“So? You’re Devaronian; it’s almost impossible to poison you.”
“And you’re Ugnaught. Trust me, it’s very possible to poison you!”
Gersolik’s expression stayed fierce. “Then we’ll pick something that takes time to go into effect. Torro, we could take out Darth Vader with a single bite!”
Torro hesitated but couldn’t help peek in the direction of her very well-stocked pantry. She’d made all sorts of ludicrous demands of Calrissian when they were negotiating her contract, and she had a wealth of rare and pricy ingredients on hand, including many that made cuttle-tick venom seem harmless in comparison.
She shook her head. “It’s too risky. For all we know, the people he’s meeting with are innocent. And with that mask on his face, we can’t be sure he’ll eat any of this. We might end up only taking out a couple of troopers—not to mention you, me, and the rest of Cloud City when they figure out what we tried to do.”
Gersolik drew up even straighter. Faint scars marred her forehead, vanishing into the puffy white of her eyebrows, and for the first time, Torro wondered where she got them. She wondered if, indeed, her assistant—her friend—had not experienced far worse at the hands of the Empire.
“Aren’t there some things worth that risk?” Gersolik persisted. “Things greater than our lives? We would be heroes.”
Heroes. For a moment, the ludicrous plot Gersolik was suggesting played through her mind. Torro had spent her entire life experimenting with plants and herbs, spices and seeds. She probably could brew such a poison. There was a chance Lord Vader would consume it, that it would work. That she and Gersolik would take down one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy.
But thinking back on a life filled with botanical experiments reminded Torro of the other people who would pay if she made a mistake: her family back on Devaron. Her planet crawled with Imperials, its generals and high-ranking officials having turned Devaron’s lush jungles and abundant wildlife into their own personal game preserve.
And not just a game preserve. A chill raced down Torro’s spine as she recalled foraging as a child back home. Though it was tradition in her family, intended to teach youngsters how to identify plants, Torro’s own wanderings had been strictly curtailed. There were forests in Devaron now that were as thick with bones as they were with trees. Mines that blew off limbs and poisonous vapors that lingered. Some of her earliest memories involved getting shouted away from ruins covered in otherwise promising shrubs. But not by Imperials. Rather by her own relatives, whose ghastly warnings and frightened eyes left a deep impression.
There was, indeed, a reason she and Gersolik had been left alone in the kitchen, but it wasn’t because the Empire thought nonhumans too stupid to plot against them.
It was because the Empire knew it had already won. It knew the very thought of crossing them—the very real terror of the consequences that would follow—was enough to keep its subjugated “citizens” in line. Enough that they taught their children to stay in line.
Enough to keep Torro in line. “There’s a temple back in the forests on Devaron, you know. Ancient, gorgeous. At least it used to be. We tell legends about it. People say the Jedi themselves used to gather there; that they trained the bravest warriors and cleverest peacemakers in our jungles. During the Clone Wars, a few of the Republic’s last fighters even tried to make a final stand in that temple.”
A little of Gersolik’s determination faded from her expression. “Tried?”
“Failed. The Empire bombed it from space and slaughtered every Devaronian they found within a thousand klicks. Claimed they were collaborators.” Torro pulled the bowl of meringue from her assistant’s hands. “Now that temple is a crater in the middle of a graveyard. The kinds of heroes you’re talking about, Gers? They don’t exist anymore.”
“And they won’t exist again. Not if some of us don’t try to fight back!”
Before Torro could respond, there was the familiar whooshing shudder as the banquet room doors on the other side of the wall opened. Just perfect. The rest of Lando’s “guests” were early.
Then blasterfire started.
Torro jumped, still clutching her bowl of meringue. Gersolik let out a surprised gasp and then lurched for the access panel.
“No, wait!” Torro hissed and grabbed her arm. The blasterfire had already stopped.
From the banquet room, a voice spoke:
“We would be honored if you would join us.”
The speaker’s words were low and deep, and buffeted by the wall, Torro shouldn’t have been able to hear them so clearly. They shouldn’t have chilled her to the bone, seeming to poison the very air with dread.
Gersolik cleared her throat. “Torro…”
“Get back to work.” Torro was trembling, but as she felt the weight of the cold invitation she had no doubt was Vader, her voice hardened. “Now.”
Gersolik jerked her arm away. She looked furious. “Of course, boss,” she said bitterly.
Torro forced herself to return to her workstation. She set the bowl of meringue down, trying to block out the muffled sounds of the struggle she could hear beyond the wall. She didn’t want to know anything about the other people in the banquet room, the ones who’d fired the blaster on Vader. There was nothing she could do to help them, not without risking her own loved ones.
Besides…we don’t even know if he eats.
BEYOND THE CLOUDS
Lilliam Rivera
Clusters of beldons float across the sky. The jellylike creatures drift and tumble into one another as if they’re performing an orchestrated dance. It wasn’t too long ago when the beldons were hunted down. A ridiculously easy sport, since the celestial beings in iridescent colors are not fast. Beldons usually emerge during the very early mornings when the sky breaks from its reddish hues to mark the start of a new day. And every morning I search for them. When they appear I feel reassured, grounded, if only for a second.
“Today is the day. He will definitely show up today,” I say to my reflection in the window. Strands of black hair cover my right eye. I rub the left side where the hair slowly grows out of its buzz cut. I’ll need to shave it.
I stare down at my drab clothes, the color of sand, and curse at how dull my dark-brown complexion appears underneath. There’s nothing astral about me. My clothes are boring and ordinary. If only I could sport an ever-changing uniform like the beldons: translucent and invisible one second and full of an unnatural vibrancy the next. When you’re a bounty hunter you need a signature look. The best ones always do. Dengar has his bandages covering his head. Aurra Sing used to wear orange jumpsuits. I’ve studied them all and their wizard attire. My current style is nonexistent. Seventeen years of never standing out or leaving any kind of mark. It’s probably the reason why I’m not an official bounty hunter.
“Staring at the beldons again, Isabalia?”
Recnelo Cott is a rare Ugnaught who doesn’t reside with her clan. She prefers the more solitary space on Level 121. Even in Cloud City, you can find a home away from the crowds. The room I rent from Recnelo is a square little thing with a bed and table. I don’t know how Recnelo secured the room and I don’t care. She keeps to herself, spending most of her time working at the carbon freezing facility with her people.
“No, I’m not,” I say and pull my hood over my head.
Recnelo snorts. This is our usual script. Every morning I wake up to see the beldons and every morning Recnelo makes fun of me. It’s repetitive but at least I know what to expect.
We head out. At this early hour, only a few Cloud City residents are up to start work at the mines excavating the precious Tibanna gas. Recnelo will head to the facility to clock in. As for me, I need to see Elad Zhalto before the last bet is placed.
As we turn down the long corridor toward the turbolifts, we notice two men deep in conversation. Our course to work is
rarely punctuated with newcomers. Sure, Cloud City attracts various emissaries wanting a slice of the tiny good life we have here in the floating city, but my gut tells me these two are something else. Recnelo and I walk at our usual steady clip. My hand slips into my vibroknuckler located in my pocket, an added weight if I need to cut a problem across the face.
The two men stop talking and just stare. Recnelo continues to speak in Ugnaught, a nonsense story about how much she loves to eat. If you live in Cloud City you learn to converse and understand many languages. And if you don’t, expect to get insulted without ever knowing what words were sent your way. I nod at what she says, keeping my eyes glued to the men. We walk past them without incident. I loosen my grip.
“Not morning people I guess,” I say when the distance from the two men is safe enough to speak. Recnelo shakes her head. There’s movement happening in the city. Something is going down.
“How are things at the facility?” I ask.
Recnelo subtly glances down the hall, making sure no one is near.
“Soldiers wearing the tackiest armor ever seen on droid or creature alone recently paid us a visit,” she says. “Imps asking too many questions and getting in everyone’s way.”
Imperial soldiers. I can’t believe it. Things are really shaking up, more than I thought. I can’t help but feel weirdly excited. Action. Real action!
“Probably more are set to arrive,” I say. “Don’t you think?”
“I hope not, for your sake and the sake of everyone on Cloud City,” Recnelo says with a heavy ominous tone.
As we wait for the turbolift to transport us to our respective levels, a giant hologram of the city’s baron administrator, Lando Calrissian, materializes. When I was young I heard all about Lando’s great adventures. I loved how he always wore amazing capes. He was so flashy and charismatic. But Lando turned out to be like every other politician out there, full of empty promises and a seductive smile.
At least as a bounty hunter you’re stripped of useless pretensions. A bounty hunter has a job to do and gets it done no matter what. No messy feelings to trip a person. I just need to make the final right connection to fulfill my dream.
I press Level 142. Recnelo shakes her head.
“If I were you I would stay clear of Elad Zhalto.”
“You have to be in it to win it,” I say. “Besides, Elad is just another rung on the ladder.”
Recnelo continues to pass judgment. She believes in hard work with people you trust. But my people no longer live in Cloud City. Both my parents work in the educational centers on Chandrila. They want nothing to do with my “misguided” lifestyle, especially when they raised me to help and not hurt. They were active in the Cloud City community, bought into Lando’s promises until it was obvious that educators only got in the way of business. Who wants to learn when there’s money to be had? So I pivoted and started studying hunters, learned how to fight, worked my way up the ranks, all to the disgrace of my parents. When they left I stayed behind. But I don’t bother reminding Recnelo of this history. We’ve been through this plenty of times. Thankfully we land on Level 142.
“That comlink broadcast you listen to all night is not the way to go. It’s best to keep your nose and footing close to the ground. Or have the beldons scrambled your brain?” she says before the door closes behind me. Recnelo is wrong. Cobbling together clues of galactic stirrings off the broadcast is my only way of finding out what’s happening. I can’t let Recnelo confuse me. My luck is about to change. I can feel it. It’s just a matter of time. I press on.
Elad Zhalto is the owner of the Azure Den, an underground gambling spot. Those invited are longtime players. It’s rare to see a new face in the midst. A Duros, Elad is a power player with fingerprints on every Cloud City surface. More important, he’s friends with all the real bounty hunters.
I nod to the guard at the entrance and head in. The last of the sabacc players are finishing up from the looks of how smoky the room is and the many empty drinks.
“How much longer?” I ask.
“As long as it takes,” the guard says, annoyed, and leaves me to fend for myself.
I locate Elad, who is immersed in how the cards will shake out for his guests. And that’s when I notice him, a shadowy presence in the corner of the room. My heart races. There’s one bounty hunter I’ve been obsessively studying for the past couple of years. He was raised on Kamino and trained by Aurra Sing. He wears customized Mandalorian armor. Now, that’s true style. And here he is.
Boba Fett.
I can’t believe it. The most notorious killer is here and he’s only a few feet away from me. Funny—he’s a lot shorter than I imagined. Never mind that. This is my chance. Boba Fett must be here to take something, or someone, down. If I can be of service to him, prove my skills somehow, my whole life could change. He’ll invite me to be part of his crew. I know it!
Elad speaks to him but Boba Fett doesn’t move. He’s as still as the rocky Agamar terrain. I need an introduction but I can’t interrupt or Elad will shut me out completely. Timing is everything. But when?
“Should I deal you in?”
Joy Iya shuffles the cards at a corner table away from the real sabacc action. It’s been a couple of months since I last saw her. She looks good, but then Joy always looks good. Joy is the only person on Cloud City my age who can cause me to stumble over my words. It must be those piercing dark-brown eyes. Even when she’s smiling at you Joy is somehow sizing you up, checking to see where exactly you land. It’s not to say we’ve had many exchanges. The two conversations consisted of me barely able to ask for a drink while she served at the Yarith. Hadn’t heard about her working for Elad. I guess we’re both trying to climb that ladder.
“I’m not playing,” I say, but I walk over to her anyway. My eyes are still locked on Boba Fett.
“It sure looks like you’re playing a game,” she says, nodding in the bounty hunter’s direction. Always with that smile. “No one is coming to my table but if you play a couple of rounds, people will venture. Then the bossman Elad will stop hovering over me wondering if I should be placed back behind the bar dishing out watered-down drinks.”
She deals me in. Before I can tell her I have nothing of value to gamble she pulls out a couple of credit ingots and places them in front of me.
“Never pegged you for an Azure Den worker,” I say as I pretend to look at my hand.
“Sometimes you go where you’re needed,” Joy says. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Why would Joy Iya want to talk to me? I just always assumed she considered me a bit of a nobody.
“Me?” I ask foolishly, and I regret it as soon as I say it. A bounty hunter would be more self-assured. I bet Boba Fett never ends a statement with a question mark.
“I see you around. Scrambling for gigs here and there,” Joy says. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
She’s been watching me? Joy Iya? I try to hold her intense stare for as long as I can. One or two or hundreds of heartbeats pass, and I forget what I’m meant to be doing.
“Do you hold the key to salvation or something?” I don’t know why I said it but there it is, my words floating in front of me like a confused solitary beldon.
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she says. But before Joy can go on, Elad’s guard nudges me.
“Sorry,” I say.
I follow the guard as he escorts me back to Elad’s office. I take a deep breath and steady myself for what I hope is my first concrete interaction with Boba Fett. I’ve been working on Elad to introduce me to the top hunters out there. There is no one above Boba Fett.
Elad sits behind his large desk with his favorite droid, 3-76, by his side, but Boba Fett is nowhere to be found. Kriffing idiot. I messed up. I should have just headed straight to Boba Fett when I first saw him. A real opportuni
ty squashed because of Joy’s beautiful eyes. I need to get back on track.
“Good work on the little job,” Elad says. The “little job” was roughing up a Gamorrean who owed Elad money. A simple enough task that still left me with two new scars above my eye.
“Up for another task? Tonight, a quick visit to Na’Tala. She decided she no longer works at Azure,” he says. “Heard she’s been complaining about me and how I conduct my business. I can’t have that.”
A quick visit means convincing Na’Tala to return to Azure, and if she doesn’t, then I need to show her why.
“What about what I want?” I ask.
“Right! Too bad. You just missed him. He’ll be back,” Elad says. “So, about Na’Tala…”
“You promised me an introduction to Boba Fett,” I say. “Our deal had nothing to do with Na’Tala.”
“Now, how will I look if I allow you to meet Boba Fett wearing that?” He points to my weak attire. “You want to be taken seriously, don’t you?”
I get up. He’s not going to help me. Forget Elad. I don’t need him. I’ll figure it out myself.
“You have every right to leave!” Elad calls out as I near the exit. “No worries. I’ll just send 3-76 to take care of Na’Tala.”
I stop. A visit from 3-76 is a death note. Na’Tala is only trying to look out for herself, like we all are. I turn back.
“Smart, Isabalia, smart! To make sure there’s no hard feelings, how about I give you access to Cloud Regalia?” Elad says. “New clothes, hmmm? Before your big meetup with Boba Fett?”
His droid punches in a code that will allow me entrance to the exclusive clothing store.
“Take care of Na’Tala and I’ll set up the meet-and-greet.”
I nod, accept his terms, and push down the guilt growing inside of me. I’m closer to my goal and this is what matters.
Before I head out, Joy rushes up to me and hands me a metallic card.
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