“So that was Oga,” Salju said again. “And you definitely don’t want to talk to her today. Maybe not this week. Or month.”
“Then let’s just hope that your friend Savi hasn’t experienced a personal tragedy today.”
“Oh, we all will,” Salju said darkly. “As soon as her orders go out on payday and we see our usual contribution go way up. Oga has a hand in every business. She takes a cut of all profits. You don’t do a big deal without her blessing. When she gets mad…her thugs get mad, and they demand a higher cut, and…”
“When she weeps, the economy weeps.”
“Yes, but all the runoff is still directly into her pockets.”
They headed past what was left of Dhoran and into the market, retracing the route that had brought them here. Vi was more cautious now, having seen evidence that despite the rules scrawled on her cantina, Oga’s Black Spire Outpost was still a rough and lawless frontier town. At least Oga’s thugs hadn’t looted Vi’s own body as she sat unconscious in her crashed ship; she still had her credits and the weapons that had been hidden on her person, and she knew how to use them.
Most of the people in the market, however, seemed to be innocent locals just going about their business. As they wound through the shops and carts, Vi took note of every stall and proprietor they passed and innocently asked Salju about them while secretly considering who might make a good ally.
The Milk Stand was run by an Aqualish farmer named Bubo Wamba who was new to the planet and spent much of his time among his banthas or in his stall—probably not an ideal recruit. Zabaka the Toydarian toymaker was deeply loyal to Oga, Salju said, so Vi likewise crossed her off the list. Kat Saka, who ran the popped-grain stall, was a fourth-generation Batuuan who owned several farms and was therefore unlikely to want to get involved in any conflict. Kamka of The Jewels of Bith and Bina of the Creature Stall were also not great candidates for the Resistance. The entrepreneurs of the area would have too many reasons not to join up. She would need to look at the working-class Batuuans, at the farmworkers and dockworkers and visiting pilots, if she wanted to lure recruits to her cause.
Next to the Droid Depot was another large shop, this one more of a compound with a small courtyard. Painted on the wall was the logo for Savi and Sons Salvage. Vi noted that it, like the cantina, had faded decorations that included strange symbols resembling some sort of ancient alphabet. As she watched, a teen girl with curly hair walked up to an interesting tree planted just outside the workshop. Hundreds of colorful bits of ribbon and rope fluttered from the tree’s branches, and the girl tied on her own bright-green strip of fabric, closed her eyes, smiled briefly, and walked away looking lighter and happier.
“The Trilon wishing tree,” Salju said before Vi could ask. “This is how we send our hopes and wishes out into the universe. You tie a piece of fabric to the tree and make your vow or ask your wish, and when it disintegrates, the galaxy grants your boon.”
“So you do think of life beyond Batuu.”
Salju nodded earnestly. “We look up and see the same stars as everyone else, even if our exact perspective is different.”
Vi grinned. “I like that. A whole tree, covered in hope.” Leia would like that, too, she thought.
Salju led her to an outdoor counter under a sloping awning and told a smiling worker that she was looking for Savi. They were asked to wait, and moments later a wrinkled old white man appeared, bowing with gentle formality. He had gray hair with a matching mustache and beard, and his left arm was a silver prosthesis that seemed as if it had always been a part of him. For all that he looked utterly ancient, there was an energy about him, a vitality, as if he could stay up all night arguing over philosophy or helping a shaak give birth. He was dressed in the usual natural colors and layers of Batuu but also wore a slender scarf tied jauntily around his neck.
This man did not at all fit Vi’s mental image of a salvager, the sort of big, brusque fellow who bullied his way to better deals and bought dead ships from desperate people for the lowest price he could pressure them into. There was something soft and gentle about him, a serenity as well as a curiosity. Vi liked him immediately.
After Salju explained Vi’s predicament, Savi gave her a long, measuring look. She returned the stare and fought the urge to straighten her posture and look competent; this guy wasn’t General Organa, after all. Why would she need to please a backwater junk seller? Having a brain and a mostly functional back should be adequate skills to work as a scrapper.
“I can always use more Gatherers,” Savi told her, “but I’d like to know a little more about you. How did you end up on Batuu?” His eyebrows rose in question, and Vi felt like she was being tested. But at the same time…well, something about Savi made her want to open up, to tell him the truth. There was something familiar or some fellow feeling here. She looked at Salju, whose warm smile and nod suggested it was safe to trust the old man. And if he knew her goal, perhaps he could help her along the way.
“My ship crashed, and my cargo was stolen, and now I need to earn credits to buy back my goods,” she told him. In other circumstances, she might’ve said that she just wanted to get offplanet and go her merry way, but no employer ever wanted to hear that from a potential hire.
His eyes crinkled up. “Yes, that answers the ‘how’ part, but it cleverly evades the ‘why.’ What business brought you here?”
“I was delivering a shipment,” she said, and it was true. Some people, Vi included, had a sort of sixth sense for lies, and she suspected Savi was one of them. You didn’t get as old as he was without being, well, savvy.
The old man’s eyebrows rose. “Delivering a shipment to whom?”
Vi felt like a little kid caught out by a kindly grandfather. They were toying with each other, and the old man wasn’t going to give in until he was satisfied.
“I hear you’re not a fan of the First Order,” she said, changing the subject to put him in the hot seat.
Savi nodded as if finally satisfied by the conversation. “I believe what you’re really asking is if I’m a supporter of the Resistance. My longtime friend Lor San Tekka was a great believer in the Jedi Order, and together we decided it was our calling to help keep the Force in balance. Perhaps it’s not mine to choose others’ paths for them, but I believe in supporting those who are strong in the Force, who are fighting for the same ideals.”
Vi considered how to move forward. On one hand, she was far from any allies and had been specifically assigned to recruit new members for the Resistance. Savi had already identified himself as being in the same camp. On the other hand, directly telling anyone on Batuu that she worked for the Resistance could result in the wrong people finding out and alerting the First Order.
Well, they were going to find out soon, anyway. And there was just something about Savi; all Vi’s instincts told her he could be trusted. As hard as it was for a spy to lay bare her truth, that was the only way to find allies and move forward.
“I’m with the Resistance,” she said, carefully watching his face to see how he would react. “I was sent to this place to build a new Resistance waypoint away from the First Order’s territory. It’s true that I crashed and that my supplies were stolen, and I need to earn credits to buy them back or replace them with something better.”
Savi nodded, a smile playing at his lips. “So you are with the Resistance. And it’s still led by Princess Leia, yes?”
Vi bristled, just the tiniest bit. “General Organa is her formal title.”
The old man chuckled. “Some of us have many names, live many lives. And her brother was Luke Skywalker.”
It wasn’t a question, so Vi didn’t answer it.
“Our allies are in trouble, Savi. We are in trouble. Our greatest hope now is to find footholds to help us regroup and rebuild so that we can continue to fight. General Organa sent me here to do just that.”
Savi clicked his tongue and fussed with a ring on his right hand. “Building something from nothing. A difficult task, even when you have all the resources you require.” He met her gaze, and this time she didn’t only see the old, kind man. She also saw the fierce, strong core of him. “I can hire you. And I can help you find some of the supplies you’ll need to build your refuge. But I need to know that you are trustworthy. This business is called Savi and Sons Salvage, not My First Priority Is My Other Job. When you’re on the clock, you’re working. Not recruiting, not giving speeches, not begging my customers and employees to join your cause. I must protect my livelihood and that of my other scrappers, and we can’t have Oga slamming her fist down on my counter, complaining about one of my people.”
It was a fair enough statement, and Vi nodded.
“I appreciate your position, Savi. I’m a hard worker who knows when to keep her mouth shut. During work hours, I’m a scrapper.” She leaned in and let the strength and tenacity of her own core rage in her eyes. “But outside of work hours, I am my own person. I’ll tell my own truth and collect what allies I may. It’s hard to believe, out here on the edge of nothing, that the First Order could ever destroy your safe little world, but I’ve seen it happen. One day, they’ll land here, too, and you’ll be glad to have us on your side.”
Their eyes locked in a battle of wills so electric that Salju had to clear her throat and inspect an old thruster. Finally, Savi blinked and the crinkles returned around his eyes and mouth.
“The world needs true believers,” he said with a creaky laugh. “After all, I can’t force you into silence.”
The way he said “force” stood out to Vi, but Savi bustled back behind his counter, his former presence replaced with the sort of cheerful friendliness that kept customers in a good mood. “When would you like to start?”
“Day after tomorrow would suit.”
Savi picked up a datapad and typed, all business now. “You’ll start at the scrapyard, on the outskirts of town, near the old post. Do you know it?”
“We’ll pass by there on our way back to her ship,” Salju said.
“Good. Work starts at dawn. Ask for Ylena. She’ll get you on your feet.”
Vi inclined her head. “Thank you. I won’t let you down. May the spires keep you.”
It felt like a promise, using the BSO phrase, like she was becoming part of something good.
Savi returned the small bow and murmured, “And you.”
As she followed Salju toward the market, Vi thought she heard the old man softly say, “And may the Force be with you,” but when she glanced back over her shoulder he was gone.
ON THE WAY OUT OF TOWN, they made one last stop at a supply cart where a scruffy but arrogant Trandoshan named Kasif attempted to sell Vi the newest innovation in self-warming, self-cooling, self-inflating sleeping bags…until Salju got in his face and threatened to raise the price of fuel the next time he came to gas up. Flustered and taken down a notch, Kasif instead brought out a selection of used, lightly ragged sleeping bags that he swore no one had died in.
Now toting Archex’s dinner and a pack with one broken strap and enough room to hold both sleeping bags, Vi was more than ready to get back to the ship and settle in for the night. But Salju suggested that she pick up some fruit, beverages, painkillers, and other necessities from the market stalls, which were still open and lit by lanterns that glowed orange against the purple sky.
Other than Pook’s parts, they hadn’t seen a single case of Vi’s missing cargo, but Salju was certain it would turn up in the next week. She promised to make discreet inquiries with an infamous pirate, Hondo Ohnaka—and warned Vi to stay out of his way, as he would sell his own grandmother for a few credits and would happily alert the First Order if he recognized a wanted spy. Vi wished she had some way to thank the local woman, who had sacrificed an entire day to helping her get around and securing far better deals from the locals than she would’ve won on her own.
As she settled into the landspeeder’s cushy seats, Vi nearly collapsed in relief. Thank the stars she didn’t have to walk back; she was already exhausted. Instead of turning off toward Vi’s camp, however, Salju steered the speeder farther down Savi’s Path. Vi smelled the scrapyard before it came into view—there was nothing else like the smell of thousands of tons of old metal, the oil and fuel baking in the sunlight and leaking into the hard ground all day and now cooling with the evening breezes.
“You’ll enter here.” Salju pointed to a more formal entranceway, and Vi nodded.
It had been a long time since she’d had a job that involved showing up at a certain time each day and doing repetitive work, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it—even if it was necessary and purposeful. She had to remind herself that at least it was better than getting stuck in the belly of a Star Destroyer again with a guy like Archex used to be, back when he’d been Captain Cardinal. There was something to be said for a profession where you had a reasonable expectation of getting to work and back home without any threat to your life.
“Dawn’s going to come real early,” Vi noted, her voice creaking.
Salju laughed and turned the speeder back around. “You’ve had a bit of a day.”
The stars began to peep out from between the leafy boughs overhead as Salju steered the speeder through a landscape merging ancient ruins with giant trees and an understory of tall ferns, all curled up for the night. As they passed through a clearing that contained an unusual circle of angular black stones, Vi leaned back and looked up at the sky, wincing at the pain in her neck, which the painkillers had helped but not eliminated. No matter which planet she was on, she always loved looking up and seeing new stars. Somehow, those tiny white pinpricks always told a new story.
“So where are you from?” Salju asked.
Vi’s spy training made her look at the girl with suspicion, but Salju’s face was as open and curious as that of a child. She would’ve made a terrible spy.
“Chaaktil, originally,” Vi finally said.
“What’s it like? I’ve seen some old star maps, but most of what I know comes from visitors at my filling station, and I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before—of Chaaktil.”
Vi considered it. “Mostly desert. Nothing like here. Going too far away into nature meant you might end up a well-buffed skeleton if a storm came up suddenly. Small cities grew up around deep wells and then became tall cities. We had the best fried palm fruit.”
“What about the animals? I love to hear about new animals.”
“Lots of lizards and dragons. Chaakrabbits and chaakrats. The chaakroaches were as big as my foot, but we just thought of them as free protein with a creamy center.”
Salju shuddered. “Okay, so that might not be on the top of my list of places to visit one day.” She looked away, which wasn’t something she often did. “I’ve always been good with machines. I can fix almost anything. So I figure if things ever go bad here, I’ll just hitch a ride out. I know all the pilots. I keep a list of all the places that sound interesting, so I’ll just pick one and go there.”
The look Vi gave her was half amusement and half pity. “So you’ve never been offplanet?”
“Never.”
The starbird on Vi’s jacket felt warm over her heart. “Well, if you change your mind, the Resistance could use you. If you’re as good with machines as I’m guessing you are—and I know you’re good with people—you’d be an asset to us. You could be a mechanic in the fleet or run tech on one of our bases. And you could see new planets all over the galaxy.”
Salju smiled, her eyes rolling up to the stars as she considered it.
“Thanks for the offer, but this is home,” she finally said. “Black Spire has a way of getting under your skin.”
“Well, just know the offer is always there.”
Considering the way the girl kept staring up at the
stars with twinkling eyes, Vi realized that Salju represented her main challenge on Batuu: How could she convince normal, everyday people—good people—to give up their comfort and safety to stand up against evil? Vi had seen firsthand what the First Order could do. She had tended to refugees and comforted orphaned children and nursed burns and buried bodies. To her, the Resistance was the only choice. To Salju and her neighbors, it wasn’t a choice at all, but something other people threw themselves into—fools and heroes. Vi didn’t consider herself either one—just a person who had already drawn her line in the sand.
It was full dark by the time they returned to the clearing, the speeder’s headlights flashing on bounding dugar dugar and violet-scaled lahiroo as they fled into the trees. Firelight flickered past the thick trunks up ahead, and Vi smelled roasting meat. Her estimation of Archex went up a notch. Salju called out, “Rising moons, friends!” and Pook powered up and complained about it, muttering, “All living things should come with built-in volume control.”
Archex rose from one of two logs he’d dragged near the fire. He looked like something a gundark had eaten and spit back out, and his exhaustion and pain showed in every line of his face, but he was smiling.
“Hope the local birds aren’t poisonous,” he said, pointing to several plump forms roasting on cleaned sticks over the fire. He was both sheepish and proud about his accomplishment and reminded Vi of a little boy who’d just proven himself capable of a new skill. Not that she would ever say something like that out loud to him.
“So I guess that means you don’t want a precooked meal?” Vi grinned as she extricated herself from the speeder and dangled the bag in front of him.
He greedily snatched it up and opened it, inhaling the aroma of roasted ronto with eyes closed. “Oh, I’ll take a real meal over half-raw, half-charred fowl any day.”
Salju knelt by the fire to inspect his work. “They were indigo and gray with white stars on their chests, right?” When Archex nodded, she said, “They’re called starmarks. And they taste a lot better with salt and spices. Definitely not poisonous.”
Galaxy's Edge Page 7