Summary
"After several minutes of running, his legs began to hurt. Each stride became more painful than the previous one; each new impact of his worn soles on the hard ground rose up along his legs in the form of painful vibrations. His breath was getting shorter and shorter. He wasn't going to last much longer. He had to find a way to outrun his pursuers, and fast."
A/N: I thank melrosethecat for the beta-reading.
Chapter 3 – Captured
"Hey, give that back!" shouted the girl – a scrapper by the look of her outfit – to Cal. But too late – he had already vanished into the dense, compact crowd.
As usual, he took refuge in an alley – his alley now – to count the Imperial credits in his hand. Three creds. He sighed with disappointment. He wasn't going to get very far with that.
Yet the last three months had been an opportunity for him to improve. He had become more and more discreet and faster, and most of his victims didn't even realize the theft – at least not until he had disappeared from radars.
Rule #1: Don't stand out.
The first of the rules he had imposed on himself since he had landed on Bracca.
If he had started with a few thefts only on rich passersby, he had revised his criteria downwards since the advent of the Empire – the rich had mostly left Bracca, and only the underprivileged, the scrappers, the social outcasts like him remained. As a result, anyone was now likely to become his target, even the poorest – it was a simple matter of survival. And even though Cal kept to hope that some Jedi would soon find him – at night in his wildest dreams he imagined himself taking back Coruscant and defeating the Emperor with an army of Jedi who had survived the Purge just like him – he had to admit that his ideals had taken quite a hit. He still sometimes thought of his master and of his former life as a Padawan, but those thoughts were becoming increasingly scarce. They were gradually replaced by other worries – sheltering himself from the rain, finding food, escaping the Imperial patrols, hiding, and above all above all not reaching within. That was what his miserable daily life was now.
"There he is, that's him!" exclaimed an angry female voice.
Cal raised his head. The scrapper! She had found him! And she had brought two stormtroopers with her.
Fear overwhelmed him like a brutal wave, and he felt his throat tightening. They certainly shouldn't catch him! If they found out who he really was, he was screwed – he had heard what the Empire had in store for the rare Jedi who survived the Purge.
He didn't even wait for them to get close enough to ask him for his identity and rushed to the back of the alley. He knew the streets of District 21 well by now. However, he knew that losing two trained adults – troopers moreover – without the help of the Force was going to be complicated.
He ran as fast as possible to try to outrun his pursuers, being careful not to slip on the soggy ground – it had rained again last night. But no matter how fast he ran with each new street the two soldiers got a little closer to him and his panic kept to increase. He should not lose control.
Don't reach within. Don't reach within. Don't reach within, he murmured to himself as he ran as fast as he could through the tortuous maze of dirt alleys.
A blaster shot whistled near his right ear, narrowly missing him. Apparently, the two stormtroopers didn't care about catching him alive – all the more reason to get away from them.
After several minutes of running, his legs began to hurt. Each stride became more painful than the previous one; each new impact of his worn soles on the hard ground rose up along his legs in the form of painful vibrations. His breath was getting shorter and shorter. He wasn't going to last much longer. He had to find a way to outrun his pursuers, and fast.
He skidded on the slippery ground before quickly turning into a small, dark alley. There! A crate! Cal jumped into it and pulled the lid over him – he had to admit that his small size was an advantage for hiding. He held his breath, trying to make as little noise as possible. He heard the two troopers coming closer and passing the alley without stopping.
Tense, on the lookout for the slightest noise, he waited a few more minutes to make sure they would not come back, and then he came out of his hideout, dusting off his clothes. He was finally out of danger, and he allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief – he had managed to lose them.
He decided to return to the comforting shelter of his alley. He wouldn't have enough creds to buy food today. Too bad. Better to lay low for the rest of the day.
However, no sooner had he stepped out of the alley than a big, scaly hand grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. As a reflex, he kicked to try to free himself, but his legs were too short and the tips of his boots met only emptiness.
"Let's see what we've got here," said a cheerful, though whistling voice. "It looks like a little scrap rat hiding."
Cal immediately stopped struggling when he saw that his attacker was a tall Trandoshan with yellow scales – he was clearly no match for him.
"I wonder what those bucketheads wanted with you. Anyway, I've never seen anyone run so fast! It was as if you had the Emperor on your heels!" Proud of his joke, he chuckled happily before noticing Cal's hand still clenched his booty – he hadn't let go of it the whole chase. "Hey, what have you got there, you little scrap rat?"
Despite his resistance, the Trandoshan had no trouble opening Cal's hand to obtain the credits it contained.
"Ah! A little thief. I'll take you back to the boss. We'll see what he'll do with you."
"The boss?" Cal stuttered, widening his eyes.
"Darzay," replied the Trandoshan. "These streets belong to him, and he has a right to oversee everything that happens there. But you probably already know that, don't you, little scrap rat?"
Darzay.
Not a day went by without Cal hearing from him. He knew for having discreetly listened to some conversations that he was the owner of several bars and brothels in the area, and that he had control over almost all of District 21 – even if it was in the most complete illegality. Among other things, he forced merchants to pay him a tax in exchange for his protection. The Empire let him act with impunity. It must be said that it suited the Stormtroopers if someone did their dirty work for them, and if in exchange they had to turn a blind eye to some fraudulent acts, so be it.
The Trandoshan put Cal on the ground and pushed him firmly before him, guiding him through the maze of muddy streets. Soon they came within sight of a large building – one of the most beautiful in District 21 which was not very difficult given the poverty of the neighborhood – that opened onto the main street. Cal looked at the façade of the Seventh Heaven, a luxury establishment reserved for the wealthiest who came there to seek comfort, whether in gambling, alcohol, or the arms of a woman – or a man – before entering the main hall, moving from the sunny street to the semi-darkness of the bar.
The majority of the patrons seated in the room were foremen from the Scrapper Guild. Pink and yellow neon lights, most of them representing Twi'leks dancers, hung on the walls, illuminating the room with a subdued light that made the place look even more sordid. Cal and the Trandoshan walked through the room with dozens of eyes turned toward them staring curiously at them before they reached a corridor.
As they walked through the corridor, they passed several minimally clothed women and men – mostly humans and Twi'leks. Suddenly a woman – a blue-skinned Twi'lek – stood in Cal's way, deliberately blocking his path.
"Well, kid, did you get lost?"
Cal blushed and suddenly lowered his head, not daring to look up at her very... daring outfit.
"Beat it, Ciela. I'm taking him to see the boss," grunted the Trandoshan as he uncovered his teeth.
"Oh Vurtchaa, I didn't see you," the Twi'lek lied impudently with a provocative gaze. She looked down again at Cal with a sorry look on her face. "Poor little sweetheart, Darzay's going to eat him alive."
"Where's the boss?" the Trandoshan asked curtly.
"Number four," answered the Twi'lek before shifting against the wall to let them pass.
A shiver ran down Cal's spine as Vurtchaa pushed him before him again. Eat him alive. What did she mean?
They finally reached a door with the number four written on it. Vurtchaa knocked on the door and politely waited for a voice to allow him to enter. Cal swallowed hard. What was waiting for him behind that door?
When permission to enter finally arrived, Vurtchaa opened the door, and Cal went into a room with softened light. The blue paint on the walls was flaking in several places. A huge bed covered with red velvet sheets occupied most of the room. A blonde human woman with too much makeup stood next to the bed, silent. Seated on the bed, a shirtless man – also a human – with rather impressive muscles watched them enter. With eyes downcast, Cal's cheeks turned pink when he understood the scene that had probably just taken place in the room just before their arrival.
The Trandoshan approached the man and bent down to whisper something in his ear. The human – Cal assumed he was the so-called Darzay – stared intently at the boy while putting his shirt back on. Without saying anything, he examined him with the expert eye of the pawnbroker who evaluates the value of a commodity offered to him.
Then he finally spoke. His voice was deep and melodious, almost soft.
"Vurtchaa told me that you had been caught stealing. Is this the truth?"
With his throat choked by fear, Cal didn't dare to answer.
"Is this the truth?" Darzay repeated again.
"You'd better answer him, little scrap rat," Vurtchaa advised him.
Swallowing with effort, Cal wanted to answer but the words were stuck in his throat. He just nodded his head contritely.
"What's your name?" asked Darzay.
"Cal," replied Cal in a very small voice.
Stop it! Don't say anything! he shouted inwardly to himself. But too late. He had given his real name without thinking. Why did he take that foolish risk? He probably would have been better off lying, but now he couldn't go back.
"Well, Cal," Darzay said. "Do you know what happens to people who steal from honest citizens without my permission?"
Cal nodded his head again while staring at the tip of his boots. He trembled with fear – the stories he had heard about Darzay and his men were each more horrible than the last.
"You're lucky, Cal," Darzay continued. "I'm in a good mood today. Then I'll make you a deal. From now on you work for me. I'll give you room and board, but in exchange you'll give me all the earnings from your... activity. Of course, if someone catches you, I will deny any connection with you."
"And if I refuse?" Cal timidly asked.
Darzay raised his eyebrows, apparently surprised by the boy's bravery – Cal deduced that people usually had to accept his offer without discussion.
"I understand that you don't want to get caught by the Stormtroopers. I don't know what you're hiding, kid, and I don't give a damn. But if you refuse, or if you disobey me even once, you can be sure that the soldiers of the Empire will come and pick you up within the hour. And they won't be as nice as me, if you know what I mean. So, what's your answer?"
"I ... I accept your offer," Cal answered tremblingly.
He knew he was stuck and couldn't refuse. Moreover, all things considered, it was better to work for Darzay than to be in the hands of the Empire, wasn't it? At least he would be protected. He would have a roof over his head and food in his stomach. He knew that he had already been lucky enough to survive through three months on his own, and that he probably wouldn't have lasted another three months. He had to take what was given to him, even though the hand that gave it to him could feed him as well as hit him.
"All right," Darzay congratulated him warmly, putting his arm around the woman's waist beside him to draw her close to him. "Vurtchaa," he continued, turning to the Trandoshan. "Find him a bed somewhere."
Darzay looked at Cal again.
"You start tomorrow. I hope you'll live up to my expectations."
Faced with the thinly veiled threat, Cal lowered his head and shoulders. At that moment he felt lonely – bitterly, desperately lonely. Tears stung his eyes and he almost collapsed to the ground. Darzay's words were as if branded in his heart.
He couldn't help but think of a story that was told to him when he was still a youngling. The story about the Nexu that assures the silly little Bark Rat that he knows a wonderful place to spend the winter.
"Here," says the Nexu, showing his maw wide open. "You'll be warm and safe there. Just come in. And don't pay attention to the teeth."
Cal looked up to Darzay's intimidating smile, to the Trandoshan's ominous gaze, to the door that had closed behind him.
Don't pay attention to the teeth...