Distant voices accosted the edges of his subconscious — voices droning lowly in a language he’d heard before but had never bothered to learn. Struggling to raise his head from the table, Matt Turhaya rubbed eyes glazed from drinking one too many ales. His head ached.
Music drifted across the room, the boom-boom of a KeyBed’s bass notes accentuating voices that grew in intensity as Matt returned from his semi-conscious state. Focusing on his surroundings, he finally remembered where he was. The cantina.
Halfway across the room at the bar, a lively argument was under way. Matt recognized the Wookiee. But he’d never seen the huge alien’s adversary in the cantina before. On further reflection, he couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone like her. Her head was completely bald except for one long silver braid which hung loosely, falling well below her waist. She’d entwined within it a silky black tie, which did add an air of elegance to her appearance, an appearance which perhaps only the males of her species might find attractive.
Speaking in the Wook’s native tongue, she stared him down with eyes that met his — she was only a centimeter or so shorter than he. Long, slender fingers poked rapidly into the Wookiee’s hairy chest like a barrage of artillery fire. She was either stupid, or very brave. Matt decided as he wiped a hand across his scruffy face.
Matt noticed that other customers in the cantina had given them a wide berth. Her hand rested lightly on the DL-44 holstered at her waist. She turned her head slightly toward the bartender. Light illuminated her pasty-gray skin and for the first time. Matt could see the jagged scar than tore across her face just below her right eye.
The Wookiee barked at the female. She growled a heated reply, then looked around the room. Her pink eyes met Matt’s. Her scowl vanished and the two stamen-like antennae atop her head twitched. Matt held her gaze. Everything in the room seemed to stop, frozen in time and space. Her eyes filled with pain — his pain — not the looks of pity or disgust he’d gotten from others a hundred times before. Something seemed to bind them together, as if they were of one mind. And somehow, though they didn’t even know each other, he could tell she understood him more than anyone else ever would.
She spun back to face the Wookiee, barking another retort. His blue eyes widened, then he roared with laughter. She smiled, slapping him across the back. Everyone within earshot visibly relaxed.
Matt watched her for a few seconds more, unable to take his eyes off her. Trembling, he took a deep breath, then reached for the glass on the table. Empty. He eyed it, twisting the container in his hand and watching the light reflect a prism of colors, wondering if he ever again might marvel at little miracles. Wondering if he ever might care about anyone, or anything, again. For a heartbeat or two he was lost in another time, another place, when suddenly a familiar voice boomed across the room. Placing the glass down on the table, Matt cradled his head in his hands.
“All right. Where is he?” Even with the band playing in the background. Jamie Turhaya’s melodic baritone voice carried above the steady drone of conversation in the cantina. “Where’s my brother?” he called.
The blond-headed, deeply-tanned man cut a handsome figure compared to most of the cantina’s usual patrons. A strong jaw line and high cheekbones highlighted his face. He was taller than his younger brother, his frame more muscular. Jamie spied Matt, then picked his way past a half dozen tables. “C’mon, Mattie,” he said. “Time to go home. Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day at the shop. You need a good night’s rest so you’ll be able to help out.”
Grumbling, Matt draped his arm across Jamie’s shoulders and willingly let his older brother drag him home. He tried not to listen to words he’d heard before.
“You know, Matt, you’ve been here for six months. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jamie said, his tone not meant to be condescending.
Matt knew Jamie loved him dearly. He’d put up with Matt’s drunkenness, nursed him through his melancholy, and refused to give up on him no matter what others had said.
“I know you’ve been through a lot,” Jamie continued, “losin’ Anii and Alex within a year of each other — it’s a terrible burden. But, Matt, you’ve got to get on with your life … ”
Rubble. As far as the eye could see. Not one house stood on what once were the rolling green-covered hillsides of Janara III. A brownish haze blanketed the ruins. Smoke drifted toward a darkening sky.
Matt fell to his knees among the ruins of his family’s home. He sifted through broken pieces of his life — plasteel from the table, a piece of pottery from a treasured vase, broken dishes. He grew excited when he found part of a marble holo frame his wife had given her parents. Using both hands, he combed through the dirt and found — burnt, halfshredded, with edges curled — a holo of Anii with Alex. It was the only piece of his wife and young daughter that he had left.
Trembling, he looked up, holding the holo close to chest. A figure far off on the horizon caught his eye — a ghostly shadow surveying the land — the white armor of an Imperial stormtrooper. The Empire he once served was responsible for this destruction.
Tears streamed down his face. “No!” he shouted. A cold unforgiving wind moaned, carrying his voice across the scarred landscape.
Curling up into a ball on the ground, Matt gripped the holo tightly as the sun said its good-byes to the city of Sreina …
Peeking its fiery orange head over the horizon, one of the twin suns announced another hot and dry day on Tatooine. Sunlight streamed through a crack in the partially closed shades. As the sun drifted higher, a flood of light streaked across the sofa into Matt’s face. Waking suddenly, startled by the glare in his eyes, he sat up abruptly as the nightmare fled his senses.
Jamie snored noisily in the back of the house. Matt fell back on the sofa where he’d slept off most of the effects of his visit to the cantina. His head no longer ached, but he felt numb, emotionally drained. For a long time he just lay there listening to the monotonous hum of the climate control generator. Finally he got up, dressed quietly, then slipped outside into the streets of Mos Eisley.
Cutting through a shadowy alley across the street from his brother’s store. Matt passed a still-darkened Heff’s Souvenir shop. For a town that rarely slept, Mos Eisley seemed unusually quiet this morning. Even the street corner preacher hadn’t taken up his post yet.
Inside the entrance to the cantina. Matt let his eyes drift slowly around the room.
“Back again so soon, Matt?” Jaresh, one of the regulars, called to him from the bar.
Matt nodded to the crusty old man and ambled down the stairs to join him for a drink. But something at the far end of the room caught his eye. The female humanoid was there, immersed in a game of sabacc, gently tapping her fingers across the table.
Her gaze shifted around the sabacc table, her antennae twitching almost imperceptibly. Cha’ba, a Twi’lek “businessman,” as he referred to himself, tinkered with his credits. Pira Bland, a Chandrilan spice runner, picked up his mug and took a swig of ale. And the Corellian smuggler to the female’s right leaned back casually in his chair, cupping his hands behind his head. He acknowledged Matt’s approach with a tilt of his head.
“Bets,” the dealer called.
“I’m in for 20,” the alien female said, tossing her credits into the pot.
“Twenty. Plus another 20,” Bland replied.
Cha’ba shook his head. “Do chonda,” he said, placing his cards face down on the table.
The Corellian straightened in his seat, picking his cards up from the table to study them. He looked from Bland to the female humanoid. Grinning at her, he said, “All r
ight, Metallo, I want to see what you’ve got. Here’s my credits.”
Card values materialized as the dealer pushed the randomizer. Bland rolled his eyes. The Corellian shook his head as Metallo laid her winning hand face up and reached for the sabacc pot. “I don’t know how you do it, Metallo,” he mused, tossing his cards across the table. “Do all Riilebs have this natural talent for games of chance?”
A sly smile cracked her face. “We have no games like this on Riileb,” she replied. “My former master taught me how to play.”
“Is that how you got the scar on your face?” he quipped.
Matt saw the brief wave of pain that washed across Metallo’s face. The Corellian saw it, too, and his grin disappeared.
Metallo slowly ran her finger along the three centimeter scar. Her voice lowered, almost to a whisper, as she glanced from face to face around the table. “The Empire did this,” she said. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. Her eyes came to rest on Matt and for one brief moment she seemed to look right through him. “I know I’m not the only one who has felt their wrath.”
All heads nodded slowly in unison. Only the sound of shuffling feet padding across the cantina’s weathered floor interrupted their thoughts. A Wookiee approached the table and growled at the Corellian.
“The ship’s all loaded?” he asked.
The Wookiee barked an excited reply.
“Okay, great. I’ll be there in a minute.” The Corellian stood slowly, flashing Metallo a cockeyed grin. “Well, Metallo, what can I say? This game’s too rich for me!”
“Good you quit now, you old pirate!” she laughed good-naturedly. “Before I take all your credits!”
“Yeah, right,” he said, turning to leave.
“Clear skies, my friend,” Metallo called to him. Her pink eyes shifted back toward the remaining players. “Well, how about another round?”
Matt cleared his throat. “You have room for one more?” he asked.
Bland chuckled, gesturing Matt toward the seat just vacated by the Corellian. “Metallo takes anyone’s credits — even yours, Turhaya!”
Metallo looked up at Matt again. “Another Corellian?” she asked.
Matt was surprised. “How’d you know?”
“Your name — Turhaya — that’s Old Corellian. If I remember correctly, it translates to ‘bright star,’ doesn’t it?”
Matt smiled. “My father used to say it meant that the Turhaya family was destined to outshine all others.” His face soured suddenly. His life these last three years had been anything but bright. A promising career in the Imperial Navy had been shattered by the death of his wife. Then less than a year later, his daughter had been killed during a raid against suspected Rebels on Janara III. Matt rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Can I get a drink?” he shouted toward the bar.
“Yes,” Metallo called, “bring us some tea.”
Matt frowned.
Metallo frowned back at him. her eyes locking onto his again. “I won’t take credits from anyone playing drunk. Mr. Turhaya.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s mouth. “Deal,” he said as a broad grin swept across Metallo’s face.
“You did what!” Jamie Turhaya shouted, pulling the protective visor away from his face.
Matt cringed. He was glad the body of an XP-38 kept Jamie more than an arm’s length away. He’d never seen such anger in his brother’s face. “I wagered the landspeeder shop in a sabacc game,” he repeated quietly.
“Matt, you had no right! It’s my shop! You don’t own a credit of it!” Jamie shook his head in disgust. “Good skies, Mattie, what were you thinking? I thought if I gave you a job … oh, never mind. Just get out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Jamie,” Matt said.
“Sorry won’t get my shop back. Matt — ”
Metallo, too curious to wait in the shop’s well-kept office, stood at the entrance to the garage of Turhaya’s Landspeeder Repair Shop. “Excuse me,” she interrupted.
“Captain Metallo,” Matt said, turning to face her. It was obvious from her expression that she’d heard most of their conversation. “I was just explaining — ”
Metallo held her hand up to silence Matt. “You are Matt’s brother?” she asked a wide-eyed Jamie.
“Yes,” he replied. “I own this shop.”
“So I heard, Mr. Turhaya.” Metallo glared at Matt.
“Listen, Captain — ”
“And Matt is not your partner in this business?”
“That’s right, Captain,” Jamie said. “Matt works for me, that’s all.”
“So, Matt,” Metallo frowned, “you still owe me 150,000 credits.”
“150,000!” Jamie shouted. “Matt, are you crazy? Were you so drunk — ”
“Mr. Turhaya, please,” Metallo said calmly. “Matt was not drunk. He’s quite sober as you can see. Now tell me, is your brother a good mechanic?”
Jamie nodded. “When he puts his mind to it, he’s the best.”
Metallo studied Matt. “You know anything about starships. Matt?”
“He’s good with ships,” Jamie chimed in before Matt could answer.
“My freighter’s in need of some repairs — not 150,000 credits’ worth — and I have been looking for a co-pilot.”
“Co-pilot?” Matt asked warily.
“He can work off what he owes you,” Jamie added.
Metallo glanced from Matt to Jamie, then back to Matt. “The Star Quest is in docking bay 87. Meet me there in two hours,” she told him as she turned to leave.
“He’ll be there, Captain,” Jamie called to her.
Matt sulked, glowering at Jamie.
“Maybe this is a good thing, Mattie,” Jamie told his younger brother.
“I don’t know, Jamie.”
“I’ve got a feeling about her. I like her.” Jamie grinned, then turned serious. “You know, this could be a new start for you, Matt. Working the space lanes — you always did like that sort of thing. Just try to stay sober — ”
“No lectures please,” Matt grimaced.
“Matt, I’m just sorry,” he paused, trying to find the right words, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I couldn’t help you put the past behind you.”
A mist clouded Matt’s eyes. Turning away, he swatted at tears that threatened to blur his vision. “It’s not your fault, Jamie. It’s something I’ll always have to live with.”
“Remembering them is one thing, Matt, but you can’t hold on forever,” Jamie said, choking back the lump in his throat. “You’ve got to learn to let go.”
“It’s so hard,” Matt said, looking back toward his brother, no longer ashamed if Jamie saw the tears that trickled down his cheek. “You’ve never been in love before, have you, Jamie?”
“No, I haven’t, Matt,” he admitted. “But I know what Anii meant to you — ”
“Do you really?” Matt’s faced was racked with pain, his eyes burned with a passion, a rage that had become all too familiar to Jamie.
“Maybe I don’t, Matt. But, don’t you see? You’re gettin’ another chance,” Jamie said, his own eyes now brimming with tears. “All I’m saying is, don’t let yesterday’s shadows cloud your tomorrows.”
Matt nodded, though he really didn’t believe he had the strength — or the courage — to let go of those old memories.
“You’re a good man, Matt Turhaya.” Jamie hugged him tightly. “You can make this work,” he added quietly. “I know you can do it.”
Drayhar’s Cantina. Eponte Spaceport. Kabaira. One month later…
It was like a thousand other cantinas on a thousand other worlds. Dimly lit, smoke-filled and noisy, it was crowded with patrons from more than two dozen systems. Some sat huddled in corner booths plotting business transactions. A handful of music lovers sat near the stage mesmerized by the band’s passionate rendition of the familiar Ballad of Stars’ End. The lead vocalist’s deeply rich bass voice melded in perfect harmony with his trio of backup singers from Wranag.
Grimacing quietly to himself, Matt took a long sip of his brandy. Something made him glance toward the entrance of the cantina. There she was, hands planted firmly on hips, with a scowl that ran from ear flap to ear flap.
Matt folded his arms across his chest and stared up into her eyes as she approached the table.
“Loading will be completed in about two hours, Matt,” she said.
He nodded, waiting for her to comment about the half-empty glass on the table.
“The adjustment you made on the backup hyperdrive checks out 100 percent. You did a great job!”
“Ah, thanks,” he replied, caught off guard by her compliment.
“I’m gonna get in one last game of sabacc before we head out. Would you like to join me?”
“No. I think I’ll just finish my drink and head back to the ship.”
“All right. But why don’t you come over and meet my friends. A couple are free-traders, like us. The others are businessmen here. And since we’ll be doin’ lots of business on Eponte, these are people you need to know.”
“Sure,” he said, “if you think so.”
“I do.”
Four beings sat at the sabacc table in the back corner of the cantina. One, a middle-aged woman, was dressed in a silky-looking blue jumpsuit. Obviously one of the free-traders, she nodded as Metallo and Matt walked up to them. If she’d been hardened by life in the spacelanes, it certainly didn’t show on her cherubic-looking face. She studied Matt as the Twi’lek on her right smoothed his flowing red robes. He frowned, his one good eye narrowed. The other two men were dressed in conservative gray suits—Metallo’s Kabairan business associates.
“Gentlebeings!” Metallo greeted them.
“It’s about time you showed up, Metallo. We were ready to begin without you!” the older Kabairan said, running his hand through hair that was streaked with white.
Star Wars - The Adventures of Alex Winger 2 - Passages Page 1
