Disclaimer: I don't own anything on this here page. George does. It's his galaxy.
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Kessel—Age 12
"What did you just call me?" The grizzled man who now spoke stood at the table, glaring at the boy sitting opposite him.
Kyp locked eyes with the man, but said nothing.
"Hey!" the man spat, reaching over to knock the remnants of Kyp's watery gruel onto the boy's lap. "I asked you a question, runt!"
Kyp's spoon, which had been held tightly in the boy's hand, went sailing through the air with brutal force to land square on the man's forehead as Kyp leapt to his feet crying, "Imperial scum!"
The man dove across the table, reaching for the collar of Kyp's shirt, but the boy ducked and darted behind another nearby table, grabbing someone else's dinnerware and hurling it at his approaching enemy. Kyp could hear the cheers and jeers around him—the workers were practically polarized into two camps: those who had been imprisoned by the Imperials, and the Imperial guards who had been sent to join them in the mines after the revolt three years ago. As there was little time for socializing in the mines and even less time for fighting, the two groups had lived together in a sort of uneasy truce. Unless, on the rare occasion, someone lit a fuse.
It seemed that today, young Kyp was that fuse.
The man who now lumbered after him was nearly twice his size and three times his age, but Kyp had the advantage of speed and agility, and he easily ducked and dodged the man's advances. He was surprised that the other workers had yet to join the fray; he supposed they were too intent on seeing who would gain the upper hand.
It didn't take long to find out. Kyp had snatched a bowl, which he sent sailing toward the former Imperial. The bowl struck, coating the man in grayish slime and causing Kyp to laugh as he jumped out of the man's reach. Yet, someone's foot—an Imperial foot, Kyp later suspected—darted out and caught Kyp's ankle as he dodged. Sent off balance, Kyp toppled, landing hard upon his right knee and causing his leg to bend at an odd angle beneath his weight. He cried out in pain even as he pushed with his arms to lift himself from the floor. Not fast enough, he felt a violent tug on his hair, which had grown far too long during his imprisonment. He screamed, tumbling backwards only to be lifted from his feet by the grasp the other man had on his hair. He kicked backward with his left leg, wincing as he felt his heel meet soft tissue between the man's legs. He heard the man's scream an instant before Kyp felt the hard floor impact his injured knee as the man released his hold.
It was only then that the guards emerged from their stations, hauling both Kyp and his adversary up from the floor now that neither of them posed a threat. Cowards, Kyp thought with a snarl, biting his lip as he tried to stand on his left leg and feeling warm blood trickling from his scalp where the man had managed to pull some of his hair out by the roots. The other prisoners were driven back, and several guards wearing mismatched Stormtrooper armor surrounded the two brawlers.
Two bulky, misshapen men suddenly stepped into the circle, and Kyp cringed. Boss Ruan and his crony Roke—the true authority among the prisoners—stood glaring.
"What in all hells is going on in here?" the larger of the two, Boss Ruan, bellowed.
Kyp said nothing, answering only with the hateful glare with which he had targeted the former Imperial. As a habit, Kyp rarely spoke, preferring actions to words and reluctant to engage in any conversation with either his captors or the prisoners who had once sworn allegiance to an Empire that had robbed him of his family and sent him to live out his childhood down here.
His adversary, however, had no qualms about speaking up. "The kid's out of his mind!" Kyp had the perverse satisfaction of hearing the strain in his voice. It was obvious that he was in a lot of pain—pain that Kyp had justly dealt.
"You're all out of your minds," Ruan retorted impatiently. "That doesn't explain what happened!"
"They just went at each other," a voice offered from somewhere in the crowd of prisoners.
"And they're both pathetic!" came Ruan's reply. "A kid who ain't never seen the sunlight and an Imperial weakling who finally met his equal. I should'a just let 'em kill each other. Would've rid the galaxy of its two worst mistakes!"
Kyp stiffened, trembling slightly with rage in the grip of one of the guards behind him, but still saying nothing.
Ruan continued to bellow, "Now, I want this place cleaned up, and I don't want any more of this dumb brawlin'! You hear me?" He didn't seem to care for an answer, as he quickly added, "Now get to work!"
The guards slowly began their retreat toward the security area, leaving only a few remaining behind to watch over prisoners and to make sure that the fight didn't simply resume.
Kyp limped over to the nearest table and began to pick up the various bowls, cups, and utensils that had been scattered during the brawl, ignoring the stares of the other workers around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his adversary grabbed a cloth and began to wipe up the spilled gruel, starting with what covered his neck and chest. Kyp grinned with dark pleasure and continued his efforts. He winced in pain as he moved to tuck a stray hair behind his ear, pulling his finger back to see blood coating the tip; but he simply set his jaw and continued his efforts. He had just bent to retrieve what looked like a blunted knife when an unfamiliar sound echoed through the room.
The metal doors which led to a seldom-used elevator at the far end of the room opened to reveal a tall, almost impossibly lanky man who entered with several guards and what appeared to be six prisoners in tow. Kyp, without thinking, palmed the piece of metal he had just picked up and stared.
Boss Ruan had immediately returned, crossing the hall to stand in front of the assembled group who had just arrived, Roke lumbering along behind him. "What's this, Skynxnex?"
"New workers for you, Ruan," the tall visitor spoke in an icy tone.
Kyp's eyes widened in shock. These were people from the outside! He glanced over each of the newcomers with blatant awe. He saw four humans, one of whom appeared to be positively ancient, an enormous blue-skinned alien with three arms, and an adolescent Rodian. All seemed terrified, with the exception of the blue-skinned alien, whose face was unreadable, and the ancient crone, who simply blinked around at her surroundings from beneath a rotting cloak. Her eyes suddenly seemed to be searching for something, and as her gaze met Kyp's, he felt a chill along his spine.
He shuddered at the strange intensity of that gaze and looked away.
"How many?" Ruan asked.
"Six," the tall one, Skynxnex answered in his cold voice. "Find suits for them, and get them ready to go out. I want this group in the mines as soon as possible."
Kyp's shoulders sagged in disappointment over hearing that these newcomers would not be immediately available for news from the outside. However, in watching the expressions made by Ruan and Roke, he found he could not smother the smirk that appeared on his face.
The two men almost immediately launched into a bizarre argument over the ability to secure a suit for the three-armed alien and suits for each of the five other beings on such short notice. Skynxnex appeared to take no notice and departed with a simple and authoritative, "Find a way!"
Once the doors had been sealed behind him, Ruan turned to Roke. "You're in charge of securing thermal suits!"
Roke's lumpy, misshapen face took on a comically shocked expression. "Me?"
"Do it now, Roke!" And with that, Ruan stormed off, leaving a seething Roke in his wake.
"Vima can make one, she can," a voice like brittle flimsiplast spoke. "Vima is useful, always useful."
Kyp craned his neck, and his eyes fell on the crone once again. She was looking up at Roke with a pleading smile on her aged face. He felt a stab of pity as he followed her gaze and saw the way Roke was staring back at her. Something in the man's countenance suggested that she would not survive in the mines for long.
"You will let Vima make his suit," the crone added, her voice taking on a strange tone.
Kyp looked away, not wanting to see the display of violent anger which would inevitably follow. Roke did not suffer to be told what to do, unless Ruan did the telling. Hell, sometimes it seemed that Roke was just poised and ready to take Ruan's position as Boss.
"I will let Vima make his suit."
A ripple of shock went through the entire group of prisoners. Had they heard correctly? Had Roke just agreed to the crone's suggestion? With a fresh wave of curiosity and not a small touch of admiration, Kyp returned his attention to the old woman, who—to his dismay—was looking at him once more. Tearing his gaze from her, he looked back at Roke who was shaking his head dumbly and ordering several guards to gather as many suits as they could, even the ones that seemed useless. Then he whispered a few words to the crone and stalked back to the security area.
There was a general commotion in the muster room at his departure. Clean-up detail forgotten, Kyp sank down at one of the tables and began musing over the mysterious crone who had just arrived and the strange impact she had made upon Roke. If there was a trick to it, Kyp certainly wanted to know what it was. Such a trick would definitely come in handy. And thinking of handy . . ..
Kyp glanced down at the item he had innocuously palmed. On closer inspection, it turned out not to be a knife at all, but rather, the broken handle of one of the spoons. Where the metal had snapped somehow, a sharp diagonal edge ran from the midpoint of the handle to the end, creating a very small, very pointed makeshift blade. Very handy, indeed.
"You glow, boy," a brittle voice spoke beside him abruptly, causing Kyp to jump, nearly dropping his prize.
Blinking his eyes at the figure in front of him, Kyp could only stammer, "What?"
A face marked by more wrinkles than Kyp could have ever imagined on any single face seemed to hover just within his field of vision, surrounded by a rotting, weathered cloak that concealed the rest of the being's body save for two skeletal, talon-like hands. One held the frayed edges of the cloak while the other reached out toward Kyp, causing him to draw back. "You glow," she repeated, a smile forming upon her face, which caused her to look even more hideous than she had before. "You pulse in the Force. Vima sees it. Vima knows."
"I," Kyp stammered, drawing further back, "I what? I don't understand."
The aged figure tossed a glance over her shoulder indicating the security area. "You liked that trick, yes?" she asked, her smile widening. "Vima can teach you."
Kyp knew instantly that she was referring to the incident with Roke. His eyes widened. "You can teach me?" he asked in disbelief. "You can teach me to do what you did?"
The old woman nodded. "Yes, if you are ready to learn from old Vima."
Mutely, Kyp nodded.
The crone's wide smile sent her face into countless creases and folds. "Vima will return. After she has finished her task for the blue-skinned one, Vima will return to teach you the ways of the Force." She then turned and headed away from him, presumably to somehow make a thermal suit for the gigantic three-armed prisoner.
Kyp watched her go in breathless anticipation. Feeling the metal in his hand, the ache in his knee, and the excitement in his chest, his face broke into a wide grin. He had fought a former Imp, and he hadn't lost. He had found a simple piece of metal that could be used as a weapon. And now he was going to learn how to do a trick that would certainly come in useful down here in the hell that was Kessel.
For a twelve year-old prisoner, this about as good as things could possibly get. Fortune was smiling on him, and he wasn't about to let that go to waste.
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A/N: Uh, I hate to beg, but a review would be nice . . .. Even a "nice try, but you need to work on your characterization/plot/grammar/spelling/etc" would be appreciated. I'm not inviting flames, now, but a writer lives for feedback. How else can he or she improve? Just a little, teensy weensy review would be cool.