Chapter 3:
It's not a huge difference, being on a planet again. But at the same time, the air has a different taste. There's less buzzing in the floor beneath my feet.
Coruscant; the city planet, the capitol not only of the Empire, but of the entire galaxy. From all I'd seen so far, it looked exactly like a hanger bay. Perrin and I had come down in another windowless shuttle, but without Trentiss this time. We'd only had more Stormtroopers for company.
I close my eyes as Iris pats a little more makeup of my face with a puffy piece of foam. I resist the urge to wipe my eyes. "Does she even need this," she asks her boss.
"Better safe than sorry," Chrona is pacing a few yards of way, safely out of reach. "Do get her hair tied back," he orders.
Clayn pulls my hair back into a tighter bun than I've ever made myself, so tight it hurts. I can hear Perrin choking on his own blush as Morse attends to him.
All around us are people. Droids clamoring to and fro, guards and officials. Stylists surround other teenagers, who are dressed in a variety of formal robes, gowns and uniforms. The other tributes. I fail to get a good look at them, since whenever I open my eyes, I risk getting them filled with makeup.
"I thought our outfits were supposed to be, you know, elegant," Perrin said.
"Shut up, boy," Morse snapped.
We are both dressed in black jumpsuits, mine clings to me like a second skin, so formfitting I'm not allowed to wear anything under it. It covers my feet and hands, there's even a mask I'm not wearing yet, meant to fit over our entire head.
Chrona looks slightly nervous, as he glances around. A human girl passes, flanked by her teams. I don't care much for fancy clothes, but even I think her shimmering sapphire gown is gorgeous. Her stylist wants her to be scene. Our look is unique, but makes us look like were hiding from an impression, instead of trying to make one. "It'll work," he says. "There's more to it than this. You'll see. I just don't want to spoil the surprise."
They help us put our masks on, until our entire bodies are covered. I can barely see through the fabric, but I sort of feel everything around me, so it's all good.
Chrona and the prep team wish us luck, as the group presses us toward the speeders. These vehicles will proudly display each pair of tributes (one speeder for each planet) as they proceed toward the training academy, where we will spend the rest of our time before the games begin.
"I think my designs will be surprising," Chrona says to us finally, "Make an impression on the viewers. They also might alarm you, so I absolutely promise you that whatever happens in regard to your clothing, you are perfectly safe. Please try and remain calm."
"That seems a little over the top," Perrin mutters under his breath, as Chrona and our team hurry away from the speeder, as it merges into the queue The parade has already begun. Ahead, I see speeders exiting the hanger through an elaborate pair of hanger doors, with a glimpse of the night sky outside every time they glided open and shut.
The speeders were bronze and flattened, shaped like an oval. Each pilot was hidden from view within a cockpit below us (if there even was a pilot, it could have just as easily been a droid). The tributes stood atop the roof of this speeder, assisted by a sparse railing.
The line moved quickly, there were about thirty seconds between exits. Directly in front of us was a pair of Rodian tributes, dressed in blue and pink finery (respective to their genders). Perrin kept glancing back behind us. We were right in front of the Twi'leks, I realize. The boy was a hulking brute, and the girl a well-endowed beauty with the body of a dancer and a dress to fit the most prolific variety of that occupation.
Only a few uncomfortable moments later, we were outside. I do my best not to blink. I've heard stories of Coruscant, seen a few pictures, but it doesn't compare. It's like the mountains and canyons out on the edges of the desert, only manmade, everything metal. Skyscrapers lit by a thousand lights stand side by side and try to tower over each other.
Our path has been cleared, I can see the next speeder several yards ahead, the Rodian couple smiling and waving. In the distance I glimpse more speeders than I've ever seen in my life, rushing past in multiple currents of airborne traffic.
The sky above us is gray and foggy, the air chilling and acrid compared to what I'm used to. I shiver. Our speeder sets a leisurely pace, but the wind still feels my eyes, and I'm aware of the huge distance between us and the ground far below. I clench the railing so hard my fingers hurt. Perrin looks just as sick.
It doesn't help when we burst into flames.
We both scream. My first instinct is to stop, drop and roll right off the speeder. But I remember what Chrona said. The flames don't burn me; they don't even give off heat. They do not ignite the speeder in any way; they only play off our rubbery black second skin.
I put a hand on Perrin's arm, to reassure him. "I think this is what Chrona meant," I shout over the engine and the flames. "Let it be."
"I just hope they work alright," Perrin hunches. He's shaking. I might be too.
The parade doesn't take long. Small hover droids, fitted with cameras, flit around to catch every angle of the tributes. I glimpse myself on a massive building mounted viewscreen to the side. It's a very impressive effect; we are two shadows, wreathed in flames. Thanks to our similar build, you can barely tell which one of us is the male or female tribute.
Before long, the training academy comes into view. It's a large box-like complex, with a central spire as tall as the other sky scrapers, with a smaller tower at each corner of the square.
We glide calmly down toward a hanger bay set into the roof of the square complex, before the tower. Our flames die down as we come in for a landing, so much that they've disappeared once we stop in the hanger, parking off the a side in the next space in a row of like-minded vehicles.
It's a lot like the hanger we just left, technicians and assistants bustling around, telling the tributes what to do and where to go. As usual, there's a generous smattering of guards and Stormtroopers about.
I reach to pull off my mask and fumble with the fitting. Perrin helps me, and I do the same for him.
"Perrin, Kara," says a womanly voice. "An excellent performance, I am truly impressed. I must know the name of your stylist."
"It's Chrona," says Perrin, as the pair of us climb down from the speeder.
The speaker is a perky human female, almost young enough to be a tribute herself. She's dressed in a gray suit and carries a datapad. Her blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail. While she's not in a military uniform, there's an imperial pin on her lapel.
"My name is Osca, Osca Trentiss," she says, greeting us graciously. A feeling of excitement drips from her. She's happy to be here. More than that, she's happy to simply exist. She loves what she's doing. Also, I sense she truly is impressed by us. "I'll be working with you and managing your time while you're here, until, you know. There's not much need for schedules in the arena I guess," she laughs briefly.
"Trentiss?" Perrin asks. "Like the Grand Moff."
"My aunt," said Osca. "You're lucky you met her, most tributes don't get someone that high ranking."
"Well, lucky by some standards," I whispered to Perrin, who ignored me.
I felt something of a chill on the back of my neck, the way I felt when someone was watching me. Someone who didn't mean me any kindness. I turned my head and met his eyes. Across the aisle, a Zabrak with copper-colored skin, wearing a black robe that showed a lot of his chiseled chest. He nodded to me, and slowly ran his tongue alone his sharp teeth.
Osca coughed, noticing my attentions. "We'd best get to your suite. We can talk in private. Besides, morning comes early."
…
"Here we see the pair of human tributes from Tatooine, a little desert planet from the outer rim. Though a promising new star on the Coruscant fashion circuit, Twi'lek designer Chrona made his Force Games debut tonight here with what was certainly a shining display. These surprisingly unique outfits protect the wearer while cultivating a live flame to surround them in firestorm. Love or hate it, we certainly have the first memorable moment from the 74th Force Games. Keep watching for more coverage, after a message from the Imperial Navy's recruitment office."
Seeing the figures that are barely recognizable as Perrin and myself from afar gives me a new perspective. Tatooine's tributes were generally dressed in yellow, tan and white clothing, the colors of the desert. Instead, seeing the pair of us together I saw another side of Tatooine. Two burning tributes, two glowing suns. It didn't make me homesick, I didn't really care that much, after all I'd barely been gone and was much too interested in the goings on to muse on the people I'd been around, but it did remind me of the suns themselves, the many nights I'd spent watching them set while I contemplated whose pocket my family's next meal was coming from, and whether or not to find somewhere less restful than home to sleep.
The holo-projector mutes as the entertainment coverage shifts into an army recruitment ad. I recognize we are not alone.
The suite allotted to the Tatooine party is near the top of one of the training academy's four outlying towers. I am once again impressed, this time by the sheer amount of space we are allotted, let alone the luxurious amenities and tasteful decoration. The entirety of my family's apartment could fit in the lounge without so much as brushing the ceiling.
Perrin and I are to share the rooms with Osca and a trio of lower-ranking assistants, who would help Osca run our lives. And our mentor. In the elevator, Osca had explained that, while she would run the logistics of our stay here, we would also have a mentor on hand to council us about the upcoming event. The mentor was a randomly selected victor from the territory of the tributes, who took time out of their government-allotted duties/ life of luxury to give the tributes some guidance.
If a planet had no victor, an alternative mentor would be somehow chosen. I remembered hearing that Tatooine had only one living mentor to its name, but I recalled nothing about the individual in question. Victors supposedly lived long and happy lives, but were absorbed into obscurity by 'top positions' in the empire.
While Osca touches base with her assistants (I think a few of them could have been interns, they were certainly young enough), Perrin and I have approached the hollow feed, entranced by the vision of our idealized selves.
The man sprawled across the couch turns his head around to look at us. "Well you've certainly made an impression, set yourself apart," he says. "They will remember you."
"That's fortunate," says Perrin. "Right?"
"No," says the man. "It isn't. It's a death sentence. Maybe if this really was a popularity contest, you would be fortunate. But it isn't. You don't rely on any sponsors or friends; you are alone in the arena. All your stylist did was paint a big fat bloody target on your chest."
"Oh, does that mean we're dead?" Perrin looked slightly disappointed.
"You were dead the moment you were reaped," the man laughed. "Except maybe that Zabrak kid, he looked like a real beast."
"Oh, this is Vaynich Abril," Osca says to us, joining us at last. "He'll be your mentor for the Force Games. He did win these things once."
Vaynich has a wide face, which matches his wide frame. He's not quite obese, but almost, there's definitely some fat on his belly. He looks to be in his forties. He has medium fair skin, and brown hair that's thinning a little on the top, his jowls are clean shaven. He's a Kiffar, I can tell only by the thin green tattoo striped across the bridge of his nose. I wonder if psychometric powers were much help in the arena. Probably. Meanwhile, the most advanced evolutionary trait we humans had was the Emperor's favoritism, which amounted to nothing in the arena.
"So if we're gonna die, why are you going to help us?" said Perrin.
"Work," says Vaynich. "It's like a yearly paid vacation. I give you some much needed advice, and in return I get to spend a week in an even more luxurious apartment than my own, eat fine food, look at beautiful women, and don't have to review another financial enquiry till the Games are over."
"Sounds like the life of a victor is a comfortable one," I say. "I'll be looking forward to it."
"It beats being dead," Vaynich wagged a finger at me, "Which you probably will be, but now that I see you in person you look like you're a better athlete than half the kids down there."
"I ran around a lot back home," I say. "So when's our first lesson."
"Right now, tonight," says Vaynich. "We eat and rest, and I'll show you by example how to do both. In all serious, you take your meals and naps where you can get them from now on, you never know how long you'll be awake once the games start."
My room is magnificent. My bed is the softest thing I've ever touched. The refresher has a stone tub that could comfortably fit my mother and sister as well as me, and Perrin for good measure (now that would be an intruiging combination). My closets are stocked with all the clothing I'd need. I change into a red shirt and soft black leggings. My flame-enabled jumpsuit is taken by one of the interns, headed back to Chrona no doubt.
Despite Vaynich's advice, I don't eat much at dinner. I'm not hungry. It doesn't help that my mentor eats more of the spread than Perrin, Osca and I put together.
Once I flop into my bed, it's not long till I drift to sleep. It's the best night of sleep I've had in my life, but I still wake up twice out of habit. I doubt there are any Walkers around the training academy, but I guess one can never be too careful.