Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect
-Margaret Mitchell
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oOo
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There was pain, and then there was hunger. Hunger is different from pain. It's different from scraping your knee or falling down the stairs or even getting your finger jammed in a faulty door. Waking up to hunger is like waking up to hopelessness. And yet, Dustine woke to it every morning. There was never enough to go around.
Never.
Sometimes there wasn't food for weeks on end. It was the way of life for her-she'd never had enough to eat a day in her life. She knew nothing else, so she could wish for nothing else. Dustine simply accepted her present situation for what it was; she was hungry, others were not.
"I ain't never thought they'd do that." One girl said bitterly.
The words came through Dustine's half-asleep stupor, a foggy dream fading before her eyes. A girl coughed and hacked nearby.
"That they'd dock our pay again. What right have they got?"
Slowly pulling herself into a sitting position, she blinked in the musty light of the Hawker house, waiting for her eyes to adjust. All around her other children were beginning to wake and shake the fine layer of dust and smog from them, convulsing in the rough air. All the windows were open-they didn't have environmental control where they lived, and thus suffered through the summer season and its accompanying heat.
Dustine became uncomfortably aware of the heat that radiated to her side. She gently shook her bunkmate, a minute little girl called Rhea. The child moaned, rolling over to cough uncontrollably, her tiny Mirialan body shaking, every bone sharp and clear and emaciated. The near starvation wasn't helping her with her fight against the green fever. Rhea wouldn't live much longer-she'd been sick for nearly a week and received no medical care. There wasn't anyone to pay for it.
"Lior, Get some water." Dustine commanded. Lior, the rodian girl who had been complaining about the wages, complied reluctantly. She stalked to the water barrel sitting off to one side of the room and lifted the heavy cover. Inside, Dustine saw the dirt floating in the tainted water. But it was better than nothing. Lior filled a plastic mug full of the stuff, and carried it back. Dustine lifted Rhea's head and tried to get her to drink a little.
"Rhea still sick?"
Dustine nodded.
"Best tell someone." Lior observed. "She'll get you ill."
Dustine shook her head. "They'd just let her go." Not that here is much better than the streets-but who cares? At least we've got a roof over our heads.
"Up'en At'm ya brats!" The landie's voice screamed across the announcement system, and Dustine winced, resisting the urge to clap her hands over her ears.
Rhea moaned and groped for something. Dustine pulled the blanket up over her. She was shivering with fever. Rhea's eyes opened a little, and they had a hot, glazed look to them at she gazed up at Dustine, confused and scared.
"Dinla?" She whispered. "Dinla." It was a word in her own native language, and not one that Dustine recognized, but she guessed that the little girl was crying for her mother.
Dustine picked up the little girl-she was so small-and held her gently, hugging her. Rhea had no more energy to return or speak, and her body was limp and light as a feather.
"Shush, pateesa chikee. It'll be okay." Dustine attempted to soothe, her voice trembling.
Tears seeped out of the corners of Rhea's eyes, and her little fingers trembled as they pressed around the filthy blanket. Dustine stared at her for a moment, watching the little girl's breath grow shallower and shallower, until it was no longer visible.
oOo
Dustine informed the landie that Rhea was dead. If things had been different, if the house had been cleaner, if the hawkers had been given real food-then Dustine might have felt more of a sense of tragedy. If they had been given more of a chance to live, then perhaps she would have felt more grief. But what she had told Rhea earlier was true, things were okay. Whatever afterlife the child had believed in was certainly better than the pig stye she'd been trapped in.
Hawkers were simply bond servants to the postal service. They served them just like slaves. Dustine was bitter about that. She'd come to Coruscant hoping for freedom, but instead just found a different kind of bondage.
They came from all over, from all sorts of backgrounds. Some, Like Dustine, were refugees, escapees, immigrants who didn't see the trick until it was too late. Some were working to support their families. Some were orphans dumped on the service's doorstep through the corrupt foster system. All of them were children under the age of twenty-one.
At twenty-one they became legal adults under Republic Law. until then? They had no rights to speak of. Dustine didn't know her age. This did not protect her.
Hawkers had the job of delivering the papers and letter chits to each house-and if they didn't meet their quota, they ran the risk of being starved or locked in solitary confinement. Worse, they wouldn't get their measly paycheck of half a credit a week, and from Lior's grumbling, they had just lowered the pay yet again.
Even in a melting pot like the one she lived in; Dustine stuck out like a sore thumb. She was one of three humans who served the post office, and the only orphan among them. Well, to be more accurate, Dustine wasn't one hundred percent sure that she was an orphan but given she had little to no memories of her mother, it was easier to think of her as dead. And it was easier to say that she was simply an 'orphan' than trying to explain her complex situation. Dustine didn't like talking about it anyways. She didn't like talking much about anything, really. Too much pain came from words.
Dustine combed her fingers through her hair, which hadn't been washed in a long, long time, and was alive with cloud-lice. If you had hair, you'd have cloud-lice. It was why many of the hawkers had their hair all shaved off-even the girls. But Dustine couldn't afford that, so she just endured the biting bugs.
Her face, like all the others, was tight and drawn with hunger, and grimy from the constant soot and smog that permeated the Coruscanti air. She was different in her shock blue eyes. Most species didn't have blue eyes. Even among humans they were brighter than they should have been. But Dustine rarely saw herself and didn't much care about her appearance.
Sliding a poncho around her shoulders, Dustine joined the protracted line of girls waiting to be issued their bags and a piece of tack-bread too hard to eat and that had broken teeth before but that no one turned down. It was better than nothing. It was better than starvation.
She reached the front of the line, and she could see the doors. It would be only a few more minutes, and then she would be free! For the day, at least. And maybe if she accomplished her work quickly enough, there would be time to hurry to the Church of Force run library, where there awaited kind voice and kind intentions.
"Package. Report at 02000." The assigner ordered, shoving a satchel full of letter chits into Dustine's hands. Dustine hurried out, eager to be away from the scent of death and the grimy faces of her colleagues.
So, she was on package duty. That was the more desirable job-it allowed the usage of the speeder bikes. It was always fun to race the others and see who could win (it was usually Dustine). But it limited the time she had to deliver all her letter chits. Still a chance to get the library,
"Heard Rhea died last night." One girl commented to her. Dustine nodded. "The fever?" Another nod.
The girl scooted away from her. Green fever was much too contagious and deadly to take any chances. Dustine didn't blame her. But no matter how many girls died from the fever in their shanty, Dustine never seemed to catch it.
Oh, she'd been sick before. So sick she should have died and that she wished she would, but no matter what Dustine did, she couldn't seem to die. She lived on, struggling and fighting, while others succumbed to sickness or drugs or any of the other thousands of possibilities.
Dustine didn't really want to die. Not really.
But she didn't know what else she had left to live for.
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oOo
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Ahsoka was convinced she was cursed. She had heard about curses before-from books, mostly. Occasionally some of the older apprentices talked about them, but she just thought that they were messing with people. The Force didn't create curses. It created life and many other things-but curses were things that came from angel tales and myths. But if curses had existed, Ahsoka was certain that she would have been the unlucky bearer of one.
Something hit the side of her lekku. Looking up, she saw one of her clanmates, Aaron Dume, gesturing subtly upward, hand raised like he had just thrown a crumpled piece of paper at her-which he had. And for good reason.
The entire class was staring at Ahsoka, because Kira Nore had her eyes trained right on Ahsoka, and when that teacher looked at someone, you knew. The four eyes helped, Ahsoka thought. Oh great.
"Explain, Initiate Tano, why, exactly, you have no need to listen to this lesson?" Nore snapped.
Ahsoka winced and stared at the ground. "I apologize for not listening." She responded automatically.
"Open your holo-pads to page twenty-three…..."
History was always boring. Ahsoka always lost concentration in that class. It was tedious. And awful and longwinded and never ending and about a thousand other terrible things.
As a Jedi Initiate, Ahsoka was required to take a history class every year. Once she became a Padawan, (A Jedi Apprentice) she would be allowed to choose her own field of study, but that was a year off. At least. So instead, she was stuck in that big, auditorium-like classroom listening to Kira Nore drone on about the Sacking of the Coruscant Temple. How fascinating. Aaron was sitting across the room on the boy's side, sitting at the marron-marked desk reserved for him. He was human, unlike Ahsoka. Ahsoka was togruta; a species with a set of three lekku, two front and one back, that were striped blue and white. Her skin was a rusty orange and her face had white tattoos across it. She had sharp, shock blue eyes.
The total number of Initiates in the room numbered nearly two hundred. They spanned across about thirty clans and were all in their last year as Initiates. Most would take their Initiate Trials at the end of the year, though some would move straight to the Jedi Corps or skip the trials altogether. After the trials, the clanmates would split ways as they took different paths in the galaxy. Some would find there place immediately, a master or knight would pick them instantly, and they would be lucky. Others would have more of a trial-and-error approach. Ahsoka already knew that she was going to be the second. But Aaron, the only other initiate in Clawmouse her age, was a star student. He would be plucked up quickly-probably by one of the council members. Everyone noticed him; no one noticed Ahsoka.
The bell rang, and silently thanked the Force for that. She shoved her holopad into her satchel, along with the notebook, and made her way through the sea of initiates in hopes of finding Aaron. Sadly….she didn't. Instead…
"Hey stupid," Ahsoka didn't turn at Vivica's voice. She wasn't going to submit, but she wasn't going to fight if she could help it either. At least, that was what she was telling herself.
Vivica was a jerk. There was no other word for it; she was cruel and mean and would do anything to impress their teachers and mentors. And if that meant kicking others when they were down? So be it. Ahsoka didn't know how she got away with it right under the Jedi's noses, but she did.
"I'm talking to you!" Vivica struck out but Ahsoka dodged easily. Advantage of being Force-Sensitive.
"I don't respond to 'stupid'." Ahsoka snapped, resisting the impulse to really let Vivica have it. She didn't want to get in trouble again for a failure to control emotions. Last time she'd had to meditate on her actions for five hours and had missed dinner.
"What, like that isn't what you are?" Vivica and her goons laughed.
Ahsoka's lekku darkened to a deep blue, angrily flushing. She opened her mouth and without thinking spat out, "You're one to talk. Everyone knows you got a fifty on that last test and that Master Absalom ranked you lowest in our class!"
Vivica's eyes narrowed, her disposition darkening. Glaring angrily, Vivica moved sharply forward and slammed Ahsoka against the wall, her forearm digging into Ahsoka's neck.
"You should remember, Tano, that you're the biggest failure here. Good luck finding anyone who wants you-with your track record, you'd be lucky to get Agri."
"Fifteen minutes left to return to quarters. Any Initiates found in the halls in fifteen minutes will be reprimanded."
Vivica shoved Ahsoka again for good measure before backing off. One of her lackeys made a comment and they both laughed, striding off.
oOo
"Soka'! Soka'!" Caleb shouted through the door that led to the boy's dormitory. Just his head was sticking out and clearly he had just finished a shower because, as usual, he hadn't bothered to dry his hair, and it was sticking up all over. "Can you help me with math? Aaron won't-"
Ahsoka plopped down on the floor. Technically, they weren't allowed to enter each other's dormitories. But no one had ever said that they couldn't sit in the doorway or the hall.
Caleb was Aaron's younger brother by about four years-he'd just turned nine.
"They're teaching us about mixed numbers, and they want us to convert in-between decimals and fractions and I don't-" He began to explain.
"Understand, I know." Ahsoka responded. Caleb tapped his pencil against his holo-pad, gesturing to a problem.
3. 3 3/4 equals what decimal?
Ahsoka racked her brain to figure out how to explain fractions to a nine-year-old.
"Aaron said that you and Vivica got into a fight." The boy stated blandly, re-writing the fraction as a division problem at Ahsoka's direction.
"It was more of a…...aggressive exchange of words." Ahsoka corrected.
"A fight." Caleb repeated bluntly. "We aren't supposed to fight. Not among ourselves, anyways."
"You can tell that to Vivica." Ahsoka was half-sure the kid would.
"Master Yoda says that division leads to corruption and corruption leads to the darkside."
"Caleb, he says that about a lot of things. But we still have politics, don't we? Not all division is bad. If we couldn't be divided, then no one would have free choice."
"But if we were never divided," Caleb pointed out, "No one would suffer and there wouldn't be any war."
"Fascinating as your philosophical discussion is," Aaron said, peering down at his brother from just inside the boys' dorm. "You need to get to bed, and I have Algebra homework. Caleb, I'll help you at breakfast tomorrow."
"Thanks for telling him about Vivica." Ahsoka muttered, as the nine year old snatched his holopad and raced back into the boys' dorm.
Aaron rolled his eyes. "The whole Temple knows. At least the younglings, anyways."
"I thought you had Algebra homework!"
Aaron flashed a smile. "So do you."
Ahsoka snorted. "Yeah, I needed that reminder."
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oOo
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Senator Padmé Naberrie rubbed her forehead. It had been a long day. A very, very long day. And it was only noon. Budgeting was always one of her least favorite political topics; despite its importance. But she endured it year after year, it was only one of the sacrifices she had to make. The Republic Debt was in the quintillions, and from the spending rate of the last year it didn't look to be going down any time soon. Unfortunately, most of that debt was due to the Senators' extravagant spending.
That was only one of many, many issues that Padmé was facing. She sighed and stared out the window of the conveyex as it climbed higher and higher into the mountains.
The conveyex was a train, really, a train that had two parts, one on each side of the tracks. It traveled just at the speed of sound and had been trundling along happily through ice and snow since mid-morning.
Padmé was on Naboo again. To be more accurate, she was in the Katashi Mountains of Naboo. She represented her home world in the Galactic Senate, a very high-ranking political position on her world. She'd been involved in politics so long that many believed she should retire, even though she was only twenty-two.
Padmé did not agree with them.
She had been given a gift for reaching out and speaking to people, speaking to bring change, why shouldn't she use it? And yet, whenever she went home now, all anyone seemed to find to talk about was the fact that her sister was married with two children, and she was not. Was that really the peak of one's achievements? Having kids? Padmé did not think so. So, she stayed in politics, despite her family's and specifically her father's protests.
The train rolled to a stop. Outside, snow was falling, just like it always was. The Katashi range reached high enough up that snow and ice didn't melt and stayed year-round. At this point, she was really the only one left on the conveyex. Most had left at earlier stops; and it was strange to be alone. Padmé was rarely alone or unwatched. She was used to always having eyes on her and knew it was for her safety, but she always breathed a sigh of relief on knowing that not a single soul could be watching. Padmé was still sentient, and she still valued privacy. Away from people. She stood up when the door opened, tipped the conductor who smiled and waved cheerfully, and stepped out into a winter wonderland.
"I'd forgotten how beautiful it is up here." She murmured softly, glancing fondly around the small village town connected to the conveyex line, Hinata. How wonderful it felt again to be in the mountains, in the place where her father had been raised and her mother, and her grandparents and their grandparents and back and back and back as far as anyone could remember. People bustled about despite the cold, wrapped in bright shawls and coats and hats, smiling eagerly and waving to friends.
"Hiya, Padmé!" One of the merchants called, grinning cheerfully, waving her over.
Padmé smiled and walked towards the small storefront that the woman was standing in front of. Padmé had known her as a child, she'd been a particular favorite of all the children, because she had constantly showered them with sweets.
"Nice to see you home again." The lady spoke pleasantly, using wide, exaggerated hand motions. She used the language of the northern Naboo, a variation of the Futhark the south spoke. "My, has it really been two years? Everyone will be so happy-"
"Thank you, Mari," Padmé said, smiling but secretly glad she had an excuse not to greet every single person in the village, "But I told my mother I'd be home in time for supper."
"Aye, then you do have a walk ahead of you. It's eight miles up there, ya know. You hungry? It's only lunch." Padmé agreed because she was, in fact, ravenous and had not eaten breakfast.
Mari nodded gladly and entered her store to reappear with a couple of violetrice cakes and a small bottle of shuura cordial. Padmé thanked her happily and attempted to pay the kind woman, but Mari simply smiled on and shook her head.
"No payment today. You've done enough, just enjoy the food." But Padmé wished that Mari would have let her hand off some money. She had far too much as it was.
oOo
"Hindla! Hindla!" Two tiny balls of energy burst out the front door before Padmé even knocked. She laughed as she was tackled by her nieces. Ryoo and Pooja were young girls, yes, but they certainly had energy.
The walk hadn't been hard or seemed very long. Padmé had grown up walking much longer distances. But her feet still hurt a bit and she was ready to sit down again.
"We couldn't wait for you to get here!" Cried Ryoo, excited as always. She had grown a lot since Padmé had last seen her. Half a foot, she reckoned. Ryoo was a tall six-year-old. And Pooja was no longer a baby but a little girl of about four. Padmé had only seen them over the holo-comm for the last two, nearly three years. And she was grateful she could see them in person now.
"Mami, Padmé's home!" Sola shouted in the background before appearing in the doorway. "Ryoo, Pooja, get off your hindla right now!"
(Hindla translated, in basic, to sister-of-mother. It was a word for the aunt you had on your mother's side)
Ryoo and Pooja both obeyed, getting off Padmé. Pooja was clutching a little rag doll Padmé recognized to have once been Sola's. It was well worn; she had loved that doll. "You look like you're about to freeze, get in before all the heat is let out!" Her mother called from the kitchen. Padmé obliged without question.
oOo
Padmé hadn't brought much with her; really just some work stuff, because transportation was difficult all through the Katashi Range. She had things at her apartment on Coruscant, and things that remained at home. It only served to split the two aspects of her life even more.
Coruscant was a core world system that hosted the seat of the Chancellor and both houses of the Republic. Padmé first set foot on the world when she was thirteen, and she had been queen of Naboo.
Naboo's monarchy was an elected position, an internship, really, held most frequently by younger girls on there way to the higher ups of politics. The king or queen had some power, but not as much as most thought. Padmé, for instance, could propose laws, but not make them. Nor could she stop them from becoming a law if her parliament voted for it.
But her signature was required on all bills and contracts, if not the laws or constitution. This was what had sent her to Coruscant. The Trade Federation wanted to control the economy of Naboo, which was a prosperous world and did quite well in the magma industry and several others.
The Trade Federation was known for leaching whole worlds dry and leaving the inhabitants to starve or die of pollution. And they were willing to use violence to get what they wanted. Padmé did not like thinking about it, or the recession that had occurred soon after and the near economic collapse. Nine years did not seem like enough time for it to have faded into the past.
But things were safe at home, and all was well. Her mother, Jobal, was in the kitchen preparing dinner and was quite happy to see Padmé. So, she cheered up, and even her sister's incessant needling about how she needed to get a life didn't bother her so much. The only dark shadow to pass the rest of the evening was the absence of her father.
"Sola, where's Father?" She asked quietly after their mother had fallen asleep in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, and long after Ryoo and Pooja had been sent up to bed. A worried look passed Sola's face.
"On one of his trips."
"How long ago did he leave?"
"About a week before tonight."
"Did he say where he was going?"
Sola's face, illuminated by the dying fire, looked sad and a little forlorn. "Does he ever?"