Zamila is walking along the stream when she sees a black loth-cat. She begins to follow him when he disappears into the tall prairie grass. She follows but as she walks the grass gets taller and taller until it is above her head. She hears the groan of a starship engine and she finds herself consumed in its shadow as it passes overhead.
The ground opens up beneath her and she finds herself falling in a black void. She tries to scream, but her mouth makes no noise. She is suddenly pulled backwards. She becomes aware that she is sitting on solid ground and a hard stone wall is at her back. She tries to stand but her ankles are shackled. She tries to move her arms but finds them shackled to the wall.
She screams out, "Help me," and dozens of other voices echo hers.
Hands reach out from the darkness, grabbing, and pulling at her, tearing at her clothes and pulling her down into the ground. She tries to break free from their grasps but they are too strong. She screams again.
The young twi'lek is startled awake from her nightmare. She is drenched in sweat and the cold morning air is freezing. She pulls the covers tightly around her and looks up out of the cockpit to see that only a few stars are still visible in a dark purple sky. The sun will be up soon. Zamila stands with her blanket around her and rubs her eyes. It was an awful dream and she'd had that same one once before not too long ago.
She changes into fresh clothes as quickly as she could. The cold was unbearable. She puts on her best; black pants, synth-leather boots, and an old flight jacket. It wasn't often they went into town. Just because she was just a farm girl, she didn't have to look the part. She spies her utility belt hanging from a hook on the wall but decides she will not be needing it and instead picks up a crate on the floor containing several bottles of her wine.
Zamila leaves the repurposed Taylander to find Ty struggling to load Threebee into their dark blue V-24 landspeeder. She places the crate of wine down and rushes over and helps give a final push that sends the power droid tumbling into the speeder's cargo area with a thud. Tydesh arches his back to stretch it and lets out a groan.
"Have fun last night, dad," she asks through a smirk.
"Yea… uh… I don't know what you're talking about. I was working," Ty says, his face turning a bright red.
"It looks like your zeltron girlfriend is rubbing off on you," the young twi'lek snickers. She didn't know why she picked this morning to let her dad know that his rendezvous weren't as covert as he'd assumed, but it was fun to make him uncomfortable.
"Just… Help me finish loading," Ty says exasperated, trying hard to not make eye contact with the grinning girl.
After about an hour's journey across rolling grassland, a myriad of shallow streams, and sparse groves of trees, they finally see Anchevor in the distance. Anchevor was one of only about a half-dozen settlements on the planet large enough to be considered a town and it was the only one with an operational spaceport. Most of the other settlements were scattered, single family homesteads. The town was little more than an inn, a cantina, and an outdoor market surrounding the spaceport. There were only a handful of permanent residents that lived in town, but the population at any time could vary wildly depending on what, if any, ships were docked. Dargenas didn't have much to offer visitors, so busy times were few and far between.
The little planet had plenty of junk metal from the Clone War, some produce from local farms, but mostly it was a little self contained local economy; and occasionally, a place to transact business out of the view of the ever watchful eye of the Galactic Empire. Getting far from the empire was exactly the reason Tydesh came and settled here. He became a deserter the day the Republic Navy became the Imperial Navy.
When she would him about it he'd either change the subject or say he didn't want to talk about it. The imps shot deserters on sight and the more space he could put between them and himself, the better.
Ty pulls the speeder into a dirt lot near the spaceport. The normally quiet town was filled to bursting with all manner of visitors meaning that there must be several ships docked. Zamila was thrilled. Other than her father and a few friends who lived near them, she didn't see too many others. The girl was shy but she did love to people-watch.
"Mila, were going to check out purifiers and I'm going to try to sell a few things," Tydesh squints at his watch, "You want to meet me back here in about three hours?"
"Sure, dad. I love you," she kisses his cheek and takes her wine crate from the back of the speeder.
"Love you too."
Zamila easily sells off her wine. Jogans were not so easy to grow on Dargenas and there was a market for good wine. One day she'd get a distiller and make brandy which would net her even more credits. She pockets the creds and decides to walk through the spaceport. She could get nearly any vessel flight ready though she couldn't fly one herself. She loved ships and today the spaceport didn't disappoint: A Corellian YT-1250 freighter, a Starfeld ZH-40, a heavily modified Haor Chalk Sheathipede shuttle.
At the last port there was SoroSuub 3000 yacht. It was painted black with gold trim and it appeared that the distinctive tall observation windows on the vessels flanks had been replaced with durasteel plate. It had the forward facing laser cannons found on some variants but had also been modified with a turret on the belly and another aft and topside. It was once a luxury yacht, but now it was something else.
Zamila suddenly felt queasy and lightheaded. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast. She thinks as she closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths to center herself. She leaves the spaceport and heads into the market. She orders a pack of root chips and meat on a stick from a street vendor. The duros that sold it to her claimed it was nerf meat, but it could have been rat for all she knew. It was good but the liberal use of seasoning piqued her suspicions of the meat's origin. Truthfully she was too hungry to care and it did seem to settle her stomach.
She finishes her snack and breaks the stick before throwing it and the chip bag into the waste bin. Her father told her that unscrupulous street vendors would retrieve sticks from the garbage to recycle them so always break your sticks.
The cantina was across from the market in an ancient mud-brick building. She could hear a local group of musician's sorry attempt at jizz over the sound of busking street merchants and a passing speeder. The double jocimer was not in time with the rest of the band and the seven-string hallikset was badly in need of tuning. Bad music is better than no music. She thinks, deciding to enter.
The small cantina is dimly lit and packed wall to wall, with spacers of every variety. A dozen or so round plastech tables are scattered throughout the dark room. It is warm and stuffy and the intermingling smells of alcohol and body odor almost put Zamila off from wanting a drink. Wimmo, the ithorian bartender ran up and down the length of a flat piece of salvaged durasteel that served as a bar, struggling to take orders. A game of sabacc was being played amongst a duros freighter crew while they passed the hookah pipe. A devaronian spice dealer was selling the drug to a rodian man in armor. She saw a small group of twi'leks conversing in the corner but as usual, she doesn't approach them.
Zamila had as much of an issue with others of her species as they did with her. Being raised by a human had its disadvantages. Zamila didn't speak twi'leki and even when they could speak to her in basic, Zamila struggled with the accent. Twi'leks used their lekku in a sort of nonverbal communication which she had never learned. The girl would fiddle with her lekku when she was bored or nervous, but for the most part, kept them bound up behind her head.
Realizing that in this crowded bar, unless she wanted to shoulder through the mass of waiting patrons, she would not be getting a drink. She turns to leave and wait by the speeder for her father, possibly grab a pint at the far less crowded ale tent in the market, when a voice catches her attention.
"Hey! Twi'lek girl!"
Zamila turns back to the bar and searches the crowd for the source of voice. Maybe she had misheard or the voice was calling to someone else.
"Orangey!"
Zamila sees a young human man sitting at the bar, smiling and motioning to her. He was in his late teens or early twenties, Zamila guessed. His skin was fair and his head was crowned with a mop of thick, dark hair. His face had several days worth of stubble, but his clothes were dark, fine, and likely expensive; possibly shimmersilk. While she did not care for being called 'orangey' one bit, Zamila found the boy quite attractive and was flattered that he'd taken notice of her in this crowd. She smiles crookedly and walks over to him.
The boy purrs, "What are you drinking, tooka doll?" His voice was smooth and his accent was that of someone highborn and of the core worlds.
"A bespin fizz I guess," Zamila replies smiling back at the young man.
The young human turns around and heads back to the bar. He waves a handful of credits which immediately gets the attention of the beleaguered ithorian. Wimmo quickly mixes the drink and the boy returns moments later with a tall glass of fizzy red drink.
"I'm Zamila Ashrand," she quickly offers, extending her hand before the boy tries out some more clever nicknames. Tooka doll was better than orangey but only a little.
He takes her hand and gently presses it to his lips, "I'm Andan. Let's find a place where we can sit down, eh?"
Andan turns and leads her towards the corner furthest from the bar and. His scent trails behind him, undoubtedly some expensive fragrance, sweet and spicy. Seated at a dark corner table are an aqualish, a rodian, and a quarren. All are dressed in fine clothing that could nearly rival Andan's own.
Andan utters something to the trio in a strange, harsh, and foreign tongue. The men get up from their seats and take their drinks with them without speaking a word. Andan pulls out a seat and offers it to Zamila and then takes his own seat across from her.
"That was weird. They just gave you their seats?"
"They are friends," Andan replies, finishing his drink and setting down his glass, "So Zamila, where are you from?"
"Here," she utters dejectedly and sips her fizz, the bubbles tickling her nose.
"I didn't think anyone was from here," Andan chuckles.
"I was brought here when I was little. I'm from Ryloth originally I guess, but I don't really remember it. It's just me and my dad."
"Is he here? He could sit with us if you like," Andan offers before scanning the cantina.
"No. He's taking care of some stuff."
Zamila is enthralled by the handsome stranger. He tells her about his family and home back on Coruscant, the summer cottage on Alderaan near Istabith Falls. He tells her about being accepted to the University of Alderaan before realizing that he did not want the life his family planned for him; to be an Imperial bureaucrat.
He'd always loved racing, so he and a few friends started promoting some races out in the rim. He put away a few credits and sponsored a racer, and then a team on Kuat. Now he's scouting to start a new team for the circuit on Ord Mantell.
"What kind of racing," Zamila asks.
"Speeder bike. I'd heard on Tatooine that there was some fantastic racing on a few worlds in Wild Space."
"There's no racing around here." Zamila says, shaking her head She could see the disappointment on his face and she wanted to fix it, "There's plenty of BARCs scattered all over the place, or pieces of them at least. I've got one fully restored and fixed up a couple for some friends. No racing though. Maybe on the far side."
"You ride?"
"Sure… but not racing."
"Zamila," Andan's face lights up and he grabs her hands, "Racing is the least of it. You can be trained. What's important is looks, personality, some backstory," Andan stands up from his chair and gesticulates grandly, "Beautiful girl from a desolate world on the far side of the galaxy, riding on a war relic that she herself found, and fixed. I could sell that. I could sell that all day! You could be huge!"
Zamila's mind began to race at the possibilities. She found herself completely enthralled at the prospect; travelling across the galaxy with this handsome young man and the excitement of speeder bike racing. She'd thought often of traveling but never considered anything resembling celebrity. Her heart was aflutter when the realization set in. Father. I can't just leave him here and it's not safe for him to come with. Father! She looks down at her watch. I'm late!
"Andan," Zamila interrupts, "I'm so sorry. I've got to go. I'm late to meet my dad."
"If you are not interested you need only to say so " Andan replies coolly.
"No. No. I am interested. Really interested. It's just complicated. Stuff to figure out. Let me go talk to my dad," Zamila says as she stands up, "Where can I find you?"
Andan stands as well and takes her hand, pressing it firmly between his, "Do not worry, tooka doll. I'll be here. Go talk to your dad. Tell him what's going on. Bring him back here and I'll be happy to answer all his questions. "
"Okay," she beams with jubilation, "We'll be right back. Thanks for the drink."
"Don't mention it. Anything for my racing star. See you soon."
She tries to keep her composure as she turns to leave but she wants to squeal with delight. Maybe they could figure it out. Tydesh definitely wants his little girl to be happy, to find fulfillment, to make her mark on the galaxy. She exits the cantina and is blinded by the bright light of day. Her eyes slowly adjust as she finds herself almost skipping through the market. She feels as if she's walking on air when suddenly she is lifted off the ground. She had been grabbed from behind and she finds a large, clammy hand over her mouth.
She tries to scream but it as if the hand had been firmly glued to her face. She kicks wildly but her feet only connect with air. She tries to claw at her assailants face, feels the quarren's moist tentacles, but her arms were quickly pinned to her side. The girl can see that she is being taken down the alley behind the marketplace.
Zamila has a brief glimmer of hope when she sees the aqualish man, Andan's friend, rapidly approaching them, but her hopes are dashed when she sees the roll of spacer's tape in his hand. The girl fights but the men are too strong.
Her mouth is taped closed and her wrists were bound behind her. She feels a sharp prick on her thumb. The twi'lek is dropped onto the hard ground. She kicks at her captors before she is held down and her ankles bound. The quarren throws her over his shoulder and walks on, his aqualish partner following close behind.
Her captors converse back and forth in the same strange tongue she heard back at the cantina. That feeling of nauseousness returns stronger than before. Zamila is dropped onto the floor beneath the the long black nose of the SoroSuub yacht. She tries to scream through the tape but it is futile. She is shadowed by a figure that stands over her. A young human man with a dark mop of hair and wearing the finest clothes.
"Relax, tooka doll. There's no need to be alarmed. My men do everything they can to avoid damaging the merchandise," Andan tells her, his voice cold and indifferent, "They Will pay a premium price on Nal Hutta for specimens, such as yourself. The hutts take good care of their property. Trust me.
"I don't like doing the snatch and grab thing if I can help it, " Andan remarks staring down at the helpless girl, "But I can't pass up turning a profit on a detour to this rock. You understand."
Andan's voice is different now. The practiced accent of a privileged core worlder is gone. Everything has been a lie! He's done this many times before. The twi'lek's heart sinks.
The quarren and aqualish stoop down haul the girl into the vessel when there is a blue flash and a sound. A blaster! The aqualish falls back and out of her view. There is another shot and the quarren crumples over on top of her. His weight, combined with the tape over her mouth was making it difficult to breathe. Not only that but every breath she draws into her nostrils is filled with the quarren's heavy scent; a sour, salty, and fishy smell.
"Drop the blaster," Tydesh yells out, his voice fierce and commanding; a voice Zamila had never heard.
"You must be the father," Andan replies coolly.
"If I stun you like I did your friends, you're going to wake up without a few parts that you might miss. Blaster on the floor and cut her lose."
Zamila hears the clatter of the blaster on the pavement and Andan appears above her. He pulls the limp quarren off her and unsheathes an ornate vibroblade. He cuts her binds and she hops to her feet. She tries her best to remove the tape over her mouth painlessly but it still stings.
"Get their blasters," her father shouts.
The girl picks up three blasters from the pavement. One she puts in her jacket pocket, the other she tucked into her waistband, and the last she held firmly, fighting the urge to turn it on her assailants.
"I know this feels like winning, tooka doll," Andan remarks with a smug grin, "But you're going to wish the old man never showed up and that you made it onto my ship."
Zamila hisses and spits into Andan's face, "Bilge-bug!"
Andan smiles and wipes the saliva from his face "I'll be seeing you around, little Zamila.
Father and daughter back out of the spaceport, their blasters trained on the smirking human. Once they make it through the arched exit, they turn and begin to sprint to their speeder. They hear the high pitched whine of blaster fire and see a vegetable cart to their right explode and shower them with pulp.
"Don't stop running," her father shouts, "Zig zag!"
A bith pushing a junk cart is struck by an errant blaster bolt. Zamila wants to stop and check on him but the shots are getting closer to making their intended marks.
They reach the speeder where Threebee is already waiting inside and leap in as quickly as they can manage. They both strap in and Tydesh launches the vehicle in reverse. The twi'lek girl turns to look and sees the rodian from the cantina sprinting towards them.
"Keep your head down," her father grunts as he pushes her head down to nearly reach her knees.
"Gonk," Threebee cries, knowing that he doesn't have that option.
A final shot hits the rear of the speeder with a shower of sparks but misses anything vital. They are finally clear from all of Anchevor's obstacles. The rodian man shrinks in the rearview until he cannot be seen at all.
Inside the speeder it was completely quiet for what seemed like an eternity. Zamila was shocked, stunned by the harrowing set of events, the gravity of which had finally set in. Tydesh seethed with anger, trying to calm himself.
"Do you know how close you came Zamila, to finding yourself on some filthy slug's pleasure barge with a chain around your neck?"
"Who were…"
"Slavers, Zamila!" Tydesh slams his fist onto the console.
"I didn't know," the twi'lek utters in almost a whisper.
"How many times have I told you to be careful?" Ty says shaking his head.
At this, Zamila could feel her anger rising within her. It sounded as if she was being blamed for what had happened to her. She already blames herself. How could I have been so stupid. She directs her attention to the distant, rolling hills and the scrub brush that whips past them.
Ty clears his throat and continues, "I brought us to Dargenas to…"
"You brought us out here because you deserted!" the girl interrupts.
She instantly regrets salting that old wound but she is unable to apologize. She turns away from her father and stares back out at the passing landscape.
Tydesh's face softens. The ire and aggression drained from him. He looks over at the young twi'lek.
"It's more complicated than that, Mila," Tydesh says in almost a whisper.
The rest of the voyage home neither speak a word.