That was the annoying thing about gangsters—everything was always on their terms.
The stars were beautiful here, at least, and the scurryings in the forest didn’t sound dangerous. A dugar dugar, a slender, deerlike creature with long, silky fur the color of mushrooms, watched her for a moment before springing madly away, and night birds cooed and burbled to one another across the canopy. Vi hadn’t asked exactly where the ruins were, but she hoped they were closer to the outpost, as the camp they’d made where their ship had just so happened to crash was too far away to be convenient. The protected caverns would serve many purposes, but the Resistance would benefit from a smaller setup near town where ships could land and take off quickly. That would also be valuable if the First Order showed up—maybe they would focus their fire on the smaller spot and ignore the more hidden and protected command center.
Fire flickered between stark black tree trunks as she approached their camp. Archex was slumped against a log, asleep with his arms crossed and his legs stretched out in front of him. Had he tried to wait up for her? The poor guy. There were purple hollows under his eyes, suggesting he was in pain and not getting enough rest, or maybe he’d been pushing himself too hard. A bird carcass had blackened on a spit over the fire, but Oga’s clamfruit had dried up any appetite Vi might’ve had for a late-night snack.
She put a hand on Archex’s shoulder and murmured, “I’m back.”
He startled awake, his eyes wide, and jerked as if about to execute some well-programmed defensive movement that was beyond his body’s current abilities.
“She’s back,” Pook echoed mournfully. “And thus does my torment continue.”
“You could’ve told me sooner!” Archex barked, grimacing as he pulled himself to standing and rubbed feeling back into his leg. He cleared his throat and tried to look as if he hadn’t been caught in a moment of complete vulnerability and wasn’t a total mess. “How was work?”
“Functional and not nearly as bad as I’d expected. It’s not going to pay well, but I’ll definitely have a good chance at salvaging some scrap to help build out our site. There was this one old turret that looked like it would be useful.”
“You were treated well?”
Vi smiled fondly at his drive to protect her. Even when Captain Cardinal had been in the middle of threatening and interrogating her back on the Absolution, he’d still felt responsible for…well, maybe not her health and safety, but he’d brought her food and water, which is more than what most victims received from their torturers. After all, he’d spent years looking after children, so it was natural that he would consider the needs of those in his charge. And now Archex was concerned that her new boss might mistreat her. He was also probably feeling guilty that he couldn’t work in town and pull his own weight, she reasoned.
“I was treated surprisingly well. The scrappers are like a family, and the man who owns the salvage yard is…” How to describe Savi? “He’s got this tranquility to him. Almost spiritual. Not at all the kind of person I’d imagine running that sort of business. He even supplies lunch for his workers. I’ll get you a sandwich next time we’re in town.”
But then Archex’s face went…stern. Almost like a disappointed father. “Then why were you out so late?”
Vi sat on her sleeping bag, which Archex had arranged for her by the fire. She took off her wig, fluffed her hair, and tugged off her boots and socks, then kindly shoved her feet home in the bag before Archex had to smell them. It had been a long day.
“The scrappers invited me out to the cantina, so I went. I wanted to get to know them, be liked, find out about this place and whether I might have any chance of recruiting them.”
“And?”
Vi settled down and told him everything. His reactions were almost comical—outrage at Rusko’s ham-handed kidnapping attempt and fury with how Oga had treated Vi.
“Been a long time since you lived in a lawless city, hasn’t it?” she said.
Archex exhaled a long sigh and went silent for a moment before saying, “I’ve never lived in a city. Or at least, not as a citizen. More as a junk rat. Never been part of an actual community.”
“But surely there was a boss in your…where you lived as a kid? Because any place with more than twenty sentient beings gathered together in this galaxy has either a boss or a government. And the governments are growing increasingly rare.”
She could sense him fighting internally. Leia had told Vi that part of his deprogramming was about teaching Archex that the first voice he heard in his head was what he’d been taught by the First Order, by their propaganda and whatever they’d drilled into him for the past twenty years. But if he went quiet and listened hard, there would often be a second voice that was closer to his real feelings, closer to the heart of who he truly was.
“It’s not right, a place like this being lorded over by a boss, by some random bully,” he finally growled. Then he took a deep breath. “But that’s their choice. People who don’t like it can live elsewhere, pick a place with more order.” His head fell forward. “And either way, no one can stop what happened to the Hosnian system. Not a boss, not a government. There’s never going to be a perfect sense of order.” He looked up. “Does this Oga seem like a good leader to you?”
Vi considered it carefully, as he had considered his words. “She’s fairer than plenty of others I’ve met. Genuinely cares about this place. Not sure if she cares about the people as individuals or if it’s more like…they’re valuable animals in her care. But she’s fiercely protective of them, at least. And Black Spire Outpost is prospering, even if its ruler is a little unsavory. I didn’t see anybody starving or begging or sick. You ever seen a cantina with rules by the front door?” Before he could answer, she smoothly continued. “Never mind. You’ve never been to a cantina.”
Stiffly, he said, “Not recreationally, no, unless you count the officers’ mess on the Absolution.” Then, softly, “What’s it like?”
Vi’s eyes blinked closed, and she nestled down into her sleeping bag. “I’ll take you there soon,” she promised. “For now, let’s just sleep. I’ve got a lot of scrapping to do tomorrow.”
He settled down, too, trying to hide his grimace. “And I’ll be scouting for mushrooms and berries and doing my exercises. I found some tarine bushes today and gathered leaves for tea.”
“Tea’s nice,” Vi murmured, which was a lie. She hated tarine tea.
She had to find something for him to do, fast. He was a man who needed a job. Without one, he would only continue to wither away. And she’d forgotten to buy the pot, spices, and oil she’d promised, too.
Leia had called her a leader. But Vi was beginning to think that for once Leia was wrong.
* * *
—
The next morning, Vi repeated her ritual: She woke up at first dawn, washed at the cenote, and was soon sitting on a box as she sorted through Savi’s junk. The scrappers didn’t mention her recruitment effort at the cantina and neither did Vi, although she noticed that Lin and Fenda kept their distance. She wanted to get comfortable with her fellow Gatherers again, so she avoided bringing up anything about the Resistance or the galaxy beyond Batuu. She also didn’t mention her upcoming job for Oga and all that was riding on it. She did inquire about her day off, though, as she didn’t want to wait too long. After all, Oga could always send someone else, and then Vi’s cargo would get sold out from under her.
As they worked, Ylena told her some of the town gossip, like how Mubo had a crush on Bina, the fiercely independent Amani who lovingly ran the Creature Stall, or how Zabaka the Toydarian toymaker all but worshipped Oga, or how Hiro the Hutt was the reason Oga didn’t allow monkey-lizards in her cantina.
“And watch out for Dok-Ondar,” Ylena said quietly. “The Ithorian who runs the antiquities shop. He’s been here longer than Oga, and he’s ruthless. If you get on his bad side, what
the locals call the Doklist, your days are numbered.”
“You don’t think any of my cargo would be in his shop?” Vi asked her.
Ylena shook her head. “Not unless it’s old and esoteric and strange. He likes things that are rare and valuable.”
Vi put two and two together. “So you’re in competition with him,” she said softly.
Ylena gave her a sharp look. “You see through to the quick of things, don’t you? Yes, you could say Dok and Savi have similar interests, although Dok is more focused on black-market treasures and Savi is looking for historical objects of religious or spiritual value. It’s almost a gentleman’s game between them. Much respect. But such things aren’t generally known outside these walls.”
Sometime after lunch, Vi found something curious—a sort of strange box that looked like it was made of crystal.
“I assume this goes in the artifact bin?” she asked Ylena, enjoying the solid heft of the thing in her hands. It looked artisan-made and old, and something about it was just very pleasing.
Ylena looked up as she had countless other times when Vi wasn’t sure whether to save or toss something—it was all part of the learning curve, and Ylena had been very patient. But this time, she gasped and put a hand to her chest.
“May I?” she asked.
Vi put the object into her hands and would’ve sworn it gave a soft pulse of…well, not light. Maybe a glow.
“What is it?”
Ylena’s smile held an answering glow. “I’m not sure, but Savi will be glad to see it. And we’ll be sure to let him know it was you who found it. Where was it?”
“Over here in this old trunk. Looks like it got shipwrecked maybe. And a little bit burned.” Vi pointed to the object in question. She’d expected to find some old toothpaste and maybe some moth-eaten clothes within, but all she’d found was the multisided crystal, tucked into a nest of dried grass.
Ylena handed the object to Vi as if it were a delicate egg and explored every atom of the trunk, pulling out all the grass and running her fingers over the wood and hinges.
“Beautiful,” she murmured. “Ancient. All handmade. See the hammer marks on the clasp?”
“Definitely seems old.”
Vi stood and stretched and admired the chest, which didn’t hold the same allure for her. She’d never been the sort to attach to antiques. She enjoyed the look and touch of bespoke items or handmade things like the shawls in Arta’s shop or her own admittedly hideous knitted hat, but an old trunk? Not her style. The Resistance was beleaguered by old junk. Still, Ylena seemed delighted, which in turn made Vi happy. They lifted the trunk onto Ylena’s cart and rolled it over to the sorting bins. Ylena took the crystalline object into the shed and returned without it—and locked the door behind her with a key Vi hadn’t noticed before, which hung on a cord around her neck.
The next morning, when Vi arrived at work, Ylena was smiling that dimpled smile.
“Savi was glad for the artifact you found yesterday,” she told Vi. “It’s very valuable indeed.”
Vi knew well enough that as a scrapper, she had no hold over the objects she found—everything here belonged to Savi. But it was always a nice feeling, knowing the boss was happy with her service.
She nodded. “I’m glad.”
“He thought you might find this useful.” Ylena gestured to a large—and very familiar—crate.
Vi knelt and unbuckled it to reveal neat coils of power cables. She swallowed down a lump in her throat. “This isn’t salvage,” she said.
“Well, some things end up in the right hands at the right time. We Gatherers take care of one another.”
Vi closed the case and stood. “Can I hug you? Because I don’t know if you know how much this means to me. To the Resistance.”
Ylena held out her arms, and Vi briefly relished the human contact. Ylena felt almost like a mother figure, for all that she was only maybe ten years older than Vi. The woman smelled like the scrapyard, but also like herbs and flowers. Vi was suddenly aware that her only bathing experiences since crash-landing on Batuu had been with nothing but water. As soon as she’d received her pay, she would need to buy some personal care basics to avoid running everyone off before she could get around to recruiting them.
They stepped back and got to work, and that night, Ylena let Vi borrow her work cart to tow the power cords back to camp. Vi recognized that it was a kindness—and a test. The next day was her day off. She could use the cart as needed—but she was expected to return it in good working condition on the next workday.
Vi’s step was sprightly as she neared camp well before dark, pulling a case of valuable cables that they would need to power their facility, once they had one. She’d worried that Oga’s minions would sell them separately or otherwise make them harder to track, but here they were, all tidy and accounted for. Archex was pleased but just as confused about…well, just society in general.
“This Savi just gave them to you? Thousands of credits’ worth of power cords? Just like that?”
Vi shrugged. “I didn’t even have to ask. The case was just there, like a gift. Whatever that artifact I found yesterday was, it must’ve been very important. And valuable. Oh, and I got paid.” She held up a credit chip. “So tomorrow, I’ll be running Oga’s errand, but I can pick up a few basics in town, if you need anything besides the cooking supplies?”
“I’m fine,” he said, and she almost laughed at his stoic frown.
“Well, I bet you’d be better with some soap and deodorant, and maybe a shaving kit. You’re getting a bit scruffy.”
Archex rubbed his stubble and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t complain about that. The cenote is better than nothing, but…let’s just say I got accustomed to having a private shower on a Star Destroyer.”
“I do not have scent receptors, but I am certain you are both one step away from acquiring a skin disease,” Pook observed. With nothing to do and no power droid to charge him, Pook spent most of his time turned off, but Vi wasn’t surprised to see that he had chosen to wake himself up just to insult them in the most woeful way possible.
“Chin up, Pook. I’m going to fetch this ancient Batuu artifact, get on Oga’s good side, and win back our supplies. And maybe even find a better spot for our facility. I have a good feeling about this.”
“I don’t have a chin,” the droid said. “Nor do I have feelings. Good night.” His lights went out as he powered down.
“Till the spire,” Vi responded, realizing that she was starting to use the local jargon without having to think about it. And she was starting to crave Cookie’s food again, too. “Oh! And after my trip, I’ll bring you one of those sandwiches.”
Archex looked up, and it took her a minute to read his expression. Was it…wounded?
No. Reproachful.
“Oh, no. You ran out of food today, didn’t you?”
His smile was sad. “I ate what was left over from yesterday. Couldn’t shoot any birds. I guess I already got all the dumb ones in our area, or maybe the smart ones spread the word. The mushrooms melted off the spit, and roots are no good without spices or a pot to cook them in, and the berry bushes are picked clean, and the tea leaves have to dry. My leg hurt too much to wander too far, so…it was a hungry day. I’ll survive. I’ve done worse.” He gave her a brave smile…but then his stomach growled.
Vi stood, testing her own pain and energy levels, which weren’t too bad—not as bad as listening to his stomach grumble all night and beating herself up over it. “Looks like I’m headed into town, then,” she said. “It’s my job to keep you fed, and I messed up. Should take about an hour.” Ignoring her exhaustion, she gave him a nod and started walking.
“Sir?”
Vi stopped. “Yeah?”
“Requesting permission to come with.”
When she turned to l
ook at him, he’d pushed himself off the transport and was doing his best to stand tall and look capable and strong. To be fair, he was mostly pulling it off, for all that she knew that if she kicked his bad leg he would topple over in obscene amounts of pain.
“It’s a twenty-minute walk. Your leg and lung won’t thank you. There’s clambering.”
A sort of desperation flashed in his eyes. “I’m going crazy out here, alone with my thoughts. Nothing to do, alone. It’s too quiet. Please. Let me try.”
Vi considered it. He was accustomed to being surrounded by thousands of people in a Star Destroyer, and now here he was, resigned to a quiet forest. He didn’t even have calm Cerean soul guides and interpretive dance to rail against. No wonder it was driving him mad. As much as his leg hurt, the pain would be worth it to him, if it meant something to do besides wait. She sighed and jerked her chin at the path to town. “Come on, then.”
She slowed her walk to keep pace with him, and in turn he sped up, although it left him breathing heavily and nearly staggering. At first, they were silent, but Vi could tell Archex wanted to talk.
“You got anything in particular you want to do in town?” she asked.
“Well, I…” He trailed off before pulling something out of his cargo pocket. When Vi slowed to look, she saw two small carvings: a convor and a frog dog. They were charming and well made with personalities all their own. “You said there was a toy shop, right? Do you think whoever runs it might have a use for this sort of thing?”
Vi stopped to give him her full attention and considered the figurines. “Salju said the toy shop was run by a Toydarian named Zabaka. I haven’t been in to meet her, but we can ask.”
Archex shoved the toys back in his pocket and began walking again, brisk but with a limp. She matched his pace and struggled for something to say. He was so earnest but so naïve. So broken but trying so hard. She didn’t want to patronize him, but she sensed that any sort of compliment or acknowledgment would bring his walls up. So she did what a spy did best: She got sneaky.
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