Ashes of Our Fathers: Chapter Two
There was plenty to do, and it wouldn't wait on her own exhaustion. Even though she was still young, twenty-two years on her last count, she realized she had established a life which was most likely going to age her quickly. Much like every other female she came into contact with in the Lower Levels of Coruscant. She wasn't sure what exactly caused the rapid decline in health and longevity here; be it the lack of waste containment, or the spread of disease either transmitted via injector swapping, an out-of-control rodent population, or sexual indiscretion. The death toll beneath the street level of the galaxy's capitol city was unacceptable.
And nobody seemed to care.
But then she realized, she once didn't either. Helping those in desperate need down here had not been her initial intention. She came here to start a fight. The grisly plight of the beings in the Lowers, however, inspired her to do something else.
How could she start a rebellion in these conditions? How could she ask others to stand with her and fight when their only concern was fighting to survive?
For the time-being, she lay down her banner of revenge, her hope to once again secure democracy, and she began a different battle; struggling to help those she met.
Many were down here hiding; much like she was. They didn't need her help. They just wanted to be left alone. But there were others who were trapped and couldn't find a way out.
The saddest plight she was aware of was her first stop this morning. It was her newest patient; a Mirialan, named Chara; not yet marked, which bore witness that she had had no formal education or training. Desperate to attain some type of stability and status, she had married a human male. The man had told Chara he was a trader. What he hadn't been truthful about was what he actually traded. Before she realized the trouble she was in, her husband had made a bad spice exchange and had accumulated so much debt, he'd been forced to sell Chara to one of the Lower Level pleasure dens. That was five years ago, and since that time, Chara had become so addicted to spice, she was severely malnourished and had lost most of her hair. As a result, the pleasure den owners had tossed her out, where she made do on anything edible that had been tossed down the garbage pipes from above.
There was very little to be done for Chara other than make sure she had enough to eat, drink, and had a decent place to sleep. The young woman was doing her best to do just that for her, and was grateful for the help she had miraculously gained from above.
An old friend of hers, a restaurant owner, was meeting her later to drop off another crate of supplies. His name was Dexter, a large Besalisk from the Uppers with a heart of gold. Dex never failed to appear at least once a month to deliver anything he could, knowing that if he were caught, it would cost him a hefty fine. Today was delivery day and the young woman was excited to see what delicacies she would be able to share.
"My dear, I was beginning to worry you weren't going to make it today." The length of his four arms wrapped the young woman in a gentle embrace.
"I'm sorry, Dex," the young woman apologized while stepping back. "I helped deliver a baby last night. It took a while and I didn't get much sleep."
The large eyes on the visitor revealed their shared concern. Usually, the birth of a newborn was something to celebrate. Not down here. What it meant down here was another mouth to feed, and a good chance of infant death, if the youngling survived birth at all. Most of the time, newborns were already addicted to spice before they made their first appearance. It saddened her greatly as it did her friend.
"You have a good soul," Dexter told her, his wide, amphibious mouth spreading into a proud grin. "Come, look at what I've brought you."
A large crate was opened and inside was several pieces of over-ripe fruit, half-eaten portions of nerf steak and bags of boiled tubers; loaves of bread with hardly any mold on it, and bottles of water - some not even opened!
"This is wonderful!" she smiled exuberantly upward. "My friends will be so excited! It's been a long time since I've shared bread with them."
"You could stand to eat some of it yourself," Dexter teased. "We can't have you wasting away. You must keep up your health."
"I know," the young woman replied fondly, reaching out to touch the bulk of muscle on one of his arms. "Thanks so much for this. You have no idea how much it means."
"Yes I do. You take care of yourself now. I'll gather what I can and return next month." Dexter and his comrade lumbered off, heading toward the lifts.
The container lid was sealed as the young woman secured it on a small delivery skiff she had borrowed. She also checked the slim blaster concealed within her cloak. There were those who would kill her without a second thought over gaining a small amount of food. But for those she helped, this nourishment might be the difference between life or death. Once she added it to her secret stockpile, she could finally share some decent meals!
The good news provided a boost of energy to her step. She happily waved to a local cantina owner, steering the skiff right into a pile of rusted durasteel. A broad head immediately popped up from behind the metal and the young woman knew she had made a critical error.
"Hey," a gruff voice grumbled as he stepped out, towering over her small frame. "Watch where you're going!"
"I'm sorry sir," she lowered her eyes and stepped to the side, only to be stopped again by a tight grip on her upper arm.
"Not so fast," the Trandoshan warned. "Let's see what's in that crate."
There wasn't a lot of time to think and very few options available to her. She knew this being by reputation. He was a gambler and a murderer, and her hand immediately flew to her weapon.
"Nothing that concerns scum like you. Now, back off!"
