Zoraida Cordova - A Crash of Fate

He sped through the still-empty roads. The Market was just waking, with vendors setting up stalls and unloading crates. Stragglers, probably from Oga’s Cantina, were stumbling down the alley, singing in a language Jules had tried to learn but could never get his tongue to cooperate with.

When he got to Merchant Row, he parked next to Tap’s speeder bike. Jules unwrapped the scarf around his neck and tasted a faint trace of dust on his tongue from the ride. Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities was still covered in shadow. The strange statues leaning against the side of the building had bothered Jules ever since he was a little kid. He couldn’t quite put a finger on why until Dok let it slip that one was a grave marker, though he wouldn’t say whose. A tarp that had been tied over a stack of crates nearly two meters high had come undone, and it flapped in the morning breeze. As Jules tied it back down, an eerie chill seeped into his bones.

He realized why when the morning patrol of stormtroopers turned a corner, and he quickly let himself into the shop. It was brighter than usual inside, which meant Dok wasn’t around. He’d never understood how Dok could work in the dark, but maybe the Ithorian had excellent vision.

Jules heard a muffled groan as he entered, but when he listened close, he was sure he’d imagined it. Dok’s had a way of playing tricks on your mind. The first time Jules had snuck out of his house and spent the day at the Outpost by himself, he’d gone into Dok’s shop. For a child, it was like a cavern filled with treasure and wondrous things from every reach of the galaxy. Everything from metal reliquaries to the supposed bones of Jedi to crown jewels of destroyed worlds to a dianoga in a tank. But the thing that had sent Jules running was the taxidermic wampa. Back then he’d been positive the beast was alive. Even as an adult setting off into the world, he could have sworn the creature’s eyes followed him as he strode farther into the shop.

Jules found Tap at a corner desk, unloading trinkets from a small box for sorting.

“Where’s the boss?” Jules asked.

Tap shrugged and didn’t look up from his task. He pulled out an old metal tube with the head of a Zillo Beast on either end. “He was here when I went to get you. Must’ve stepped out, but he left you a list of things to do.” Tap lifted his chin to a piece of paper—Dok still used paper, of all things—with a list of errands.

“Me?” Jules asked. He snatched the paper. “Don’t you mean us ?”

“The way I see it, Jules, someone has got to stay here and watch the shop until Dok gets back.”

Jules sounded his frustration but wasn’t going to argue with a kid. He leaned against the wall of the raised mezzanine. There was something strange about not seeing the Ithorian behind that railing, long fingers tugging at the long wisps of his white beard. As he scanned the list in Dok’s barely legible scrawl, Jules knew he could get all this done and be free in time for lunch at Ronto Roasters. Clean out storage vault, payment for Hondo, payment from Oga, find a fancy glass container for Bubo’s milk stand display, sort and log new acquisitions. Since Tap had picked the very last, and easiest, thing on the list, and since everyone else seemed to have vanished, Jules thought this favor might get him on the old man’s good side. Dok wasn’t a bad boss, but he wasn’t the kind anyone wanted to cross.

Tap had already prepped the carton of glass and the case of spira for Hondo. Jules was about to haul the goods to his speeder, but he doubled back before reaching the door. “I need something to carry Oga’s payment. Last time I almost got jumped by some Snivvian pirates.”

“Check behind the sarlacc tank,” Tap said. He was still toying with the metal tube. “Hey, Jules, what do you reckon this is?”

“It’s a fingernail cleaner,” Jules said, trying his best to keep a straight face. He was positive Dok kept that finger trap as a prank for his assistants. Who knew the ancient Ithorian had a sense of humor?

Jules sorted through a bin of standard-issue military uniforms from the Republic days and a pair of macrobinoculars with one lens missing. He wished he understood the way Dok’s mind worked when it came to storing stuff, but Jules didn’t see that happening in his lifetime. At the bottom of the bin was a large leather backpack that looked like it had spent time in a war zone. Jules wouldn’t have been surprised if it had, though he hoped the dark stains were oil and not blood. He packed the spira and slung his arms into the straps.

“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” Jules said as he rushed to the front door.

“I won’t have to try too hard,” Tap said, then gasped when he realized his fingers were stuck in the metal trap. “Hey, Jules! Wait, come back!”

Jules’s mother had always warned that every deed carried out was returned in kind. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when he swung the door open to find a green-eyed girl at the threshold and her fist collided with his face.

Izzy managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before she was jolted awake by restless nerves and dreams in which faces from long before coalesced with the previous night’s music.

She sat up and got the Meridian prepped. As a little girl she’d trailed behind her parents making sure everything was in place and cargo was secure. The ship’s exterior needed light maintenance she’d neglected during their days on Actlyon. During that time, she’d been working on Ana Tolla’s ship instead of the Meridian . The memory made her grimace as she took inventory. She had enough fuel to get to Batuu, nutrient rations, and a bag of chocolate-covered caf beans she’d splurged on for the occasion of her eighteenth birthday. She didn’t have the appetite for them yet.

Izzy fired up the thrusters and took off, sparing a single glance at the empty seat beside her. When she was a little girl, she would strap in behind the copilot seat, where her father had left the imprint of his strong body in the leather. Right before they leapt to hyperspace, her father would pause to look at her mother—every single time. Izzy knew what adoration looked like because she’d seen it often on his face. When she missed her family most, she thought of those moments. Times like this, when she felt like she was starting all over again, Izzy wondered what her mother would say to her. Correct her shooting stance. Admonish the company she kept. Then she realized: Nothing. She’d say nothing .

All she could do now was put everything her parents had ever taught her to good use and keep going.

Izzy soared out of Actlyon’s polluted atmosphere and into the darkness of space. She relished the first seconds of that transition during every flight. She wasn’t sure what about it captured her awe—the endless stars blinking in front of her, the promise of new worlds she’d yet to explore, the solitude of space that could never quite be simulated. Or perhaps it was the ability to look at a world from above and then put it behind her as she moved on to the next place. For a girl without a planet to call home anymore, a ship flying through space was as close as she was going to get. Wasn’t that what she wanted? The freedom of being untethered.

It took her longer than usual to set a course for Batuu, then punch the hyperdrive. Pinpricks of stars gave way to the marbled blue of a hyperspace lane. Fortunately, Actlyon was close enough to Batuu that she didn’t need to take more than one route and she would save herself a refuel.

Izzy feared being alone with her thoughts. The night before, she’d broadcast a stream of news and music to have something to lull her to sleep. Out there all she could do was wait, clean her blaster, and retrace her entire relationship with Damar. His abandonment bruised her. What could she have done differently? Be a different person? More like Ana Tolla? She didn’t want that. The rational part of her mind told her it was for the best. But the rest of her was indignant. Angry. So much so that if she cleaned her blaster any harder, she’d wear off the grooves on the handle. Izzy knew she deserved better. She had a job and a destination, and that was a start.