Solo

By Jemmiah

She'd been raking around the garbage thrown aside in the alleyways when she'd first noticed him. It was Marinka's job to scrounge through the discarded household waste and scraps of food, searching for anything vaguely edible to share with her partner, or perhaps some abandoned item of clothing to help keep the cold at bay. In fact it had been the chill air, the first sign of the onset of the winter season, that had led her to make the discovery. A small wisp of frozen breath from the huddle of rags in the darkest corner of the alley - a tiny vaporous exhalation - had caught Marinka's eye.

At first she had thought it some mangy cannoid pup: the streets were littered with the beasts. Every so often the creatures would launch an attack on the dispossessed street dwellers, or 'ratches' as they Corellian elite disparagingly called them, but only if they were truly desperate for food. Nevertheless Marinka had not been terribly keen on finding out if this one was hungry enough to take its chance…

Then the bundle had whimpered. No animal larynx could have produced such a sound.

Daring to move closer into the darkness, Marinka had found herself staring into two large, frightened eyes. She couldn't say what colour they were for certain, probably a light hazel shade, but she could see the face was smeared with grime except for two large clear streaks that ran like slug trails down towards the small chin. The creature of which she had been so wary had been a mere child: a tiny, humanoid male of a very young age. Frightened, the boy had recoiled further towards the wall.

Marinka's astonishment had naturally given way to pity. As a Corellian, whose belief in the importance of family she held above all else, her mind automatically turned to picturing what might have caused the child to be hiding in the darkened alleyways and streets of Corellia. Whatever it was certainly wouldn't have been good: nobody who ended up on the streets had enjoyed a happy life. They were either hiding from the law, or from who knows what: dispossessed, drunk, deprived of all basic essentials. Criminals, murderers, thieves…even the mere unlucky dwelt amongst the shadows. Too young to be any of the former Marinka classified the child as one of the unlucky ones, and had tried to find out what she could about him.

At first he had refused to speak. She'd wondered if perhaps he was too young to form his words properly, or whether it was fear that was staying his tongue. Traumatised, perhaps? His clothing, although dirty and crumpled had once been quite good. Somebody had been looking after him, then? Obviously he hadn't been born on the streets: the expensive little shoes on his feet were testimony to that. Instantly Marinka had wondered how much she might be able to get for them if she took them from the boy, and then had ashamedly berated herself for thinking such a horrible thought.

She'd been on the streets for so long that thinking horrible thoughts had become almost second nature. It was dog-eat-dog in the big, bad galaxy…

Finally, after a few minutes the boy had lisped out his name.

Han. That was all. Nothing else. If he had a second name it hardly mattered anymore: he wouldn't be needing it on the streets.

Where was his mother, Marinka had wondered? Had she abandoned him? What kind of person would do that to a child: a mere baby? Or was she somewhere, searching desperately for her son? Perhaps she had fallen victim to the street, too? Many people found their way there and few, if any, ever found their way back…

She'd tried to take the boy's hand but he had frozen, snatching his tiny fingers from her grasp. He'd not wanted to leave even despite her most earnest pleas; entreating him to go with her. She'd smiled at him, asking him why he didn't want to leave but he, being so small and unable to express himself, had found it difficult to say. Confused, miserable and frightened, he had only been able to tell her that he had been told to "stay and hide" in the dark. With nobody around to tell him otherwise Marinka guessed that was all the little boy had left to cling onto. Who had told him to hide, she had wondered? And from what? Where were they now?

"Was it your mama?" She'd asked him, regarding the tear-stained face. "Did your mama tell you to hide? Where is she? Was it your papa?"

The boy had looked bewildered, and had put a hand against his head. Marinka had just about managed to make out a small, darkened bruise against his temple. Who or what had caused that, she had wondered? One thing seemed apparent: whatever had befallen the boy's carers they weren't anywhere nearby.

"Why don't you come with me?" She'd held out her hand to him once more. "I don't have much, but we can snuggle up at night to keep warm. It'll be better than freezing out here on your own. You don't want to be on your own, do you?"

Han hadn't wanted to be on his own, but he hadn't wanted to leave either. Someone had told him to stay put, someone important to him, and resolutely he had decided to stay and do as he was told. Marinka had shaken her head, knowing the boy would not last long on his own. Children were resilient and could get by with very little on the streets, but this little one was so very young…if he stayed then either the vrelts or the cannoids would get him. But what was Marinka supposed to do? Force him to go with her?

She'd walked unhappily away, looking back over he shoulder as she had gone. Perhaps that was what had convinced the boy to go with her. For an agonised second he had stood there, alone, clearly at a loss for what to do. His heart seemed to tell him to stay: his head told him to go. In the end perhaps it was the instinct for survival that had won out, or that last little glance of Marinka's: so full of sadness, so full of understanding, reminding him of someone else who had been kind and warm and beautiful…

Han had toddled after her, taking Marinka's hand, leaving the past and the darkness behind him.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Gedric growled. "Just what we need - another kriffing mouth to feed! We can barely look after ourselves!"

Marinka scratched at her scalp through matted strands of golden hair. Like most of those who lived on the streets her head had become a scritchies paradise. Gedric was not a native to Corellia, and he had little time for sentiments or family ties: he was practicality personified. In searching through the garbage there was a simple rule: if it didn't aid your own survival then it would be cast aside, and as far as he could see the little boy was more dead weight than a Hutt tied to his leg by a chain. They'd taken up with each other shortly after first coming to the streets: he was tough, smart and clever and she determined and resourceful. Together they'd just about managed to survive. But Gedric was not known for his forward thinking: his lack of vision was beginning to wear Marinka down.

"Was I supposed to leave him to die?"

Gedric shrugged. "Yes. If necessary. It's tough and it's cruel, but that's life sweetheart!" He hefted the few coins he had made during the day whilst he had been begging and then looked down at the child. It wasn't that he wished the boy any harm, but what he had said to Marinka was true. With the cold season nipping at their heals they would need every credit they could get: there was no room for sentiment. The child stared up at him with large, nerf-like eyes, evidently aware that he would get no love in return. Gedric had no love for himself anymore, let alone anyone else.

"He's just a child…"

"Look," Gedric shoved his hands into the torn pockets of his grey trouser pants; "boys need feeding, just like the rest of us. But they're growing all the time, and that means they need lots of food. We hardly have any for ourselves! Are you going to give him your share? Coz I ain't giving him mine!"

Marinka's shoulders slumped. Gedric was always so negative. If he couldn't see the potential gift this child was then perhaps it was time they went their separate ways…

"Maybe he's got someone looking for him." She said softly, looking down at the little hand dwarfed by her own fingers. "He's dressed nicely. Someone must know who he is. Maybe we could find out and claim some reward! His parents must be out of their minds with worry! We could tell the authorities, and when they contact his family there is bound to be a huge payout!"

Gedric glanced from Marinka's earnest face to the little boy. He was indeed well dressed, with shiny Kruskan-leather shoes. Designer label, by the look of them. Maybe he could steal them before they left the boy to his fate? He weighted Marinka's words with care. Perhaps there was a reward for the child, who could say? And if someone was looking for him, they probably would be overjoyed to get the brat back. On the other hand…

"Face facts." Gedric rubbed a hand over the bristle of his dark beard. "If he's on the streets then nobody wants him, or is still alive to claim him. His mama and papa are most likely dead. He's like us: there's nobody who would miss him."

"Then teach him to beg!" Marinka pleaded with him. "Take him with you when you go on the streets! You said yourself that Bel-Amman makes five times the credits we do because he has his son begging with him! It's the children that people feel sorry for, not we adults." She caught his arm, hoping that the lure of credits would prove too much for his practical sensibilities. "It could make the difference between us starving this winter!"

As predicted Gedric performed an almost instant about-turn. It was strange to think that there was pride or even competition between beggars but the mention of Bel-Amman's name had proven to be an irresistible draw-in for Gedric. Maybe if the kid was taught to beg properly…

"He's small." The bearded man snorted. "But I dare say that might work to our advantage. If we can just train him to look pathetic enough and cup his hands at passers by we might do well enough. That'd put Bel-Amman's nose out of joint!"

Marinka ruffled Han's head. She was no substitute for a mother or father, but she would do her best to look out for the boy. In return he would be put to use, searching through the garbage and begging on the streets. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the youngster, but what else could she do? It wasn't a good life, or indeed any kind of a life at all, but when the alternative was starving to death in an alley you made the most of the sabaac hand fate dealt you. For the moment Han would be safe enough.

And so the boy learned to beg. Gedric was satisfied to find that the child proved to be a real money-spinner, his scared little face and big eyes appealing to those who saw him on the streets. They never thought to question where he had come from or whom he was with, or what his background might have been. As the months passed the child's clothing became shabby and worn so that, in time, he came to pass for a true street urchin. The shoes, mud-stained as they were, perhaps remained the only clue to his once privileged life.

Marinka, however, never forgot. She would often think on the day that she met the child and wonder how he had came to be in the alleyway that cold afternoon. It plagued her to think that possibly the boy's family might still be out there, searching, desperate for information. At night-time she would look down at him and wonder if he could recollect what had befallen him, and those who had once cared for him. Not that Gedric cared. All that mattered to him was surviving through the winter.

And survive they did, for the best part of a year, until it turned to autumn once again. Marinka, full of noble intentions and perhaps with an overburdened conscience confronted Gedric, informing him that she was going to take the youngster to the authorities and hand him over. He was young, and in need of a proper home. Even if they couldn't find his real family an orphanage would be better than the cold, cruel streets filled by hungry cannoids and angry vrelts. Yes, she told him, she had become fond of the boy - he deserved a better life than the one they were giving him. Whether he liked it or not she was handing little Han in to CorSec.

The boy was asleep whilst Gedric strangled Marinka with his necktie. He had been so tired after his day of raking through the garbage that he never even awoke whilst the bearded man dragged her body out of sight into a nearby garbage skip. He finally awakened to find that both Gedric and Marinka were gone.

So had his shoes.