brown hood as he cradled the bundled infant.
Dewell looked left and right. No one else had seen or heard what had happened with the Devaronians; everyone else had moved away, fearful to get involved. And now the Twi’lek moved, too, grabbing her bag and rushing off to the rear compartment. The Young Father sighed and sat in her vacated seat.
“That’s telling those punks,” Dewell said reflexively. He knew it was a mistake for a fugitive to speak to a stranger — even a chivalrous one. Who knew how many people were searching for him, and what tactics their agents might use? But the human barely turned. Beneath the man’s cowl, the Kedorzhan made out two shining blue-gray dots in a hairy face.
“Just some high-spirited kids,” the human said.
“I know young spirits,” Dewell said. His broad nose twitched disdainfully. “Those were criminals.” He cleared his throat. “You should report them to the captain.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
Dewell sighed, embarrassed. So brave, volunteering someone else to do the right thing. The Young Father had taken one risk but would go no further. Seeing the child fussing in the man’s arms, Dewell couldn’t blame him.
The human checked and rechecked the child’s wrappings. Even with his poor eyesight, Dewell could tell the man was puzzled.
“Your child is hungry,” Dewell said.
“He just ate a little while ago,” the Young Father replied. “I didn’t think it was time again.”
“ The child decides when it is time again,” Dewell said, feeling a little more comfortable. He grinned as the human went fishing in his backpack for a bottle. New parents were amusing. Dewell had only had time for seven children in his life; not many for a Kedorzhan, but there had been so many more important things to do. Now, squinting at the infant, Dewell found himself wishing that he’d spent more time with his own children — and wondering where all of them were today.
Well, he knew where one was. Poor Tyloor was dead, his body lost somewhere out on the battlefield. Dead, like so many other children of the Republic, in a conflict that had never made any sense to Dewell. And while the Clone Wars were thankfully — and suddenly — over, the main battle of the Kedorzhan’s career seemed lost, too.
The Kedorzhans were a small people in height, power, and numbers. Short-legged with four fat fingers on each hand, they had migrated everywhere underground work was to be found. Most worlds had welcomed the the pleasant, plump-faced people; they kept to themselves and caused few problems. When the Kedorzhans had finally obtained Republic representation and a Senate seat, many had assumed that the diminutive beings would conduct themselves just as Dewell was now. Certainly, they would mind their own business, taking the lead of other species while trying not to be noticed.
But Dewell and his illustrious predecessors had defied expectations, using their newfound power to fight for the weakest of the galaxy. They had lived underfoot; that experience had driven them to help others.
That fact — and Tyloor’s death, among so many others — was why he had signed the Petition of the 2000 without question. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had overstepped his bounds, clawing for government rights that had been reserved for the people. And not simply important powers of use in an emergency. No, many of the new measures were simply arbitrary, undoing protections for the weak for no reason at all.
His advisors had told him not to sign the petition. Now, with the Jedi gone and the Empire declared, many of his colleagues had already withdrawn their names. Dewell would not. But he feared that would be the last act of bravery he would ever —
The wretched first officer appeared in the doorway, as drunk as he had been before. “Station stop,” he called into the hold. “Cross over to Pad 560 to reach our line’s connector flight for the Outer Rim. Everyone else, thanks for…”
Dewell looked left and right. No one else had seen or heard what had happened with the Devaronians; everyone else had moved away, fearful to get involved. And now the Twi’lek moved, too, grabbing her bag and rushing off to the rear compartment. The Young Father sighed and sat in her vacated seat.
“That’s telling those punks,” Dewell said reflexively. He knew it was a mistake for a fugitive to speak to a stranger — even a chivalrous one. Who knew how many people were searching for him, and what tactics their agents might use? But the human barely turned. Beneath the man’s cowl, the Kedorzhan made out two shining blue-gray dots in a hairy face.
“Just some high-spirited kids,” the human said.
“I know young spirits,” Dewell said. His broad nose twitched disdainfully. “Those were criminals.” He cleared his throat. “You should report them to the captain.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
Dewell sighed, embarrassed. So brave, volunteering someone else to do the right thing. The Young Father had taken one risk but would go no further. Seeing the child fussing in the man’s arms, Dewell couldn’t blame him.
The human checked and rechecked the child’s wrappings. Even with his poor eyesight, Dewell could tell the man was puzzled.
“Your child is hungry,” Dewell said.
“He just ate a little while ago,” the Young Father replied. “I didn’t think it was time again.”
“ The child decides when it is time again,” Dewell said, feeling a little more comfortable. He grinned as the human went fishing in his backpack for a bottle. New parents were amusing. Dewell had only had time for seven children in his life; not many for a Kedorzhan, but there had been so many more important things to do. Now, squinting at the infant, Dewell found himself wishing that he’d spent more time with his own children — and wondering where all of them were today.
Well, he knew where one was. Poor Tyloor was dead, his body lost somewhere out on the battlefield. Dead, like so many other children of the Republic, in a conflict that had never made any sense to Dewell. And while the Clone Wars were thankfully — and suddenly — over, the main battle of the Kedorzhan’s career seemed lost, too.
The Kedorzhans were a small people in height, power, and numbers. Short-legged with four fat fingers on each hand, they had migrated everywhere underground work was to be found. Most worlds had welcomed the the pleasant, plump-faced people; they kept to themselves and caused few problems. When the Kedorzhans had finally obtained Republic representation and a Senate seat, many had assumed that the diminutive beings would conduct themselves just as Dewell was now. Certainly, they would mind their own business, taking the lead of other species while trying not to be noticed.
But Dewell and his illustrious predecessors had defied expectations, using their newfound power to fight for the weakest of the galaxy. They had lived underfoot; that experience had driven them to help others.
That fact — and Tyloor’s death, among so many others — was why he had signed the Petition of the 2000 without question. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had overstepped his bounds, clawing for government rights that had been reserved for the people. And not simply important powers of use in an emergency. No, many of the new measures were simply arbitrary, undoing protections for the weak for no reason at all.
His advisors had told him not to sign the petition. Now, with the Jedi gone and the Empire declared, many of his colleagues had already withdrawn their names. Dewell would not. But he feared that would be the last act of bravery he would ever —
The wretched first officer appeared in the doorway, as drunk as he had been before. “Station stop,” he called into the hold. “Cross over to Pad 560 to reach our line’s connector flight for the Outer Rim. Everyone else, thanks for…”
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