Galaxy's Edge

by Delilah S. Dawson

When she found her med kit, she knew that was the one thing she couldn’t leave behind. It was expensive, but at least it hadn’t been damaged or broken up. When she handed over five credits for her own knitting bag and two for her bantha-yarn hat, her teeth were clenched so hard together she couldn’t even be polite to the merchant.

  “Is that the wisest use of General Organa’s credits?” Pook asked.

  “First of all,” Vi ground out, slow and deadly, “those were my credits. Second of all, if you keep making me angry, I’ll sell you. And third of all, knitting helps me relax!”

  In typical droid fashion, Pook didn’t absorb the threat, saying only, “I do suspect I would fetch a very high price, considering the overall quality of the goods on this planet.”

  On their way out of town, Vi stopped in Savi’s workshop. Not only because perhaps some of her goods had been sold to him as scrap, but also because she suspected the older man’s quiet goodwill might serve as a balm after the stress of her day. He reminded her of ascetics she’d met before, people who lived on a more spiritual level and radiated contentment. Nearly alone on this rock, far from her fellow believers in the cause and from safety, she was sure just a few minutes of borrowed calm would be most welcome.

  Savi’s workers sent her out into the sales yard, where Savi was prying apart a crashed shuttle with the strength of a much younger man.

  “Bright suns!” Vi called.

  Savi shielded his eyes and smiled. “Bright suns, and welcome back! Tomorrow is your first day at the scrapyard, is it not? I told Ylena to expect you.”

  “It is,” she acknowledged. “But I’ve noticed several of my belongings appearing around town today with rather a high price point, and I was wondering if perhaps you’d taken on any new scrap? Especially if it was sold by Oga’s minions?”

  Savi wiped his hands on his apron and gave her a measuring look. “I buy from Oga when Oga tells me I must. I’ll sort through the latest load today and see if anything looks like it might serve your needs. But I hear the rage and resentment in your voice, and I must warn you: You don’t want to be heard speaking out against Oga. The walls of the outpost have ears. I wouldn’t tangle with her, if I were you.”

  Vi huffed. “I’m not tangling. I’m just trying to get my stuff back at reasonable prices.”

  He shook his head and went back to the shuttle. “Sometimes good work must be done quietly. You’ll fare better if you stay off Oga’s scanners.”

  Vi struggled to hold her tongue. This man was now her boss, and judging by what she’d seen around town, it was the best and most fair job offer she was going to get. She didn’t want to make him mad. She couldn’t make him mad.

  “I’ll try to behave,” she finally said.

  Savi smiled. “That’s wise. Perhaps you’ll have the better hand tomorrow.”

  “And you,” Vi murmured.

  She and Pook headed back to their clearing, but when they arrived, the camp was unnaturally silent and still. Archex was nowhere to be found.

  “ARCHEX!” VI SHOUTED “DID THAT PREDATOR eat you?”

  And that’s how she knew she was really worried: She was making jokes.

  After several moments of fruitless yelling as she hunted for any sign of him, she headed back for the shuttle, muttering, “My first week’s pay is going toward a cheap set of comlinks. Or maybe one of those bells people put on their pet tookas.”

  Although there were no signs of struggle and no splatters of blood, she knew that Archex was in no condition to fight effectively, not with his damaged lung and leg and the added injuries from the crash. She sat down on the log, bolted up, paced around, yelled his name some more.

  Every single thing about this mission had gone wrong. She couldn’t even pay someone in town to borrow a long-range comm and let General Organa know that she’d lost all the Resistance supplies…as well as the wounded former First Order officer she’d been tasked with training and babysitting. If anyone else knew Leia’s location or had the codes to reach her, they could sell that intel to the First Order for more than the entire planet was worth. That was the problem with being on the edge of the frontier: Sure, it was a great place to hide out, but you were pretty much alone when you were the one who needed help.

  Sitting around wasn’t going to bring Archex back from wherever he’d gone—or been kidnapped to—and no matter how carefully she looked, she couldn’t find a trail. The forest understory wasn’t the sort of environment that allowed broken twigs or showed footprints in mud; the leaf litter was high, puffy, and dry, as the canopy overhead soaked up most of the rain.

  “Any ideas, Pook?” she asked.

  The droid looked around. “My extensive programming doesn’t include tracking. Would you like me to tell you the odds of Archex still being alive?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Pook looked away. “Such a waste of my talents.”

  And it was annoying but true. They should’ve been unloading all their cargo and beginning to build their facility. They had brought enough materials to construct a proper shelter with barracks for six, a comm room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. But now Pook had nothing to do, and Vi had…well, the wrong things to do.

  She was angrily knitting a scarf out of leftover bantha yarn when she heard a twig crack. When she looked up, blaster pointed, she found Archex standing there, his jacket bulging out and supported by his arms.

  “And where have you been?” she snapped.

  He raised an eyebrow at the blaster, which she lowered. “Out scouting. Wasn’t sure if this was the best place to start building the encampment.”

  “I assumed—”

  “That I was stupid enough to get eaten or stupid enough to get ambushed or stupid enough to try to run—I mean hobble—off?”

  She shrugged. “One of those.”

  “Well, I’m not. Before I received my post on the Absolution, I did my required tours of duty. Scouting, recon, building a base, all that. I thought you’d be gone longer, is all.”

  “You just need to be careful. Did you take your weapon?”

  He glared at her. “Of course I took my weapon. I’m a soldier—was a soldier—and before that I was a desert rat. Self-defense is always on my mind. I know your general sent me to Cerea to get deprogrammed, but you know they didn’t magically transform me into an idiot, right?”

  She shrugged and rammed the blaster home in her holster. “I hoped so. But you’ve got to remember: I’m a soldier, too. And I look out for the people in my care. That’s my job.”

  “And my job is supporting you and, I guess, feeding you, so you’ll be glad to know I found a healthy patch of cloud mushrooms and some wild shi-root.” He unzipped his jacket, and a treasure trove of vegetables thunked to the ground. The look he gave her—it was a pitiable mix of pride and desperation. Even after all that he’d been through with the First Order, he still just wanted to do a good job and please his superiors.

  “Looks good,” she told him with a grin. “Can’t wait to roast those bad boys tomorrow. I’ll see if I can pick up some spices and a pot, next time I’m in town.”

  “And some oil.”

  “And some oil,” she agreed.

  Archex nodded, satisfied, and Vi watched him limp to the other log and sit down, putting his bad leg out in front and forcefully massaging his thigh.

  “The more you walk, the more it hurts, huh?”

  He glared his annoyance. “Obviously.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to make the walk into town every day, then. It involves some hills and a little bit of clambering.”

  His head hung. “Clambering is not currently one of my skills. But I can still scout around and forage for food.”

  “But not too much,” Vi warned. “Painkillers dull the pain that would tell you if you’re overdoing it. Kalonia said it would take time to heal. Pushin
g too hard could do more harm.”

  The way he looked at the ground and worked his jaw told Vi that the pain was even worse than he was letting on. “Yes, fine, not too much.”

  She shook her head, feeling a wash of sympathy. “You just can’t stand not being useful, can you, Archex?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not the only one.”

  Vi jerked her chin at Pook. “Pook, go look at his leg. Make sure nothing’s broken or…worse.”

  Without complaining, the droid did his duty, from which Vi could only extrapolate that even Pook just needed something to do.

  Fine. They all did.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, Vi again rose at dawn, but this time with that itchy feeling that meant she was worried about being late. She visited the cenote to bathe, made a mental note that she would need to either wash her clothes soon or buy another outfit as well as a towel, and headed for Savi’s scrapyard. She didn’t give Archex any orders or warnings on her way out—she just met his eyes and nodded. He’d been right, yesterday: She’d assumed the worst of him. Vi knew well enough that he was competent and intelligent, and she believed that he was also loyal and noble, and if a rancor ate him—well, then she’d know there was a rancor in the area.

  She felt better today, at least. Armed with the med kit, Pook had worked his magic last night. Her neck was nearly functional now thanks to his care, although his bedside manner left much to be desired. Walking helped further loosen up her muscles, and she felt confident that she could do whatever work Savi’s people would require of her. Her build didn’t suggest that she was equipped for heavy lifting, but Salju had recommended her and Savi had accepted her, so surely she wouldn’t just be carrying heavy fuel pods around with a bunch of Gamorreans.

  The suns rose prettily over the stone walls of the junkyard, and the gates were thrown open, almost welcoming. Already bodies and machines moved around inside, with cranes swinging and welders welding. It reminded her a little of the Resistance airfield on D’Qar, and she felt a brief pang of loss. There was no way she could’ve built a facility that big and complex, even before all her supplies had been stolen. She’d have to figure out a way to report to Leia soon without having the call traced, but it could wait until she had reclaimed some of the Resistance’s much-needed cargo and some good news.

  As Vi scanned her new workplace, a woman waved from across the yard and hurried over when Vi waved back. “You must be Vi. Bright suns! I’m Ylena. Welcome to Savi and Sons.”

  Ylena was the complete opposite of what Vi had expected to find here. Not a Gamorrean or Besalisk or Trandoshan, the usual tough sort of muscle, Ylena was a slight human woman in her forties with pale skin and pink cheeks. Her head was covered in a scarf the soft green of lichen, and she wore a long leather vest over a scavenger’s thick clothing and gloves. For all that she was dressed for rough work, there was a gentle air about the woman, and Vi couldn’t figure out why someone like Ylena might’ve woken up one day and decided to work in a scrapyard.

  “That’s me. Bright suns to you, too, Ylena,” Vi replied with a smile.

  “Let me show you around the yard.” Ylena began walking, and Vi caught up. “What kind of experience do you have? We always try to match people to work they will find fulfilling.”

  “Um, well.” Vi had to think about it. She’d expected to be put immediately to work on the lowest rung, ripping rusted seats out of wrecked junkers, not thoughtfully interviewed by a calm but confident woman. “I have experience scouting, flying, doing maintenance. Never done any mechanic’s work and can’t run a blowtorch, but I’m a quick study.” She paused; Vi hated admitting any sort of weakness. “Gotta be honest—I took some damage when my ship crashed, so I probably can’t do a ton of heavy lifting just now.”

  Ylena laughed. “Heavy lifting isn’t required. We have droids and cranes for that. Do you have sharp eyes?”

  “I do.”

  “And your scouting—do you have any experience with expeditions?”

  Vi chuckled, thinking back to her time on Parnassos—and other places still considered classified. “Oh, yes. I’ve been to plenty of inhospitable planets, looking for prizes large and small.”

  Ylena grinned. “Then I think I’ll be selfish and keep you with me, among the Gatherers. I head the team that sorts through new acquisitions.” She pointed to one corner of the junkyard, where old, rusted starhoppers and transports were piled near several cranes. It reminded Vi of tall birds standing over their nest. “That’s where all the junked ships begin their processing. One team basically shakes them until anything small falls out. Promising ships are rebuilt over there.” She pointed to another corner, where the ships sat up properly and a crew of humanoids hurried to and fro with tanks and toolkits. “Hopeless cases are torn apart over there.” She pointed to the third corner, where the skeletons of ships were sadly tumbled together. “And over here is our domain.”

  Ylena stopped before a veritable mountain range of garbage. Not the smelly kind—not really. Just…so much stuff. Vi could see rusty metal, ripped tires, broken crates, a hairbrush, a cage that had once held some small animal. Several people of various species squatted or sat among the mounds of junk, wearing wide, conical hats and keeping up a pleasant conversation and exclaiming as they tossed items into wheeled baskets. One woman was in a hoverchair that looked like it had been cobbled together out of scraps—and souped up by Mubo, judging by its smooth controls.

  “We sort through everything by hand, separating out small tech, personal items, artifacts, and other valuable objects from trash. The wheat from the chaff. And sometimes, every now and then, we find treasure.”

  Vi raised an eyebrow. “Treasure?”

  Ylena inclined her head coyly. “Every now and then. We go through a scanner on the way home to make sure no one is trying to scam the boss. It doesn’t happen often, though. Savi has this uncanny way of avoiding the bad eggs. Come on. Let’s get you set up.”

  Ylena took Vi to a small shed where she was assigned a pair of sturdy leather gloves and a rolling cart fitted with a basket. She slid the gloves on and frowned.

  “Do they not fit?” Ylena asked.

  “Not like my old ones did. I had a great pair of gloves,” Vi told her. “But the people who ransacked my ship took everything. Just…everything.”

  Ylena put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes more deeply than most strangers would. But it didn’t make Vi feel uncomfortable—it made her feel seen, like she mattered.

  “Sometimes the Force challenges us,” the older woman said. “And we don’t find out until later why we had to suffer. Every setback contains hidden blessings.”

  Vi’s head jerked up. First Savi, and now Ylena. Outside of Leia’s circles, most common folk thought the Force was just an old myth or a bunch of fairy-tale nonsense.

  “Did you just say…the Force?”

  Ylena had a knowing, impish look in her eye. “Just because a planet is far from the center of the galaxy doesn’t mean everyone there is ignorant of the conflicts happening beyond and the forces that tie us all together.”

  “So you’re a believer, then.” And something about Ylena did remind Vi a bit of Leia, of her calm confidence and surety.

  “Let’s just say I know that all things happen for a reason. Maybe you were supposed to join us. Are you ready to see how salvaging suits you?”

  Vi gave a confident nod and followed Ylena out into the yard. Friendly conversation was over, and her orientation began. She and Ylena pulled their carts to a promising section of the junk heap, and Ylena showed Vi how each day’s area was assigned so that no part of the yard ever sat too long, risking damage to valuable finds. Vi went into learning mode, absorbing everything the older woman taught her about deciding what was dross, what held possibilities, and what might be considered treasure. Ylena kept mentioning arti
facts, so often that Vi had to ask her, “What exactly do you mean by artifacts?”

  Ylena considered her. “There are items of value from everyday life, things that can be sold secondhand to help others. There are sometimes items of great value, pieces of jewelry or recent tech that bring in plenty of spira. But sometimes, as you sift through the wreckage of time, you find objects of great power. Crystals, statues, artworks, even books.” She gave Vi a significant look.

  That earned a raised eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re talking about Jedi artifacts.”

  A dimple played at the corner of Ylena’s mouth. “Does it? There are many religions and many cultures in the galaxy, and each of them offers something sacred, some greater connection. We hope to preserve such items rather than see them pass from history.”

  Vi pursed her lips. “And, what? Sell them to the highest bidder?”

  At that, Ylena snorted. “Oh, no. We also don’t want to see such treasures pass into the wrong hands. If we merely wanted money, we could trade any antiquities to Dok-Ondar in the outpost. But Savi understands that there is honor in catching artifacts like pearls in his net and holding them safe from those who might abuse them. In saving them for the right person or moment in time.”

  “That’s a lot of words to say, ‘Just trust me.’ ”

  “Then just trust me. More accurately, trust us. Such artifacts don’t turn up every day, but it’s important that you know what to look for. It’s always better to err on the side of caution.” Ylena held up a bobbing-head doll. “Even something as silly as this could be a hiding place for an object of value. If something looks like the kind of trash you would overlook but that could contain a kernel of power…” She shook the doll and grinned when it rattled. With a fierce motion, she popped its head off its neck, then sliced the neck off with a small knife she wore on a belt at her waist. When she dumped it upside down, all that came out were some rusted metal springs.

  “No prize this time,” Vi said for her.

  Ylena nodded knowingly. “But once every thousand tries…there is. I assume you have a knife?”