Suggested Listening:
The Vinciguerra Affair - Daniel Pemberton (fromThe Man from U.N.C.L.E.) - ...planetary approach
Stealing the Pinch - David Holmes (fromOcean's Eleven) - ...neon and noise
Volcano Springs - James Horner/Simon Franglen (fromThe Magnificent Seven) - ...recognized
"So…"
It had been an excruciating ten minutes of complete and total silence — save for the occasional coo of the kid. I was used to silence — namely, my own. I'd grown adept at avoiding connection, letting the conversation of saloon patrons wash over me — past me — to the next set of ears available. Quiet was powerful. Quiet was safe.
Yet here, on this ship, hurtling away from the only planet I'd known for the past six years and back into the wide, dangerous expanse of the galaxy, I was finding silence deeply uncomfortable — mainly because I didn't know my driver's name.
"To whom do I owe my thanks?"
His helmet pivoted as he threw a look over his shoulder in my general direction. He didn't answer.
"Only because I like to thank people who help me, and thanks are so much more effective with a name attached," I tried a disarming smile, but his gaze had returned to the looming space ahead.
"You don't need to know," he said.
"Fair enough," I conceded. I glanced sideways at the kid, now stretching his arms out toward the ship's controls. "How about his name?"
The Mandalorian glanced back at the kid.
"You don't need to know his name, either."
I raised an eyebrow, curiously. Almost in response to the Mandalorian's gruffness, the little one waved at me and giggled.
We shuddered out of hyperdrive and the glittering, looming form of Coruscant appeared before us. Dank Farrik, I thought to myself.
"Where are you going on Coruscant?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"The lower levels of the Uscru District," he replied. "I'm following up on a lead." He didn't elaborate further, but I had the information most pertinent to my situation.
The lower levels, AKA the snake's nest. Perfect.
Of all the planets and moons and asteroids in the entire galaxy, we were headed for the one spot where every person I ran into would probably leap at the chance to turn me in for my ransom.
"You're taking a kid down there?" I looked over at the little guy, who was seemingly trying to gauge how many funny noises he could make in one breath.
"He's safe," the Mandalorian replied, an edge to his voice.
Ooh. Touched a nerve.
We landed in a port in Uscru that was bustling with people — most of them looked like excitable tourists from all over the galaxy. My chest felt heavy. I hadn't been around this many people since before I ran away, and my mind was fizzing. How could I possibly keep track of them all? Well, I thought, with a deep sigh. I've done the small hideout thing, and that didn't work in the end. Maybe I'll try the little fish in the giant, enormous pond thing.
We disembarked and the fresh night air had a touch of moisture to it. I remembered hearing about some silly rule that it wasn't allowed to rain at night here — I wondered if it was still true.
I turned to face the kid, who's bassinet floated serenely beside the Mandalorian. He didn't seem intimidated by the big city in the least — the opposite, in fact. I gave the Mandalorian a tight smile.
"Well, thank you," I said, pulling my hood up and over my head. "You were a real life saver."
The Mandalorian wordlessly unhooked the coin purse from his belt and held it out to me. I stared at it for a moment, uncertain.
"Go on," he said.
"No," I shook my head. "It's your payment, for—"
"Take it," he insisted.
I snatched it, afraid it would disappear if I left it too long.
"Thank you," I breathed. He just nodded, slowly. I stared at him for a moment — once again, my curiosity was buzzing. I opened my mouth to ask him his name again, but decided against it. There was no time for connections. No room. Besides, I'd spent six years avoiding trusting anyone — except Marfa, to a degree, but even he knew nothing about me other than my work habits and my ability to pay cheap rent — no sense in starting now with some metal mystery man.
"Goodbye, then," I said, and swept past him, disappearing down a side street.
Colors and sounds swirled around me in a disorienting frenzy. The shouts of creatures hawking their various stage shows and experiences mingled with the neon and honks to create an overstimulating cacophony that I struggled to navigate through. I dodged eager tourists and tough-looking travelers and traders, getting jostled along the way. Finally, I saw a side-alley that wasn't crowded, and I ducked into it, hiding in the shadows to catch my breath.
Food. Job. Place to sleep. That's what I need. Food. Job. Place to sleep.
The growl in my stomach told me which of those three had to come first. I slipped further down the alley and emerged onto another bustling street, across which I spied a hot magenta neon sign advertising cheap dinner.
The door tapped a tinkling bell when I swung it open. I found myself in a brightly, industrially-lit room, long and thin, with a long bar holding up tired-looking travelers leaning over their meals. I approached the cashier — a busy-looking Mon Calamari in a gaudy orange robe — and asked for the Number Three (the cheapest on the menu).
"Coming up," he said in a gruff voice. I tossed a few coins on the counter and looked around. No one jumped out as a threat, but still I pulled my hood further over my face — the lights were too bright in here.
The Mon Calamari dropped a plastic tray on the counter in front of me with a loud clatter. I jumped and mumbled a thank you, carrying it to the farthest stool in the back of the room. The food was tasteless, but did the job. After a while, I became acutely aware of someone's eyes on me. Glancing around, I saw two men looking at me, whispering to one another. Really? I just got here, give a girl a second.
I turned away from them, propping my head on my hand and hiding my face. After a moment, though, I heard one of them approach me.
"Excuse me," he said in a timid voice. He was an older man with a kind-enough-looking face. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but my husband and I could've sworn we've seen you in something before — are you in one of the shows here?"
"No," I muttered, trying to be kind but firm. "I'm just passing through."
"Really? Because you just look so familiar, I know I've seen you in something! Gerrius —" he called to the other older man down the bar. "Gerrius doesn't she look like she was in that show we saw last year?" He turned back to me. "We come every year and see everything, we're devoted!"
By now, the entire bar was looking at me. Perfect. Thanks, nice but inconveniently loud man.
"You don't know me," I hissed, and scrambled past him. I heard him calling after me with some attempted apologies, and in my head I apologized, but I couldn't stay.
This isn't going to work, I thought. I can't handle being on Coruscant. Time to find my next ride.
I hurried back toward the port we had landed in. Surely there would be another ship leaving soon. I could stow away and go wherever they were going — Anything would be easier to strategize than here.
They recognized me. Has my picture been distributed? Am I more widely known than I realized? Maybe I'm being paranoid, maybe I really do just look like a girl in a show they'd seen — but I cant take the chance.
I arrived back at the port — sure enough, ships were coming and going at a brisk pace. I cast around, trying to find the easiest one to slip aboard. Finally, I found my mark: a few workers were loading crates of goods into the back of a medium-sized cargo ship — and they were spending just as much time goofing around and taking swigs from a flask as they were pushing the crates on board. I approached, stealthily.
Suddenly, a great roar pierced the air, and screams erupted all around me.