the hourglass turns
Jan. 29th, 2020 01:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imagines_the_ocean“Three quarter portions,” Unkar says. The man at the front of the line opens his mouth to protest. She squints. There are just two people in front of her. The Crolute cuts off the first scavenger with a wave. “More tomorrow if you bring me two of these.”
He knows better than to protest. A promise like that is better than fighting today, if Unkar keeps his word. He pulls the rations down and slinks away. He’ll probably have to trade one quarter for a new water skein, she thinks. His skin and lips seem too cracked even for a day in Jakku’s sun and sand. The woman in front of her steps forward. Her scavenged parts clunk onto the counter.
Unkar sorts through it with disgust. They’re big, but she can see the parts from here. They’re not worth much to him right now. The Rodian’s shoulders tense. Fear radiates off of her. Finally he pronounces, “One half-portion.”
She winces. The scavenger in front of her strangles a noise. But she's more desperate than the man. “It’s almost two days’ worth of work, it’s at least one portion. We can’t get you more if we don’t have enough to—"
“If you think it’s not a fair deal, you can go elsewhere,” Unkar says. His voice booms. He knows none of them can. He’s the only one to sell to. He reaches for the half-portion. The scavenger shoves her load towards him. ‘We’ meant a family member, or a partner, or a child, she thinks as she watches the inevitable. The Rodian collects her meager earnings and turns away. Her shoulders are slumped. She sees the woman’s face twisted with tearless grief.
You don't cry on Jakku. It wastes water.
She steps up. Unkar frowns at how light her load seems when she carries it. She tries to ignore the way his eyes look her over. He didn’t notice at first. It’s been more than a year now. She tries to pretend she doesn’t see. She hopes the sand and the ships leave too many marks to be interesting.
She unwraps her netting from today’s finds. Unkar’s attention leaves her in favor of her treasures. He picks them up to examine. She is careful not to smile too much. “Impressive,” he grunts. He tries to mask his own greed. She can always tell. “Only useful for spare parts and scrap, but impressive.” He starts to reach for some portions.
Now she speaks up. “There was more.”
He pauses. “Go on.”
She knows others are listening. That’s what the staff is for. “Might’ve been a beaten up nav computer. I didn’t have long enough to pry it out and come back before dark,” she adds before he asks.
Unkar looks down at the parts. They might be more than scrap with a computer that works. “Can you get back?”
“Don’t know. It might not even be worth it. I’m not sure if it works.”
Unkar looks at her closely. She stays impassive. Expose too much in the desert and you’re stripped to the bone. Not even food is worth that.
Finally he nods. “Four portions,” he announces. She sighs with relief inside. Outside she nods and gathers her treasures. He promises her nothing. He knows she’ll bring him the computer tomorrow. He’ll pay her less than it deserves. He’s paid some of it today.
She moves out of the way. She can hear the whispers. She ignores them and tucks half her stores away. That she starts to break one up into halves. Unkar’s voice continues its judgment of the bone-shards of dead ships and the people who bring them to him behind her.
There’s a dealer in the market today. They sell Unkar’s parts at markup, but at least the parts work. It’s one and a half portions for what she wants. She gets a good bargain. She saved some little things that wouldn't rate with Unkar just for a day like this. The little things make for good bargaining in the desert. Some good bolts, spanners, and a battery that only needs to be hooked up to a generator go a long way. The people who can’t scavenge will be able to use them.
She knew today would be the right day.
She stops by the water as she leaves the bazaar. She can hear crying. She looks over. The Rodian woman is huddled under the shelter of a homespun blanket. She thinks she can see another adult. The crying sounds like a child. It had been worse than she’d thought.
She looks back down at the half-portion in her hands. Two, maybe four days of food, if she’s careful.
She dunks her spare flask in the water. It’s enough to get through the night and the day. Then she turns towards home. Her netting of spare parts trails behind her. Tomorrow will be hard. She’ll have to throw the others off her tracks. At least she has the night to work. At least Unkar doesn’t know she lied to him. Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s just worth it to him. But she doesn’t think he does.
She can test the nav computer she already stashed in her den tonight. She’ll take it to him next evening if it works. She’ll rip it up for spare circuits if it doesn't. They’ll at least get another couple days of portions. The parts she got from the dealer today are enough to start testing the engine she’s rigged. She’ll have her speeder soon if she's lucky.
Luck is hard to come by on Jakku.
The sound of crying reaches her ears again.
She turns back towards the little den. They had a very nice carpet there. Maybe from wherever they came from. Everyone came from somewhere. “Here,” she says. The Rodian mother stares at the half-portion still in her hand, then up at her. She thinks the other scavenger probably thinks she’s lost her mind. The child has quieted a little. It seems confused. The other grown figure is sleeping. She can’t tell if it’s an older sibling to the child, or a co-parent, or—
Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?
(She wonders what the family is.)
“Here,” she repeats. She smiles. She tries to. She’s never sure her smiles look like smiles anymore. “You need it more than I do.”
(She has two portions in her bag she could share.
She doesn’t.)
“Thank you,” the Rodian scavenger whispers. “Thank you, thank you—”
“It’s no problem.” She starts to retreat before it gets too strange. She feels a tug on her pants and looks down. The child is staring up at her, still hiccupping. No tears, though. It’s old enough to know not to cry.
The child hugs her leg. She awkwardly pats it on the head. The pat turns into a light push so she can keep walking back to her home. No one tries anything today. The staff stays put. They’ll try tomorrow, she knows.
***
Another meal, another mark, another cycle, on the walls of her den. The nav computer will wait until long after anyone thinks she’s gone to sleep. She wants to look at the stars. She knows every position they’re in at any time of the year. She loves them. She thinks about flying among them. She thinks of the humming of ships.
She takes her best prize out with her tonight. It's better than the computer or even the portions it will bring. She turns it over in her hands. It’s a battered white helmet. The visor is miraculously intact. Her fingers trace the scorch marks and cuts in the surface, then over the fading paint. The same stylized starbird had been on the outside and inside of the fighter she’d found hidden in the shadow of the destroyer’s hull today.
(She wonders who the pilot was. She thinks maybe they crashed into the ship on purpose. They did, sometimes.)
She runs her thumb over the old insignia as she plans her day. She’ll have to take the nav computer or its circuits with her. No one will expect her to have it already. She’ll go to a different destroyer. She’ll take a path she knows the people who will follow can’t make. They’re too big or too weak or don’t know how to feel in the air when to make a jump. She’ll lose them in the ship. Then she’ll come back. She’ll get her portions from Unkar, and then she’ll go home.
She can’t take more than a few days to work on her speeder engine if she wants to eat. She puts on the helmet and looks up at the stars. The color is different through the visor, she thinks. She closes her eyes. She can’t sleep. You don’t sleep outside in the desert. But she closes her eyes.
In the distance she hears a crash. It isn’t metallic. She thinks it’s the sound of waves on rocks.
She’ll check on the Rodians tomorrow evening.
He knows better than to protest. A promise like that is better than fighting today, if Unkar keeps his word. He pulls the rations down and slinks away. He’ll probably have to trade one quarter for a new water skein, she thinks. His skin and lips seem too cracked even for a day in Jakku’s sun and sand. The woman in front of her steps forward. Her scavenged parts clunk onto the counter.
Unkar sorts through it with disgust. They’re big, but she can see the parts from here. They’re not worth much to him right now. The Rodian’s shoulders tense. Fear radiates off of her. Finally he pronounces, “One half-portion.”
She winces. The scavenger in front of her strangles a noise. But she's more desperate than the man. “It’s almost two days’ worth of work, it’s at least one portion. We can’t get you more if we don’t have enough to—"
“If you think it’s not a fair deal, you can go elsewhere,” Unkar says. His voice booms. He knows none of them can. He’s the only one to sell to. He reaches for the half-portion. The scavenger shoves her load towards him. ‘We’ meant a family member, or a partner, or a child, she thinks as she watches the inevitable. The Rodian collects her meager earnings and turns away. Her shoulders are slumped. She sees the woman’s face twisted with tearless grief.
You don't cry on Jakku. It wastes water.
She steps up. Unkar frowns at how light her load seems when she carries it. She tries to ignore the way his eyes look her over. He didn’t notice at first. It’s been more than a year now. She tries to pretend she doesn’t see. She hopes the sand and the ships leave too many marks to be interesting.
She unwraps her netting from today’s finds. Unkar’s attention leaves her in favor of her treasures. He picks them up to examine. She is careful not to smile too much. “Impressive,” he grunts. He tries to mask his own greed. She can always tell. “Only useful for spare parts and scrap, but impressive.” He starts to reach for some portions.
Now she speaks up. “There was more.”
He pauses. “Go on.”
She knows others are listening. That’s what the staff is for. “Might’ve been a beaten up nav computer. I didn’t have long enough to pry it out and come back before dark,” she adds before he asks.
Unkar looks down at the parts. They might be more than scrap with a computer that works. “Can you get back?”
“Don’t know. It might not even be worth it. I’m not sure if it works.”
Unkar looks at her closely. She stays impassive. Expose too much in the desert and you’re stripped to the bone. Not even food is worth that.
Finally he nods. “Four portions,” he announces. She sighs with relief inside. Outside she nods and gathers her treasures. He promises her nothing. He knows she’ll bring him the computer tomorrow. He’ll pay her less than it deserves. He’s paid some of it today.
She moves out of the way. She can hear the whispers. She ignores them and tucks half her stores away. That she starts to break one up into halves. Unkar’s voice continues its judgment of the bone-shards of dead ships and the people who bring them to him behind her.
There’s a dealer in the market today. They sell Unkar’s parts at markup, but at least the parts work. It’s one and a half portions for what she wants. She gets a good bargain. She saved some little things that wouldn't rate with Unkar just for a day like this. The little things make for good bargaining in the desert. Some good bolts, spanners, and a battery that only needs to be hooked up to a generator go a long way. The people who can’t scavenge will be able to use them.
She knew today would be the right day.
She stops by the water as she leaves the bazaar. She can hear crying. She looks over. The Rodian woman is huddled under the shelter of a homespun blanket. She thinks she can see another adult. The crying sounds like a child. It had been worse than she’d thought.
She looks back down at the half-portion in her hands. Two, maybe four days of food, if she’s careful.
She dunks her spare flask in the water. It’s enough to get through the night and the day. Then she turns towards home. Her netting of spare parts trails behind her. Tomorrow will be hard. She’ll have to throw the others off her tracks. At least she has the night to work. At least Unkar doesn’t know she lied to him. Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s just worth it to him. But she doesn’t think he does.
She can test the nav computer she already stashed in her den tonight. She’ll take it to him next evening if it works. She’ll rip it up for spare circuits if it doesn't. They’ll at least get another couple days of portions. The parts she got from the dealer today are enough to start testing the engine she’s rigged. She’ll have her speeder soon if she's lucky.
Luck is hard to come by on Jakku.
The sound of crying reaches her ears again.
She turns back towards the little den. They had a very nice carpet there. Maybe from wherever they came from. Everyone came from somewhere. “Here,” she says. The Rodian mother stares at the half-portion still in her hand, then up at her. She thinks the other scavenger probably thinks she’s lost her mind. The child has quieted a little. It seems confused. The other grown figure is sleeping. She can’t tell if it’s an older sibling to the child, or a co-parent, or—
Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?
(She wonders what the family is.)
“Here,” she repeats. She smiles. She tries to. She’s never sure her smiles look like smiles anymore. “You need it more than I do.”
(She has two portions in her bag she could share.
She doesn’t.)
“Thank you,” the Rodian scavenger whispers. “Thank you, thank you—”
“It’s no problem.” She starts to retreat before it gets too strange. She feels a tug on her pants and looks down. The child is staring up at her, still hiccupping. No tears, though. It’s old enough to know not to cry.
The child hugs her leg. She awkwardly pats it on the head. The pat turns into a light push so she can keep walking back to her home. No one tries anything today. The staff stays put. They’ll try tomorrow, she knows.
Another meal, another mark, another cycle, on the walls of her den. The nav computer will wait until long after anyone thinks she’s gone to sleep. She wants to look at the stars. She knows every position they’re in at any time of the year. She loves them. She thinks about flying among them. She thinks of the humming of ships.
She takes her best prize out with her tonight. It's better than the computer or even the portions it will bring. She turns it over in her hands. It’s a battered white helmet. The visor is miraculously intact. Her fingers trace the scorch marks and cuts in the surface, then over the fading paint. The same stylized starbird had been on the outside and inside of the fighter she’d found hidden in the shadow of the destroyer’s hull today.
(She wonders who the pilot was. She thinks maybe they crashed into the ship on purpose. They did, sometimes.)
She runs her thumb over the old insignia as she plans her day. She’ll have to take the nav computer or its circuits with her. No one will expect her to have it already. She’ll go to a different destroyer. She’ll take a path she knows the people who will follow can’t make. They’re too big or too weak or don’t know how to feel in the air when to make a jump. She’ll lose them in the ship. Then she’ll come back. She’ll get her portions from Unkar, and then she’ll go home.
She can’t take more than a few days to work on her speeder engine if she wants to eat. She puts on the helmet and looks up at the stars. The color is different through the visor, she thinks. She closes her eyes. She can’t sleep. You don’t sleep outside in the desert. But she closes her eyes.
In the distance she hears a crash. It isn’t metallic. She thinks it’s the sound of waves on rocks.
She’ll check on the Rodians tomorrow evening.
