Zoraida Cordova - A Crash of Fate

“Do you think the rumors are true?” one of them asked.

“I think I want to get as far away from both sides as I can,” another girl interjected.

“Broadcasts say medical freighters leaving the Mid Rim are being grounded,” said a third. “It’s like they don’t want anyone having access to them. What are sick people supposed to do when supplies run out?”

“My cousin says he saw in a holo that the Resistance shot one out of the sky!”

“Tell me you don’t believe that!”

They descended into rapid-fire arguing Izzy could no longer eavesdrop on. Everywhere she went in the galaxy there were whispers about the Resistance. She didn’t particularly care. All she wanted was to do her job. Smuggling wasn’t what her father had wanted for her future, but neither of her parents was alive to make that decision for her anymore. Besides, as long as she developed a reputation for actually delivering her cargo, she’d be golden.

A fish-headed Bivall wedged himself next to her to get the barkeep’s attention and shoved her in the process. She sighed hard and looked up at the sky. Maybe there was still time.

The rest of the drinks finally appeared before her, and she realized she didn’t have enough hands to carry them all. Somehow she managed to transport the two brown bottles, two Naboo Coolers, one rosewater with fizz, and her melon drink in a tight grip against her chest.

She wove through the dancing crowd, hands and other limbs trying to pull her into the reverie, sticky liquid sloshing over her fingers. Floating orbs of romantic light hung low, and she blew them away. Her eyes flicked back to the door for a moment. The crowd tensed in unison as a fight broke out on the other end of the patio. The first brawl in a cantina only meant it was before midnight.

Izzy reached the table and slammed the drinks in the center. While the beers and fizz had made it intact, the Naboo Coolers had not. Ana Tolla picked one up and held it at eye level.

“Did you drink both on your way over?” she asked in her scratchy, deep voice.

Izzy stared at the crew captain. Ana Tolla was only five years older than Izzy, but she’d made her living taking jobs others didn’t want. She was said to have stolen a diamond choker from a Cuyacan princess while the princess was still wearing it, and razed the crops of a small vegetable farmer who refused to sell a plot to developers building metal skyscrapers across the planet surface. Such a woman wasn’t going to be impressed with Izzy’s waitressing skills.

“You’re welcome,” Izzy muttered, and took her drink from the bunch. She ignored the persistent crawling sensation on her skin that told her something was wrong. She told herself to enjoy the night. The weather was on their side, and the music was upbeat.

“Here’s to a good run,” Izzy said, and held her glass up for a toast. Every night before a job they’d done the same. But this time, there was a pause.

All eyes turned to Damar, who ran his fingers through his artfully styled blue hair. He was so meticulous about his trousers, his polished boots, his sleek and unmoving hair. If he fussed with it, mussed it up with twitchy fingers, it meant he was nervous. He hadn’t glanced her way even once since she’d gotten back, which added to the feeling—no, the certainty—that she was missing information. This was not the evening he’d promised her. She would have preferred it if he’d never made a promise to begin with.

Izzy was still holding up the tall glass of overpriced melon water, but no one joined her in celebration. Though the tiny umbrella had stayed in place, the murky orange liquid had gotten on her blouse while she traversed the dancing crowd. She’d splurged on that blouse. Izzy didn’t have the kind of lifestyle that called for soft fabrics or intricate stitching, but that night was a special occasion. Huge. Unforgettable. Fireworks. All that.

“What’s up?” she asked. Her smile was tight, and her cheekbones hurt from the strain.

“Iz—” Damar began, then seemed to swallow his words. A lock of blue hair flopped over his strange gray eyes. “Iz. I am so sorry.”

Around him, the rest of the crew averted their eyes. Suddenly, everything about the dodgy cantina was interesting to them—the floating orbs, the Twi’lek bartenders throwing bottles across the bar to each other, the garnishes in their drinks.

“Sorry for what, Olin?” she shouted over the music. “The ‘fireworks’ you failed to deliver?”

He sucked in a breath, his full lips rubbing together in that way they did just before he made an explanation. No, not an explanation. An excuse . Like the time he blew all their money at the races, or the time he bought an astromech unit with all the guts missing from inside it, or the time he got them arrested for forgetting to clear their location history on their first real job after the destruction of the Hosnian. Why did she keep believing his promises anyway? Why hadn’t she walked away when she’d told him her doubts about Ana and the others. About him. Maybe because this time, the promise was for her.

“I swear, Izzy,” he’d said. “It’ll get better. Besides, I have something special planned. I’ll light up the sky. Boom! You’ll love it.”

The Clankers played louder still, the tempo of the bass matching her rapid heartbeat as she waited for Damar to speak.

But then the music turned into screaming. The sky was finally alight, only instead of fireworks, it was the hazy red of blaster fire.

Izzy grabbed her weapon and aimed. A group with their faces covered in black masks flooded the patio. Who in their right mind would rob a cantina full of smugglers and bounty hunters?

The answer was simple—other bounty hunters who were there to collect.

“We have to go, now !” Ana Tolla shouted at them. Her long red braid whipped in the air. She grabbed the edge of the patio’s railing and hopped over. The others followed. It was a brilliant escape route that led directly to the docking bays where both their ships were stationed. Damar went over the railing. Izzy grabbed hold of the metal. She was ready to jump when something yanked her back.

Izzy rolled over and kicked. It was the Trandoshan waitress. She was trying to get away. Izzy looked to Damar for help, but he just stood there, dumbstruck. Izzy grabbed her blaster when a member of the black-masked gang grabbed the waitress by the back of her neck, muttering something about a debt owed. Everyone owes everyone in this galaxy , she thought darkly.

Behind them the other men in masks were raiding the place, turning over tables and smashing drinks. For a flash of a moment, Izzy wanted to stay and help. Then she remembered Damar. He didn’t even move to help her .

Her eyes found him. He hadn’t moved a millimeter. Ana Tolla lingered a few meters behind him, still wearing the blue leather jacket. Izzy had bought it on his birthday months before. They’d been in a market on Chandrila and she’d used the credits she’d been saving to repair the rear cannons on the Meridian .

“Now, Olin!” the captain shouted once more, and ran.

“Izzy,” he said. “I’m sorry. The job—Ana—What I mean is—You’re not coming. Don’t hate me, please.”

She blinked slowly, as if time were dragging the planet’s orbit to a standstill and she was caught, unable to move a single limb. He turned and left her alone in the middle of a brawl.

A hand seized her shoulder and spun her around. “Give me your—”

Izzy’s hand was still around her blaster. She pulled the trigger and the masked man’s last words died with him.

As the rest of the gang retreated, their prize caught, the band crawled back to their instruments. The waitresses carried their drinks. The cleaner droids swept debris into neat piles and dragged bodies away. It must have been just after midnight.