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The one time she asked turned into a bargain.
“Can we take a break?”
They’d been walking for days. They had hardly any credits to their name—the name that no one asked for, so it wasn’t quite real. At first glance, to any stranger, of course they were father and daughter. A shared last name that went back generations. Family that was suffering to get by and make use of the world they were thrust into.
Rael and Marki.
No one would believe them if they told their story. Family was an easy front, and an even easier lie when Kleya treated him as any young daughter treated her father—annoying, snarky, and often correcting him.
It wasn’t as much credits to their name, but the bond they’d built. If she knew him for less time, the thought to take a marginal share of credits and run would be an enticing choice. Now, she was smarter, and more comfortable with him. The choice to run wasn’t much of a choice as it was a dumb idea, and one she couldn’t exactly bear to pull off.
He was all she had. For what it was, it was decent.
But they still had no credits, empty stomachs, and dirty clothes.
From crashed ships and wreckages to an occasional robbery performed by Luthen, they were pulling scraps for themselves. Most prospectors and bidders gave less than 10 for anything they could find. Everything was either on its way to frying at the touch, being out of commission for years, or broken beyond repair or use.
No ship, no speeder, nothing to prop their feet on and take them from camp to camp or city to city. Ruined, dirty shoes with little support on dirt roads drove daggers into each of their feet. Blisters began to form. Torn skin, bloodied heels, numb toes.
Neither really made it known. Luthen suffered worse than some sore feet, and Kleya wasn’t the kind of kid to complain, something that Luthen was silently thankful for.
That was until she couldn’t take it much longer. Complaining—showing weakness, vulnerability—that wasn’t her. Since the moment they met, she’d never dare admit to faltering. He became attuned to when something did bother her, recognizing the way her breathing would change or how differently she’d pick her feet up.
He took care of soldiers, not children. Adult men shot or knocked unconscious from the blast of their own stun. Young men who just took the clap of another man’s hand to their shoulder before jumping back in the field—the same guys who killed innocent runners trying to escape over nearby hills.
Luthen’s experience with kids—real kids—didn’t go very far. Most, to his horror… he saw at the end of his scope.
Make it stop, he begged.
She did.
“Can we take a break?”
“No,” flew off his tongue before he could think. A village was on the horizon, and had been for hours. The small speck of civilization never moved in his vision, as if they’d been standing still, frozen in time.
It was still so far.
Taking a break meant more time without food; more time without credits to their name, and more time for exhaustion and frustration to fester and surface yet another argument for him to spew his regrets about taking her in, and for her to tell him how much she wished she died back home.
They never meant it. Not really.
She asked him once why he didn’t kill her in the ship. Her expression was cold, hard as steel. A question that had no precedent, though it felt like she was holding a back and forth with him in her own mind.
Why did she have to survive? Why wasn’t she included in the massacre of her family? Why wasn’t her blood the only spilled among a field of bodies riddled with blaster shots and cauterized wounds?
He couldn’t answer. Not well enough.
How could he explain that she was the spark to the sticks and grass he built up at his feet? The fuel that ignited to burn it all? She was the colors, the heat, the impact on the skin.
The spine, the inner workings, the reason.
He couldn’t explain it himself, let alone understand. Her frazzled hair, the look on her face—the fear—that he recognized. Her small form, the dirtiness, the realization of what he’d done, what he was a part of.
She was the answer to all of it, even if she never stuck around. The girl behind the grate ignited something in him. If he lost her, the spark would live on in him. If she stayed, the burn continued on in both, hotter every single day.
It was what he said on Naboo, which was insinuated. He didn’t want to make her a child soldier. He wanted to know she was making a choice to stay. What he wanted, she wanted.
She chose.
“I got tired of it, Kleya.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give, nor one that sufficed or even mildly explained his thought process, but it wasn’t a lie.
She grabbed her small pack. “You had room under your belt for one more.” Luthen heard every crunch of her boots as she left the small camp they set up in the clearing of the woods and found a thick tree to lay against.
Far enough for anger, close enough for safety.
He didn’t want another night like that. They had to keep moving.
“A break or you carry me,” she demanded in that young, confident accent.
The thought of giving him an ultimatum was the first thing to amuse her in weeks. Always determined, always stubborn, and always on a mission to exactly what they set out to do. The mission was the village, and he was in no mood to compromise.
Carrying her was still a mission to be set on, just… a little different.
His poncho followed the gentle breeze as he turned to face her. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He did. Focusing on, he really paid mind to her and, by association, himself. Her shoes were rotten and torn, her hair coming apart from its braids. Dusty clothes covered both of them from head to toe, dirt and grime along the creases.
For the personality she had, the way she spoke, it was easy to forget her age. She was a child—a lost one, a traumatized one, the last one of her people.
Everyone has their own rebellion, but hers was young, short-lived. For someone like Luthen, now, the rebellion—hiding—became his life. For someone as young as Kleya, as stubborn and smart as she was, would still suffer from something as innocent as foot pain. Every little part of life didn’t center around the cause, as much as that was Luthen’s own reality.
He could make a choice. One much less grueling than everything they’d been dealt or had in store.
Luthen cocked his head to the side as if he was willing them both to focus back on the horizon. “We need to keep moving.”
“Shoulders or piggy-back, your choice.”
“Oh, seriously,” he mumbled.
The most stubborn people to each other. His eyes tried to talk her down, take back the task. Hers convinced him there was no backing out.
With another heavy sigh, he dropped his shoulders. “Piggy-back.” He turned and kneeled, his free back to her.
They lost their packs days ago, and extra weight for a strenuous activity was nice to be without… until it’s a kid. She steadied herself and leapt onto the middle of his back. The sudden, though expected added weight pushed on his weary bones.
As he stood, Kleya’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her hands were balled into fists, pressed into his shoulders as she slowly choked him. Her heels dug into his sides, desperate to not slip off his poncho. A small smile crept on her face as Luthen made an audible struggle of her clinging. He roped one of his arms around her knee, held her weight on his own, and used his other hand to pull her forearm from his throat, even after he asked her to ”kriff, relax.”
Following the obvious struggle, he hooked his forearms under her knees and hoisted her up his back. A small, triumphant giggle came from her, and she clung to his neck again.
“Wipe the smile off your face,” he remarked.
He was smiling, too.
He carried her. A few meters, a few hours, he couldn’t be sure. He took them through the occasional river, and ones high enough for the splashed water to soak the bottoms of her cut pants. Forests with branches hanging low enough to catch her hair, and fallen logs low enough to trip him up and nearly send them both into the dirt. Open, serene grasslands, and direct sight to the village they’d been set on for so long.
Luthen counted their steps for a while. Kept track of the amount of times she nudged his side with her toes. Continued to write in the ever-growing mental note of her exhaustion how often she dropped her chin to the top of his head.
They arrived well past sunset. The entire village was wide awake, performing their daily chores as if no one ever slept. The roads were somewhat paved with flatter stones and less rocks and dust. Personal housing was nice, spacious. Luthen saw kids playing tag, their parents having a cup of caf, and local workers still selling their merchandise to buyers. The occasional street light lit the main walkways and highlighted points of interest in Aurebush—clinic, hotel, bar, shop.
Hotel.
Kleya’s arms were loosely tossed over his shoulders by the time they arrived. Her legs no longer held her securely on his back. By sheer will and leftover strength alone, he kept her from slipping into the dirt.
He coughed as he pushed the door open with his foot, careful to not let Kleya fall too far down his shoulders. The lights were dim, the inside quiet. The most noise in Luthen’s ear was Kleya’s heavy breathing.
“Hi, there,” a woman called, catching Luthen’s attention.
He approached the small counter, a furnished piece of wood, and leaned against it. “Two of us.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Uh…” he hoisted her up gently and turned his head. He could see a bit of the outside of her shoe and its sole that was slowly pulling apart, held together by strings. “Two nights.”
“Forty.”
They had twenty to their name.
Luthen scowled at her, but kept his mouth shut. He let go of one of Kleya’s legs and reached into a folded pocket of his shirt. Pulling out everything, including loose fabric, he laid it all on the wood between them.
“We have twenty.”
“One night, then.”
Sweat formed above his brows the longer this went on. He coughed again, louder, and Kleya stirred at the motion. He turned his body to highlight her form to the clerk. “I’m sick… my daughter is malnourished. Two nights, please. And any extra food, if you can spare it.”
His goal worked—she pitied him and compromised. Two nights of rest, plus some extra food in their bellies. No credits, which meant they were back to square one, but food and rest meant much needed rejuvenation from all their time on the road with only their bloody and worn feet to carry them.
The room was small, but plenty. Two small beds, half a refresher, and a small desk.
“Kleya,” he whispered, nudging the lower half of her leg with his fingers. “Kleya.”
“I heard you.”
He scoffed. “Didn’t seem like it.” He extended his arm for her to hold onto as she slid off his back and hardly took a step before she collapsed on the bed behind them.
No packs, no personal belongings, and zero credits. He sat on the bed across from her, his fingers clasped together in his lap. Her shoes were holding onto her skin on by a thread, the soles of her feet nearly peeking out from the tears. The bottoms of her pants were still damp from the rivers, and her shirt was too big, and too filthy.
“How are your feet?”
“Sore,” she heaved.
“Do you need—”
She stopped him. “We don’t have anything, Luthen. It’s a few blisters.” She sat up on her elbows, the bags under her eyes prevelant. “I just want to get out of here.”
“Soon. After you rest up, we’re gone.”
Wide, optimistic eyes pierced his exhaustion. “Off-world?”
He considered it, and the cost of that so soon. They would need to steal. A local ship would be better, one belonging to a village member, or some straggler in the surrounding area. There was always someone with a well enough working ship. They needed something.
That wasn’t her concern, nor something to figure out now. “We can discuss it tomorrow.”
She nodded. Her feet didn’t reach the ground beneath her bed when she leaned to pull her shoes off and wipe the dust from her exposed shins. The shoes came off with no pressure, but a wince from her did.
Luthen observed her, stubborn as she was. “You can be honest.”
She tossed them aside and continued to swipe her hands up and down her body repeatedly. “About?”
“When you’re in pain. We’ll stop.”
Because of a few more well-planted charges on imperial transports, they were on the run. After their trail seemed clear, they were left in the middle of nowhere for days. Then all of their gear was stolen. They lost sleep, morality, and strength.
Luthen became hell bent on making progress, almost delusionally so. Every time Kleya recommended something—a break, something to get them credits—it was as if shouting into an echo chamber. He wouldn’t budge and continued to push them to limits that neither were fit for, independently, nor together.
“Wish you said that a few weeks ago.”
He slipped his boots off and tossed them aside. “I should’ve. Trying to find a way out consumed me. I wasn’t thinking of you.”
Shyly, she smiled at him. Not with teeth, not anything outright or even one that crept up into her eyes. A half-cocked smile that recognized his effort, the mistake he made, and couldn’t help but grow recognizing the care he clearly harbored for her—something that the Empire repeatedly beat to try and silence.
Not for her. He couldn’t.
He just carried her for miles.
Of course he cared.
Of course.
“What about our clothes?”
His poncho became a heap on the floor. “I’ll wash them in the morning.”
She knit her brows. “With half a ‘fresher?”
He turned and pulled his feet up on the bed. “I’ll make do,” he promised, laying flat into the mattress.
Kleya followed suit, relaxing into her own bed. Her feet throbbed as all pressure was finally lifted from them. Every bone in her body felt as fragile as cracked glass, and her muscles could hardly turn her head on its side to change sleeping positions.
She was out cold in minutes, just as she’d been on Luthen’s back. That was a minor fear in the back of his mind, that she’d miss out on more—better—sleep, but it was quite the opposite. Her body crashed.
For the first time in weeks, his mind filled with Maybe’s.
Maybe she should’ve eaten before sleeping.
Maybe she should’ve drank more water.
Maybe she should’ve cleaned herself first.
Maybe he should’ve listened to her when she recommended they take more breaks. She wouldn’t be in as rough shape if he did.
But she was still with him. That girl behind the grate—the very same that accepted his hand that day, unsure, but willing. Her chest still rose and fell. Her blood still flowed and her heart still beat and her eyes still lit up on rare occasions.
Every ailment, every moment of prey, every argument and prayer for the other to experience damnation, it would be worth it in the end. The fire she brought to their fight, the equation her mere presence started, it was all worth it.
She made it so.