The Ruins of Dantooine

by Voronica Whitney-Robinson

  “All right,” she finally agreed. “What about you? Not going to leave me holding the bag, are you?”

  “Don’t be foolish, child. I think I saw Mastivo, the Coruscanti trader, here and I would like to exchange a few words with him,” he said.

  “Tell him hello for me, would you?”

  “Of course. Now have some fun.” And with that, the Ithorian shuffled off into the noisy mass.

  The only thing he hadn’t done, she thought, was pat her on the head and hand her a few credits, but Dusque knew he meant well.

  She went over to one of the spinnerpits and threw out a credit chip onto a number at random, more to humor the Ithorian than anything else. When the wheel stopped turning, she was delighted to find out she had won. She smiled broadly and scooped up her winnings. Without her colleague acting as escort, though, Dusque soon realized that more than a few of the human males around the table were sizing her up, despite her drab attire. She moved to a different one and tried again. She surprised herself by winning yet again. Even Dusque couldn’t deny the tiny thrill of beating the odds.

  With two pocketfuls of chips, she accepted a blue drink of indeterminate origin and sipped at it cautiously. She frowned at the taste. Whatever was in there was extremely intoxicating, and she set the beverage back down on the first empty seat she found. Dusque never allowed her judgment to become compromised, no matter the occasion, and she wasn’t about to begin tonight. She wandered about the casino and realized that she had the beginnings of a headache. She noticed there were a few semiprivate rooms off toward the back that appeared to be fairly quiet, so she made her way over to them, hoping to find a place where she could collect herself.

  When she got closer, however, she realized that each room was full of players seated at tables large enough to accommodate only five or so. Each of the players held a few chip-cards in his hands, and a dealer sat opposite them. Whatever the game was, she noticed they were all very serious about it, which explained why the rooms were so quiet compared to the rest of the casino. Dusque stood in the archway to the room and watched as the dealer pressed a special button on the table and the players then scrutinized their cards. Some proceeded to place one or more in the dealer’s interface field, while others allowed the dealer to continue to press his button.

  It must send out some kind of signal, she reasoned.

  But it was what was heaped at the center of the table that puzzled Dusque. She knew that they must have been wagering, but she didn’t recognize the markers they were using. They weren’t the simple credit chips that everyone, including Dusque, used in the rest of the casino. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement, but could tell by the grim demeanor of the gamblers that no one would appreciate any questions from a nonplayer. She was so absorbed by the game itself that she wasn’t aware of the man who came over to stand next to her.

  “Well, hello there,” he said after standing unnoticed by Dusque for several long moments.

  Startled, Dusque turned and answered, “Hello.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the brown-skinned human said. “My name is Lando Calrissian. And you would be—?”

  Dusque silently cursed Tendau for dragging her out when she could have been back in her quiet room going over documents alone. While there was no argument that the man was handsome and obviously charming, he was just a little too shiny and slick for her tastes. She had met his type before.

  “My name is Dusque Mistflier,” she replied with a smile and, after a beat, turned back to the game, hoping he would take it as a cue that she wasn’t looking for company. The man was not deterred so easily, though.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you were intrigued by the sabacc table. Care to play?” he invited suggestively.

  Ignoring his innuendo, Dusque answered truthfully, “I think I understand the rudiments of the game, but I don’t recognize the markers that they’re playing with. Just what are the stakes?”

  Lando smiled broadly, revealing even, white teeth. “They say if you have to ask, then you can’t afford to play.” He laughed deeply, but Dusque didn’t sense any spite in his tone. She returned his smile.

  “I guess you have your answer, then,” she said and they both smiled again.

  “Actually,” he explained, using the opportunity to move a little closer, “the markers have different values. You see that blue one there?” He pointed out a chip on the table, and Dusque nodded.

  “That one is for a spaceship,” he said.

  She sucked in her breath. “He’s risking his ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she sputtered. “Who in their right mind would gamble away a ship?” Dusque turned to her new companion for clarification, but he was silent for a moment. It was hard to tell, but she could almost swear Lando was blushing.

  “Well,” he started to explain, spreading his hands expansively, “sometimes the stakes are worth it, especially if he thinks he’s drawn an ‘idiot’s array.’ What are the odds of two players drawing that in a single round?” he mumbled, but Dusque wasn’t paying attention.

  One of the players, a Wookiee, revealed his hand, and Dusque watched the others throw their chipcards down in disgust. It was obvious he had won. The Wookiee wrapped his big, hairy arms around the pot and drew it toward himself, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his furry face.

  Since the game seemed to be over, Dusque turned around to look back into the main room of the casino, and as she did, she caught sight of Tendau.

  Her Ithorian friend was over in a corner, near some of the lugjack machines. She tried to discreetly wave to him, but he appeared to be so deep in conversation with a Bothan female that he didn’t notice Dusque. She scrutinized the Bothan fairly closely and didn’t recognize her from the arena. She was a bit puzzled as to who the woman was.

  “Friend of yours?” Lando inquired solicitously.

  Distracted, Dusque replied, “Yes, it is. I should go over and say hello. Thank you for the tutorial on sabacc,” she added, seizing the opportunity to leave his company.

  Lando picked up her hand and brought it slowly to his lips for a brief kiss. Dusque tolerated the gesture and smiled when he released her hand. “Until later, perhaps?” he asked.

  “Perhaps,” she answered and moved past him back into the main room, resisting the urge not to wipe her hand on her pants. However, when she looked back in the direction of her colleague, both he and the Bothan female had seemingly disappeared. Dusque was a little perplexed that she had lost track of him so quickly.

  “This is probably his way of forcing me to mingle a little bit more,” she told herself quietly. “Of course, here I am in a room full of people and I’m talking to myself.” She chuckled.

  “I could help you change that,” a deep but gentle voice offered.

  “Lando, you just don’t know when to—” she started to say as she turned around. She caught her breath as she realized the voice hadn’t come from the suave gambler. Instead she found herself staring into the black eyes of her admirer from earlier in the evening. “Oh,” she said, immediately at a loss.

  He was almost a head taller than she was, with thick eyebrows and ebony hair to match. His face was full of sharp angles, with a cleft chin and a strong jaw. Dusque couldn’t see many lines on his face, but he still had a weathered look about him, and she would have bet all the credits in her trousers that he had spent some time outdoors. His clothes were nondescript, casual but practical like hers, not luxurious like Lando’s.

  He doesn’t just push buttons inside some station, she thought. He gets his hands dirty.

  When she glanced at his mouth, she realized he was still smiling at her and that she was still staring. Flustered, she dropped her gaze.

  “Well,” he continued easily, “this isn’t good. You’ve gone from talking to yourself to not talking at all.” He cocked his head and grinned crookedly. “Do you feel lucky?”

  “What?” she blurted out and then tried to clear her thro
at, not certain of his question.

  Without another word, he grabbed her hand and gently but firmly led her through the casino. Dusque was so stunned, she actually let herself be pulled around. She could feel how strong his hand was, and how rough. There were quite a few calluses on it, and she was comforted that at least one of her hunches was right.

  “Wait a moment.” She came to a stop. “Just where are you taking me?” she asked, no longer willing to be dragged around like a child’s toy.

  He turned around and looked at her. “This is a casino, isn’t it? You did come here to have a little fun, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I’m really here to—” she began, but he simply turned away and started to tug her over to one of the spinnerpits, appearing to disregard anything she might have had to say that was contrary to his plans.

  “If I have to steal you,” he said, “so be it.”

  As they found a free space near the table, the Twi’lek attendant nodded to Dusque’s abductor. “Back again?”

  He grinned and held up Dusque’s hand. “Now that I’ve found my lucky piece, there’s no stopping me.” He looked at Dusque and asked, “What’s your favorite color?”

  She was thrown so off balance by the question, she just said, “Red.”

  He winked at her and placed a handful of chips on the spot she had unknowingly selected for him.

  “No further bets at this time,” the attendant informed the group.

  In spite of herself, Dusque became a little caught up in the excitement of the game. Ill at ease with the man next to her, she alternately hoped he would win or lose all his credits. Either way, she supposed, and he would eventually leave her alone. Yet there was a nagging voice in the back of her head that wasn’t certain she wanted him to leave just yet. With an effort, she overrode the offending mental noise as she always did.

  “Red it is,” the attendant announced, and the man smiled at Dusque.

  “See,” he told her, “I knew you’d bring me luck.” Dusque half expected him to kiss her hand with the same false gallantry Lando had shown, but he surprised her once more.

  “Pick another for me?” he asked.

  “Twenty-seven,” she replied, nonplussed.

  One side of his mouth curled up. He turned to the attendant and said, “Twenty-seven, please.” And once again he won, much to Dusque’s exasperation. In fact, he won the next seven colors and numbers that she chose.

  Enough was enough. Determined that he should ultimately lose, Dusque told him, “Double zero.” And she smiled wickedly when she saw his grin finally falter.

  But he cocked his head sideways and told the dealer, “You heard the lady. Put it all on green.”

  “You do realize the odds, don’t you, sir?” the dealer inquired. “And you do have a substantial amount on the table.”

  “If she says green, then green it is,” her companion replied with a touch of bravado in his voice.

  “No further bets,” the attendant told the large group around the spinnerpit. Dusque vaguely noticed that the crowd had grown considerably since their lucky streak began. But even she was caught up in anticipation. She watched the ball bounce and hop its way across the jubilee wheel, and she held her breath.

  “The wheel is slowing,” the attendant informed everyone, although that much was obvious. Even he sounded a touch tense, though.

  The ball landed on twenty-eight. Black.

  Dusque was a little disappointed, but she flashed her unknown companion a smirk even as the others groaned in sympathy. The black-eyed man met her gaze with his own soft smile. Before either said anything, there was a funny pop and the onlookers collectively gasped. Dusque broke away from his gaze and looked at the wheel. The ball was nestled in the slot marked DOUBLE ZERO. It was green. Against incredible odds, she had picked the winning number again.

  “And the selector has popped the ball onto double zero,” the astonished attendant announced. “We have one winner.”

  “Unbelievable,” she whispered.

  While Dusque stared in amazement at her companion, she noticed from the corner of her eye that one of the pit bosses had come over to talk to their attendant. The Gungan female was well dressed and stern faced. She leaned over to the attendant and whispered some instructions into the employee’s ear. He nodded vigorously, and she stepped behind him.

  “Sir,” the attendant said to the black-eyed man, “considering the amount of your winnings, I’m going to have to cash you out tonight.” He glanced back to his boss for support, and Dusque could see he was nervous. However, he didn’t have to worry. Dusque’s companion took the news without fuss and smiled easily.

  “Cash me out,” he told the attendant and made it sound as though it had been his idea. “My lady friend has had enough of the game anyway and wanted this to be the last spin. Didn’t you?” he added and winked at her.

  “Yes,” Dusque answered truthfully, “I did want this to be the last round on the jubilee wheel.”

  “We’ll go ahead and credit your account,” the attendant offered.

  “That will be fine,” he agreed. “Shall we?” he asked Dusque and motioned to the entrance.

  “I think I’m about done for tonight,” she told him, trying to beg off.

  He leaned toward her ear and whispered, “One last look at the stars for the evening? After all the luck we’ve shared?”

  Dusque felt shivers along her back as he breathed against her ear. She knew better, and yet she was intrigued by the strange man who hadn’t even introduced himself. She decided to take a chance. If he was like most, she knew she could handle herself. She understood she was considered attractive by most standards, and it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to get her alone. It just frustrated her that she always seemed to be thought of as a woman first, and not a scientist. And a part of her hoped that he was exactly like all the other men she had met. Because, as it stood at the moment, she couldn’t make him out at all, and she prided herself on her ability to read other creatures. He, however, was definitely a puzzle, and she was intrigued.

  “Maybe just one glance,” she quietly agreed. His smile grew wider.

  I think I’ve got you pegged, she thought.

  Lightly placing a hand on the small of her back, he expertly guided her through the busy casino. Passing by the bar, Dusque noticed that a few of the patrons had become a bit rowdy. The free drinks had long since run out, but the serious folks had started tabs. As two disagreed on who owed how much, the very drunk Mon Calamari took a swing at his companion to punctuate his point. But he overcompensated for his inebriated state and completely missed his friend holding the bill. His swing brought him crashing toward Dusque. She started to flinch, but before she could make a move, her companion shot out a muscular arm and caught the drunk before he even touched her.

  “What yer think yer doin’?” the Mon Calamari slurred.

  “You should think very carefully about what you plan to do next, friend,” her companion shot back in a deadly voice.

  Dusque wasn’t the only one who saw just how serious he was. The Mon Calamari’s more sober friend, who had a slightly better grasp of the situation, grabbed his companion and started to pull him from the black-eyed man’s grip.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “Too much fun on the first night, I guess.” And with that, he yanked his friend toward the far end of the bar.

  “Are you all right?” the black-eyed man asked Dusque.

  “Of course,” she answered.

  They walked out of the casino without further incident. Once outside, Dusque let her head fall back. She breathed in deeply. She had forgotten her blossoming headache, and the cool air felt good. When she faced her protector, she realized that they weren’t alone. A few of the other patrons had also escaped for some air, and they meandered around the marble walkway. One pair laughed in such a way that Dusque knew they wouldn’t want to be disturbed, at least for a little while.

  “It smells like rain,” she told the stranger, slight
ly uncomfortable with the silence between them. “I don’t think we’ll see many stars tonight.”

  He stared at her hard and then said quietly, “I think I can still find something interesting to show you. Come on.” And with that, he grabbed her hand and led her away from the other revelers, toward a fountain with a few discreet shrubs and alcoves. When they found an unused corner, he turned and faced her. He looked quickly from one side to the other.

  Now is when he tries something, Dusque thought, prepared to stop him. “Look, whoever you are, I’m sorry if you thought—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said, and Dusque noticed a change in his demeanor. He no longer appeared to be the sly suitor, but something very different.

  “Let me explain,” he said, further confusing Dusque. After another surreptitious glance at their surroundings, he continued, “My name is Finn Darktrin and I’m not what you think I am.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “I’m taking a big chance talking to you like this. If anyone were to overhear us, I’d be dead,” he explained without the bravado he had shown inside at the gaming tables. The lack of that cockiness made Dusque take notice.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He grabbed her upper arm and said flatly, “I’m part of the Rebel Alliance. I’m a spy.”

  If he hadn’t been holding her, Dusque would have turned away. She couldn’t believe what she had heard. But the gravity of the situation was carved on his face. She realized that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate ruse to trick her into a clandestine, romantic liaison. He was serious. She was relieved but also a little disappointed.

  “What?” she said again, feeling the beginnings of fear creep in. She found herself looking over her shoulder and overly aware of her surroundings, but they were alone.

  “I wish I had more time,” he told her, “to let you get used to the idea and for that, I am truly sorry. But time is the one thing neither of us has any longer.”