Destinies

Pressing the scarf to the side of his head, Boba watches Dia rummage through the remains of Slave I, strewn across the sand.

This kid is strange, Boba thinks. Why would he stick his neck out for me? If he wanted Slave I, he could've just killed me after scaring off the Jawas.

Boba had seen him standing there, on top of the sand dune, a moment before he threw the firecrackers. Then suddenly he was being dragged from the smoke and pushed into the sand, and he'd thought for sure he'd have to fight this hutuun'la scavenger too. But instead the other kid had offered his scarf and his water, and smiled kindly.

It perplexes Boba.

Dia returns from loading a final armful of parts into a saddlebag on one of the eopies and makes his way over to where Boba sits. He pushes his hood off, shaking out his dark, curly hair, grown to just below his shoulders.

Boba asks, with a frown, "Why did you help me? What do you want?"

Dia stares at him. Then he chuckles, his brown eyes sparkling with an amused light. "Can't I help people, if I want to?"

"No. Not if you want to survive." That must be it. This kid is so sheltered and dumb, he doesn't even realise what a danger Boba is to him.

Dia tilts his head curiously, making his dark brown curls bounce, apparently considering Boba's words. But all he says is, "Huh," then offers his hand.

"Let's go. I've got all I can salvage – the Jawas took most of it."

"Go where?" Boba asks, not taking Dia's hand. Small scars and callouses mark the other kid's light brown palm.

"Your ship's gone. I'll take you into Mos Eisley, and you can take a starship wherever you want to go."

"Starship? No, the Slave I is my ship. I'll get it back from those karking thieves, I swear it."

Dia makes a face.

"What?"

"Okay, first of all –" Dia plants his hands on his hips – "'Slave I'? That's your ship's name?"

"I– My dad named it," Boba grits out, feeling mildly guilty. He'd never questioned the ship's name before, but he supposed it might be hurtful to some people. "It was his ship, so…"

He hastily pushes the wave of emotion back, blinking tears away. He can't afford to deal with that right now: he's not safe to let down his guard yet.

Dia's judgemental look softens. "Oh." He clears his throat. "Then, you really want to get it back? It's important to you?"

"Yes." Boba sets his jaw.

"Hm. Alright, then. Still a snot name, but I have a friend in Mos Eisley who can help." Dia glances at the suns' slow rise into the sky. "But first, you should come back to the moisture farm. You look like you could use some food, and you're injured."

He sticks out his hand again, and this time Boba takes it. He follows Dia back to the saddled eopie, which paws the sand. Dia swings himself into the saddle, then helps Boba up behind him.

"This planet's Tatooine, right?" Boba asks, holding tightly to the sides of the saddle as Dia clicks his tongue and the eopie begins walking.

"Yep. Most boring planet in the Outer Rim, this place. Unless you're a smuggler or a bounty hunter," Dia adds with an amused tone.

Boba tenses, wondering if Dia has guessed at his identity. But the other child continues talking:

"I suppose that's a little harsh," he amends. "The sunrises and sunsets are truly beautiful. Just look!"

He points to their right, at the two suns in the final stage of sunrise, the last glow of orange disappearing into pale blue.

Despite himself, Boba starts to doze off. The slow pace of the eopie and his grief-stricken exhaustion are too much. He slumps forward, but jolts awake as soon as his head hits Dia's shoulder.

"Don't fall off," Dia chuckles. "You can lean on me if you like."

Boba blushes and sits up straight, shaking his head to keep himself awake. "I'm fine."

"We'll be back soon, don't worry," Dia assures him.

"Back to the moisture farm?"

"Yeah. It's only a womp hop from Mos Eisley, so we'll go back to the farm for some food and to treat your injuries, then head into Mos Eisley in a couple hours. That sound alright?" he asks over his shoulder.

Boba nods. "Yeah, that's fine." He hesitates, then mutters, "Thank you." He sees the corner of Dia's mouth curl into a smile.

The eopies arrive at a small clump of houses and towering moisture vaporators a while later. An elderly, long-legged Er'kit comes hurrying out of one of the houses, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Dia!" he cries. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, Elan!" Dia slides off the eopie's back and hurries over to the Er'kit. "I had to scare off some Jawas."

"And who's this?" Elan asks anxiously, looking at Boba, who still sits on the eopie's back, unsure what to do or say.

"This is Boba," Dia explains. "The ship is his. I salvaged what I could, but he needs help to get the rest back from the Jawas."

Elan drags his hands over his face in despair.

________

"Dia, are you crazy?" Elan whispers. He chops the mushrooms with increasing speed and agitation. "You can't just bring people back here."

"Oh, come on. He needs help," Dia argues defensively, stirring a pot of simmering broth. "It's not like I'm bringing back stray massiffs!"

Elan scoffs like that would be preferable.

"He's got a look in his eye, Elan," Dia insists, brandishing the wooden spoon at him. "He's got some kind of goal, and I don't think he'll give up easily."

"Hmph." Elan scrapes the mushrooms into the pot of stew and snatches the spoon from Dia's hand to stir it himself. "Go set the table."

Grabbing a few bowls and spoons from a shelf, Dia rounds the countertop and distributes them at the small, stone table, where Boba sits, fidgeting with the white bandages wrapped around his head.

They're in Elan's cramped house, set aside from the other few buildings. Boba has already taken a sonic and Elan has patched up his injuries, though he had to put his old, torn-up clothes back on, since Dia had nothing to spare.

Dia slumps into his seat at the table, across from Boba, and rests his chin on his crossed arms.

"So, where are you from?" he asks Boba curiously.

Boba shifts uncomfortably and doesn't reply, instead beginning to twirl his spoon around his fingers.

"You don't want to talk about it? I get it." Dia sighs and reaches out an arm to pick at splinters in the wooden table. "I'm not from Tatooine originally, you know."

The twirling spoon in Boba's hand slows down, so Dia decides to continue.

"My parents and my brother are still on our homeworld, as far as I know." A memory flashes behind Dia's eyelids, of a little baby grabbing his fingers and giggling. "Someday, I'll get back to them."

Boba has put the spoon down and is listening intently. Dia opens his mouth to say something more.

"Who's ready for lunch?" Elan calls abruptly, stepping out of the kitchen with the vegetable stew.

The interruption breaks the serious mood. Dia smiles. "It smells delicious, Elan."

"This is Tatooine terrine," Elan announces, plopping the pot down on the table and grabbing Boba's bowl. "Eat up, little ones. You'll need your strength."

They eat in silence, besides a few polite attempts from Elan to determine Boba's history, which are ignored or answered evasively.

After the meal, Dia puts together a bag of supplies they'll need in Mos Eisley. Boba, outside, looks through the parts Dia salvaged from the crash site.

"Be careful, Dia," Elan warns, gazing out the window, cradling a mug of tea.

Dia looks up from closing his bag. "What do you mean?"

Elan takes a sip of tea, and replies vaguely, "I think that child's got a destiny you don't want to get tangled up in."