Summary
"No luxury, no opulence in the grubby and dusty streets – or rather muddy considering the rain that had started to fall again – of this miserable and pitiful city. Neon signs of all colors lit up the dark and dirty streets with their flickering lights, adding their crackling to the already wide variety of city sounds. Only the nostrils of the most expert passersby could differentiate the smells of rain, food, smoke, and sweat that mingled in the air, forming a most nauseating fragrance."
A/N: We continue with mild whump. The hard stuff will come later!
I thank melrosethecat for the beta-reading.
Chapter 2 – Famished
'Welcome to District 21' indicated a board at the entrance.
What Cal had thought to be a large city from afar was actually a kind of small town mainly for housing workers – cutters, riggers, hazmats and other scrappers employed in the scrapyards that covered the planet. This was a far cry from Cal's idea of a city – he who was more accustomed to the beauty of Coruscant's upper levels and their succession of skyscrapers, gourmet restaurants, theaters, and operas.
District 21 was mostly a collection of small buildings, tiny shops, more or less dubious cantinas and street food stalls. No luxury, no opulence in the grubby and dusty streets – or rather muddy considering the rain that had started to fall again – of this miserable and pitiful city. Neon signs of all colors lit up the dark and dirty streets with their flickering lights, adding their crackling to the already wide variety of city sounds. Only the nostrils of the most expert passersby could differentiate the smells of rain, food, smoke, and sweat that mingled in the air, forming a most nauseating fragrance.
A long rumbling escaped from Cal's belly. His stomach was crying out for food. He hadn't eaten anything for more than a day. He ran his tongue over his parched, cracked lips – he was thirsty too. And in pain – his neck wound was still hurting him, as if it was still burning. However, he would take care of it later – he had to eat first; then he would see.
After wandering the streets for long minutes, analyzing the different food stalls with a confused look, lost in front of the diversity of the dishes offered, he finally set his sights on a shop on the main street that sold some kind of hot meatball sandwiches.
He silently approached the stall. Looking enviously at the food through the counter glass, Cal was interrupted in his thoughts by a threatening voice with a Rylothian accent so thick that it could be cut with a knife.
"Clear off, kid. We don't serve beggars here. No money, no food."
Cal looked up at the merchant who had just spoken to him, a pink-skinned Twi'lek with frowning eyebrows and a mouth twisted with a grimace of disgust.
Panicked and ashamed, Cal hurriedly stepped back and ran to take refuge in one of the many dark alleys connected to the main street. Once sheltered in the shadows, he looked down at his hands and clothes. Between his soaked hair, his clothes covered with mud – the result of his fall a bit earlier, when he came out of the pod – and his fingernails encrusted with dirt, he looked nothing like a Padawan anymore. He understood the merchant's misunderstanding.
However, Cal knew this was not the time to worry about his appearance. He had to find something to eat if he wanted to hope to survive for a few days in this dump while he found a way to communicate with the Temple of Coruscant to warn them of what had happened. His master should not have sacrificed himself in vain.
A shiver ran down his spine – half from the cold and half from the thought of Jaro Tapal. He shook his head to chase away the macabre thoughts from his mind. This was not time to mourn either.
Still hiding in the alley, he observed the main street. He had never had to worry about finding his food until then – whether at the Temple or on the Albedo Brave there was always something to eat at his disposal. How was he going to do it?
It was out of the question to panhandle – there were already beggars on every street corner, almost all of them adults taller than him, and he was no match for them on top of being only thirteen-years-old.
He could also just go through the trash. Sometimes you could find perfectly decent leftovers – wastefulness made people throw out anything, even food that was still fit to eat. And conveniently, there were several trash cans right behind him under a staircase.
Cal took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves and began his search. A trash can full of bolts and metal pipes of all kinds, a crate full of old worn blankets, another full of empty beer bottles... The only food scraps he found were covered with worms and flies – he grimaced in disgust at the repugnant smell and the maggots happily squirming in the flesh of the rotten meat and fruit. Well, finally the trash cans were not a good idea.
So, there was only one other option left: theft.
Cal bit his lower lip as he felt his entrails twist – from hunger or repugnance? It was a practice that was against all his principles – to take others' property, when until now he had been taught to defend others? But he had no choice. He was small, thin and he knew how to be discreet – all assets to succeed in this field. Yes. It was the only way.
When he finally made up his mind, he spent some time analyzing passersby, looking for who was most likely to let himself be relieved of a few credits without realizing it.
The street was crowded – it was early evening, the time when the first stars were timidly beginning to appear and the workers were returning home after an exhausting day. Cal noted the great diversity of species that rubbed shoulders in the streets of District 21. There were passersby from all over the galaxy, which surprised him – Bracca was not a very attractive planet to him, and he wondered what could attract so many people to the filthy streets of this hellhole. Thinking back, he knew the answer: work. That was probably what attracted them here. The promise of properly paid work that allowed them to live a decent life despite the war raging in the galaxy and which was not sparing Bracca either.
Cal came out of his train of thought when his eyes fell on a rather well-dressed Sullustan whose gait didn't seem very sure – it must be said that he was coming straight out of one of the many bars that were opening up on the street and which were currently full to breaking point. A wealthy drunk passerby, someone who wouldn't notice Cal's presence, and who wouldn't miss out on a few credits – he was the perfect target for a first try.
Cal walked out of the alley and mingled with the crowd. He blended into it immediately without anyone noticing him or asking any questions. He weaved in and out between the passersby and slipped discreetly behind the Sullustan. He reeked of alcohol and sang a joyful although very vulgar song about the 'charms' of the Twi'lek dancers. Cal followed him for a few hundred feet, elbowing his way through the crowd to get closer and closer to his target until he was able to reach him. He then slipped his hand into the biggest bag hanging from the Sullustan's belt. He felt pieces of metal roll under his fingers and without thinking he grabbed a handful of them before quickly stepping aside to move away from his unfortunate victim.
The Sullustan hadn't noticed anything.
Cal hurriedly made his way to the nearest alley. Once in the shelter of the shadows, he sighed with relief at the thought of having succeeded at the first attempt. After he had regained his composure, he opened his hand to discover his catch: a golden ingot and three copper ingots – Republic Dataries. He had made no mistake in choosing the drunken Sullustan.
He felt hope reborn at the sight of these few pieces of metal – thanks to them he was going to be able to eat. A new rumbling sound escaped from his stomach.
Famished, he walked back with a quick step – as fast as the crowd would allow – to the stall of the merchant from earlier. The Twi'lek's eyebrows frowned again when he recognized Cal.
"I already told you that we don't serve beggars here."
"I've got money to pay," Cal replied, trying to take a confident tone, opening his hand to show the credits he had in his possession.
The Twi'lek softened immediately when he saw the shiny metal.
With what he had stolen, Cal was able to buy a meatball sandwich and a bottle of water. After the transaction, all he had left was a measly copper ingot.
As he was about to leave, the merchant stopped him.
"Hey kid. I don't know how you got that money but... Be careful. District 21 is not a safe place for a child. You'd better find your family quickly and see a doctor for your injury. And above all, avoid dealing with Darzay as much as possible."
Cal thanked him shyly, even though he didn't know about whom the merchant was talking before walking away with his loot.
It was now completely dark, and the streets were rapidly emptying. Exhausted workers were beginning to give way to fewer but obviously more dangerous night owls. Cal had better quickly find a safe place to spend the night. He remembered seeing a place that might be just what he was looking for.
He walked back to the alley where he had scavenged through trash cans looking for food. Yes, there was indeed a large metal crate filled with old blankets, well shielded under the stairs. He climbed into the crate. The stairs cast a protective shadow over him allowing him to escape the gaze of potential passersby.
Once seated, he put down his sandwich and his bottle. First and foremost, he had to take care of his injury while he still had the courage and energy to do so. He gently ran his hand over his neck, shivering apprehensively as his fingers brushed his skin. The wound was moist and swollen. He brought his hand back in front of him. The tips of his fingers were covered with a slightly sticky, translucent pinkish substance – a mixture of blood and pus. The wound was nastier than he expected.
He rummaged around for a clean cloth. He found an almost white one that seemed to be in better condition than the others – it was always better than nothing. He tore a piece of cloth and gently dabbed the wound. He shivered again – this time in pain – and bit his lips to hold back a cry. Once the wound was cleaned, he threw the soiled piece of cloth over the edge of the box and tore another piece to make a makeshift bandage. That would be sufficient, just long enough to find a doctor to treat him.
Once his operation was over, he sat as comfortably as possible and finally began to eat his sandwich. The meatballs were still warm. Cal couldn't tell what they were made of – one thing was for sure, it wasn't meat – but at least they had the advantage of filling his stomach.
He sighed with relief. The hot food warmed him up a bit. It was nice after the recent events.
Suddenly he felt something running down his cheeks. Surprised, he ran his hand over his face: it was tears. Why was he crying? He had no reason to—
And all of a sudden it was as if a dam gave way. Tears flooded out, taking with them all the stress and tension of that terrible day.
The clones. His master. The escape pod. The theft.
It was the first time he had ever stolen anyone. And even though it was a matter of survival, he felt terrible about it.
Thief.
Deep inside him a little voice whispered to him how reprehensible his act was. What would his master say if he saw him there, devouring – with some pleasure on the top of that – the fruit of his larceny? What would Jaro Tapal think of his apprentice who had just betrayed in a few seconds all the values he had taught him for months?
In spite of his tears, he continued to wolf down the sandwich.
No! No, it's not my fault, I had no choice!
With his face flooded with tears, he finished his sandwich, and then he pulled an old blue blanket over him to protect himself from the cold, the rain and the night. Soaking wet, miserable and terrified, he huddled trembling against a wall of the crate, listening to the light rain patter softly on the steps above him.
Tomorrow would be another day. Yes, he was going to pull himself together. He wouldn't steal a second time; it was out of the question. He was a Jedi; he was better than that. He would do what his master had told him. He would wait for a signal from the Jedi Council.
Faith. He had to keep faith. They would come for him. Yes, for sure, someone would come for him.
That comforting thought rose up in his great inner emptiness, and it was with a heart full of hope that Cal fell asleep that night, convinced that tomorrow would be a better day.