Chapter 4:

"It is my pleasure to honor the victor of the seventy-fourth Force Games," says the Cerean governor. "May she live long and happily for the rest of her days."

He doesn't mean it. The pointy-headed governor reaches out to pin the Cerean token, an ornate silvery broach, to the front of my yellow dress. He doesn't resist the urge to jab me with the pin. I feel a drop of blood trace its way down my chest beneath the airy billowing fabric.

I take to the stand. Pointy-headed Cereans fill the square before me, surrounded by stone building shaped like their heads. Three suns hang over us, reminding me of Tatooine. Even more so I am reminded of Epsant and Kas, the Cerean tributes. I'd only killed one of them. It felt as though one out of two was enough to not endear me to the populace.

I begin to read. "Thank you, I am honored by your generous reception…"

…

The Victory Tour passes at a whirlwind pace. The races and the locals differ, but it soon becomes routine. Parade after parade, dress after colorful, expensive dress. I'm reading the Empire's speeches (without any more errors), each one is almost the same as the last. We follow these up with sumptuous feasts of exotic food. It makes my prep team sick without fail (or maybe they just hit the wine harder than me), but my food all tastes the same. I say thank you and sometimes even please.

Am I doing enough? Am I being the symbol they want? Are they going to kill me, toss me aside. Just how bad was the riot? How far does the unrest reach. Every planet has felt at least a little bit uncomfortable, from Naboo to Utapau, but is that normal or is it me? I hope it's normal, for my sake.

Do these people event want another war? The Force Games cause far less damage to life and property as a solution or preventative measure. It's just that wars make sense. You can read the numbers. It's all a big statistic. Little bits of death, kid's deaths, televised deaths, now that pisses people off. Apparently.

Rodia is probably the angriest planet I visit, other than Ryloth. They're fed up the Empire, fed up with the galaxy, but unlike Ryloth, they don't give a damn about me either. I'm pretty solid, unmoved by the feelings I sense from others, but being around that much negative emotion is draining, even for me. It just builds up planet after planet. I take more baths and I drink more alcohol, generally simultaneously. Osca tends to pop in to tell me about the latest terrorist attack or angry mob.

The riot on Ryloth and the Tribute academy bombing have been the worst by far, but over the last year the Empire has been dealing with a greater level of domestic violence seen any year since the Force Games were implemented (so Osca claims). Hardly a day goes by without her coming to me with news of another school shooting from the core planets or something of the kind. Small stuff compared to Tatooine gang life. But that doesn't keep me from giving her a kind word, soothing the tension in her feelings.

The crowds overwhelm me, but one person's emotions I can touch. I've found I can feel it change based on my actions, what I think and do toward that person. It's fascinating. I also enjoy Osca being happy. Keeping her that way becomes my new goal, a task to help me keep my sanity, my purpose. Just as caring for Primith and my mother did for all those years.

I'm not looking forward to Iridonia. If the Cereans were so upset about their tribute I killed, how would the Zabrak feel about Fen? He almost won. It was me and him left, and I stole my victory from him. Hell, Saran Crang's closing shot of Galen's pendant dripping Zabrak blood vilifies them almost as much as Emperor Palpatine.

My outfit doesn't help. I'm wearing black trousers and pants along with what is essentially a strapless sports bra. Morse does my hair up all spiky, and Iris draws streaks of red and black body paint all over my arms and torso. I feel like it might be construed as a bit racist.

Fortunately, my fears are unfounded. I get some positive clapping from the Zabrak crowd, and their governor is a complete gentlemen. He doesn't strangle or otherwise try to harm me as he drapes a wide necklace adorned with the fangs of dangerous beasts around my neck. It might be the most practical (read: weaponizable) token I've received.

My speech doesn't even mention Fen. I resist the urge to bring him up for the sake of thoroughness. He almost stood where I stand today. He was the toughest foe I ever faced. Killing him was a pleasure. I wonder what he would be doing today in my place. Would the government be as annoyed with perceived disloyalty, or was that all my fault. Was I building the revolution: me with my dramatic pendant and the shattered dreams of a teenage whore. Somehow I doubt it.

We leave Iridonia without incident.

But we're not so lucky on Kashyyyk.

The speeder vibrates beneath my sandals, as the roar of Wookies eclipses all other sound. The buildings, even the entire city, around me is a fusion of naturalistic primitive woodwork and advanced technology. The city (whose name I didn't find worth pronouncing for anyone without Wookie vocal cords), is a metropolis, at least as big as Mos Espa and not nearly as trashy.

I look like a tree. My dress is green this time, just like this planet, and etched with leaf-like designs that sparkle in the sunlight, while wooden beads are braided in my hair. I watch the Wookies; I must've seen hundreds of thousands of them by now, tall thin and brown-haired bodies of muscle. They all growl and roar. I feel the usual levels of envy and hostility from them, but I wish I could speak wookie.

I smile and wave. It's all they want me to do.

I killed both this planet's tributes.

There are so many people that I don't sense him coming.

I only see him move, shoving through the crowd, a thick tan-furred male. He's carrying a bowcaster.

I throw myself to the side as the gun goes off. Laser bolts pass over me as I tumble to the street. I hit the ground hard, rolling on the processed wood roadway, scraping my arms up and down.

The speeder has skidded to a stop, and shooting is already over even as Wookies start screaming. Security had arrived, grim Wookies with Imperial pins on their chests. They wrestle the bowcaster away; throw the wookie to the ground.

I'm pulled to my feet. They're gentle, for stormtroopers. I'm not sure where the white-armored soldiers appeared from. I knew Stormtroopers were assigned for my protection, but I've barely glimpsed any of them from now. This time I'm not complaining. They hoist me up and lead me to a shuttle, a waiting fully armored one. I wonder if they'll still have me talk.

I look back at the one who tried to kill me. I see big wookie fists come down. Up and down, and they come up bloody. It doesn't stop till there is one more zap of blasterfire.

Then I'm away in the shuttle and lost to this planet.

…

I miss the banquet. I don't see Kashyyyk again. I give read my speech from via hologram from my ship and then it's back to non-action, as we are cleared to take off from the landing pad.

I sit in the middle of my bed, my eyes closed, breathing evenly. Little by little, the tension and adrenaline brought on by the attack bleeds away. I wonder when we'll be leaving.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're alright," Osca rushes into the room. She must've just gotten back to the ship. "I heard the news, I was so worried, I-" Her tackle/hug knocks me back on the bed. I sit back up beside her as she calms.
"What happened exactly?" I ask. "That guy?"

"No riot this time," says Osca. "Just that guy. One nut."

I sigh. "Damn. I was doing so well."

"It's fine," says Osca, "There's no way the Empire will be pissed about this, you were the martyr not the instigator. Get a good PR person on the case, like, you know, maybe me, and we can spin this to everyone's advantage."

"Except the dead wookie," I say.

"He did kind of blow it," she made a face.

"That's great though," I say, "about the press, um, good job."

"Yeah, thanks," she shifts. I might detect a nervous tick. "I did realize something though," she said. "It's not…that stuff I just told you, it's not what I really found myself caring about. When, you know, I heard."

I nod, leading her on to tell me more.

Osca groans. "I promised I'd never do this. But I've been thinking more lately, and with Ryloth and this guy and the bombings and everything I realize that I don't miss the chance, not when it might be gone tomorrow is some madman with a gun or something has their way and…"

"Just tell-" I begin to suggest, but she's already going for it. My eyes open wide as Osca kisses me right on the mouth.

No sisterly peck or motherly tender kiss either. This is sensual. It's one of those kisses. I take it. It's all I can do. I feel her passion with my mind while I feel her lips, her tongue, and her mouth with my own.

It's the first time Osca has ever surprised me.

Osca pulls away taking, she's panting a little. "I couldn't…sorry…"

"It's fine," I say. "I'm fine. You're good. Yeah." I'm not sure how to react, I'm trying to decide, to plan, but for once I'm not thinking fast enough.

"I should go," she says, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "I really…I should go."

I just nod, so she leaves.

"Where are we going next," I call as she reaches the door.

"You mean you don't know?" It's back to the Osca I know, and she's just a little impertinent.

"They kind of blur together for me…"

"Next," says Osca, "We'll be visiting the lovely deserts of Tatooine. You're going home."