Good People, Nice Things
13 BBY
Tatooine was a nice place if you knew where to look. Though, speaking frankly, it was rare that someone did.
Deokth certainly didn't. His family had instead emphasized that it was always more about finding nice things, specifically things they could tear up and sell for enough parts to keep the tread drivers operational.
Usually this meant raiding abandoned moisture farms or scavenging dump sites. Very rarely, it would mean voyaging into town, daring to navigate the sand carved streets with foreigners three times his height.
With smells just as exotic...
Deokth mused, turning his pint-sized form away from the waft of skewered rats that the nearest vendor was so desperately trying to sell him. Scurrying down the street, he cut into a back alley and panned the shadows with his crimson gaze, a panicked gasp escaping his lips. For all his parent's trust in him, he was quickly beginning to realize how grand a task this was for one Jawa so small.
Despite the constant aroma and commotion, there was one thought etched defiantly into his robe-clad being.
Tatooine was a nice place.
Or so it had been, before the times that slavery ran rampant, and the Hutts opted to govern by force. Neither Republic nor Empire had seemingly done much to stop them.
A rasping cough alarmed him to another presence in the alleyway.
If the man, slumped and shadowed against the adjacent wall was anything to go off of, it appeared the Empire also hadn't done much to care for their once powerful army of clones. Warriors that time had so promptly forgotten.
His voice, identical to the millions that spoke before it, came in a hoarse whisper. "Wa... Water..."
The plea came with an outstretched hand, the glint of metallic appendages protruding from both his arms.
Deokth nodded in solemn realization.
An amputee - a soldier whose disposition meant little now with the War having passed. How the clone had ended up here - a story certainly worth hearing - meant little to him. Doubly so when the man appeared in no state to tell it.
A gaping wound in the clone's side told all - likely a shanking in a Cantina brawl that had gone too far. Recalling his plea, Deokth figured no harm could come of it. With more than enough water to spare, he made a move for his satchel, but paused suddenly.
Instead, his gaze settled over the man's mechno-arm for the second time. Its metal encasing thick enough to rival the hide of a Krayt Dragon.
Enough to rival the cost as well...
Whether the musing or his parents' advice before it, there was no telling what urged him to move past his satchel and dig into his tool bag.
"No... please."
Tatooine was once a nice place.
Deokth sparked his fusion cutter to life and quietly got to work.
End