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scrumpledorph-writes · 11 months ago

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Koben's First Date (She's 35)

Arrived at the agreed upon meeting point at 18:55 hours: five minutes to perform a reconnaissance before the date begins. Three suns casting a long set of shadows and a dangerous ambient temperature for anything not covered by them. Single story bar, wrought out of sun baked clay, outer walls a solid imperial meter thick. Would diffuse a whole platoon of blaster rifle fire.

Still a dingy rathole at the edge of town, but it’s what my date picked out. I’ve only been staying here two weeks so it’s not like I know anywhere nicer. I’ve done breach and clears on scummier places, so just coming here to relax should be easy!

Wearing my best suit of armor, picked out my most flattering helmet, and polished the outfit well enough to blind anyone who points a glowrod at me. I look good, I feel good: I can do this. Just walk through that front door and-

There’s half a dozen blaster pistols pointed at me. ‘What the hell’s a trooper doing here?!’ one of them’s asking. I figured the purple stripes and the mismatched helmet would be a flagrant enough violation of Imperial Dress Armor Maintenance Protocol to get the point across that I’m no longer officially Empire affiliated, but some people just don’t read their manuals I suppose.

My hands are by my side, I’m playing it cool. Don’t kill six people before sitting down, that’s coming on too strong.

‘Oh, uhh, don’t mind me! Just here on a date, was gonna sit down in that empty booth and-’

A blaster pistol pokes me in the side as I walk by. Killing one or two of these guys will probably get the point across, that’s a justifiable use of force in a naval court. I take a survey of the room: angles, positions, battery grades. Their guns are barely stronger than stunners, I could take at least three solid hits before the heat sinks start to fail – it’d ruin the polish though.

Okay just break this guy’s arm and use him as a shield to get the point across. Here. We.

‘Hey Buckethead, you got credits?’ The bartender! He seems amenable; this place is a hole in the wall so losing these scumbags would probably put him out of business. Turn to look at him, nod slowly, reach for my credit pouch even more so.

‘Good. You thirsty?’ Nod again. I scheduled this date to align precisely with my dietary schedule, so I plan to have one and a half glasses of water and a nutritionally complete meal. Ample spending for a single patron.

‘Then whoever shoots you pays your tab.’ The blasters recede back into cloaks and shoddy holsters. Sit down at the booth without further incident, good progress so far. Don’t remember any of my old squad-mates mentioning shootouts in their date stories. Face the door so I can keep an eye out for her.

She’s a few minutes late. Within acceptable standard deviation, not worth a reprimand. Even if it was I’d let it slide, because standing in the front doorway she’s just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Coral pink skin draped over legs built like tree trunks – waging a war of attrition against a pair of work pants eligible for veteran’s benefits, and winning it by the look of the tears. Cushion around the midsection: serving double duty as protection and a calorie reserve for long bouts of physical labour. Arms poking out of a sleeveless, tastefully sun bleached off white work shirt that look like they could heft up a laser cannon. Years of desert dust had taken up the venerable work of sculpting her a strong, hardy jawline that could come out the other end of a brawl with no more than a bruise. All this topped off with a half dozen shoulder length Nautolan head tentacles.

I didn’t even know women could look like that – they definitely can’t while adhering to Imperial Diet and Dress Guidelines – but I’m glad she does. Her deep black eyes are on me. I’m glad to be wearing a helmet, just now noticing my jaw dropped while I was looking her up and down.

They’re off me again. She’s looking around the bar. Oh shit, right, I’m in full armor. Wave her down. She’s pointing at herself incredulously. Nod, but don’t nod so hard I look desperate. Alright that worked. I never got sent on information gathering missions, so I don’t have any training for how to seduce a woman, but all the guys used to say just be yourself and act natural.

‘H-hi’ Terrible. Cracked, warbling voice, trembling like a schoolchild. Clear your throat, pretend this is a debrief with a particularly informal officer, and try again.

‘Hey! Brayli, right?’ ‘Yeah, you’re Koben?’ That husky drawl is just about making my knees buckle, really glad I decided to meet her sitting down. Her voice is bouncing around in my helmet like a concussion grenade bounces shockwaves around a cockpit.

‘Do you mind if I take this thing off?’ Point at the helmet to make sure she doesn’t think you’re some kind of exhibitionist freak. She’s nodding, good. Don’t put it on the table that’s weird and intimidating. The seat next to you is good, that’s normal, put it there.

She’s smirking now, oh no why’s she doing that, she’s making fun of me, now that there’s nothing keeping her from reading my face it’s written on me like a bounty poster how nervous I am.

‘Not sure why you bother wearing that, cute thing like you.’ Oh, I understand now, she’s forward. Really forward. Can’t keep the nervous laughter inside, but she seems to be liking it. Adrenal responses involve an up front surge and level off with time, take the conversation somewhere less stimulating and circle back around for another pass later.

‘I kept it this way by wearing the thing – an old squad-mate of mine took his off and took a blaster shot, looked like someone had smashed a tomato with a hammer.’ Why. Why did you say that. That’s weird, nobody knows what a smashed tomato looks like and nobody wants to know that it looks a lot like a blown open face.

Wait no never mind she’s laughing I’m doing great – mental note maybe this woman is dangerous – laugh too so you don’t look like a commando droid with synthskin draped over it. We’re having idle conversation, it’s progressing naturally. Keep talking.

‘That outfit looks practical, what do you need it for?’ She’s looking down at it, now back to me. ‘Speeder mechanic. I would’ve wore some nicer clothes, but I don’t own any.’ Another little laugh. She laughs a lot, it’s really pretty. I’d ask her to spend the rest of the night just laughing at nothing but that’s weird so I won’t. I’m already laughing too, I didn’t even need to remember.

‘Yeah I know what you mean. My closet’s this and a subcycle’s worth of identical underarmor.’ Too far, you were doing great but you were riding a thin line and now she knows you live like a soldier who has nothing else to offer – no wait another laugh she’s fine you’re fine it’s fine everything’s fine.

‘Well, it’s a very nice suit of armor. Maybe you can let me take a closer look some time.’ I’m pretty sure that was flirty, don’t be standoffish and professional about this. ‘You can take a look now!’ I’ll show her my gauntlet: it’s the smallest piece which makes people think it’s the least important but actually an incredible degree of engineering goes into all the microservos: nobody ever thinks unpowered armor needs microservos because you can move it just with your hands, but actually they’re there to subtly compensate for recoil. Normal Stormtrooper armor doesn’t have it, and in test environments where Purge and Storm troopers swapped armor it was found to reduce deviation by up to five degrees and increase hit probability by as much as fifteen percent. Why am I bothering to remember this; she’s a civilian speeder mechanic she doesn’t care about any of this.

She’s running her fingers along my hand. I know I’m not feeling her body heat because the suit is weather proofed, but it feels like she’s leaving lingering embers trailing along my skin. But not searing it like how the inquisition sears flesh with their lightsabers to torture dissidents, it’s more like the gentle warmth of a blaster barrel after a just slightly too long burst. It’s nice.

Her mouth furrows into a frown for the first time of the night. Why, what’s wrong, what’d I do, can she tell everything that these gauntlets have ever done? Is she a secret jedi? Does she feel them around her windpipe crushing the life out of her and her son is beating on the leg of my armor for me to stop but he’s so weak and I’m so much stronger and then there’s a crack and she falls limp and I walk away, leaving a scar that won’t ever heal in her son’s heart until he joins a resistance cell and I end up shooting him stone dead in the street?

‘It looks like this microservo’s a little out of tune.’

Oh. Well that’s fine. ‘Maybe you could tune it up for me some time?’ I didn’t even think that one through, but she’s smiling about it, so I guess we have something in common. She’s letting my hand rest on top of hers after giving it a complete once over. I know I should probably pull it back, but this is nice. Just a few more seconds. One. Two. Three. No more, it’s time to move on to something else.

‘So, what’re you doing for work now that the Empire finally let you go?’ Don’t correct her by saying I deserted. There’s a lot of things not to have said tonight, and I’m already safely past most of them, but don’t say that one specifically the most. Followup thing not to say: don’t tell her I’m a bounty killer. Definitely don’t mention that I’m specifically a bounty killer and not a bounty hunter because there’s an active bounty out on me and the only work I could get was the illegal version. Don’t lie to her, because that’s almost as bad as all those other things, but stretch the truth until it ends up somewhere respectable.

‘Freelance security work. Protecting transports and merchant caravans.’ Not a lie! Sometimes I end up guarding a dummy caravan as bait until the target shows up. She looks impressed. I’m out of things I can reasonably say, how do I follow this up. Drinks!

Yeah, get drinks, showcase my poison honed constitution, that’ll be really impressive! My inquisitor used to microdose me on common toxins to build up a resistance to ambushes and subterfuge. Whatever watered down swill a place like this can offer will be easy!

Speaking of, it’s been a long day. This place serve anything strong?’ Another little chuckle. I’m starting to savor every one of them. ‘Hey Glixnee, get us a couple snakebites.’ Oh, the mess hall used to serve those. Not really what I’d call strong, but out here I guess something recognizable is as good as I can hope for. The bartender is making the drinks and he’s bringing us the drinks and the drinks are here and this is the single most revolting substance that has ever entered my digestive system.

Poisons are usually engineered to be subtle, but this is just making no secret of how awful it is. She’s sipping at it with no trouble like it’s a glass of water. I think if I try that I’ll throw up. All of it, right now. It feels like molten slag going down, but it’s gone. Now I can dilute it over the night. She’s laughing again.

‘Wow, hope you’ve got a synth liver.’ My body feels like it’s unspooling, but my limbs still move so I guess I’m fine. ‘Whaddyu meen?’ That didn’t come out right. Try again, still wrong. She’s laughing the hardest she has all night. I’d chug a gallon of this expired swill if it kept making her laugh harder.

‘You know you just downed a glass of snake venom, right? You’re supposed to sip on it over the night, let it attack you in small waves and fight it off for a light buzz. It takes three hours to drink one dose safely without an enhanced toxin filter.’ I’m sliding down the bench. The lights just got a lot brighter and her voice is so loud now, she’s talking so slowly too. My mouth tastes like I licked the ashes out of the barrel of my blaster rifle, but other than that I feel gooooood. ‘Ooooh. Yaaaay.’

I’m having a great time halfway to the floor, giggling and drooling and now I can’t move my face any more so I guess I’m gonna rest in a pool of it for a little bit. She’s saying something to the bartender but my ears are ringing like one of the guys pranked me with a flashbang so I don’t really know what it is they’re saying. Oh now she’s picking me up, she’s giving me a hug, hooray! Oh she’s holding my mouth open, are we having a kiss now?

The bartender’s coming over, when’d he join our date? Get him out of here, I wanna flail my arms at him to get him out of here but they don’t wanna move for me, little treacherous bastards. He’s pouring something down my throat and it tastes even worse than the venom somehow and he’s carrying me away. Goodbye everybody at the bar! I want to wave but my arms are still mutinying so a little happy wheeze will do.

I’m kicking my legs and having fun with the ride and now I’m in a bathroom stall. I don’t really need to use the bathroom and now my tummy’s turning itself inside out and I’m purging the toxins from my system, coughing and retching as it burns even worse on the way up than it did on the way down.

The world’s coming back into focus and I’m mostly over whatever the hell that was but still reeling from the exertion, only dimly aware he’s talking to me. I’m looking up at him, and he’s laughing, but obviously at me and not with me like Brayli does. ‘Gotta admit I don’t see folks try that one too often. Wanted to look tough for your date?’

I’m being reprimanded, a role I’m a lot more familiar with. He’s talking again now that I’ve managed an embarrassed nod. ‘Well you put on a great show. I’ll go tell ‘em to settle down before you come back out, but hell: I’m not even gonna charge you for this.’ His apron has a lot more pockets than I expected, and that ever so slightly glowing blue vial is singing a siren’s song of relief to me right now.

‘I got most of it out, but not enough for it not to kill me, and this is the antidote?’ ‘Good guess. This a hobby of yours or something?’ It’s the least objectionable thing I’ve had to drink tonight, even factoring in the lumps. Splash some cold water on my face, swish my mouth out from the tap, and I’m feeling close enough to fine to go back out. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.

There’s a couple sets of eyes on me right now, but the only ones I care about are hers. They’re locked onto me and I’m not even forcing the little smile I can feel forming. ‘Hey. Guess a snakebite’s a little different around here than an Imperial canteen.’ We’re laughing it off together. It’s been a very nice change of pace to be laughed with instead of at.

‘Holy shit she’s got flesh and blood after all! Here I was thinking you’d found the last commando droid abandoned on the assembly line and dressed it up in a layer of synthskin so you could pretend anyone liked you!’

I could kill him, easily. He’s obviously drunk, so his reflexes are shot, and he’s a gangly little son of a bitch anyway. One of those chitinous species’ that don’t give in gradually to force, I’d get a nice satisfying crunch all at once. Put the helmet on so he can’t even hope for a glass to the face to save him, snuff the life out of his stupid compound eyes, reveal that I’m nothing more than a cold blooded killer, scar her for life. Forget it.

She’s giving me another smile, but this one’s forced. I had to study the way faces contort once during counterspy training and this one’s fake. Without another word she’s up, and then he’s down. One good right hook to the side of the head and – holy hell it bounced off the counter! Normally when you knock someone out cold they just slump over like a sack of meat and go through oxygen deprivation and die, but he might not even get the chance. By the Emperor I think I just swallowed my tongue. No, still feel it. Definitely made me jump in my seat a little, which even a proton torpedo across the view screen doesn’t make me do any more. I was infatuated before, but now I’m in love.

I’m still staring as she sits down, but now I’m worried that she’s mistaking how attracted I am for concern, or worse: judgment. Clear my throat, blink, put my face back on right. ‘Relax, his bug juice coagulates quickly. He’ll be fine.’ I’ll take her word for it. Not quite sure if I’m disappointed, but the swirling torrent of toxin hangover and flustered lust are definitely calling for some fresh air.

‘Hey, if it’s alright, do you maybe want to get out of here?’ ‘Please.’ We’re up, the helmet’s back on, my credit purse is a little heavier – my last job could only pay me in thousands so the barkeep had to break change – and we’re outside. I never thought I’d want to fill my lungs with this dry, dusty air but my head’s already starting to empty out.

‘Well, I should call a speeder. I had a great time though, if you wanted to swap comm frequencies I’d love to keep in touch.’ Unreserved, unabashed, not desperate, not apologetic, no promises to do better. I didn’t even know talking to someone could be like this. She’s giggling. It’s fine, she giggles a lot. I’m not in trouble.

‘I can give you a lift.’ She’s pointing at a land speeder. At least, the rough silhouette of a land speeder. More like a cobbled together pile of parts that failed routine inspection. Any requisition officer would scrap it, maybe even have it melted down and recast to be on the safe side, but if she’s a mechanic then I’m sure it runs. Can’t exactly say it looks out of place around here.

We’re in the speeder together. It’s cramped. Her thighs are laying siege to the unyielding plate of my suit. There’s no room for me to put it if I were to take it off. This suit’s the one thing that’s never failed or betrayed me over the years, but I’m half tempted to dump it out the side just so it could be my skin she’s pressed up against. I’ll settle for putting my helmet on the floor.

My place is a long way out of town. Little whitewashed clay hut in the middle of nowhere, an inconspicuous blip not worth paying any attention to. Suits my needs perfectly, but it’s a long trip. I always take a speeder halfway then march for half an hour just so there’s nobody who could trace my location.

We’re stopped. ‘Engine trouble?’ She’s shaking her head and pointing over my shoulder. ‘Just wanted to take in the sunset for a few minutes.’ Oh wow, that’s worth stopping for. The three suns look beautiful over the dunes; their usual oppressive hues are fading into a cool pink. Glittering and sparkling and reflected a million million fold over the sand. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Her weight just shifted onto me. The speeder is on the ground, so no danger of capsizing. I’ve seen other troopers use this maneuver before: put my arm around her shoulder. We’re sitting silently, just watching the suns disappear over the horizon. It’s nice.

The minutes pass, and the suns retreat with them. I’m looking into those fathomless black eyes of hers, completely devoid of texture and depth. I’d love to be lost in them forever. The speeder starts up more easily than the first time, and we’re off across the dunes again.

I can’t invite her in, she can’t even get line of sight to my place. Damn it! I clear my throat at the crest of a dune. Good enough visibility, I can find my way back home. ‘You can let me out here. I like the exercise.’ Not the whole truth, but not a stretch either: I always appreciated long marches.

Getting out is a modest challenge with the speeder still running, but I can manage. She’s waving me off, I’m returning the gesture. ‘Not quite the night I was expecting, but one I wouldn’t mind following up on. Call me tomorrow?’ I’m nodding, we’re both waving, she’s driving off, I’m walking alone with my helmet under my shoulder and a chill creeping across my face. Those last two solve each other.

Lots of time to think on the march. Think about what I am, think about what I used to be. Child slave, orphan, Naval Academy star pupil. Storm trooper, Purge trooper, assassin. Deserter, bounty killer. Happy. I was happy tonight. Maybe a little of those other things, but mostly that. I hope I can be happy again soon.

#star wars #sapphic #transgender #oc #my oc #writing #Koben Tarani

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scrumpledorph-writes · 10 months ago

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Koben’s Requisition (Shopping Trip)

My wounds have had long enough to heal. Left arm is still a little tender, but I don’t think I can bear sitting around doing nothing all day again. Already deviated from my sleeping schedule by fifteen minutes last night. I should go scope out the landscape around here, pick up a few essentials while I do it: a change of clothes, a spare blaster, maybe some thermal weave if I can manage that discreetly. Date night tomorrow too; so I should get a second change of clothes. A nice one.

No getting around wearing the armor into town again. As much as it draws attention, it at least gives people the proper impression. Not much difference between a body glove and a cat suit to a civilian eye, and just the thought of being propositioned has me recalling all the practice I had on how to snap a wrist. I don’t think the blood would wash out if someone tried to perform an unannounced physical inspection. The blaster rifle should probably stay home though.

Only twenty minutes across the flats to town, this speeder performs exceptionally far above the standard set by all the taxi speeders I’ve been calling. Could be made with illegal parts, or stolen Imperial tech. If that’s the case, somebody will come looking for it. They likely wouldn’t be expecting anyone to put up a fight, and their body wouldn’t last more than a few days on the sands – scouring winds for the flesh, scavengers for the bones, but that would leave a loose thread for whoever sent them. They’d send a bigger force to follow up, one of them might report back, and I’d be left looking for another little nothing planet to start all over on, alone.

I should have this thing inspected. Brayli’s a speeder mechanic, but I don’t know if it would offend her to blend her work and private life, even if I offer to pay. She probably wants to get away from work when we’re together. I could find another mechanic, but then she’d wonder why I didn’t bring it to her; if I don’t think she’s a good enough mechanic to do the job. Maybe I should bring it in now, while we’re not on a date and she’s a speeder mechanic first. Just bring in the speeder I stole off a bounty target, I’m sure that won’t cause any problems. Stupid; bad idea.

Think about it later, stick to the plan for the day so I can at least get something important done. Blaster first, it’s the easiest to carry around. Should just assume anything I can find around here is illegal, so who looks like the most credible illegal dealer? Is that a squadron of Jawas running a stall out of a speeder truck? Never seen that before. They at least probably stole it first hand, so I’d be getting it second hand, which beats third or fourth from any of the rest of these shops. They’re looking at me expectantly—too bad I don’t speak Jawa.

‘Hey miss! You in the suit! Were you hoping to do business with my fine companions?’ Long loose coat, loping posture, smile too wide for his head, voice like a tread on gravel. Shifty, probably a conman. Unfortunately my best bet. ‘I was.’ ‘Ah, but you don’t speak Jawa do you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah that’s alright my friend, few people do.’ He’s trying to put his arm around me. Too friendly. Firm hand on the wrist, firmer shake of the head. ‘Ah, straight to business with you, I can respect that.’ He’d better. ‘So, what is it you’re in the market for?’

‘Blaster pistol. Highest power you have. Discretion is no concern.’ ‘Highest power you say? I hope you have your papers.’ He’s laughing, slapping two of his four spindly hands against two of his twig like knees. Trying to draw me in, establish a connection he can exploit. ‘I don’t.’

He’s standing up straight now, but with how crooked everything else about him is it makes him look off balance. ‘Ah ha, well, that’s no matter. Only a joke. Please, feel free to browse. We keep the batteries stored separately, so by all means inspect the merchandise, give the triggers a test squeeze or two.’

Surplus, worn out, stripped, knockoff. I should have expected none of these would meet any official standards. Good thing I carry a pocket tool. There might be one good blaster spread across this entire inventory. ‘Hey hey, whoa lady, what do you think you’re doing?!’ He’s spineless, maybe literally; push a little harder and he’ll fold.

‘You claim to sell blasters. These aren’t blasters, they’re piles of scrap. Most of your customers won’t know the difference until it kills them, but if you cared about that you wouldn’t be selling them.’ Guilt. Not the guilt of knowing his shoddy goods have killed his customers, but of knowing he’s been caught. ‘Let me pull a few of these apart, put together a complete, functional blaster, pay you for the parts since I’ll be handling all the work – then you can put the rest back together and get back to scamming people.’ His face looks more red than an imperial saber and pressurized as a grenade.

‘Two thousand credits for the privilege of picking and choosing.’ ‘A good heavy blaster is worth seven hundred new; five hundred and fifty for your secondhand wares.’ ‘That’s in the core worlds where you can get one made easily, fifteen hundred for the import fee.’ ‘Your Jawa partners stole these off corpses, I can see the kill tallies carved into some of them. Seven hundred and fifty.’ ‘And they risked their lives getting to them before the Tuscan raiders! Twelve fifty.’ ‘Nine hundred and I’ll put the ones I have to take apart back together myself.’ ‘One thousand for insulting the quality of my wares!’ ‘Done.’ Emperor that was exhausting. Used to be able to just serve up a writ of requisition to commandeer things like this. Or arrest the vendor.

I can’t believe it took two hours of sifting through and comparing their whole stock, but I finally have an acceptable blaster. Thick grip, long barrel, wide firing chambers, compact sight. Imperial steel through and through, none of those ornamental engraved wood or softer metal inlays that are popular with civilians. Just a needless point of failure. Reminds me of my academy days, stripping and reassembling a blaster over and over until I could do it with my eyes closed and an alarm siren wailing. Now I just need a holster and some practice shots to get used to the weight.

‘Finished. I’ll take five batteries for it. I’m done haggling for the day, and I know how much a battery costs. Twenty five credits per unit.’ He seems as fed up with me as I am with him, he’s not even feeding me excuses any more.

‘Say, not bad work you did putting these back together. One connoisseur of fine weapons to another, perhaps my wares may not be of the highest quality on the maintenance side of things. That’s why I have to sell them on the street. How would you be interested in a business proposition?’ Oh, he stopped haggling so he could get on my good side. How shrewd. Still, bounty work is inconsistent even under the best conditions. A fallback option wouldn’t hurt.

‘I have other avenues of employment, and I only work freelance. Whatever you’re suggesting would likely be bottom priority. If you’re still interested, keep talking.’ ‘I’m sure you noticed a lot of the problem with these blasters is wear and tear. Jawas are great at finding things and taking them apart, but not quite so good at putting them back together in good working order. How would you like to be my refurbishing specialist? Your blaster’s looking great, and all you had was a pocket tool and a folding table on the street. With a proper workbench and suite of tools, like the ones I’ve got at my workshop, you could probably get these good enough for the Troops!’ Delusions of grandeur. I don’t have time to get wrapped up in some small time scheme.

‘So you can peddle them to passersby? Sounds like wasted effort. The Empire has industrial grade contracts.’ ‘Ah that may be true my friend-’ ‘We aren’t friends.’ ‘-My potential business partner; but the local gangs are always looking to expand, and that means they always need new blasters.’ High quality blasters in the hands of the local gangs means higher quality blasters being pointed at me on the job.

‘Do you think I wear this armor because it’s comfortable?-’ It actually is, the body glove was vacuum contoured perfectly to my body, with all the plates machined to match. I used to sleep in it on long operations, just to be safe. But that would undermine my argument. ‘-My primary earner is bounty work. Being shot at by military grade blasters already sounds like a losing proposition, knowing I’m the reason they have them would just be insulting.’ ‘Mm. I understand. Take my comm number. If you ever change your mind, let me know.’ Doubt I’d ever make enough off of this to be able to stop doing bounty work, but fine.

That ate up too much of the morning. I was hoping to take a shuttle to the system capital early so I could beat the commute, no way I’d find anything approaching fancy on this planet, but at this time of morning there might as well be a blockade on intra-system traffic. Guess I can pick up those civilian clothes now.

I’m a little surprised to see she has an actual building to operate out of, but the desert winds aren’t kind to lighter fabrics so she must get a lot of repeat customers. Half filled racks of disparate pieces of clothing. A lot more variety than I’m used to. Could branch out from imperial black on imperial black. Not a lot in my size though.

That coat looks reliable, nerf leather lasts almost as long as plastoid. Still has most of its color, looks about my size. ‘Do you have anywhere I could try things on?’ A single disinterested finger from the other side of a holovid. Fine by me, I’ve been marketed to enough today. Over the shoulder and keep looking. Slim pickings for pants, and cloaks aren’t much my thing. Always get worried that there’s nothing under them whenever I see someone wearing one, or worse: that they’re hiding a lightsaber.

One pair of denym pants that looks like it could fit around my thighs. Another durable bit of civilian wear – no reason to compromise on that principle just because I’m stepping out of my armor. A shame it looks like it just came in from a few years sitting out in the suns, but it should do.

Those are some nice boots. Sturdy, reinforced worker’s wear. Maybe I can keep a little black in my wardrobe. The Empire puts everyone in it for a reason, right? Slimming, obscures your silhouette, muffles features. They have a nice clack when I tap the toes, could probably stop a blade if it really came down to it. Vibro-blade would probably still go through them like paper, but normal people take that risk every day and most of them make it out okay.

A nice looking holster. It looks new—brand new; too new. Imperial black, with a belt loop to fit any size and shape of blaster pistol. This is an officer’s holster. What would an officer be doing this far out? Hopefully not looking for me, and if so, hopefully this was picked off their corpse. Doubt the girl behind the counter verifies her sources. I’d have no choice but to buy it just to destroy it; the fact that it fits my blaster well is just a bonus.

This shirt might have been imperial black at some point; another casualty of the triplicate suns. Really need to consider moving to a system with fewer of those. A softer retirement than most imperial uniforms get though; no cuts or burns. It’s also the only shirt here that can fit over my shoulders, so I don’t have a choice.

I’m not sure I like civilian clothes. Even in the regular Storm Corps the glove was vacuum fitted despite the plates being mass produced, but after ten years of custom machined Purge Corps plates contoured to my musculature, these generically cut fabrics feel like they’re strangling me. I can feel the stitches on the jacket strain if I deviate too far from rest, not to mention the cuffs hanging up on my elbows. The pants would probably rip wide open if I had to sprint or lunge at something, even a crouch feels like I’m pushing my luck. The shirt has the opposite problem – loose fitted to the point of bunching and folding under the jacket so badly I’m constantly pulling on the collar to keep it facing straight. Boots and holster fit well though.

Fifty credits for it all, not a single word from the shopkeeper. One of the better interactions I’ve ever had with one. Easier to carry it around than my armor, so I guess I’ll have to head back home and change into it before I head off world. Less likely to get stolen if I leave it in my speeder too. Surely the people around here aren’t that desperate.

I doubt the morning rush has finished yet. The less time I can spend on a crowded ship the better. Maybe I can ask Vranki to order me in that sheet of thermal weave, a crime boss is sure to understand the value of discretion. If she’s halfway competent it should be no problem to source, and if not I should probably start looking for another employer.

‘Hey Trooper. Wish you chose a different code name, kind of confusing when I have to call out regular troopers.’ Good to see he remembers me, I think it’s a faux pas to disarm someone two times. ‘I’ve spent so long being called that I couldn’t think of anything else.’ Not a lot behind the eyes in that nod he’s giving me. ‘Nice blaster by the way! Where’d you get it—I’ve been thinking of upgrading. Just in case a fire fight ever breaks out, y’know? Can barely hit a bottle past ten feet with this thing.’

‘I had to splice together six blasters to make this one.’ ‘Oh no way, that’s crazy. Could you take a look at mine? Maybe it’s just rusty or something.’ Hard to picture this guy ever being a serious threat no matter how good a blaster he has. No rattling, no visible wear and tear. Likely doesn’t get fired often enough for that. Even a pretty good scope, but it’s completely warped. ‘Everything’s fine but the sight, what happened? Did it get run over, dropped off a roof?’ ‘That’s the bit I use to crack open beers when a shift is dragging on.’ Glad I’m wearing my helmet so the disgust on my face can’t sour our working relationship. ‘Don’t do that.’

Nothing seems to change much around here. Still dark, loud, and smoky: all problems my helmet solves. Surprised Vranki has time to see me, I figured there would be a lot more overhead on running a gang. A lot of it must handle itself now that I give it a second thought though: addicts just need some space to dissociate, and I’ve never seen someone paying for sex unhappily. The problem solving flow chart is probably a lot more linear without having to worry about court reprimands or public scandals—just use violence until the problem is gone.

‘Ah, Trooper! Glad to see you up back up and walking without that nasty limp. You here for work, or did you need a little help unwinding?’ ‘Neither ma’am. I would like to make use of your front companies if possible.’ ‘This isn’t Coruscant, why would I need to bother with those? Everybody in town knows who I am and what I do, and the only people who’ve given me trouble over it so far are people trying to compete.’ That’s a worryingly lax attitude, but the sooner I restore my armor’s integrity the better.

‘I need a sheet of thermal weave, but I don’t want my name on the purchase. Could I proxy it through you?’ ‘Of course! Normally that sort of business would start running into exorbitant fees, extortion if I’m being honest with you—woman to woman; but since we’re professional associates I’ll let you off with just a ten percent surcharge. I’m still running a business after all.’ ‘Fine. Give me the price as soon as you have it. If it’s too much, give me a target to make up the difference.’ ‘Oh don’t worry, I have no shortage of work for you if it comes to that. I should have a quote for you by the end of the day, not like it’s illegal or anything. Has anyone ever told you you’re paranoid, dear?’ I doubt it would be worth explaining how criminal activity looks from the enforcing side of the law. The Empire has a loose grip out here, but it tightens every day.

Suns are out in earnest now, traffic should have broken up. Just need to stow the armor at home and head to the spaceport. Things have been happening fast enough lately that I’ll likely be home by the time I’ve parsed them all in a sitrep. Vranki raises a lot of red flags – she makes half the rookie mistakes I spent seven years busting people on, and seems proud of it. She’s only gotten big because there’s no law out here to crack down on her, but once there is her operation is done. I need to not be a part of it by then. There’s no such thing as an honorable discharge from a crime boss’ service, so I might need to ingratiate myself to someone else more discreet and help with a hostile takeover. Should take my next contract from someone else too, better not to establish a pattern before breaking it.

Situation at home is appreciably unchanged. Looks like the wind rustled the shutters though, wish those stayed shut. Better not to invite any prying eyes or opportunistic scavengers in, even this far from town. Armor’s safely tucked in the alcove, casual clothes are on, time to go.

III

Honestly glad there’s no good tailors on Doobinth, I could use an afternoon away from this planet. Waterproofing is easy, but sand infiltrates every crevice in a piece of gear better than any assassin I’ve ever worked with. Maybe I can take Brayli off world for a date some time. I hear the capital is interesting. Not nice, considering it’s a hyper dense ball of iron that cooks you alive if you leave the arcologies—with rivers of mercury flowing across a lot of the surface, but apparently there are some breath taking views. I can’t even imagine how it got chosen to be the capital though.

Hang on a second: why does it smell like exhaust inside the ship, and why does it make me feel...nice? Better look around, just to be sure there’s no leak. It seems to be coming from that woman over there. That Nautolan with pink skin and tight coveralls who needs two seats. What’s Brayli doing on this shuttle? Should I talk to her? If she sees me I have to, it’s not nearly loud enough to pretend I didn’t notice her. We aren’t scheduled for a date until tomorrow though, she probably wants to be alone. Likely left the planet to get a break from me, I shouldn’t be too pushy. Just leave her alone.

‘Hey Koben, is that you?’ Oh, okay, never mind, impromptu short date. Public transportation through the void of space is romantic, right? It doesn’t matter, you need to get up and use your legs to walk over to her so you aren’t shouting across the cabin. ‘Oh, hey Brayli, it’s good to see you! I just happened to be heading to Saraz myself for some-’ Don’t ruin the surprise by telling her you’re going to spend a sizable chunk of your blood money on a dress from a tailor you’ve only heard about on the HoloNet; that would look stupid for two reasons. ‘-sightseeing.’ ‘Lucky you. Some oil baron who only drops by for the winter wants me to supe up his speeder so he can blast across the dunes, and the folks who make the parts for it don’t deliver. Just my luck, huh sugar?’

A pet name. A friendly elbow. That soft, warm laugh she does. How do I respond. Do I put my arm around her? Kiss her? Not in public, surely that’s too far too fast. I’ve been in situations like this before. This is a tightrope, she’s testing you. Fall and it all ends once we land. I recognized it, that’s the first part of the test, now all I have to do is figure out the answer.

‘You alright? You look a little pale, the shuttle making you sick?’ ‘No! I’m fine! I’m sorry. You’re very unlucky. I hope those parts are easy to transport.’ Feels like I just got hit by a speeder. ‘It’s just a few little nuts and bolts. The kind that are just a tiny bit off from industry standard so they can sell you replacements.’ A second part of the test, breadth of knowledge review, I can handle this.

‘Oh! I know what you mean, blasters have that problem all the time. The Empire published standard dimensions for chamber dimensions, seal sizes, firing power outputs, every characteristic that could possibly be regulated, because practically every culture had their own informal standards. Steep fines for intentional propagation of non-regulation part dimensions. The reason they do it is because they need to be able to requisition replacement parts from as many potential sources as possible, for when troopers are on long field operations and left cut off from official support lines. Of course, with how many blasters are rarely used, and passed down from father to son for generations in particularly egregious cases, there’s still quite a sizable market for unlicensed blaster parts. This one here I actually spent an hour just this morning putting together because of how many parts felt like they fit, but started to squeak or jostle upon further inspection. A lot of people think that they can get by with a fit that’s close enough, but with how much stress is placed on a blaster during use, the best result is that your blaster falls apart on you, and the worst is that it explodes in your hand.’ That should be sufficient.

She’s laughing again, and now our thighs are touching. There’s ample space for them not to be if she wanted, which must mean I passed. No other place for it now, so it’s safe to put my arm around her. This is nice. I hope the transport stalls out.

‘Wow, and here I thought troopers just fired blasters. I’m starting to think you’re secretly an engineer just trying to impress me with all that trooper talk.’ Teasing. Lighthearted teasing, I remember this from my academy days. ‘How do you think I got the armor?’ ‘Made it yourself in a workshop. It only looks real; the plates are rusty sheet metal you pulled off a speeder and painted up pretty. I could probably snap chunks off of ‘em!’ She’s grinning, and so am I. I hadn’t realized.

‘No way to prove that now, since I left the suit at home. Can’t risk depressurization with some sharpshooting, and there’s no floor space to spar a few rounds.’ She’s trying to lean in close, but her head barely reaches up past my chest. ‘Oh don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect spot to spar a few rounds at home.’ Now would be a good time to cross my legs, just to be safe while that image runs through my head. ‘Haha, yeah, well—I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it until we get around to that.’

Transport just arrived. I don’t want to get up yet, and neither does she. ‘See you tomorrow night?’ ‘Of course. Oh, nice new duds by the way – I’d been meaning to say. You finally get tired of catching heat stroke in that suit?’ No time to explain how sophisticated the temperature regulation is, only time to smile and laugh. All the time in the galaxy for that. ‘I got tired of having to wipe the sand out of the cracks every night.’ ‘Maybe you’ll get used to desert living yet. Shuttle’s just about empty, should probably head out, catch a taxi before they’re all snapped up. Bye sugar.’

Hard to believe this place is in the same system as Doobinth. Everything’s bright, clean, crowded, and loud. It has its charms, but I’ve been out of big cities long enough I think I’m starting to prefer wide open stretches of nothing. This place looks surprisingly barren for a clothing shop. Figured there would be a lot more on display, but all they have is fabric samples. ‘Good afternoon madame, welcome to my humble boutique. How can I assist you on this fine day?’ His voice is coming out fast and nasal, wonder if it has to do with how much neck it has to traverse. Not used to looking up at people.

‘I have a date tomorrow and need a nice dress.’ ‘But of course, a trifling matter.’ ‘I don’t see any to try on.’ ‘Oh no my dear, you do not -try on- art! Everything we Kaminoans create is art, and art must be made bespoke, one of a kind, by and for those whose ambition wills it into being. Please remove your jacket; my droids will take your measurements and then we may begin holo-projecting potential designs over you.’

All of these designs look awful. My shoulders keep jutting out, my waist is a straight vertical line, and all these silky smooth fabrics just draw attention to how cracked and worn my skin is. I’m stupid, this is stupid. Dresses are for women with the luxury of sitting in a temperature controlled office all shift and taking monthly salon trips. Ones who’ve never had to practice knife fighting or crawl through suppressive fire. Real women.

I’m crying. Haven’t cried once since the Empire took me in, and now I’m crying because I don’t look good in a dress I could never have imagined affording until now anyway. What a joke. ‘Oh please do not cry madame. What troubles you?’ ‘I don’t think a dress is for me. I’ll be on my way.’ I guess she’ll have to be satisfied with these clothes.

‘Oh you must not go! In all my years I have never had the pleasure of working with one such as yourself!’ ‘Someone built like a slab of wrought iron?’ He looks offended. Don’t know how he has the gall to be the one offended here, but that’s self proclaimed “artists” I suppose. ‘That is how you think of yourself madame? Do not say such things!’ I’ve spent the better part of my life taking orders, but a scrawny seamster is a step too far.

‘And why shouldn’t I?! I could go to Coruscant with more credits than I’ll ever see and still not find a tailor who can make me look pretty!’ ‘You would not, that is true, but that is because you would be looking on Coruscant. That is a planet of high society, a world where there is no need for one to hone one’s body. Within those confines of course there would be nobody who would know what to do with a specimen of your caliber.’ That makes a nonzero amount of sense.

‘What is my caliber then, how would you dress me?’ ‘Dry your tears madame—whilst I tell you all I could see from the moment you walked into my shop. Your physique is sublime: a sculpted, chiselled testament to the endurance of the natural form. This could be the result of costly bodily sculpting technology, that is perhaps true, but such technology is unheard of by anyone living this far from the core worlds. An employer of such methods would have no reason to visit my establishment, and thus you must possess a physically demanding employment to maintain it naturally.’ I never figured it was that noticeable. It must be easier to make out through normal clothes than under armor.

‘Compounding this, your posture: the proud and yet restrained bearing of a soldier! Your eyes scanned uniformly across my shop, shoulders level, gait even. Such is not the behavior of a mere athlete or physical laborer. Even in so safe an environment as a shopping district you stay alert – vigilant for threats. Had I a blaster pistol in my hand when you walked in, no doubt you would have taken it from me.’ That is a difficult habit to unlearn.

‘You sound like a detective, but none of that makes me look any prettier in a dress.’ ‘Of course; nothing would make you look pretty in a dress. I knew that from the moment I saw you.’ ‘Then why put me through that?’ ‘Though I gleaned much from your bearing, I am no Jedi: I had no way to see inside your mind.’ Really need to learn not to tense up just from hearing that word some day. ‘I apologize for the distress, but more important than showing you what would work was showing you what would not. Now that you’ve realized a dress does not suit you, I would be happy to tell you what will.’ ‘Go on then.’

‘To accentuate and flatter your powerful form is the purview of a suit, madame.’ Oh, he’s right, these look amazing! ‘From your smile I see you begin to understand, but I will elucidate: there are as many forms of beauty as there are cultures in this galaxy. While you are a human, you are also a soldier – you come from a culture of power, strength, discipline; it would be foolish to force the beauty standards of the cosmopolitan worlds upon you.’

High shouldered, sleek limbed, and just a little imperial black for the under layer. I can see why this place has such a high recommendation, if the real thing looks half as good as this holo-projection it should be the second fanciest set of clothing I ever wear. ‘It’s perfect. I never knew how good red looked on me. I have one request though.’ ‘But of course, it is only fair that the canvas be comfortable with the art placed upon it.’ ‘Do you have any blaster resistant materials?’

That laugh is a lot deeper than his usual speaking voice. Hearty, makes him sound strong. ‘Oh, a daunting task, but you are in luck. Many of the people who care to buy tailored clothing in this system are members of the less savory side of society, and as such would prefer not having to compromise protection for style. I cannot guarantee it will prove immune to high power weaponry, but most common blaster pistols should take no fewer than two shots to damage this mesh. If you find yourself utilizing this property, fear not, because all my works come with a lifetime warranty.’

‘You’ve really surpassed all my expectations, I have to say. When will it be ready, and how much will it cost?’ ‘No more than two hours, and five thousand credits will suffice.’ The credits are easy, but I have no idea how to spend the next two hours. I never appreciated the utility of long patrols until now.

‘Can I ask you a non-work related question?’ ‘But of course madame.’ ‘I don’t know a good way to pass two hours around here. Do you have any recommendations?’ ‘Oh it would be my pleasure. If you are in such a mood as to spend more credits, I would recommend that you purchase a pair of boots to match the suit. Yours are passable, but red leather would certainly complete the ensemble. As for yourself, and please do not misunderstand me – the rugged, down to earth look has a charm all its own – you may want to seek out a salon, if for no more than a manicure.’

‘A salon? That sounds like an excessive measure.’ ‘Consider it a part of the ensemble. Just as one would not expect to see a full face of makeup underneath a trooper’s helmet, so too does one expect not to see a woman in a five thousand credit suit have dirt under her nails.’ For how much he talks, I have to give him credit: it makes a lot of sense. Definitely not just talking to hear the sound of his own voice. ‘I failed to consider that before, thank you.’

The boots were easy, managed to find the exact same shade as the suit to avoid any dissonance. Not usually impressed by civilian craftsmanship, but these are almost as comfortable as my old ones. Good flex, breathable, spacious. I’ve never owned clothes that weren’t made for fighting in before; I feel protective of them already.

I’ve never been to a salon before. No that’s not true, I raided an illegal one once, but I’ve never been a customer. ‘Hi there, welcome, can I get your name?’ Oh hell, should probably not leave too much of a paper trail. Been getting too comfortable lately, think of a fake name. Nothing’s coming to mind. Just Hers. Can I use it? It’s not like she’s around to be upset, and it’s the least she can do to make up for everything else. ‘Tessa Revilane.’

‘Well Mrs. Revilane, I don’t see you on the list, but you’re in luck: we just had a cancellation so I can squeeze you in.’ Her smile is fake, but polite. Wouldn’t look out of place placating an officer. ‘What was it you were looking for today?’ ‘I have a date tomorrow and I want to look pretty.’

Just relax. It’s okay to close my eyes around these unfamiliar women with scissors. They’re just civilians, if they were Imperial assassins I would have recognized their body language. The chair is adjusted for my height, and I’m being washed with water instead of sonic vibrations for the first time in years. I should enjoy it.

‘Goodness, you really needed this cleanup. How do you even get your fingernails into this state?’ ‘I wear gloves most of the day. Trim them with a knife when they get too long.’ Wow. These women must take this deathly seriously, I’ve never heard such an affronted gasp from so many people at once. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place dear. I’ll have them fixed up for you in no time at all.’

The warm water is nice, but being detailed like this by three different people makes me feel like a droid in a repair bay. ‘Not often I work with hair this tangled. This might take a few brushes, and there’s a strong possibility of pulling, is that alright? I can skip it if it would be too painful.’ ‘That sounds fine.’ I’ve taken serrated vibro-blades between the ribs, I’m sure this will be triv-ow. Easy to forget how sensitive the scalp is wearing a helmet all the time.

‘Please don’t be offended by my saying this ma’am, but these callouses are so thick I don’t think a foot soak will be sufficient. We have a micro-vibrational cleaner that detects changes in tissue density in order-’ ‘Will it make them pretty?’ ‘Yes ma’am, very pretty.’ ‘Go ahead.’ Never worn an open toed shoe in my life, but I’m here, no use taking a half measure. It tickles. That feels nice.

I’m starting to see why the officers made such a big deal about their grooming, it’s really relaxing once you get used to being touched. The prices weren’t that steep either, for a bounty killing salary. Maybe I should make this a regular routine. Come here once a month, get to know them by name, make small talk. Then they all recognize me when an imperial detachment comes looking. Better keep it to just this once, and put effort into savoring it.

‘Well, we’ve done all we can out here, and if I may say so myself we’ve done quite a great deal. There is an optional full body massage we can have done for you in the back, a masseuse droid handles it to reduce any feelings of awkwardness. If not, we can get to painting your nails and styling your hair and you can be on your way.’ A massage. Never had one of those either, usually just been injected with a relaxant whenever a medical droid’s scalpel was having trouble penetrating. Why not? ‘I’ll take the massage.’

Now this is luxury. Most luxuries serve a practical purpose: they’re a status symbol to separate the wealthy from their servants at a glance. Investments in psychological domination. Jewellery, clothes, fancy speeders, large apartments; things to be seen, not enjoyed. This is different. Nobody will ever notice this but me. I have so many credits I can afford to throw them away just for my own pleasure.

Each manipulator digit feels like it’s giving me a stim injection. I never realized how much tension impairs physical capacity. My physical conditioning regimen has largely compensated for it and kept me effective, but right now I feel like I could do a standing jump over a speeder. The oil feels nice too. Like the cool tingle of hypoxia settling in, but I can lie here and enjoy it without dying. It might not be a good idea to come to this salon again, but surely the Empire would never track someone buying a masseuse bot, right?

Even my clothes feel different putting them back on, everything is so sensitive and providing me so much feedback. I thought with bacta eliminating scarring that there would be no difference, but this must be how molting species’ feel.

‘That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it.’ ‘That’s great to hear! Just sit back down and we can handle your hair and nail polish.’ A holodisplay of potential colors, but I don’t need to look. ‘Imperial black please.’ Applied in under a minute. They look pretty. My fingers look...pretty. I look pretty.

‘Is everything alright miss? Are you allergic to the nail polish?’ Crying again. A different sort of crying, not one I’m familiar with. ‘No ma’am. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Just ignore it, and give me the same hairstyle I came in with please. I’m happy with it.’ Not much room for a fashionable haircut under a helmet. Even in the same style, it looks completely different now.

Six thousand credits. Four month’s salary for a set of clothes and a deep clean. I’d have scoffed at that last week, but thinking of how Brayli’s going to react when she sees it is invigorating. It’s going to be great. ‘Hey lady, hand over your credstick!’

Wow, I even look rich enough to get mugged. A back alley is a back alley no matter what planet you’re on I suppose. It only ever makes the situation worse, but I can’t stop myself from laughing at this guy. I’ve had some desperate people rush me with a knife, but this is just ridiculous: he’s grip is loose, his stance is terrible, and that blade looks like it would struggle to cut bread, never mind skin. Oh well, what can you do?

Grab his wrist, angle the blade away, pull him in, punch him in the throat, let him down gently so he doesn’t get concussed by the ground. Over and done, simple as that. Nails are intact, suit is still clean. He’s reeling pretty hard, I should call him an ambulance. Done. What a way to cap off my trip.

I could go for a walk back to the spaceport. Get used to the way these new clothes fit, break in the boots. How to pass the time? Already got everything done today, no topics for a mental evaluation. Maybe a marching tune. It must have been ten years since I’ve whistled one of those. The imperial March is always a classic.

VII

Back home. Probably shouldn’t wear this suit out too much, I can leave it off for the night. It’s still a bit too early to go to bed though. Maybe I can get my workout in early, then spend the rest of the evening practicing with this new pistol. That sounds like a good way to cap off the day. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

#writing #star wars #my oc #oc #Koben Tarani #sapphic #transgender

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