Star Wars: Fragile Threads

Fragile Threads

Drake frowned, a chill running the length of his neck. "I've heard stories about Dathomirian spiders. Some as big as bantha live in those mountain tunnels."

"The Nightsisters keep the brood fed, and the spiders do not attack them. The girls are an offering." She showed him the ugly scar across her palm, and old injury that had deformed the pad of her thumb. "They allow the spiders to envenomate the girls."

"That happened to you?" Having discounted the wound as a relay burn, Drake examined the scar more closely. "How'd you survive?"

"I barely did. When I recovered, the Nightspider Clan were satisfied that one of their sisters had returned to them and began training me."

"And if you had died?"

"I would have been fodder for the spiders. Unworthy of even a gravestone. Thousands of bones litter the floor of those caves like the wreckage of starships around a gravity well."

Drake interlaced his fingers between hers. "You're certain it's your sister?"

"Drake, if I don't get to her, the Nightsisters will."

"Nikaede, prep for take off. Set coords for Dathomir." Drake rolled his eyes, listening to the Wookiee's profuse reprimands. "Nikaede, noh pethcuk, ke'dem!"

Lowering her weapon for the first time, the Wookiee bawled a furious curse to the ceiling and retreated into the corridor.

"What did she say? I didn't understand the last part," Tiaja said.

Drake got to his feet, still wrapped in the sheet and draped the end over Tiaja's shoulder. "She said ke'dem. It's the closest translation to Socorran a Wookiee can say."

"Ke'dem?"

"It's the word the old Bronwen on my planet use for someone who is condemned."

"She's still afraid of me." Tiaja laid her head on his bare chest.

"Her instincts have kept me alive on more than one occasion." Drake shuffled into his pants and sat down on the bed to pull on his boots. "She'll warm up to you like I did. Promise."

Tiaja knelt down in front of him. "You've never been afraid of me."

Drake snorted. "Sometimes Socorrans don't know when they should be afraid." He took her scarred hand and tenderly kissed her palm. "That's what keeps us in trouble."

~ ~ ~

Located in the Quelii sector in the Outer Rim, Dathomir was a large, temperate planet that dominated four moons within a shared orbit. But Drake knew the perils of the world from stories told among smugglers who had the misfortune of dropping shipments to free-trading outposts on the planet's surface.

Beyond the high security walls and electrified fence, most of the planet remained unexplored and feral, as wild as it was when the first settlers arrived. As testament to that wildness, a band of shear mites attacked a trio of militia on speedbikes as they pulled into the outpost's gate.

Armed with heavy blasters and rifles, the guards shot at the gigantic ticks. As Drake flew over the battle, he saw one of the guards taken down by a spray of acidic saliva. To keep their companions from being overrun, an armored sentinel used a flamethrower to kill the invading insectoid and hold the rest at bay.

An inhospitable world to organic life, Drake could not imagine why anyone would attempt to make a living there. But as he flew over the settlement, the cultivated fields around the perimeter made it clear why. Dathomirian herbs were unique, unlike any in the known galaxy. One season's yield was worth the risk, allowing the hardy inhabitants to live comfortably between growing seasons, rather than taking up smuggling to make ends meet.