time. It was progress.

“I never want to go back to that… that… what planet was that?”

“Apsef Minor.”

She gazed upon the wondrous landscape before them, revelling in all of its life-affirming energy. Its sunlight warmed her skin as fresh air filled her lungs with a floral scent. “This place must be a billion parsecs from there. Where are we now?”

“Apsef Minor.”

Of all the things she had doubted since waking up, that one took the jogan fruitcake. “E chu ta!!” she barked, a potent blend of disbelief and fear fuelling her outburst.

Again, Mylo didn’t try to parent her (although she did notice how his big brown eyes had widened in reaction to her colourful language). He simply began another explanation. “It’s called gravitational locking. The same side of the planet always faces the sun, so you get permanent day on one half, permanent night on the other. Its extremes are precisely that; extreme, and uninhabitable for most, but along each terminator, in bands, you get…” He admired the unspoilt serenity in which they were sat chatting. “Well, you get this.”

Mylo’s casual description calmed her keen intellect, enabling it to overlook the implications of their continued residence and focus on the scientific uniqueness of the world. “Even though it feels like dawn, that sun isn’t going up or down, is it?”

“The local farmers like it. They don’t need to adjust with seasonal changes; there’s no upheaval, no transhumance, nothing like that. Here, in this band, it’s…”

Tamara picked up the slack left by an empty syllable to finish his sentence for him.

“…perpetual spring.”

“Bingo.” Mylo smiled knowingly. “You catch on pretty quick.”

Unfortunately, the taxing combination of trauma and succour was catching up with her pretty quick, too. She appreciated how she wasn’t being treated like a child, how Mylo wasn’t talking down to her, but the novelty of his blunt, matter-of-fact exposition was starting to wear thin, and consequently wear her out.

She was exhausted. She wanted to regress, to be a little girl again, to sit amongst the flowers and think about nothing.

And he must have sensed her mood, because he abruptly bounced to his feet, rubbing his hands together in an enthusiastic clap. “I could use a snack. You hungry?”

Actually, now that he mentioned it… “Yes. Please.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her as he backed over to the boarding ramp, using his grease-coated fingers to feign surrender, “I promise to wash up first!”

In spite of her fatigue, Tamara giggled.

Which in turn, made Mylo laugh. “You just wait there, and I’ll be right back!”



Mylo returned in short order, his now-clean hands carrying a plate stacked with sweetened flatbreads. He had taken the top piece between his teeth, claiming it for himself with a series of approving noises about its homemade taste.

He found Tamara several meters away from the Steadfast, amidst a thick patch of blooms. “Hey, heads up,” he mumbled with his mouth full, crouching down to offer the whole plate.

But she only took a single flatbread, thanking him before her first tentative nibble at its edge.

“Good?” he asked as she chewed.

She nodded and swallowed. “Did you make these?”

Mylo crossed his legs to sit down beside her, resting the plate on one knee as he tore his own half-eaten portion out of his mouth. “Heck no,” he had to tell the truth. “Me an’ kitchens have issues. Mama’s the person you wanna thank. She’s the lifesaver on the crew, in more ways than one.”

He then reached into one of the sleeves tied around his waist and, with theatrical flourish, produced a pot of honey. “But this is mine. It’s a gift from a friend; someone like you. Lasan’s finest.”

They dipped and munched for a few contented minutes. Tamara’s bites got bigger and more confident. When she took a second flatbread, Mylo felt relieved. He had been worried about pushing her too far, and whether he should have eased her into certain revelations. Thirteen was a tricky age. Tamara’s parents weren’t exaggerating when they told him that she was an exceptionally bright young woman, so any coddling on his part might have run the risk of patronising her.

Nonetheless, he noticed that she had been gathering wildflowers. “Are they for your dads?”

“Oh, er…” She came over all shy and embarrassed. “Totally. Yep. For my dads.”

Mylo went along with her unconvincing cover, but the exchange illustrated the delicate tightrope he was trying to walk, and which side of it she currently favoured.

And so, he stopped probing and kept eating. Soon, there was only one flatbread left on the plate.

When Tamara declined (she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while, and was still nursing her third piece), Mylo didn’t let it go to waste. He began devouring it as he hauled himself to his feet, replacing the lid on the honey. “Whaddaya say? To Kublop Springs?”

She looked up at him and, in a meek whisper, requested, “Can we stay a little longer? Please?”

He sympathised. This place was the definition of tranquillity, and he had seen his fair share of overwrought outpourings, with an excess of hugging and crying at reunions that, no matter how well-intentioned, could get real draining for a shellshocked recipient.

“Sure we can,” he therefore smiled. “I’ll go tidy up and check on our status. Yell whenever you’re ready.”

Mylo had made it to the base of the boarding ramp by the time his own emotions cracked his composure. He slowed to a halt, spinning on his heel for a reflective look back. Tamara was most impressive. Good thing she hadn’t been in the Pykes’ clutches for too long. Each case was different, but he had seen far worse. Far worse.

Maybe their plan had gone awry for a reason. Maybe being here would give her perspective, and prevent her from becoming too cynical about the galaxy in her adult life. Show her that, even on the flipside of the same planet, peace was possible.

He snorted at his own sophistry. Mylo was self-aware enough to realise that his ego was attempting to put an optimistic slant on his latest blunder. Regardless of the banter he had spouted earlier, this necessary repair downtime was unequivocally his fault. He made a mental note to stop using the Steadfast as a battering ram. For Ludo’s sake, if nothing else. Poor pallo.

On that particular thought, Mylo’s subconscious tingled with a familiar presence. He made no move to greet it, but instead tossed his last morsel of bread over his shoulder.

He didn’t even turn around to watch the elasticated tongue snatch it out of mid-air.

But he did grin when he heard its owner’s satisfied slurping noise, and asked aloud, “We all set?”

Like his partner, Ludo also talked with his mouth full. “Yuh-huh,” the Gungan verified as he sidled up. After a gratifying gulp, he wrapped an arm around Mylo’s mid-section and gave him a squeeze. “Everytink ookie-day wit yousa?”

Mylo didn’t reply. He was stuck staring straight ahead, watching Tamara as she put a chunk of her flatbread on her open palm and held it out towards the closest tree. From its branches, a cute yellow songbird plucked up the courage to flutter down, perch on one of her outstretched fingers, and peck crumbs from the offering.

The young Brakshin beamed, pure delight in her eyes, defying the nightmare she had just endured.

Leaning his head against Ludo’s long neck, Mylo blinked away a solitary tear.

Only then did he give his answer.

“I love this job.”

Written by
HAPPY SANDO

Based on STAR WARS by George Lucas

Inspired by
2024 SPRING BINGO
Written by Chyntuck

and elements from
STAR WARS: STARFIGHTER
STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS
STAR WARS: REBELS
and
SOLO: A STAR WARS STORY​

 

I love your exciting bingo story. Ludo and Mylo saving a slave. Great action and nice what has happened after that action with Tamara on that beautiful place.

 

This crew is very cosy, I'd love to see them in more adventures as they toil to free other slaves. To that note I think you handled the delicate theme of slavery very well, especially in the very palpable unease of Mylo and Ludo in the Bazaar. And thanks for introducing me to the word 'adorkable'! Absolutely perfect for Ludo . The Gungan dialogue is on point!

 

Thank you! Am real glad you enjoyed it! That whole second half was a bit of a gear-change for me, and I wasn't very confident writing it, so I'm incredibly grateful to see you give it specific mention. Means I didn't disgrace myself (too much)!

First up, welcome to the forums! Please know that I've added Moon Station to my ever-lengthening reading list. It might take me a while to get to, so I'll apologise in advance for the delay, but it's great seeing somebody getting so stuck in!

And thank you for the feedback, it's very kind of you! Appreciate you picking this as one of the stories to get started with, and am glad you feel that I got the balance of themes right. At its core, I reckon Star Wars has always presented itself as a series of family-friendly adventures set amidst a ludicrously dark and twisted galaxy, and that's one heck of a unique tightrope to walk. Last thing I'd ever wanna do is cause offence by going too far one way or another.

I'm not even sure it's a real word, y'know. But hey, am happy to help, all the same!

 

Gripping action. I empathized with Mylo's outrage. I was happy to read Tamara's POV and Mylo and her interaction was just right, a balance of honesty and casualness. He was very attuned to her moods. A very fascinating world where there are inhabitable zones but the habitable area is in perpetual springtime.

 

Thank you for saying so! Action is my weak point as a writer. I'm much more comfortable writing chatty dialogue, so it's always gratifying to know when I've managed to make some kind of conflict exciting. My original plan was to "show" the rescue, and force myself to practice writing a full-blown Star Wars action sequence, but it A: had none of the bingo words in it, and B: would've turned this not-quite-so-short story a definitely-not-short-at-all story!

Am glad I got Mylo's interactions with Tamara right; really appreciate you highlighting that. Having never been a thirteen year old girl myself (let alone a traumatised one) I didn't wanna make any insensitive or offensive assumptions about her headspace. Hope I did her justice.

 

It's great to see another story with Milo, Ludo, and the crew! Nice to see Steadfast is still flying, despite her pilots' antics. That's definitely thanks to Ludo, I'm sure.

Five years is a good chunk of time, and while I'm sure it's been difficult and heartbreaking work for all of them for so long, it's also apparent from the way the slavers are shifting their tactics that they've been doing a lot of good, beneficial work during that time as well and helping many people. I really liked how that was summed up in Milo's thoughts about his job bookending the story. That length of time also shows that the group is serious about what they originally committed to, and it speaks volumes that they didn't just say, "Eh, good enough," and stop trying to dismantle the slave trade when things got hard.

You did a great job handling the difficult subject of the slave trade in the story, particularly with showing the different characters' reactions to it. It's got to be hard for Ludo and Milo to pretend to fit into that group during their ruses and act like they share those mindsets that disgust them. Using a gravitationally-locked world worked very well with the symbolism between the dark, seedy underbelly and the perpetual daylight, and finding the bands on the terminator in that grey but hopeful area where life can flourish.

I like seeing Milo's relationship with the Force developing. He's actively practicing with it, particularly with some telekinesis and empathetic aspects, but he also seems very conscious of the lines he won't let himself cross after what had happened.

I also enjoyed seeing how Ludo's and Milo's relationship has grown over the years. Ludo is very good at keeping Milo both grounded and hopeful as they face challenges together, and he's very insightful about what Milo is dealing with on different levels, even if Milo himself doesn't seem to realize everything he's working through, like the conversation about Zye. It sounds like Zye's been having some adventures of her own, too, though I got the impression she doesn't share many details of those with the rest.

And BTW, nice callout with 1138.

Great work all around! This was an awesome story, and thank you for sharing it! I hope we'll see more of the crew in the future.

P.S. Some of my local theaters were showing Ep 1 last week for the anniversary, and when I went to see it I was thinking of your characters during the Battle of Naboo.

 

Thank you! Am real glad you approve, and am incredibly grateful for your praise and generous feedback!

You know it.

That's very kind of you to note. I was nervous about the timeskip. I wanted Mylo to be recognisably Mylo, but also subtly changed by those five years. Trying to ground the crew's ongoing efforts with details like the slaver tactics was my attempt to paper over any leaps in personal development logic.

Most of that concept was the challenge's fault. I worked back from "How the heck to I get my anti-slavery characters into a nice spring setting?" and made sure that, by the time they got around to any frolicking, I'd hit all the beats I wanted to hit. It's a credit to @Chyntuck and the words they selected for the bingo board, because they all worked in harmony to paint a very clear mental picture very quickly. I don't wanna say it wrote itself, but it got pretty close!

I'm properly made up that you've noticed and highlighted all of that. It's funny, 'cause Mylo is very much my protagonist, and yet it's Ludo who's fallen into the common trap of being a somewhat infallible, "perfect" character. That's something I feel like I wanna address in a future story, should I ever write one. I thought it'd be interesting to dent Mylo's self-awareness of his faults (either because tough experiences are taking their toll, or thanks to his increasing power, or both) but of course, Ludo would never let him go off the deep end. I shudder to think who Mylo would be without Ludo.

Again, you know it. Enigmas gonna enigma!

My last 1138 was far too subtle, but I always try and include all the usual Star Wars easter eggs, for "authenticity" purposes. Thanks for noticing!

For somebody to think of my scribbles whilst watching actual Star Wars (in a cinema, no less) is... wow, I'm actually quite taken aback! That's gotta be one of the nicest things anybody has ever said about my writing! You've really brightened my week!

And I'm pleased to read that you got to see The Phantom Menace on a big screen! Sounds like a blast!