Chapter Text
It was raining. In the early morning light the clouds looked like charcoal, and the movement of water flashed under the streetlights, turning brilliant white as it collided into deep puddles in the streets, traversing in places down gutters and storm drains. Steadily it drummed on all the rooftops, bounced off speeder shells and sidewalks, plunged into the River Hyum, which was predicted to swell three times the size it was now before the peak of monsoon season arrived on the calendar.
Komiqo’s capital was a drum the heavens beat down on. With weather like this, hardly anyone was outside. In the trading districts, the midnight shift warehouse workers were taking a dinner break, not expecting relief for another few hours. A woman made tea while she waited for her shower water to heat up. Pleasure district workers, tired or drunk, shambling or stumbling, their various pockets full of money made in the night before, closed their doors on the downpour. Further inland, the Royal Guard patrolled their various walls and corridors, turning a blind eye toward the oldest daughter, smattered with glitter, sleeping her drinks off in a chair outside her rooms.
A father gathered a full trash bag from its can and carried it to the doorway. He checked the time, decided to let his two sons sleep a bit longer, then stepped out, the glossed palms dripping streams of rain onto his shoulders. He lowered the bag into the bin on the curbside, then took a moment, the way he did every morning, to look down his street. Rainboots sat outside every door, the water in the gutters were small creeks that carried stray leaves toward the river. Later today, after school, his boys would take butcher paper and make boats to race down the street. He rubbed some water off his brow, rested his hands on his hips, and looked up at the clouds as though he could gauge how long the storms would last.
What he wasn’t expecting was to see the bottoms of ships descending from the sky, ominous and oddly fitting with the weather, black arrowheads pocked against the cloud cover. He watched solemnly, raindrops catching in his eyelashes, as a squad of five craft broke away from one of the ships and shot south toward the Royal Palace, though my nothing in ordinary of it, and started back inside. You could hardly tell the difference between the thunder and the bombs.
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How many years was it now? A little over three? Savita hadn’t really minded not keeping track. She laid in bed, the datapad balanced on the bottom of her rib cage, and let a huge breath go, blowing it out toward the ceiling. Then she pressed her lips back together, let the datapad fall screen down against her chest.
This was great news. Toritomo was dead. He was fucking dead! Which meant no more dancing in clubs for him and his friends, wearing little pieces of lace. No more smoking his gross hookah. No more gunrunning. Never again would she say something she thought was fine only to find herself against a wall, his hands squeezing her jaw and her neck and his eyes aflame with fury as he shouted her down. He’d never touch her again because he was dead, and what was better, he’d been eaten by a rathtar.
What poetic justice! Savita could’ve squealed she was so...what was this? Relief? Happiness? She was almost afraid to feel either.
It didn’t matter.
As far as she was concerned, her duties to Kanjiklub were fulfilled. She lifted the datapad to activate the message again, from Razoo, no less, who she was sure was shedding precisely zero tears about the situation.
“Savita,” he couldn’t even be bothered with a proper hologram. “It’s me. Tasu and I got back from the mission a few hours ago and I thought maybe you’d want to hear it from me. Tori didn’t make it. Solo released the rathtars before we could collect our debt and they wiped us out. Took everyone. We had to leave and regroup, it should be a couple of days before we’re back. Don’t be there when we do.” He paused like he wanted to say something else, but reached out to switch off the camera. The screen defaulted and brought her back to her notifications page. She played it again.
“Don’t be there when we do,” she repeated his farewell under her breath when he said it, then pressed pause, searching the screen for a hint of remorse, attachment, anything. Finally she tossed it to the side and sat up. If they wanted her gone, she didn’t need to be told twice.
Savita started packing. Her things were in small fractions of Tori’s room, a small sliver of closet space for her clothes, some space under her side of the bed for her shoes, a shelf of makeup and hygiene items, carefully crammed together. She left almost all of it. The eyeshadows were cheap and the clothes the airy sorts of things that showed more than they covered, meant to keep ogling eyes on her while Tori and the rest of the Kanjiklubbers did their dirty work. And after each job, Tori would tear it all off.
Her whole body tensed up thinking about it. Phantom pains of his rough treatment came back all at once, the squeezing, the clawing, the pulling, and she slammed the closet closed with the memories.
He was dead. He wouldn’t touch her anymore. He couldn’t. That was ridiculous.
And yet…
No. No more. She opened it again, choosing her more sensible clothes.
Sturdy cargo pants, some shirts and a jacket, scarves, gloves, boots, thick socks-these were the things she took. A toothbrush from the bathroom.
Savita reached under a panel and pushed a switch, opening Tori's secret weapon rack, the one not even Tasu knew about. Big blasters, little ones, in-between sizes, knives, all of it bought with Tori’s personal earnings, and none of it would be missed. She took it all. A lot of these were worth money somewhere, she reasoned, settling them neatly into their own bag. Whatever she didn’t keep she’d sell for credits. Which reminded her…
Perhaps the most significant item she was taking was the 50,000 in the false panel under the headboard. It was a glossy card in a little wooden box, which dropped neatly into her waiting hand. Again, nothing that would be missed. This was the missing 50,000 from the rathtar job, which Han Solo, whoever he was, had paid back to Tori himself.
“I have something to show you, Vita,” Tori had told her as she straddled his hips. His fingers pressed into her thighs, then his touch was gone, reachingbehind him into the headboard. “Close your eyes, hold out your hands.”
She had done so, turning over her hands on his naked chest. The card had been warm, the metal oddly heavy for something so thin and tiny. She hadn’t realised what it was until he told her, jubilantly, proudly, as though he’d earned those credits himself. She was rendered speechless. When was the last time she’d held something this valuable? Her last life, perhaps.
“There’s just a few loose ends to tie up,” he explained before she could declare her feelings. He snatched it from her caramel palms, put it away. Savita went back to running her fingertips over his smooth pectorals, the way he liked it. He didn’t like it when she was rough...nor did he like it when she protested what he did. “Two missions left to really cover it all up. And then, my lovely Vita, we will be free. We can go wherever we want. We could buy a ship with that money.”
It was precisely what she planned to do with it. She made the bed, her final act of servitude to Toritomo, and then, with her things packed in bags slung across her shoulders, left a life behind once more.
One public shuttle flight to Corellia later and her boots were on the airtight lot of a shipyard, orbiting the planet itself. She’d heard stories about it, agricultural green lands everywhere on the surface, with warm conditions and torrential rains to feed it all. Looking at pictures reminded her of a place she thought she knew. In another life. But the ring of commerce above it was like any other business Center she’d ever set foot in. Metal, filthy, and absolutely brimming with people looking to spend their money or take another’s. The man who sidled up to her looked more like a mechanic than someone who sold them, but Savita knew better from previous dealings. She had picked this place on purpose.
“Lost?” He asked casually, taking in her bags and travel clothes. He threw his hand in the direction of the entrance she'd just walked through. "The shuttle port is that way.' He was close to her height, with tan skin and black hair poking out from under a bandana.
“No, just looking for a new business investment.” Tasu had taught her that. Give them the impression you’re seasoned early. This isn’t the first ship you’ve bought and it won’t be the last. They’ll screw you over less. Not that money was an issue. “I’m looking for something on behalf of an employer, something nondescript and small, but with living space. He emphasised a reasonably sized cargo hold.”
The man nodded, thought for a moment, and led her to a small grey square of a ship with fat engines on its sides and a ramp below the cockpit. He motioned for her to board and she stepped into the cargo hold. A ladder led up to what she assumed was the rest of the ship. She motioned to the door next to it.
“Is that the engine room?” He responded by shutting the ramp and leaning against it. Savita tried to keep her cool. “I like the quick close feature.” He didn’t respond, just stared into her eyes. “I-I should also warn you that this bag is full of blasters.”
“What gang are you with?” His voice took on an inquisitive tone, his eyes narrowed, searching.
“That’s classified,” She said immediately. A mistake.
“Yeah, no gang I’ve ever dealt with described themselves as ‘classified,’ errand girl.” The man folded his arms. “Are you running from them? Did you steal from them at all? Tell me the truth. This is a safe place.”
“You’re gonna have to forgive me if I don’t believe you. I can take my credits and go to another shipyard with salesmen who aren’t as nosy,” Savita’s tone was suggestive she might actually do it, and she reached for the knife in her jacket. “You’re not the only place on my list.” He made a face.
“What list?” He wasn’t buying it at all. “You don’t have a list. You don’t have an employer. You’re on the run, and you know how I know? I’ve seen you in here before with Kanjiklubbers. Now, the last thing I want is to have them causing trouble so why don’t you just be honest with me?”
She was expecting this. The story hadn’t needed to be believable. Savita opened her mouth, then looked down so her eyelashes were on full display. She gripped the strap of her bag a little desperately.
‘I’m a good liar,’ her body language said. ‘ But not an amazing one. And I’m the way I am because I’ve seen some shit.’
“Are…” she looked up at the ceiling. The whites of her eyes glimmered with tears, her mouth was open in the sort of way that grasped for words but also let whoever was looking at her know how full and soft her lips were. “Are you gonna tell them I was here?” A little thickness and defeat in her voice, a bit more jade coloured eye contact and on him? A human man, almost her age, who had maybe been a little too harsh on her? It worked like a charm.
His expression changed to pity. His hands went out in that open sort of way that insisted he wouldn’t hurt her. “Hey, no. Okay? I’m here to help. Look does the word Resistance mean anything to you?”
It did. It was why she picked this place over any others because she knew Kanjiklub sold all kinds of artillery and spare parts to this shop. The Resistance took anything. But Savita wanted nothing to do with groups and causes. She ignored the question, let a tear slide free, and brushed it away before he could (and he absolutely did) notice it. “Gods you have- you have no idea…” she shook her head. “It took me forever to get this money, I-,” she pressed her lips together, licked them, pursed them, let another tear go down her cheek. “Please, I worked so hard to get away.”
“It’s okay, hey, you’re safe here. I can get you a ship for cheap, I can give you a place to hide, all right? Just calm down. Do you want a drink?”
He led her to a little office off of the bay with a deflated leather couch, some chairs, a table. He gave her a cup of whiskey at her request and she downed it straightaway. After an impressed look, he poured her another and sat down.
“I just need to know if Kanjiklub is looking for you.”
Savita was so good at this part. All the games of Two Truths and a Lie she’d won, the tales she had to spin for the men and women she schmoozed for Tasu Leech so he could make his deals. All she had to do was bat her eyes, maybe, show them her straight, white teeth a few times and listen to whatever they said. This guy was in the palm of her hand. She could see it in her eyes, he was wondering- how did a girl like you wind up in a place like this?
“Not right now, but soon. I have um...a day maybe. Before they notice I’m gone.”
“Will they know you came here?”
She opened her arms in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? They’ll just want me, I...I didn’t steal from them. The weapons I got myself, the money I earned myself.” She really hoped Tori had been right about them not missing those credits.
“Okay. What do you have?”
“Eight thousand.” He tilted his head in a knowing way. “Okay, fine, fifteen. I don’t need a lot, just a ship with a bed and some cockpit defense and a hyperdrive so I can get away and lay low. I can sell these blasters if it’s not enough, if you just give me some time-,” he held her hands up to stop her. He liked soothing conflict, he thought he was good at it.
“I can take care of that for you, too. Give them to me, I’ll value them, I’ll credit it towards a ship. What did you do for Kanjiklub?”
“Um…I only did a few jobs for them, I was just a pretty face they kept around but sometimes I flew shipments for them. I’m not a good pilot, but I can fly. They taught me a few things.”
“That’s perfect. Here, you choose a ship, I’ll fill it with some cargo, you can take it to a Resistance base for me and tell them I sent you. We can always use extra hands, you need a place to disappear, start a new life…” he trailed off, watching her. He smiled. “What do you think?”
For a minute, Savita really, truly considered this. Her eyes slid out of focus. Working for the Resistance. The job security was questionable but for now? It was a decent in-between gig until she could really plan her next move. Plus it gave her an opportunity to explore the Galaxy and find a new home...if that ever actually happened.
“How do I know I can trust you?” She finally said. It was the stupid sort of question she would have asked three years ago when Kanjiklub found her in that drifting ship, starving to death somewhere in the mid rim and still wearing a pair of rose-tinted glasses. It was the kind of question, she learned, that made powerful, protective men look down on women like her and profile them as a fragile beauty trying to play at clever.
And as she expected, he smiled with his white teeth and chuckled, looked down and back up with his whole head, reached into a pants pocket and handed her a dog tag, the kind that disintegrated when you put it on your tongue in case the First Order got ahold of you.
“I’m many things, sweetheart, but I’m not a scoundrel,” She looked up to one side at him, an eyebrow raised. “Well, okay. Not anymore.”
She ran her thumb over his name, then handed it back. “Okay Poe,” she smiled.
I trust you.
“I’m in. Sell me a ship.”