That night, after she was shown the tiny alcove where she would sleep, and had gathered with the other female slaves in the common area of the women's quarters, she summoned up the courage to ask who he was.
"Kern? You must mean Kern Bluesand." The woman paused from brushing her long black hair. She was a dancer, Shmi thought she remembered, one of Jabba's own entertainers. She was almost sure the woman had said her name, but today had been such a blur of new names and faces that she couldn't remember it. "You have good taste. But don't get your hopes up. He's far above you."
"He's a slave, isn't he?"
"Yes, though you'd never know it by the way he acts. He works in the garage, as a mechanic. He's the best; I've heard Jabba won't let anyone else touch the engine of his personal speeder."
"Oh."
Hearing Kern's name, a number of other women had clustered around them. Their expressions ranged from wistful to avaricious to resigned. They began an animated discussion of Kern's positive qualities that quickly strayed into territory that had Shmi blushing and retreating to the far corner of the room.
"Oh, don't mind them." Shmi looked around to see who had spoken. A young woman about her own age with close cropped red hair was beckoning to Shmi, indicating the place beside her on one of the benches that lined the wall. Shmi gratefully sank down beside her.
"I'm Darna. This your first day here?"
Shmi nodded.
"Well, like I was saying, don't pay Marishelle and her bunch any mind." Darna wrinkled her heavily freckled nose in the direction of the black-haired dancer and the other gossiping women. "They're just jealous. You can bet Kern never smiled at any of them. There's not a one of them that wouldn't fall all over themselves to get so much as a glance from him. Personally, I think he's a bit of a cold fish, no offense intended. If you like him, I mean. So, where are you assigned? I didn't catch your name, by the way."
"I'm Shmi Skywalker." Shmi was rather overwhelmed by Darna's talkative manner. "They put me to work in the kitchen."
"Not bad. Me, I'm in the laundry. Nasty work that, and hot as blazes. Droid work, really, 'cept slaves are cheaper than droids, leastwise with as much maintenance as they take to keep working, what with the sand and all. You didn't happen to slip a little extra food out, did you?"
"No. They watch us pretty closely."
"Too bad. If you ever get the chance, I sure would appreciate it. I could probably get you an extra clean tunic every now and then. Those dancers may be able to get by on the rations they give us, but those of us doing real work need a bit more. Not to mention…" Darna face took on a sly, secretive look, and she patted her belly, which Shmi now noticed was rounded just a bit out of proportion to the rest of Darna's lean frame. "…some might have reason to be a little extra hungry, if you understand me."
Shmi's eyes widened. "You're…"
Smugly, Darna nodded. "Yep. Three months gone, near as I can figure. See, that's why I'm not jealous of you, like all those other girls. I've got my man already. Works the laundry with me. Now if you were to set your sights on him, I might take issue with you."
"But how…"
"Oh, there's ways. Jabba doesn't care, really, if the men and women get together. Doesn't encourage it, mind, but doesn't work too hard to get in the way, neither. When one of us girls turns up pregnant, he sells us off to Rinadda the Hutt. He's got a big breeding operation on the other side of Mos Espa. Pays Jabba a nice bonus. Yep, this little tyke is my ticket out of here. Soon as I'm big enough it slows me down, I'm off to the good life for a few months, at least. 'Course, sooner or later they'll probably sell me back here. Unless I get lucky and get bought by someone easier than Jabba."
"But what about your…" Shmi couldn't quite bring herself to use Darna's casual "man," but couldn't figure out how else to phrase it.
"Oh, I'm getting tired of him anyway. He'll find someone else soon enough. Long before I come back here, if I do."
Shmi gaped at her. She knew this sort of careless attitude about sex and romance was common among her fellow slaves, but she had never encountered it so openly before, and the thought was so foreign to her nature she couldn't help but let the shock show on her face.
Darna tossed her head. "Believe me, there's better than him out there. He was fun for a tumble or two, that's all. You'll learn soon enough, that's all they want from us anyway."
"What about your baby? Will they… take it away from you?" The thought horrified Shmi.
"Sure, after a few months. That's what they did with the other two. Unless someone wants to buy us both." Darna shrugged. "Good riddance to the little brats. Rinadda has a whole set up, raising and training them."
"You don't care?" The woman next to her seemed suddenly alien to Shmi, and she drew back.
Darna's bright green eyes had gone hard and cold. "No, I don't. Why should I?"
Shmi sputtered. "But… they're your babies, your children… you're their mother…"
Darna stood up. Her voice was coldly dismissive. "I see. Well, I must be going. I have better things to do than sit and chat with someone who obviously has no interest in making friends with me." Suddenly she leaned close to Shmi, and her voice dropped to a hiss. "How dare you sit in judgment on me like some pampered princess? You're a slave just like me, no better than I am, and if you don't learn what that means pretty quick, I promise you'll be sorry."
She turned her back on Shmi and strode across the room, trailed by the women who had begun to cluster around to listen to their conversation.
Shmi sat, stunned, surrounded by a clear area in the crowded room, Darna's threat ringing in her ears. Wherever she looked, none of the other women would meet her eyes.
When she recovered her composure, she tried to approach a few of the other women, but none of them would speak to her for more than a moment before drifting away. Hurt and bewildered, Shmi sought the privacy of her little alcove well before lights-out. Her thoughts buzzed in confused circles, replaying her conversations with Darna, trying to understand how it had gone wrong. She hadn't meant to be judgmental. She had a sick feeling that she'd just made her time in Jabba's compound much more difficult than it might have been. She was sure Darna could be a dangerous enemy if she wanted to.
Shmi consoled herself that by her own statement, Darna would be gone soon, sold to the Hutt with the breeding compound. She turned her thoughts away from the other woman, seeking anything pleasant or hopeful.
Kern. She saw his smile again before her eyes, felt his touch warm and strong on her hands. The memories comforted her, and she was able eventually to relax into sleep.
Over the next few weeks, Shmi's days settled into a routine. The work in the kitchen was heavy enough that by night she was worn out, able to ignore the cold unfriendliness of the other women as she quickly sought her bed. She was accustomed to loneliness, after all. At most of her previous owners' she'd been the only slave. This exclusion wasn't really all that different.
The moment each day that she placed Kern's meal in his hands became more and more the one bright center of her existence, the event she looked forward to all the long hours of labor, and thought back on before she dropped off to sleep at night. He would always have a smile for her, and often a friendly greeting. At first she could only smile shyly back, but soon she was laughing at his witty remarks, or even joking in return.
One day he was not in his accustomed place at the head of the line. She looked for him anxiously, more and more worried that something had happened to him, but finally he appeared, almost to the end of the line, in among the lowest status slaves, the young, the old, and those assigned the most unpleasant tasks. She was so relieved to see him alive and unhurt that she had to stop and close her eyes a moment, before she could resume her task. By the time it was his turn and she was scooping out his portion of doughy casserole from the vast pan it had been baked in, her heart had slowed enough for her to feel annoyed at him.
"Where were you? I thought you might be hurt." Her tone was sharper than she had intended.
He was unrepentant. "I had to work late." He accepted his plate, grinned at her, and moved on.
When finally the last of the line had been served, she was free to take her own small portion and seek a spot at a table. Her eyes roamed the long rows of benches, searching for him. Perhaps she could choose a place where she could watch him unobserved.
"Mind if I join you?" The quiet voice next to her ear made her jump, and his hand came up to steady the plate that trembled in her grip. He stood close beside her, and the hairs on her arm prickled and stood up, so acutely aware was she of his nearness.
"No! I mean yes. I mean, I don't mind." She felt foolish and awkward. She took a deep breath. "I'd like that."
They chose a spot at one end of one of the long trestle tables. He seated himself across from her. Shmi stared fixedly down at her food as she ate, feeling his eyes often upon her as they both partook. He let her eat without speaking, for which she was grateful, until her food was gone and her hunger, though never truly satisfied, was at least dulled.
He leaned forward and tried to catch her eye. "So, Shmi, how are you adjusting to life in Jabba's household?"
"Well enough, I guess. The work is much harder than at my last owner's."
He nodded gravely. "Jabba works his slaves harder than anyone else on Tatooine. Some falter under the weight, but others grow strong."
She looked up in surprise at the thoughtful, almost bitter tone in his voice. His eyes were looking far beyond her, and his face was carved with lines of weariness and pain. Then he shook his head, and she wondered if she had imagined it, for all his easy humor was back in his eyes and the lines of his mouth.
"I brought you something." She blinked in surprise at his announcement. With one hand he rummaged in his belt pouch; with the other he reached for her hand and pulled it forward. Gently he deposited a tiny plant on her palm.
She bent her head to study it. Sandy soil still clung to hair-thin roots. Narrow oval leaves sprang from a slender stalk. A cluster of minute star-shaped flowers crowned the stalk in a spray of white and gold.
"Even on Tatooine there are flowers." His voice was low, his head bent close to hers. "This one grew beside a path, in a crack between two rocks. I used to look for it every day, when I passed. Today someone had stepped off the path, and knocked it loose from its place." He reached out the tip of one finger to stroke it. "It's tougher than it looks. It still clings to life. Something inside it won't give up that easily." His hands cupped around hers. "I think it could survive, if someone replanted it, gave it a little water – not too much – a little sunshine, a little nurturing. What do you think?"
He was so near his cheek nearly touched hers. Trembling, she nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.
He smiled down at the flower in her hands, tender and gentle. "I thought of you, when I saw it. Still alive, still fighting to live, after all it's been through." He rose as he spoke and came around behind her, eyes still focused on the flower. His hand settled briefly on her shoulder. "Still growing, still green… still beautiful." She swiveled around to look at him, but he was gazing at the plant in her hands. His fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulder, then released it. "See you tomorrow, Shmi."
Then he was gone.
She stared after him, breathing hard. What had just happened? Had it been merely a gesture of goodwill, friendship, camaraderie from a fellow victim of grinding oppression, or could it have been – she hardly dared to think it – something more? She licked lips gone suddenly dry. Her hands started to clench into fists, but she stopped, cupping them protectively around the precious scrap of life he had entrusted to her.
Even if all he offered was friendship, that would be a dear enough treasure to be cherished in this lonely and hostile place. She dared not hope for anything else.