War Child--Rogue One

XXVII

After I leave Linami in the hall, I go back to my own barracks.

I'm definitely getting more sleep than in prison, but not enough still. I try to sleep, but end up staring at the wall and contemplating...pretty much nothing really.

The door opens and I look up. "Ever heard of knocking?" I grumble.

Gaspard shrugs. "I was wondering if you wanted to go down to the village. There's still a few hours before dinner."

I sit up. "Have you showered?"

"Obviously. I wouldn't want to singe your sensitive nose hairs." He pulls at a bit of his wet hair.

With a scowl, I walk towards him, mockingly making myself bigger like I am about to fight him. He laughs and puts his hands up. I throw a halfhearted punch his way, which he grabs.

"I can't buy anything," I say, reaching for my jacket.

"I've got a few credits. Actually, you're paid today. Go pick it up."

"Where?"

"Come on."

He starts down the hall and I find myself jogging to keep up with him.  I do this a lot, I've noticed.

We come up to a window in the wall. There's a line. Gaspard taps his foot impatiently while we sit through the whole line until it's my turn.

A bored-looking woman sits behind the counter on a stool. "Name and rank?"

"Cassian Andor," I start.

"Unspecified," Gaspard finishes.

"Cassian Andor, unspecified," the woman muses as she taps my name into a data pad. "Twenty-seven credits," she tells me, counting out the coins. "Your next pay day is in seven days."

I shovel the credits into my hand. "Thank you."

"Mhmm."

I drop the coins in my pocket and we set off.

"Let's see," Gaspard calculates, "Its fifteen minutes down into the village if we walk quickly, and a little over that on the way back up the hill. And dinner is in an hour and a half. We've got less than an hour." He checks his watch and nods, confirming his own decision.

"Alright then. So I'm guessing we aren't visiting the cantina?"

"No time."

I sigh.  "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bunk this morning?"

"There's only one side for me to get up on.  That saying is stupid."  He scowls.

Definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bunk.

"I'm only grumpy because there is nothing rebellious about running around in circles until you vomit," Gaspard continues.

"It's getting you ready, isn't it?  So you can run against the Empire?"

"I work best undercover.  They just don't have a place for that."

"Work your way up."

"You know, sometimes it seems like you're the mentor in this relationship," Gaspard says, finally smiling.

I smile too.  "I think Linami thinks so too."

"Really? What advice did you give her?" he asks, kicking a stone.

"Listen to her own mentor.  Same as I have you.  Only we had a bet, and I won," I finish with triumph.

"What'd you win?"

"She's going to teach me to fly."

"After that dive-bomb?" Gaspard laughs.

I give him a look that only makes him laugh harder.  "The dive bomb is exactly why I want to learn.  If I go on a mission and my pilot is injured, I want to be able to get us out of there without crashing because of my fault.  I can't control wether or not we'll get hit by other ships, but at least I can help myself."

He nods.  "Makes sense."

We reach the village and walk through the marketplace.  There's a stall with blankets, and I pause.

Gaspard turns.  "Cassian?"

I stroke a sky-blue blanket.  "Mother and I used to make and sell blankets," I say quietly.

He nods, clearly at a loss for words.  "I'm sorry."

"No, we made good money off of it."  I lift the hem and examine the stitches.  It's good work.

"I mean about your mother."

"I'm going to find her," I say with steely resolve.  I don't know it at this point, but I never do.

I decide to buy the blanket.  It will be a reminder to find her.  No matter what.

We move on.

Gaspard stops and buys a small pot of kohl and a brush.  He sees me staring, and says, "It used to be my signature thing, before I was captured.  A bit around the eyes.  Adds some ferocity as well as the tiniest bit of disguise.  The Empire knows me for it."

I shrug.

Next, we walk into a weapons store.  I pick up a small blaster.  It's ten credits, an outrageously low price for a weapon.  Probably terrible quality, too.

I put it back down gently and look at the field knives in the glass display.  The shopkeeper dusts his hands.  "Anything you'd like to see?"

I point to a small one with a black metal hilt.  "That one, please."

He takes it out and hands it to me.  "A fine quality knife, inexpensive too," he pitches as I turn it over in my hands.

"How much?" I ask.  The blade is sharp and doesn't bend when I push the flat side against my palm.

"Eleven credits."

"Could you lower that?  I've only got eight."  I reach into my pocket, hoping that my old trick of pulling out precisely the amount I said I had still works.

He tilts his head, thinking.  "You're with the Rebels, correct?"

I nod.

He beams.  "Alright then!  Eight it is!"

I hand him the eight credits, glad that my trick did work, and accept the sheath he offers.  Gaspard buys a smaller knife and we decide to walk back to the base a bit early so we can put our things in our barracks.

As we walk, we talk about stories we learned as children, to tell the differences twelve years of story telling make.  It turns out that region as well as time makes all the difference in the galaxy, since there's only a few components in each story that carries over.

I spread the blue blanket over my bed, adding a splash of color to my grey and brown room.  The color is certainly welcome, and it reminds me, almost painfully, of home.

On second thought, maybe I shouldn't have bought the blanket.  I fold it up and put it in one of the cupboards on the wall.

I clip the sheath to my belt and cover it halfway with my shirt.  I don't want to possibly get in trouble for having an unauthorized weapon.  I still don't fully understand the rules here, and I definitely don't want to clean up after everyone's dinners.