High Heavens (Star Wars - Luke Skywalker)

XXXIII - Youth

Mara was surprised by the liveliness that enveloped her as she stepped outside. It seemed that many people ate outside here. Some families had squat tables that they gathered around, but many more sat on the dirt, huddled around fires, shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling. The group at the end of the circle drew Mara's attention straight away. Denit, Zotee, and the other teenagers Mara recognized from the ravine sat on logs around a fire pit, each with a bowl or a mug in hand. She saw Strata's white-hair glow in the firelight, her arm linked with Denit's as they both poured back the rest of their drinks.

"Nevaeh!" Strata bolted to her feet as Mara came near, swaying as she did so. She balanced herself on Mara's arm, smiling like a Loth-cat. "There you are."

Mara patted Strata on the arm, studying the faces looking up at her. Denit met her with a smile, and Zotee with a nod, but the other two were not-so-friendly. Alek's clothed gaze remained on the fire, and sitting a hair's length from him was Wynora, who glared up with her with one organic eye, and one cybernetic blue one. Both felt equally cold.

Tiernan clapped a hand on Mara's shoulder. "Fellas, you all remember Mara."

"It's good to see you again, Mara." Zotee outstretched something to her. "Grab some stew. I made enough for everyone."

"Grab another mug, too," Denit said, shooting her a wink.

Mara ignored that second comment, but took Zotee's offer, grabbing the bowl he handed her. Warmth bled up her hands from the bowl, and she took a grateful sip. It had a handful of spices she didn't recognize, but compared to the tasteless, gray, rebellion rations? It was heavenly.

The teens jumped back into their conversation, animatedly discussing the newest edition of starfighters that had just been released on the market. From what she gathered, Mara doubted that any of them had seen a starfighter in person; the new y-wings and bombers were just distant fantasies.

Mara wanted to jump into the conversation. She knew plenty about starfighters - their speeds, maneuverability, what kind you wanted in a dogfight and the kind that would outpace any Imperial freighter. She knew as much from the Rebellion as she did from smuggling. But she kept her mouth shut. Not only because she didn't want them to know she was with the Alliance - but also because, somehow, she knew that to these kids, starfighters weren't connected to war or killing or rebellion.

She heard Cassian's voice whisper through her mind: You're so eager to grow up, that by the time you're my age, you won't have any memories of being a kid.

She had been eager. Eager to shoot a blaster, to learn to fly, to make a difference. Eager to avenge her father. Mara had been fourteen when she joined the rebels, and from there she had jumped over her teenage years to adulthood. She skipped from child to soldier, from orphan to rebel, because the steps in between had been too painful to walk.

"So, Denit, Zotee," Strata piped up, seeming to have finally started to come down from the firewater. "How did you to get here?"

Zotee answered her first. "My father's old friends with Lorelei, Tiernan's mom. When the war got too close to home, Da reached out, and we came here. Da's older now, so I take care of us."

Strata nodded, then looked to Denit. Mara didn't miss the mischievous spark in her eyes as she looked Denit over. "And you?"

"I was born on Corellia," Denit said. "My father made warships - some of the best there were. The Empire took him away when I was young. I don't know why."

Mara had an inkling. For decades, the Empire had been gathering the galaxy's most talented engineers and scientists for one purpose: the Death Star. Now that it had failed, Mara didn't want to voice her theories on what had happened to Denit's father.