Purge (Star Wars)

Nowhere

"Welcome to..." Greez's voice begins to ring out but then trails off as they drop out of hyperspace in orbit around a small moon in the Tholoth system. There is no record of a name for the small, mostly barren place, only a long string of letters and numbers.

"I'm not even going to try saying that designation," he continues. "Nowhere, nothing, no place, emptiness. Take your pick!"

"I am certain the people who live here call it something," says Merrin from the copilot seat as BD-1 skitters across the control panels, careful not to hit any buttons as he does.

"Home?" offers Cal, standing between both the pilot and co-pilot chairs with on hand resting on the back of each.

Greez gives him a side-eye glance, "Can't imagine calling this place home."

"It doesn't matter what it's called," Cere cuts in from the communication station behind them. "If this is where the next person is, getting to them before the Empire does is all that matters."

"Looks like most of the surface is covered with some kind of salt flats," Greez says, brushing Cal's hand off the back of his chair and turning back to the scanners. "That could be highly corrosive to the ship. The only safe place to set down is that landing pad at the edge of town."

"Then that's where we land," says Cere.

"How are we not going to stick out?" Greez asks.

"I do not think that will matter much," says Merrin. "If the Empire is already searching for Ilyana's leads, they may show up at any moment. It is unlikely you will have time to build a cover before they arrive.

"She has a point," says Cal.

"Yes, she does," agrees Cere. "We need to get down there fast so Cal and I can survey the town, try to sense this kid with the Force, and get out again as soon as we can."

"If we're able to convince them to come with us," says Cal with some skepticism and turns back towards Cere. "I don't like the idea of taking a kid away from their home."

"It's necessary," Cere says, the severity of the situation making her voice almost cold.

Cal nods in agreement.

"Yeah, we definitely stand out," Cal says to Cere as they walk down the main avenue of town. Heads turn as they pass, curious and suspicious. The landing pad on the edge of town, where Greez had set the Mantis down, was little more than a giant slab of exposed rock with only the faintest trace of paint remaining to indicate its purpose. The blinding white of that stone had barely been visible from the air and the town Cal and Cere walked through now was not much different. The walls of the stacked clay houses seem to be made of the same salt the people of the town mine from nearby.

"Maybe we should change tactics a bit." Cere agrees as a dry breeze rushes past them pushing wisps of salt and dust through the street where it piles against the base of the buildings and in every corner.

"Follow my lead," says Cal and he changes direction, approaching a nearby shop. The shop is small, little more than an open air workspace with a variety of specialized tools displayed from the walls and a few tables near the entrance but Cal is immediately struck by how familiar it felt. When he was in hiding on Bracca he often frequented the scrapper shops very similar to this one. They were simple places where workers could get broken or damaged tools repaired or, in worse-case-scenarios, replaced. Just like those back on Bracca, this shop was too poor to keep droid workers but was operated entirely by the owner. The only difference was the type of tools provided. Here the selection is obviously devoted to mining tools for extracting salt from the flats rather than tools for stripping starships.

The shop owner sits at the worktable against the far wall, bent over some tool Cal doesn't recognize, lost in his work. Cal tears his mind back from the memories of Bracca and the odd sense of deja vu the shop brings. He has a mission to complete, there is no purpose in getting lost in the past.

"Excuse me," he says and the shop owner twists around to see who is talking. He is a stocky Tholathian man, quite wide around the middle but with undeniable strength in his arms from years of hard work. He glares at the strangers through thick goggles that give him a bug-eyed look.

"What you want?" he asks with a rough gravelly voice, suspicious of anyone new.

"Looking for a mechanic," says Cal. "We had some engine trouble and were forced to land. Can you point us to someone who can help? And maybe somewhere we could get a drink?"

The chair squeaks wildly as the man turns to face them. He pushes the goggles off his eyes and up onto his forehead and looks Cal up and down as if trying to determine if the worn, blue jumpsuit, torn poncho and ratty boots he wore are genuine or some kind of disguise. Seemingly satisfied he turns to Cere and reviews her as well.

"You shouldn't be here," he says and begins turning back to his task. "Leave."

"We plan to," says Cere. "But as he said, we can't. We need a mechanic."

"You're lying," the man says, grabbing a large blunt tool neither Cal or Cere had ever seen before and rises to his feet with another loud screech from the chair. He hadn't looked like much while at work but as he stood he straightened up to his full height, at least a foot taller than Cal and pokes the end of the tool into Cal's chest.

"You're not Empire," the man continues in a statement rather than a question. "Neither of you. That's obvious. But you're a mechanic yourself," he says poking Cal in the chest again. "I see it in you."

"We're not looking for trouble," Cal says, taking one step back and raising his hands to show he is not a threat.

"But you bring it," the man continues undaunted. "You're liars and liars bring trouble."

"We're looking for someone," Cere finally speaks up. "To protect them."

"Only people here are our people and we protect our own," says the man, then he raises the tool, as large as Cal's head and heavy as an anvil and points back out into the street. "Leave."

"We can't," says Cal, and he pulls the lightsaber out from under his poncho and holds it out for the man to see. "We're looking for one of our own. We protect our own as well."

Just then all three of them notice movement from outside and look down to see a small Tholoth girl of no more than four years reach up and take the shop owner's empty hand. She had moved so quietly that none of them had heard her enter. She speaks a few words in Tholathian and the man lowers the tool with a calm, knowing sadness on his face.

"I am Adia," she says and steps forward, extending a hand to Cal. He smiles and reaches out to shake her hand but as soon as they touch the Force washes over him as powerful as a gale and shakes his root.

"Void below!" Cal exclaims as she releases his hand and Cere reaches out as if to steady him.

"What is it?" Cere asks and Adia smiles.

Cal looks at Cere with shock on his face, "We found who we're looking for."

"What?" Cere asks, "How do you know? I'm not sensing anything from her."

"They're coming," Adia says.

"Cal!" Merrin's voice crackles urgently over the comms.

Adia's mother holds her close, belted into one of the sofas in the holotable room of the Mantis. She stifles her sobs as Greez calls out orders to his crew and the ship takes off. Blaster fire racks the hull as Adia peeks out from beneath her mother's arms. She catches a glimpse of what remains of her town, the white buildings burning beneath the Empire's onslaught. The image of purge troopers moving through the streets, gunning down any people they saw would forever haunt her.