Raey slung his staff over his shoulder, shrugging the strap into place to leave his hands free, as he ran forward and knelt next to the man in the shadows.

"He's still alive," Raey muttered, hovering the back of his hand close to red, feverish flesh. "For now." He had seen what this planet could do to people, and he knew what to look for.

Bright, wicked desert burns... bad, but perhaps not yet fatal. Hiding in shadows had been wise, but Raey knew that was not enough. Sunlight itself was not the only killer out here, and you could not hide from heat among the rocks. The droid's friend - or owner, Raey realized - was unconscious, his breathing so shallow Raey almost missed it. Dry skin, cracking... undoubtedly dehydrated. The only thing not trying to kill this man had to be the native carnivores, and that would only be a matter of time.

"Woooooo..."

"I'll do my best, little fellow." The promise felt empty, but Raey couldn't bring himself to give the droid anything more then that. Some of the natives had practically perfected curing heat-sickness, but they did not share their secrets with scavengers. "It's lucky we got here when we did, and even luckier it's almost night. Let's see what we can do..."

The droid did its best to help (or stay out of the way) as Raey took stock of the situation. He hopped back on his dust-runner to get the vehicle as close as possible, then spent another few minutes figuring out the best way to carry the injured man. It wasn't a simple process; years of hauling wrecks made it easier, but even though he could have dragged another man across the rocks (even one who looked... somewhat taller then himself), humans weren't nearly as durable as scrap metal and parts. He was forced to carry the man to the dust-runner on his back, half hunched over, sometimes even crawling to make it under the rocky overhangs.

"We should be able to get back home under cover of darkness," he commented – to himself or to the droid rolling around in the background, it didn't matter. "No sun, cooler air... good." He grimaced, his brow furrowing at the helpful thoughts burrowing their way into his brain. "But... it could be better." With a sigh, he reached down and began unlacing the man's boots.

His water barrel was almost empty, but not quite. After stripping the heat-sick man of his jacket, shirt, boots, and socks, and after refilling his own canteen, Raey used some of the water he had left to try and cool the man down further. It was all makeshift aid, but the scavengers had tricks of their own that spread around, emergency to emergency. Socks became damp bandages, wrapped around the wrists. Raey soaked the shirt, then tied it to dangle loosely around the man's neck and back, hoping the water and air would help cool the blood where it was closest and most accessible. Finally, he slipped a soaked edge of cloth between his patient's lips, hoping the unconscious swallow reflex would get a few drops of water down the man's throat.

The droid watched him curiously, but it had stopped pacing and making worried noises. When Raey had done all he could and got his patient onto the dust-runner, the droid rolled up next to them, somehow managing to give Raey a hopeful look.

"I've done what I know to do. We'll just have to wait and see," he said, but the droid seemed so concerned that he let an optimistic note creep into the words. "The night ride will help, I think."

Speeding through the rapidly cooling desert was not quite as effective as a freezing unit, but soon after the last hint of light had faded from the sky, the wind turned chill. Raey felt it keenly through his loose desert robes, but for once it seemed a good sign. The droid's owner needed the cold.

This time, to save on time, Raey had the droid wedged awkwardly in the luggage net that hung off the side of his dust-runner. From the tone of the noises it was making, it wasn't too happy about this arrangement, but Raey saw no other options. As speedy as the little droid could be, it couldn't keep up with the dust-runner and Raey wanted to get back home as quickly as possible, for the good of the heat-sick man and for other reasons. At night, the hunters came out.

.

Home was an old Imperial walker, lying on its side with make-shift lean-tos built off the legs, solar chargers lining the side that faced the sky, and junk strewn about the sand outside (the abandoned remains of projects that, unfortunately, proved unsalvagable). The dust-runner went under one of the lean-tos, behind a row of empty metal crates and covered by a sheet to keep the sand, and greedy eyes, off it. Normally, Raey would drag his loot to his "workshop", an enclosed space created by the body of the AT-AT and one leg tucked back at the knee to make two more low but handy walls. Covered by sheets weighed down by scrap, this was where he stored most of his salvage between trips to the trading posts, and where he did most of his repair work.

Tonight, there was barely anything to take to the workshop. He dropped off, or carried inside, his new guests at the door before hiding the dust-runner, and the luggage nets hung empty. The trip wasn't completely unfruitful, however.

After making sure the droid was still inside, and therefore not watching, Raey retrieved the few, most valuable-looking components he had hidden in compartments beneath his seat and behind the engine panel. It was usually an unnecessary precaution, but the one-in-a-hundred trip that got interrupted (by bandits or traders) made the extra effort worth it. It was only an armful of parts, but ones he desperately needed.

He spread them out on his ancient workbench, in the darkness of the workshop, and stood there for a moment just letting his gaze drift over the parts. His fingers itched to pick them apart, find any failures and correct them, scrub the metal until it gleamed... but, no. It was late, and the subtle headache thumping behind his eyes warned him that he needed sleep.

Sleep... after dealing with his guests.

There wasn't much more Raey could do for his dehydrated, sun-scorched guest, except turn on the cooling unit and try and get him to swallow a little more water. Then, he turned to the droid.

"Here," he said, grabbing a bulky 'portable' translator from one of the metal shelves that lined his walls. "Talk to it for a bit, okay? It hasn't had to translate droid since I found it."

The droid beeped inquisitively, and Raey smiled, turning the display screen so it could see the gibberish the translator had attempted to spit out. "It needs practice, okay? Just tell it a story or something. Quietly. Your friend over there needs rest, and so do I."

The droid bobbed its head in agreement, then rolled off into the corner to converse with the slightly senile translator. Raey laid a blanket on the floor (his sick guest got the bed), and immediately relaxed, the semi-musical sounds of droid-talk following him into sleep like his own strange lullaby.

.

.

Sharp, harsh footsteps echoed down the metal corridors, a warning that sent shocks of tension through everyone who heard them. Armored troopers pressed themselves against the wall, stiffly saluting, and officers tried to find a doorway through which to slip out of sight. Those stuck in the open feigned busyness, making up faults to dress down the nearest trooper, or investigating whatever they had in their hands with undivided focus.

The Knight swept past them all, each step somehow imbued with the rage that hid behind a black and silver full-face mask. Two acolytes lurked in the Knight's shadow, their deep hoods leaving only tense jaws and grim scowls visible as they glared at everyone they passed.

The raid was a failure, the reports claimed. Ren didn't find anything.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

No one wanted to be noticed. No one wanted to be held responsible for spreading the rumors, true or not, that the Knights had made a mistake.

Captain Karne slipped up – he waited too long, and the Knight saw him turn on his heel to duck into the nearest elevator. Karne hit the button... the doors did not close. They creaked, trying desperately to obey, but the Knight's upheld hand forced them to remain open. The three black-clad figures stopped outside his failed hiding place, and he hastily saluted despite a sudden shiver of terror.

"Gather your troops, captain." The modulated voice spat the words furiously, almost trembling in rage. "Send men to every town, every settlement, every hole on that desolate rock of a world, and burn the Resistance fighter out. Find him!"

Captain Karne swallowed hard, frantically searching for a response that would not get him killed, but the Knight required no reply. The elevator doors slammed shut, and Karne fell back against the wall, his heart pounding.

By the time he reached the floor he had hit at random, his composure was back. He marched down the corridor, snapping orders into his comlink.

If the Knights wanted Jakku searched, the First Order would search it. The Resistance would not get away this time.

.

.

Raey woke early, and could not get back to sleep. He lay on the cold floor for a while, listening to the wind rustling against sand outside, then finally gave up and rose.

The droid stirred, following his movements with its head as he moved around the cramped AT-AT interior. Raey glanced over at his human guest, still passed out on his bed, as he drained the contents of the window-vaporator into his canteen. It wasn't much, but he left half of the water in a cup next to the bed, just in case.

The hatch hissed as Raey slipped outside, letting cool pre-dawn air surge in past him. As he stood there, allowing the fresh air to fully wake him, he scanned the horizon, the desert, the dome of the sky, for any new sign.

Nothing had changed.

Today, at some point, he would have to take what little salvage of value he had and go to the trading post. "I didn't expect to pick up another mouth," he muttered to the desert, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions the day before. However this played out, if he hadn't gone after the droid yesterday he'd be kicking himself today. It might make for a few slim weeks, but he had survived tight times before.

His thoughts turned to the few parts sitting, waiting, in his workshop. He craned his neck to look once more at the sky, hoping to see something flying across the grey... then lowered his gaze and went to work.

Early hours passed quickly beneath his tinkering fingers, but Raey made sure to keep track of the light. When the pale fabric that made up his workshop roof began to look gold instead of grey, he set down his tools, covered the parts he had been cleaning to keep the sand off them, and went back to seal down the AT-AT against the sun. Whatever moisture and cool air his metal bunker had, he wanted it to keep.

The hatch opened and an enthusiastic burble greeted him before he had even risen from the duck required to get inside. The cause of the droid's delight was no great mystery – its human friend was awake, sitting on the bed with his back to the wall and Raey's metal mug in his hands.

Raey froze. Not physically – he went straight to the window-vaporator and started fiddling with the seals to close it off – but it occurred to him too late that he never had guests in his home. Not even scavengers he more-or-less trusted - Jac and a few others he didn't directly compete with - knew exactly where he lived. This wasn't a trader in the post or a scavenger to talk to with mutually-concealed distrust; this was a new situation, and one he did not have any confidence in maneuvering safely.

He stole a look out of the corner of his eye as he turned off the vaporator, just to make sure his guest hadn't moved. The droid was wobbling around on the uneven floor energetically, bumping into things and making oops noises, but the human was just watching Raey, the cup of water hovering just below his cracked lips in between small, slow sips.

Then, the voiceless-silence broke.

"Beebee says you saved us both," said the stranger, sounding only slightly hoarse. Raey steeled himself, then turned to face his guest. Is that a thank you? Should I say 'you're welcome'? Maybe he is digging for an explanation...

"Beebee? Is that the droid?"

What sort of question is that? Of course it's the droid.

"Yeah, my droid. He's BB-8, I'm Wedge."

Raey's wall dropped, abruptly and completely. "Wait, Wedge? As in, you were named after the Wedge?"

"Who?"

Raey could hardly believe his ears. "Who?" he exclaimed. "Only one of the pilots who took out the Death Star... twice! Only a hero of the old Rebellion before the fall of the Empire. Only a friend of Luke frizzing Skywalker himself! How in the galaxy have you never heard-"

Then he realized his scrap-model X-wing was sitting in plain sight on a shelf, right next to his prize rebel pilot helmet. He looked at them for a moment, then glanced back at his guest. The man shrugged, smiling crookedly.

"I was hoping for an honest reaction; I think that's what I got. My name is actually Dameron."

Raey let out a breath and leaned, arms folded, against the wall, irritated at having been tricked into an outburst. "Raey."

"Thanks for saving my droid, Raey."

"Bebe-bwoo-bee!"

"And Beebee's human, apparently." Dameron drained his mug, then began tapping the side with one finger. "He says you traded all your loot to get him away from some slaver. Not the sort of selfless action I would have expected from a scavenger of Jakku."

"I like droids."

"And then you followed that droid out into the middle of nowhere to save my life?"

"Sun's up – you can head back out if you like. Probably be dead before you reach your rock hideout, though."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't have done what you did," said Dameron with a frustrated breath. He set the mug down. "I'm trying to figure out why you did what you did."

Raey pushed himself off his wall, scowling. "Dig all you like; I'm going to town. There is a bit of water in the barrel – drink it."

He could feel their eyes on him as he left, but he didn't acknowledge it. If they were still here when he got back, he could start talking to them about what he needed from the droid. If they weren't... well, Raey wasn't about to hold a man hostage for the use of his tools. If Dameron didn't trust him and wanted to go out there and die, that was his choice to make.

.

The trading post did not bustle. Tired, dirty people moved slowly in the weak shade provided by wind-tattered cloth, and tables full of junk were arrayed here and there, surrounded by workers. A few metal buildings protected the traders themselves, and on the outskirts sat a few depressing trader starships (owned by the only ones on Jakku wealthy enough to keep scavengers away from them, but not wealthy enough to keep them in good condition).

Raey tucked a pitiful ration packet into his robe, all he had managed to get for his few scraps of useable salvage. It was almost a wasted trip, but he rolled the water barrel he kept on the dust-runner over to the well-pump and kept an eye on the people around him as it slowly began to fill.

Scavengers, keeping to themselves. Trading post workers cleaning up the salvage that lazy scavengers had traded away for a reduced finder's fee. Natives skulking about, sour and unfriendly. Was that the same teedo from yesterday? Probably not.

Then, a familiar shade of pale grey. A slinking curve of a figure, bumping lightly against larger, slower targets. Raey waited until she was within easy earshot, then raised his hand.

"Hi, Jac."

She saw him and straightened, brushing dirt off her hip where she had weaseled between two filthy speeders. "'llo, Raey. I thought I recognized your runner, but I didn't see you in line."

He shrugged. "There wasn't much worth trading this time. Made it fast. Heard anything recently?"

She stayed quiet until she reached him, then leaned, almost sat, on the lip of his water barrel. "Some," she confessed, twisting to cup her hands beneath the tap. "The traders are watching for someone. Rumor has it the First Order is up there, hunting, and they've offered a bounty." She drank, then put her damp palms against the back of her neck. "A big one."

Raey's thoughts jumped, but he didn't let it show. "As if we needed more problems on this rock. The First Order..." He shuddered. "Hope they find what they want and move on, the sooner the better."

Jac gave him a shrewd look. "They're after a droid, too."

Raey met her gaze steadily. "Oh?"

She looked away with a grimace. "I'm just saying because I know you'd try, but don't go buying or selling any droids for a while, 'ight? Not unless you want trouble. People are looking; looking for strangers, looking for droids, looking for any reason to get a big payout. Doesn't matter if it's a mouse from the destroyers that hasn't worked for a decade – once the First Order has sights on you, you're done."

The water was nearing the rim. Raey turned off the faucet and Jac moved so he could put the water-sealing lid back on. "Thanks for the tip," he said, wrapping the leather dragging-strap around his hand. "I'll keep my head down. You stay out of the way too, Jac."

She grinned dryly at him, raising her hand in farewell. "Dig myself a hole in the sand. See ya, Raey."