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It was a dream and then it hit me
Reality struck and now my life is all shifty And it all moves fast Props to the prop fifty, we all stand strong Respect to my family, in times of insanity In the words of futility, I describe all d*** forcing on family Blood brothers keep it real to the end Deeper than the flux, you think, not a trend -Blood Brothers, Papa Roach |
The boy crouched behind the trash receptacle, predator-eyes tracking his chosen prey. He was small, young and not large for his age, but with a whipcord readiness about him that moved others to be wary. They became even more wary if ever they came close enough to see his eyes. His eyes weren't old or jaded, as the eyes of other youngsters in his situation got – they were just plain ice, with no soul behind them to be old or jaded. Suddenly those eyes narrowed, gaze snapping into laser intensity.
The prey was moving.
He half-rose out of his crouch, tensing his muscles.
The well-dressed Anatolian, obviously a businessman or trader of some wealth, passed by the trash receptacle.
He sprung.
The Anatolian was startled by the attack, letting out a shrill cry as something hit the back of his knees. The long-legged alien was particularly sensitive there, and pain flared as he lost his balance. Almost before he knew he had fallen, he could see a small human boy scrambling up from the tangle they were in. The waif got to his feet swiftly and ran off, clutching the Anatolian's wallet in his grubby hands.
The Anatolian yelled and gave chase. The boy ducked and weaved through the daily traffic of Mos Eisley's crowded streets, navigating the flood of life and vehicles with the ease of the native-born. No one paid him much attention, nor to the pursuing alien. Just another incident with some reashid (Tatooine slang for fool) and one of the many street-children of the city.
Anatolians were fast runners, and despite the boy's surprising dexterity and his knowledge of the area, he never quite succeeded in shaking his enraged alien tail. Finally, the boy ducked into a deserted alley. The Anatolian followed, a jeer crossing his green-scaled face as he saw the boy backed up to a wall. Obviously, the little street-rat didn't know his city as well as he thought.
"Give me back my wallet, you georshal," he snarled, his Basic sounding faintly hissing in the manner of all his race.
Suddenly the boy smirked, and the Anatolian felt the tell-tale pricklings of danger on his shoulders-blades. He spun around, to see two other human boys blocking off the alley opening. Unlike the other, these were quite large, nearing their manhood, well-muscled, and holding vibroknives that glittered in a most disconcerting way.
The taller one, with an old scar creating a crescent of pale tissue on his cheek, spoke. "I think the lizard-face has just insulted our fellow Riyu." He flicked his amber gaze to his companion, a stockier, more muscular youth with long stringy brown hair. "What d'you think, Rase? Do we do the proper thing and take revenge?"
The other
boy didn't bother to reply; he just gave a low, nasty chuckle that chilled the
Anatolian's blood.
A couple of Imperial
Stormtroopers out on 'patrol' would find the Anatolian later that day. He was
alive. Alive, yes, but rather slashed up, the gashes deep enough for scars he
would carry for the rest of his days. And bereft of his tailored suit, his
datapads, comlink, and jewelry.
And, of course, his wallet.
***
The three boys galloped down the Mos Eisley streets, laughing and howling with the exhilaration of a successful and profitable 'job'. Rase yelled to his taller friend: "Kriffing hells, Daich, that offworlder fool must have been carrying his entire year's paycheck on him. And that ain't counting the 'pads and flash…"
Daich grinned smugly. "Told you, din' I? Din' I know he'd be a good mark?"
The younger boy ran easily alongside the older ones, seeming to be in no danger of being left behind. Those eyes that had been nothing but pure ice earlier that day were now quite human again, the eyes of a boy looking at his hero as he gazed at Daich. "Did I do it right, huh Daich? I got him to the alleyway all right?"
Daich grinned fondly as he reached down to ruffle the blond spikes on the kid's head. "You did great, Slicer. Really great." And he meant it. Because of Slicer, his gang of street-kids was able to pull off more jobs, more profitable ones, than before. All because of one little kid. He ruffled Slicer's hair again, genuine affection in his tone.
He'd found the boy wandering the streets of Mos Eisley, maybe two or three years back now, and had brought him into his gang. He didn't know why, then – but he was certain, now, that it had been his innate good luck. He'd taught Slicer how to survive on the streets, and Slicer had made it possible for Daich and his gang to do a little more than just survive.
The kid was special, there was no doubt about it. He was a better hand with machines – any type, hardware or software, but most especially anything to do with flying craft – than anyone Daich had ever seen. He wasn't half-bad in a fight, either, and the fact that his small size made opponents underestimate him was a valuable advantage.
It was more than that, however. It was just…he knew things. He dreamed something, and it would happen. Or on a job, he'd know if the target was about to change his mind or what. The kid was invaluable.
Not just because of what he could do. Slicer was Daich's little brother in everything but blood, and Daich was as protective of him as a mother krayt dragon with her eggs. Well, as protective as one could be with a ten-year-old boy determined to get in as much trouble as his hero.
The boys reached the gang's hideout, an old abandoned building that had a hidden underground level. Even if the building was demolished, as it should have been years ago, the boys would still have their hangout. They took turns in skidding down the tunnel-slide that led to the hidden level.
Daich was the first one to land. The baker's dozen or so other children there – mostly human, though with a few alien kids – turned from whatever they were doing to focus on the young boy who was their leader. Daich swiveled as he heard the thumps of Rase and Slicer landing behind him. He pulled them forward, announcing as he did so, "Fellow Riyus," using the name of the gang, "wait till you see the haul we got on this!" He held up a fistful of credit notes, grinning, and Rase and Slicer began to unpack the datapads, clothes and flash (jewelry) that could be fenced. The kids cheered the three young thieves; such a good yield meant they could eat fairly well for the next week or so – for it was the Riyus' policy to share whatever they…earned.
Slicer beamed in the acclaim and feelings of camaraderie and friendship. He looked up, and met Daich's affectionate amber-eyed gaze. He smiled at his 'older brother'.
The boy who had once been Luke Skywalker could not remember feeling so happy before.