002. THE SANDS OF NOWHERE

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THE DAYS OF THE EMPIRE SEEMED LONG GONE, YET THEIR IMPACT AND INFLUENCE REMAINED. It was present in the corrupt ideologies around the galaxy which placed the upper individuals of a society higher than those in need. It was present in the fear that gripped the hearts of those terrorized by the First Order. And it was present in the scraps and wreckage that littered the surface of Jakku.

The only good thing which came from the existence of the Empire was the worth of those parts that were buried into the planet's core. Although no one was likely to receive the exact amount—or even close—to what those parts were actually worth, whatever the scavengers collected and pawned off was usually enough to last them through the week. Survival was a task approached one day at a time. At least that's the way Seth approached it.

The scavenger currently sat knee deep in electrical wiring and cluttered parts within an Imperial vessel which had crashed long before he existed. He pulled back one of the metal panels before removing various mechanisms from within the walls. After a few minutes of meticulous searching, he finally found something of value.

He dropped the part in the satchel at his side before digging himself free from the dead wires tangled around his legs. He pulled back the goggles and face mask that occasionally suffocated him more than simply inhaling the grains of sand that tainted the air, then wiped the beads of sweat that had began to roll down the sides of his temples.

His eyes drifted upward, analyzing the massive wreckage of the vessel that had crashed to the planet's surface on its side. There were still several areas that he had yet to explore, but it would have to wait for another day. He already had more parts than he could comfortably carry, and he didn't want to risk falling from the slanted vessel more than he had to.

He readjusted the satchel at his side, tightened the cloth wrapped around his hands and wrists that acted like makeshift gloves, then began his descent down the two-hundred foot-long cable to his left. As he touched down, his feet clanged against the rusted metal floor.

He dusted the sand that had gathered in his dark curls before returning the canteen clipped to his side. He shook the object to loosen the pair of water droplets that remained before tapping his hand against the side of the canteen. His lips twisted into a grimace as his throat cried out for something to quench his thirst. He squinted as he looked overhead at the blazing sun, muttering a few curses under his breath as if it were possible to insult a star which was lightyears away.

With a sigh, he pulled his mask back up over his face and the goggles back down over his eyes before starting the long trek back to his hut. The housing fee was covered by his wages at work, which made it necessary to scavenge for parts to actually put food on the empty fuel barrels that he'd gathered and made a makeshift table out of. He had a roof over his head, but anything furnished within he'd scavenged—or quite possibly stolen. The living conditions on Jakku were harsh, but not impossible to overcome.

He didn't stick around his place for long, only spending enough time to gather a few found objects from the previous day's scavenging before hopping onto a speeder which obviously should not have been working. The rust and grime that coated the hull was a reflection of what the inner workings of the machine was like. However, Seth would get every last meter that he could from the vessel before even considering searching for a replacement.

By the time he reached the Niima Outpost, the sun was straight overhead, beating down on those refueling their own vessels, those in the act of trade, or scavengers returning from their day's collection to retrieve their portions. The desert town would have easily been overlooked by anyone flying overhead as the muted color palette blended in with the sand and dunes that stretched on for miles further than the eye could see.

Seth readjusted the satchel at his side, walking with a small stagger as the additional weight around his hip dragged him down. Prior to selling the parts, it was a requirement to clean and polish each found object. The cleaner the part, the more it was worth. Over the years of scavenging, his hands had calloused. Every once in a while the dried layer of skin would crack, forcing him to quickly wrap his hands before tainting any of the parts he was working with. Blood lowered the profit margin considerably. Now, he kept his hands wrapped at all times to avoid the mistake altogether.

It was easy to get lost in his own thoughts while drumming through the mundane daily routine. His eyes drifted, watching those around him while his hands grew idle. Sitting at the table beside him was a man whose thin white hair and wrinkled skin acted like a mirror. The beating of Seth's heart faltered for a moment, recognizing that the old man beside him likely started the same work at the same age Seth had. He'd been abandoned as a child, left to rot on the sandy planet. And as much as he'd have preferred to leave: (a) he simply didn't have the funds, (b) there was a slight hope that those who had abandoned him might return for him, and (c) there was a pit that formed in his stomach whenever he considered finding passage away from the planet, as if the sand-coated atmosphere provided protection in some sadistic, twisted way.

A passing underling noticed his lack of movement and immediately barked out a series of instructions to focus the young man. Seth blinked out of his daze, pushing away the cold feeling that this might be his eternity: scrubbing his life away like the grains of sand that drifted in the breeze. He quickly returned to work, finishing up the last few found objects of his salvage before approaching the service window.

Unkar Plutt was hardly a man nor a beast, but some mixed abomination of both. His blobbish form sputtered and spat with each syllable that blubbered from his lips. His thick hands turned over each part of the man's salvage, examining each with scrutiny.

"What you've brought me today is worth..." Unkar Plutt paused, looking over the parts one last time before sliding a thin sealed packet through the transfer drawer. "One quarter portion."

Seth concealed most of his disappointment, nodding with a false thanks as he accepted the packed of dried green meat and beige powder. He swallowed his own resentment—adjusting the strap of his now empty satchel—then headed off.

The immense setting sun against the flat terrain made him feel insignificant as his speeder raced across the sand. And that insignificant feeling hardly left as he arrived at the shabby hut he called home. The first thing he did was scratch a mark into the rusty wall. Another mark; another day. He'd been counting from the moment he was dropped off—give or take a few days. There were thousands of marks at this point, it was almost obsessional to carve the mark the moment he stepped over the threshold. Some would call it insane, he claimed it kept what little sanity he had left.

He looked over the belongings within his apartment. A handmade starship, crafted from sticks and twine—a toy he'd made for himself as a child to drive away the boredom. Everything else had been reclaimed. A living space for one which follows the pattern of how he performed everything else.

As the green meat sizzled in the makeshift wok along the far wall, Seth opened the other half of the packet. He pouted the powder into a tin filled with cool milky water. With his fingers he stirred the powder, allowing it to mix and settle with the liquid. A moment later, the chemical reaction created a loaf of bread. He took the loaf and meat, placing them on an old plate, then climbed outside to lean against the side of the hut. He stared out at the horizon as he ate his meal, scarfing down the last crumbs like a starving child. Not a drop was wasted as he licked the plate clean.

A single silent ship flew overhead, a shimmering thin contrail that disappeared over the horizon line. Seth wiped his mouth, lifting an old, broken rebellion helmet from the ground at his side to place over his head.

"This is Red Leader," his voice broke the silence and echoed around the open expanse. "Red Leader, checking in."

He was almost disappointed by the lack of reply—even though he knew he was the only person around for miles. Besides he'd never been good with the pilot jargon. The world of flight was foreign to him, and he was much happier on the ground. However, there were other legends that he found easier to remember.

He picked up a spare part—one of the few he kept for himself—and jumped to his feet. He bounced on the balls of his toes as he held both hands out in front of him, wielding the part like the hilt of a weapon. He clicked his tongue and made a whirring sound with his mouth, mimicking a sound he could only recall from his dreams.

He'd heard tales of mystic protectors who wielded pure light in their fight against evil. The bars were always full of these stories. And although he couldn't afford the drink, listening was always free and sometimes offered a better escape than the illegal liquor sold.

He slowly swung the part through the air as if he intended to slice the atmosphere in half. It was like his muscles were acting on memory as he followed the steps of the dance that he participated in every night when his eyes closed and he drifted off into dreams of distant memories.

It was only the high-pitched sound of an electronic squeal that snapped him free from the trance. He threw the helmet from his head into the ground, dropped the salvaged part, grabbed his quarterstaff from the ground, then sprinted toward the repetitive beeps echoing just over the next dune.

Seth bristled at the ongoing scene below as he watched the captured BB unit struggle against the net it had been captured within. Teedo—Seth's brutish desert competitor when it came to the salvaging business—yelled down at the droid, prodding it with an electric bo staff from the seat of his Luggabeast.

Seth decided enough was enough, and intervened with a shout, "Tal'ama parqual!"

Both Teedo and the BB unit went silent turning to face him. However, the humanoid scavenger was ignored as Teedo immediately went back to prodding the droid with his staff.

"Parqual zatana!" Seth added onto his previous shout.

There was another half beat of silence before Teedo retorted with his own threat. The BB's head swiveled back and forth, as if watching the argument like it were a sporting match. Seth rolled his eyes, angrily muttering a few curses under his breath before pulling a knife from his pouch. To emphasize his point, he began cutting the BB unit free, much to Teedo's displeasure.

Teedo began to climb down from his Luggabeast, but Seth turned the knife on the alien creature with a disapproving shake of his head. "Noma."

Teedo shouted something along the lines of "Go to Hell" in his native tongue before deciding the droid wasn't worth the hassle. He jabbed his heels into the beast's sides, riding off toward the horizon line at a pace slightly faster than sluggish.

The BB unit called out after Teedo in a series of derisive beeps meant to antagonize the alien. Seth quickly shook his head, shushing the droid. The BB unit listened, instantly quieting as the two watched Teedo begin to shrink over the horizon line.

The BB unit posed a question with a couple of beeps. Seth kneeled, keeping his hostile eyes on the horizon line as he fixed up the small droid. "That's just Teedo. Wants you for parts. He has no respect for anyone. Your antenna's bent."

The BB unit chirped with appreciation.

Seth nodded, his mind wandering elsewhere with a dozen questions as he straightened the antenna. "Where do you come from?"

The BB unit—DB-17 as she introduced herself—beeped.

"Classified. Really?" Seth asked, then nodded as if playing along. "Me too. Big secret." After pausing a moment he pointed toward the horizon line. "Niima Outpost is that way, stay off Kelvin Ridge. Keep away from the Sinking Fields in the north, you'll drown in the sand."

He stood—dusting off his hands and the sand that clung to the knees of his pants—the headed off, leaving the droid behind.

DB-17 rolled after him, beeping as if to call him back.

Seth stopped, sharply turning back around. "Don't follow me. Town is that way."

The droid beeped again.

"No!" Seth exclaimed and shook his head. He pointed back in the direction of town then continued on his way back toward the hut. It was only after the droid chirped about being alone and scared with no one else to turn to that he slowly turned around. He sighed with reluctance. "Come on."

DB-17 chirped with delight, quickly rolling to his side.

Together, they continued in the direction of his hut. He eyes the droid with annoyance, but there was also a reflection of fondness that the BB unit could detect. "In the morning, you go."

However, they both understood it was an empty comment. The droid would stick around as long as she needed to and Seth would happily play the host. DB needed an ally, and Seth was more than relieved to find himself not alone for the first time in a long while.

DB chirped.

Seth nodded, his tough facade cracking with a smile. "You're welcome."

As the moon slowly peaked over the horizon line, blending with the sun for a single moment of bliss. There was a positive light reflecting across the sands of Jakku... which meant there was a darker shadow lingering, waiting for the right moment to strike when it's least expected.

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