The Survival of Two

Outshone the Stars

Osha followed a few steps behind, feeling left out of the unspoken understanding between Qimir and Adassa. They walked confidently through the street, turning corners as if they'd walked these roads their whole lives. Osha watched the sway of Adassa's strides. Her footsteps were slightly uneven—one heavier than the other—and one of her shoulders pitched up slightly with each step of the corresponding foot. Looking down and observing her footfalls, Osha noticed the cuff of her pants lift slightly with every stride, revealing the smallest glimpse of her legs. Osha caught a silver flash beneath her pant leg, suddenly understanding Adassa's stunted gait. On such an industrial planet, it was no wonder her prosthesis was bare and utilitarian. They continued their trek until they eventually came to a small storefront. They stepped inside, leaving Osha's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The room was filled with counters and tables, every surface littered with machine parts and tools. Some parts were new—their surfaces shining dimly in the low light—but most were clearly salvaged. Adassa glanced over Osha's shoulder, watching the entrance slide shut, before approaching a door at the back of the shop. Adassa stepped in front of a small keypad built into the door frame, blocking it with her body as she pressed a series of numbers. Osha heard a faint beep, and Adassa stepped back, watching as the heavy, faded green door slowly raised. Qimir turned to face Osha.

"The market is around the corner. Take your time, find whatever you need. I'll meet you there once I'm done."

Osha nodded, and Qimir followed Adassa into the back room, the door grinding shut behind them. She exited the shop, pausing on the side of the street to figure out which street Qimir had pointed her down. Making her best guess, Osha stepped off, observing the storefronts as she walked. After a few minutes, she caught sight of a large open doorway. Peeking inside, she observed a large room with a high, grey ceiling. Stalls and stands were littered across the walls and floor space, forming aisles that spanned the entire depth of the market house. She tentatively stepped inside, joining the sparse crowds that mingled through the building.

Starting down the first aisleway, she scanned the shops. She passed by numerous produce stands, as well as several butchers' counters. She continued walking, catching the faintest hint of the warm yeasty fragrance of fresh bread. She followed the scent, eventually locating the stall. The counter was piled high with stacks of golden loaves of bread and a small display containing syrupy baked goods and cakes topped with candied fruits and nuts. Her mouth watered at the display, and she grew ever more aware of the weight of the pouch of money in her pocket. Catching the attention of the man behind the counter, she pointed to a small, round loaf. He mumbled the price as he grabbed it, placing it into a thin bag, which he tied shut with a length of fraying string. Osha passed the credits across the counter and took the bag, thanking the man as she walked away.

Continuing to wander, Osha passed a stall covered in machine parts, much like Adassa's shop, followed by a stand selling thick ceramic dishes, and a small rolling cart offering roasted nuts. About to turn down the next row, she caught sight of a large storefront set up against the back wall. An old woman busied herself with a display of various garments, hanging them on a large wire rack. Osha walked over, taken in by the rich color of the fabrics. The stand was draped in midnight blues, deep crimsons, forest greens, and royal purples.

She ran her fingertips over the thick fabric of a dark purple cloak that hung from the wire. The material was soft and dense, though not overly stiff; the inside was lined with a smooth, silky fabric dyed to the same deep hue as the outer material. The hood was deep, and the neck was clasped with an ornate swirl of dark metal, a single silvery pearl adorning the center. The cloak itself was long, and the hem was adorned with curving lines of embroidery. The thread was slightly darker than the fabric itself, tracing grasping tendrils along the edge of the cloak—as if they had grown onto it like reaching vines. She ran her thumb over the impressive embroidery, admiring its craftsmanship, when the small woman approached her.