Authors note: I am not so sure about this particular short story. I have tinkered with it for a week, but never got it to go the direction I wanted. Instead, well... Enjoy a very brief look into Ezra's past.
Tower Jumping
It happened in the space of time it took to blow out a candle. One moment, Ezra was contemplating his birthday wish while his parents sang the ancient, traditional song. The next, glass shattered, blaster bolts whined, and his mother screamed. So fast, Ezra did not have time to cry until long after his father shoved him through an open window into the arms of the Rodian, Tseebo.
"Ezra Bridger must be quiet," Tseebo whispered as he ran, tucking the seven year old a little tighter against his chest. To his credit, Ezra quieted his cries to the occasional hiccough. The accomplishment did little to alleviate the fears of the Rodian, who continued to glance over his shoulder every few steps.
"Tseebo told the Bridger family," he glanced over his shoulder again, "Tseebo warned them about the danger." Ezra whimpered. Tseebo slowed, turning into a darkened alley between shops. Swinging a loose grate loose from the wall back wall with one hand Tseebo clutched Ezra with the other. Kneeling Tseebo whispered, "Ezra Bridger must listen to Tseebo. Ezra must be quiet or Imperials will find him. Ezra will wait here for Tseebo to return. Does Ezra Bridger understand Tseebo?"
The boy shook with silent tears, but nodded. Tseebo lowered the grate into place and left the little human child hidden in darkness. There Ezra waited… and waited… and waited….
In the early years on the streets, Ezra learned to love those secret places behind grates, waiting patiently in shadowed alleys for the sun to set. He ventured forth only in the dark of night, gleaning leftovers from dumpsters and reveling in the rainy nights when fresh water fell free from the sky. At first, he begged scraps from the vendors, but soon learned that merchants cared less for the homeless than their coins. They even guarded their trash like misers, afraid the ragged urchins might drive away more reputable fair.
A few even brought down the wrath of the Storm Troopers, who roved the streets in twos and threes harassing anyone outside the social acceptable circles. More than one, Ezra found himself locked in an orphanage that doled out gruel worse than dumpster roughage, and teachers who taught little and watched less. Shadowed places did not offer safety in those so-called schools, and neither did the lit halls. No. The only safe place on Lothal lay here, in the darkened alleys of the streets.
Most children might not think so. Most adults might not think much of the alley mazes or hinged grates either. However, to Ezra, they became his home, his backyard, and his playpen all in one. No one on Lothal knew them better, ran them quicker, or climbed their hidden 'ladders' better than little Ezra Bridger. This fact often found Ezra sauntering, in his childish way, into untold number of troubles. Today, the trouble was aptly named Bruiser – a boy known to hit and take before asking permission for anything.
"I still say you are lying about being able to reach the top of the Tower in five minutes, but I have a case of nutri-bars I raided from the factories that says I can make it in ten." The boy, several years Ezra's senior and twice his width, jerked a thumb at a worn rucksack held against his back by an intricate tangle of braided wire. The straps wore through ages ago, probably far enough back to have seen use in a Jedi starfighter.
Ezra only smiled his best gap-toothed grin, "Your loss, Bruiser. Race starts at the count of ten."
A third kid, just old enough to count and thus selected as a neutral party, held up ten fingers and smiled, "Ten…nine…eight…seven…."
Bruiser pushed Ezra hard to the left and ran before the kid got to five, "Last kid to the top is a Loth-rat!"
Sighing like a person far older than ten, Ezra picked himself up from the ground and dusted the dirt from his pants. Twitching a kink from his neck, the young Bridger grinned at the even younger boy, "Good job on the count, kiddo. Now, watch while that punk Loth-rat eats my dust!"
With no more warning, Ezra jolted into a ground-covering sprint towards the nearest alley. In one grate, up a shaft, out another grate, two rooftops over in a somersaulting tumble, and the tower lay just ahead. Ezra spared a glance at the streets three stories below, noting Bruiser lumbering through a crowded street a block away. A cocky half-smile glinted in Ezra's eyes as he turned back towards the Tower, estimating the distance to a window he had left open in an earlier escapade into the weather station he and the local street kids had dubbed, the "Tower".
He estimated twelve feet of open air, maybe fifteen – none of the buildings in this district were built to fire code, something one of Ezra's many "teachers" had lamented during class. Bad for fires, his teacher said, but great for rooftop travel as Ezra knew well. Back tracking to the furthest edge of the roof, Ezra closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and held it as he reached inside his mind for something he had only recently discovered.
Like a thread sometimes, it was a feeling tying him to something he could not quite perceive; other times it was warmth and strength, like a super-dark cup of hot chocolate on a cold day mixed with the energy of the best holiday feast. Whenever he held it, he could walk farther, run faster, and jump higher. Ezra was not sure exactly what this power was, nestled in his mind like a fledgling poised to fly. All he knew was that this was a force to be reckoned with…and he hoped it would help him today like it had in the past.
It took a moment to find, coming quicker than his first instinctual grab made in a panic during a rather bad tussle with the local security patrol. That first jump had landed him on a hover-freighter moving away from danger. This jump, if he managed it on his hunger thinned legs, would land him some much needed nutrients. His growling belly protested the run, making concentration difficult, but he found the thread and coiled it tight in his chest like a spring. Carefully he shoved the feeling down past his rumbling stomach and into his legs where he held it tight. There! Clinging tightly to that sense of strength, Ezra he leaned into a break-neck run.
One step, two steps, three, four, five, six, and JUMP!
The power uncoiled a millisecond after Ezra's foot left the roof, propelling him into a high arc towards the looming Tower wall. Just passing below him, Ezra heard the startled exclamation of his competitor, "Holy Karabast on a frosted stick! You have a death wish kid!"
Ezra would have smirked, had he not overshot his destination just a smidgen. Well, make that a smudge, and a kersmidgen. A full story higher than he intended, Ezra scrabbled for a hand-hold and found purchase on a narrow window ledge. The open window lay below him, beckoning safety that may as well lay miles away. Dangling from the window for a perilous moment while he processed his next move, Ezra felt his hold on the power wane. "Oh no, no, no, no, no!" He muttered to the wall mere inches from his face. "Hold on Ezra. No wimping out now."
Taking several deep breaths and focusing on the next ledge up, Ezra bit his lip in thought. "I can't go up if I can't find the power. Can't hold on to the ledge and can't go down." He glanced down. "Nope, not down." To the left was another narrow ledge, but that would leave him no better off than before. To the right, ah ha! A rain pipe! "Right it is," he ground out the words, bracing his feet against the wall and pouring the last dregs of his connection to the warm inner strength into reaching the pipe.
His fingers brushed the metal surface, sweat beading on his brow. He readjusted his grip on the ledge, shimmying closer and tried again. Almost, and whoa! His foot skidded and he was forced to plant both hands on the ledge and readjust his footing for a final time. He reached for the pipe a third time and prayed with every last fiber of his being that something would give before his fingers slipped.
He closed his eyes, metal groaned, and suddenly he was clinging to the pipe like a mountain climber clings to rope. Ezra laughed, giddy with a bizarre rush of emotion, but he knew he was not out of the woods yet. Suddenly glad of the superb grip proffered by dirty, sweaty hands, the orphan crawled up the 'hidden ladder' to the Tower's roof.
At the top, he hesitated, unsure if he had the strength to leverage his slim frame over the roof's edge. Then, a hand appeared from beyond the railing. "Are you going to take my hand or do I have to come save your sorry butt, stink-for-brains Bridger?"
It was Bruiser. He had made it to the top first. Ezra had lost the bet.
Heartbroken, Ezra took Bruiser's hand and made the final scramble over the ledge and past the guardrails. He muttered thank you out of habit, something his mother taught him from an early age, before plopping unceremoniously on his rear. He shook then, trembling with adrenaline and conflicting emotions. Through it all, hunger gnawed its way to his spine. What was he going to eat now? Had the dumpster droids ran yet? They must have, the sun was rising.
"Take it."
Ezra blinked. "What?"
"Take it, kid, before I change my mind."
Ezra looked up to find Bruiser's tattered rucksack right in front of his nose. Pulling back to look up, Ezra cocked an eyebrow and reached out before coherent though could form. "Why?"
Bruiser had already turned away and was heading toward the door back into the tower, but he paused mid-stride, "I ain't never seen a person so desperate for a nutri-bar as to pull a stunt like that. Take 'em, Bridger, and enjoy. I'll nick a few more off the next shipment."
Still shaking, Ezra nodded his thanks and leaned his head back against the railing. He closed his eyes, fighting to quiet the welling emotions.
A footstep scrapped the roofing and paused again before the door creaked open, "Maybe I can teach you a few things some time. You know…if you want? You got guts for a kid."
Ezra nodded again, not daring to open his eyes. The door clicked shut and the footsteps disappeared. Only then did Ezra cry away his fears.
Several years passed, and Ezra no longer hid in the shadows. He rather enjoyed heights now. Jumping no longer took focus. Instead, it required careful control so as not to repeat his erstwhile Tower adventure. His link to his inner force had grown in power and subtlety, giving him a sort of sixth sense he used in his daily life. This gave rise to other, more useful talents.
That merchant was lying. This one was telling the truth. Oh, look! That merchant is now light a few gizmos off his cart. Teaches him for lying!
Ezra traded a few of the gizmos further down the street for a piece of fresh fruit and small handful of credits. A shiver snaked its way down his back and Ezra paused, instinctively ducking behind a crate of pelts just before a patrol paraded around the corner. He did not recognize any of the helmet markings or the dark suit leading them, but better safe than in cuffs. He had outgrown the local orphanage a long while ago.
The patrol passed and Ezra stood, taking the last bite of his fruit before tossing the rest to another lost child lingering in the shadows of a nearby ally. He was just about to continue his circuit of the marketplace when the chill swept through him again. Twin tie fighters passed overhead, almost drowning the complaints of another merchant. "I'm just trying to sell a few yogans here."
"All trade must be registered with the Empire." A murmured complaint from the merchant and a much louder threat of treason against the Empire wafted in the air.
Sighing, Ezra swept his hair over his eyes and stepped in to run a little defense. A few words, a light hand, and a quick apology later and he had the means to send the pesky patrol packing. A click of the communicator and all was back to relative peace and quiet. "Stay on alert, this is a code red emergency," Ezra mimicked the nasal tones he heard on the lips of nearly every Imperial officer even as he helped the disheveled merchant to his feet.
The merchant offered a few words of thanks, but Ezra helped himself to a handful of yogan fruit. "Hey, a kid has to eat," he said with a smirk as he climbed to the nearest rooftop. Ezra moved quickly, aware gratitude only bought him so much time before the merchants' natural instinct to guard profits kicked in. Well, maybe not that particular merchant. He might lay low for a few days before he made any official complaints, but the other merchants would know a Loth-rat was running the area and would tighten their security within the hour. Of that much, Ezra felt sure.
So, he wandered the rooftops to watch the wayward patrol he had waylaid instead. "I almost feel bad for them," Ezra smirked, watching them get wrangled into offloading cargo from a freighter.
Suddenly, Ezra's felt something shift inside. Something tugged at his mind, the invisible thread he had become so deft at manipulating tightening suddenly in a specific direction. "That was weird. I-." The thread pulled taunt, vibrating with an almost audible hum in his ears. Ezra's stood, his head snapping in the direction the thread indicated so tenaciously and found himself staring at and pony-tail sporting man in a green flight suit. He was older than Ezra, with the trim physic of a space jockey. Armor encased one arm from shoulder to elbow and what appeared to be a blaster hung from his hip.
Okay. Not a space jockey. He was a space cowboy.
Ezra contemplated moving to a closer roof to trail the man when the thread shifted again. This time it pulled at Ezra's mind, tugging like a fish taking bait from a hook. The man froze after the first tug, his head swinging to the right. The second tug was stronger, and Ezra dropped to the ground just as the man turned around.
Was he manipulating the thread somehow? Ezra's mind raced even as he tried in vain to dampen the vibrations of his own touch on the thread. The man glanced around and continued walking after a moment's hesitation. Perhaps it was a coincidence?
No. Ezra knew better than that. In all the time he knew of this power, no one shared it with him. Not once had he come in contact with anyone who sensed this inner power, let alone manipulated it as he did. This experience was new…and exciting.
So, Ezra followed the man from the rooftops. Behind him he left a maze of alleyways, a highway of grated vents, and the heights of secret ladders and long forgotten towers.