Star Wars: The Last Qymaili | ✔

26 | Three Heartbeats

Song: "Departing Coruscant" from Attack of the Clones OST

"Here," Arna said, thrusting a suitcase at her. "How many robes should I bring?"

She smiled. "You can wash them in the springs. Bring three or four."

"In the springs? Kalee doesn't have running water?"

"Water runs, Arna. In the springs."

"Whatever." He sighed. "Where on Kalee are you from, anyway?"

A sigh. "Grendaju. Tiny island on the southern tip, so dress warm."

"What tribe?"

She hesitated. "They were killed."

"Every one of them?"

"Men, women, and children. I'm the last of the Qymaili. But there are still people of Grendajese ethnicity there."

"Is the island inhabited?"

"Absolutely," she said. A daze rested in her mind. I'm going home. I'm going back to Kalee at last. Even now, the first thing that darted to her head was the face of her Qymaen. She could not fool herself into believing she could live away from him for long.

Arna tensed again. "Who controls it now?"

"The Yamikhi tribe," she said, examining the furs that had been packed for her. "When the Yam'rii came to Grendaju and killed off the last of the Qymaili, they brought in the Kunbali prisoners they'd caught from the equator and forced them to learn the Huk language. The result of Kaleesh mouths speaking the Huk tongue made a pidgin language and a new group with it."

She exhaled through her mouth giddily. "Six years ago, Qymaen and I...."

She stopped, her throat closing at the memories of seeing her birthplace again, Qymaen's fur-wrapped hands clutching his beloved Czerka rifle as the Kharankhui forces fought to liberate the captured Kunbali tribes, of his lips pressed to her bloodied forehead as their fatigued forces cheered.

And of course, memories of delicately sliding snowballs down his shirt and snickering as he screamed bloody murder into the icy void of Grendaju.

Arna huffed and jolted her out of her thoughts. "Can you speak Yamikhi?"

She shrugged. "A bit, but that's all we'll need."

He nodded. "Eat this while I pack the ship."

✺✺✺

Ronderu never thought she would see an air-traffic control station hovering over Kalee. I suppose that conquering the Yam'rii planets gave the Khaganate some opportunities, she thought ruefully. Qymaen had likely had this built for commercial purposes, yet there were no other ships being checked at air-traffic control.

They are poor, she said. We are poor.

Arna rested his palm over hers. Nothing romantic. It's just a gesture of friendship. "It'll be okay. Can you translate?"

"Certainly." She stood, inhaled, and spoke in Kaleesh. The words rolled off her tongue awkwardly. "Permission to dock at the Bos'wellia spaceport."

"Insert your names and IDs now," a male voice said from the other side.

"I don't have an ID," she hissed at Arna after she'd searched for the Basic. "That was before Kalee required them."

"Well, you can register under mine," he said. "Register as my wife....or something."