Chapter Text
The two boys had been skulking through the shadows of the winding, ash-laden streets for the better part of the morning, searching while attempting not to be seen – hunters, not prey. Well, Tareef hunted. Kai didn’t know who they were looking for, but the older boy had roused him early from his sleeping place near the temple, clucking quietly and motioning for him to follow. Kai had told him to shove off, but he’d reluctantly assented when Tareef had whispered, not unkindly, “You. Or the kids.” Kai knew the consequences of his recent actions would get him into trouble sooner or later – he’d just hoped it would’ve been a little later.
As they stalked the unnamed quarry through the city carved out of lava, the smell of roasting Kowakian monkey-lizard drifted lazily through the air. Kai’s stomach began to make its emptiness known. He was about to offer to pinch some breakfast when Tareef stopped abruptly and, with a large palm, pushed Kai up against one of the many armored doors lining the bustling street. “That’s the one, there.” Tareef cocked his head and nudged his chin slightly. “The one with the armor.”
Kai leaned out from the dwelling’s doorway, his eyes scanning for the mark Tareef had indicated. Down the narrow road, which teemed with customers bartering for vegetables, ship components, and used technology, he spied the...man? Kai couldn’t be sure. Tall and broad, the target was covered head to foot, with a gleaming silver helmet and pauldrons that reflected the hazy Nevarro sun. The being had a long, two-pronged rifle slung over his cape and appeared to be haggling with Bertre, the craggy-faced, bespectacled old Twi’lek, over one of the many mechanical parts scattered across his cart. Squinting, Kai noticed that the armored customer seemed to have humanoid, if gloved, hands. When one of those hands reached across the repulsorcart for another small mechanism, the mark’s body shifted, and Kai glimpsed the dark T-shaped visor of the helmet.
The boy snorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “No way. Abso-kriffing not! It’s a Mandalorian warrior, for durk’s sake.” No wonder Tareef had kept mum about their intended dupe. An involuntary shiver coursed through his body. Bounty hunters were one thing, but a Mando would space me before I even got to the take. “A karkin’ Mandalorian!”
Kai spat and turned back to Tareef, whose attention had shifted to the sizeable open-market square to their left. Kai followed Tareef’s gaze…and there loomed the Houk, an enormous creature of almost pure muscle who scowled down at them from his massive height. Sentients in the market steered clear, giving him a berth as wide as you would a rancor. Even across this distance, the Houk’s menacing yellow eyes bored into Kai with such intense loathing that his own started to water.
“Vatik is watching!” Tareef hissed, and Kai slumped against the divots that peppered the rusting door, out of the irate creature’s line of sight. “He told me this morning that the Mandalorian just took in Calamari flan for his last bounty. He should still be flush.”
Kai’s focus returned to the potential victim, who produced a small coin purse from under the utility belt near his breastplate. The armor gleamed like a dare. A Mandalorian bounty hunter in full beskar. We are so karked.
“Vatik said that if you don’t do this take, he’ll rip you inside out and pike your head for your defiance.” Kai jerked his head around and narrowed his eyes at the older boy, who held up both hands defensively. “Hey, his words, not mine.” Kai swore again, rubbing his forehead with his hand, his lips pinched as tight as blaster doors.
The kriffing Houk. But Vatik was a problem of his own making. When those who should have taken him in turned their backs instead, Kai had reluctantly yielded to the temptation to steal after picking through the trash compactors left him violently ill for the third time. Quieting the reproachful voices in his head, he’d learned to strike when the opportunity presented itself – patiently, stealthily, and alone. He took only from those he considered able to handle the loss, counting the constant influx of bounty hunters among these. Welcome to the Guild.
He wasn’t greedy. Kai would pinch enough for himself – and eventually, the other strays – to survive, generally spreading his thievery among the denizens of Nevarro such that no one was galvanized to involve the authorities. That was, unless his targets were ex-Imperial – then he tried his best to make their lives as miserable as they had made his. He also occasionally took on odd jobs, ingratiating himself with locals and hunters alike while inadvertently learning all kinds of handy skills, both illicit and above board. Pilfering the unaware, however, usually paid best.
Kai had been on his own for nearly two years when Tareef started hanging out at the temple, a few months after the new Marshal had begun to make her presence known about town. The older boy, perpetually clad in clothes above his station, studied Kai as he tended to the other kids, displaying no such impulses himself. Upon witnessing the young boy’s thieving prowess, Tareef reeled Kai into Vatik’s purview with promises of credits and protection from the lowlifes who preyed upon the strays. Kai had wavered, but after Moa was attacked by that, that…well, no one knew what species it was, but it was dead, thanks to Vatik…Tareef convinced Kai to start lifting for the Houk. And only for the Houk, by his dictate.
It was easy at first. Kai was the grabber; Tareef, the runner; and no one was the wiser. Even in the rare instances in which a vendor nabbed Kai, the take, which occasionally included tech like comlinks and holoprojectors in addition to credits, had already been spirited half a block away up Tareef’s sleeve. Finding no evidence on Kai, the accusers would begrudgingly admit the fault of their eyes. The Houk paid him well, too; there was soon enough to start putting away some credits for safekeeping.
It wasn’t long, though, before Vatik realized what a truly valuable asset he had acquired. “The slyest pickpocket in the parsec,” he boasted about Kai on more than one occasion. But that’s when things began to unravel. Hitting up the market vendors who weren’t paying the Houk his due was one thing, but with Kai under his heel, Vatik started setting his sights higher. The bustling city’s new status within the system was drawing a steady stream of those clambering for a slice of a growing pie. The influx of both high-ranking officials and criminal elements made for excellent marks for Kai and Tareef’s ploys. But offworlders of importance were escorted by protection – thugs who had no qualms about spacing a suspicious-looking street rat, proof of wrongdoing or not. After the last mishap involving an aborted shipjacking, two Niktos with boiler rifles, and a narrow escape, Kai outright refused the Houk’s more avaricious directives. Vatik countered with threats to withhold his protectorship. Then, the hitting began. Kai could dodge most of the blows; though slightly built, he was quick and agile, and the dim-witted Houk unknowingly telegraphed where his punches would land. But the ones that did make contact? They left marks for weeks.
A weaker kid would have caved. An indifferent one would have split. But Kai had always been acutely attuned to the suffering of others. Attuned, with a keen sense of make better, and a side serving of kriff-off. So, three days ago, he had avoided Tareef and his boss and stole for himself and the kids, defying Vatik’s exclusivity mandate. Each day since, he brought back enough meat, bread, and fruit to feed his brood en masse, rubbing Vatik’s lack of possession – lack of control – in his hideous face for all the underbelly of this world to see.
But Houks do not like to be mocked, so Kai guessed the Mandalorian was payback. If he refused to steal from the Mando, Vatik would certainly kill him and recruit the other kids. He’d probably start with Ryker, Kai’s Rodian first lieutenant, in whom the Houk had already shown interest; those suction cups would surely come in handy for picking pockets. On the other hand, if he attempted the take, the Mandalorian would only almost certainly kill him. The choice was a no-brainer. But then what? Kai’s mind quickly thrashed out the possibilities for a way out once this deed was done. That is, if he hadn’t already been spaced. He came up against the familiar broken hologram of obstacles: the Houk; the kids; leaving this planet that had been his home, that still held memories. Memories that were starting to fade, though. Was it time to let them? To let go? To go? After all, the bad memories were here, too.
But she told me if anything ever happened, I was to stay on Nevarro.
Kai absentmindedly tugged down the frayed cuffs of his faded brown and red jacket, the sleeves of which had been noticeably creeping up his arms of late. He blinked himself back to the reality before him, pushing his thoughts of the future and past where they belonged. “The present moment is all we have,” she would often admonish gently.
Yeah, but this one sucks void. “So, what...the catch?” he proposed to Tareef, eyebrows raised. Tareef looked down his nose at him, taking the smaller boy’s reversal in stride.
“That’s a plan,” Tareef answered crisply, producing from his pocket a hard, dirty ball that in a previous life had shone white. The older boy flashed a quick smirk as he confidently flicked the ball in the air several times, catching it with ease. With arms as long as lekku, Tareef was indisputably the best pitch in the parsec. Placement was everything, and Tareef’s aim was something in which Kai could consistently trust. He couldn’t, however, say that about much more of his accomplice; Tareef was as slick as a greased junk dealer.
Kai turned back to the imposing Mandalorian, who had replaced his pouch under his breastplate, seemingly perturbed by the prices of the Twi’lek’s mech. He should be. His wares were a rip-off, in more ways than one; Kai had first-hand knowledge that Bertre occasionally bought from those who stripped parts from ships docked at the yard under the cover of darkness. The mark’s dissatisfaction, however, made for an excellent distraction. “It’s got to be high and fast,” Kai remarked as he judged the distance and ran calculations. “Make sure the way is clear. Call my name last minute. Loud. He’s got to turn towards you. Aim it to come down...let’s say, top right of his helmet. Maybe three decimeters above.” Kai checked again and inclined his chin slightly. “Yeah?” he confirmed with Tareef, who appeared to be visualizing the play in his head.
The play. Kai sucked in a breath as a twinge of longing stabbed his chest, arriving with the unbidden thought: In a different life, in a different time, might I be actually playing for fun? With Tareef, or better...my parents? Kai tried to find his center, but the fantasy, and the dull heartache, continued. That wide clearing on the forest planet, the three of us playing Bolo-ball. My father cheering as I shoot the ball past my mother’s defense. He moaned faintly, unable to keep the sentiment in check, but he finally rent himself away from the wistful reverie. Tareef frowned, his sharp eyes roving across Kai’s face in concern, but the older boy had enough tact not to say anything. Taking a deep breath, Kai pushed off the door. “Kark it,” he grumbled. “Let’s do this.”
Throwing easy volleys, they maneuvered down the street toward the vendor and the victim – nothing too elaborate, just two boys playing ball. Kai winced at the thought as his daydream flickered in his mind, but he stuffed it way, way down. Now was not the time. Kai glanced briefly behind him as he jogged, orienting his location, and easily caught and returned Tareef’s next throw. One more.
Taking a last peek, he nodded to Tareef, who launched the ball high. This was it. Slow breaths. As he exhaled, a peculiar but familiar warmth engulfed him, and he surrendered to that place within where time seemed to dissolve, and awareness burgeoned. He was immediately conscious of his connection to everything around him in a way that he could never express in words – not that he ever would.
The pitch arced gracefully through the air as “Chikra!” rang long and awkwardly in Kai’s ears. He pivoted and felt every muscle, every tendon, every cell working in concert to rocket full speed toward the take. Arranging his face to appear wholly absorbed by the trajectory of the ball, the boy instead studied every detail of the bounty hunter out of the corner of his eye – the intimidating, blank stare of his gleaming helmet, which tilted up and slightly to the left; the swift back shuffle of his right foot; his tan-and-black gloved right hand opening and closing rapidly as if he was considering whether the commotion deemed his blaster necessary.
Kai bent his knees, and with balletic grace, he twisted and leaped like the soles of his boots, which had fit comfortably over a year ago, held springs instead of holes. Soaring higher than should have been possible, he absorbed sensations as they rushed through his senses: the pull of the wind at his skin, the bright fluttering of the vendor stall canopies, the jabbering of two nearby Jawas, the clang of the gizmo that had been in the bounty hunter’s left hand as it struck the ground. Every detail of the moment was his.
And as he stretched his arm up above the man’s domed helmet to pluck the ball out of the air, it was with this intensity of focus that he felt every inch of the right side of his body slam into the stone wall of the Mandalorian’s armor. No, stone would have been softer. Bright, flaming pain screamed from his armpit to his hip, and though he stifled a bellow of agony, a small yelp escaped his lips as the breath was knocked out of him. Stupidly, perhaps, Kai hadn’t expected this; most marks stumbled or toppled over backward upon impact, and then it was an easy snatch as he apologized profusely for not watching where he was going. But the Mandalorian was a herculean bulwark – he hadn’t budged an inch.
Instantly tearing his acute attention away from the fire that was his right side, Kai reached and deftly slid his left hand between the man’s belt and breastplate, clutching at the small satchel he’d noticed earlier. It was tethered to something, but Kai’s nimble fingers worked open the cinch, retracted the flan, and forced the squishy coins up the tight sleeve of his dingy tan undershirt, all within seconds. And then it was done. The warmth that had swathed him started to fade, and the throbbing ache of his body seeped back into his consciousness.
Ball in hand, Kai felt himself beginning to fall away from the Mandalorian’s chest as he ricocheted off the impenetrable armor. He tensed in preparation for what was sure to be the second harrowing impact of this scheme, but then, perplexingly, he observed the man drawing nearer. Kai drew in a sharp breath. Did the hunter know already? Would he space me mid-fall? The imposing helmet followed his progress downward, and right as Kai was about to slam into the ground, he felt the warrior’s large hands grab his shoulders. Kai’s upper body hovered centimeters from the ground. He caught me? The incredulous thought was interrupted when, a beat later, his head, the progress of which had not been stopped, whipped back and struck the ground. Hard.
Pain shot through the back of his skull like an explosion, and then it fell away as black and white flashing pixels swam through his visual field. Everything felt…blurry. Distant. Dully, he scrunched up his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to clear his sight. Clear his head. Thoughts seemed to slip past his mind’s reach, refusing to form coherently. His vision darkened again as the Mandalorian’s helmet appeared alarmingly close, now in sharp focus. Kai gazed up at him, his mind wandering and dazed, his lucidity as fragile as a stormtrooper’s armor. Was this real? As if compelled by a powerful magnet, Kai slowly raised a finger to touch the beskar. Real. Somewhere in his head, a voice was screaming, “What the karkin’ hell are you doing?” He paid it no mind. His fingertips grazed the cool steel, his eyes sluggishly following the outline they drew on the T-visor. He dazedly wondered what lay beneath.
“Kid?” The Mandalorian’s baritone voice, modulated through his helmet, quietly snapped Kai back to awareness. “You okay?”
Karking Slag! What the hell was he doing? Kai abruptly retracted his hand, heart pounding louder than an E-Web heavy repeating blaster as he observed his distorted image reflected back at him. Do I actually look that terrified? Kai squeezed his eyes shut, bolts of pain shooting through his head, then opened them again, darting glances all over the helmet. Right here. Unreadable! Panic overwhelmed his thoughts. Kriff! He must know!
“You okay?” the Mandalorian asked again evenly, his helmet tilting slightly. Kai stared, transfixed, unable to move.
“Of course, he’s okay! He’s more than okay!” Tareef’s brazen proclamation resounded deafeningly close as he thrust himself in front of Kai, purposefully crowding the Mandalorian to the side. “No thanks to you,” he sneered. The bounty hunter pivoted his helmet sharply toward Tareef as if caught off guard by the implication of fault and unsure what to do about it. The man paused, then retreated a bit away, Kai’s eyes following. “Greatest catch in the galaxy!” Tareef’s voice obnoxiously boomed again as he snatched the ball from Kai’s hand and pocketed it.
Kai finally tore his gaze from the Mandalorian and looked up at Tareef, whose eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?” the older boy asked, almost as if he cared. Not waiting for an answer, Tareef leaned into Kai to further block the bounty hunter’s view and palmed the younger boy’s face with one hand while the other pawed at the cuff of Kai’s tight sleeve, surreptitiously digging around for the coins he knew would be there. Kai moaned and tried unsuccessfully to remember his line while simultaneously pushing the take into Tareef’s waiting hand.
“You– You– You have crinkin’ aim,” Kai punched out. Near enough. Three coins transferred...and then Kai impulsively twisted his wrist away. Insurance. Tareef’s icy glare smoldered as he made a last grasp, but Kai gave his head a little shake, cringed with the effort, and closed his eyes briefly.
Tareef sighed. “Well, thank the Core I’m so good-looking, then.”
The older boy offered his hand, and Kai took hold of it, shakily rising to standing. Kai winced as a TIE fighter screamed in his head, and a thousand vibroblades cut through the side of his body. Breathe! In, out. Blackness threatened to consume him again, but he fought against it, staggering a step as he tentatively reached his hand up to feel the back of his head. Wet. Blood came away on his fingers. Kark it. The sight made him sway again.
“You should get some bacta for that,” the old Twi’lek called out gruffly from behind his cart. Through his tousled, brown fringe, which was more than a few weeks past due for a wash, Kai spotted the vendor cleaning his glasses and impatiently rocking on his heels. Kai hastily wiped the blood on his grungy pants, silently thanking Bertre for never letting on about their schemes, despite their looting of his potential customers.
The vendor was right about the bacta, but more importantly, they needed to get away before the Twi’lek’s restraint wavered or the hunter discovered his purse empty. Kai froze. Where was the Mandalorian? He felt a pull in his stomach, an urge to seek him out. To connect? But why? Why did he catch me? He closed his eyes, sensing a presence and a faint…buzzing…from somewhere behind him. Weird…it’s like– But my head’s not right... Kai focused on keeping his eyes down, not trusting himself to resist the temptation to cast about for the source of the sensation. Coupled with this yearning, however, fear and – was that guilt? Regret? – swirled at the back of his mind, threatening to rise up like a lava flow and burn away his recently recovered lucidity. Kai stood unmoving, the pull to stay and the need to go both demanding his compliance.
Tareef must have picked up on Kai’s distress because the older boy gripped him firmly above the elbow and tugged; his concern for the situation rolled off him like shimmering heat waves beneath his cool demeanor, his eyes blazing like lightning. Curious onlookers had already started to gather, and they didn’t need an audience, especially one that might recognize their con. Head pounding, body shaking, Kai adjusted his knapsack, turned, and gracelessly stumbled up the road with his accomplice. Tareef shifted his hold and clasped him around the shoulder, boasting loudly how he would tell everyone he knew that Chikra had taken on a Mandalorian warrior and survived to tell the tale. Kai was grateful for Tareef’s assistance as they lumbered away, his body feeling like it had been used for detonator target practice. But for some reason, it felt like he was moving in the wrong direction.
Don’t look back.