Sithbane
G U N S L I N G E R
Tatooine
Kalit D'wari
Siv never knew why
Vren Rook
was fond of the place. A sun-scorched, waterless rock on the edge of the Outer Rim was a generous definition of Tatooine, yet it seemed that everyone in the galaxy eventually landed in the furthest place from the bright center of the galaxy. A lead he was chasing down had taken him here, and he'd already spent too much time on-world. The heat on Tatooine had a way of making liars out of distances; a shape on the horizon could be a kilometer off or ten, and there was no telling if you were right. Siv had learned that the hard way, twice, and he wasn't out here to learn it a third time. He'd been walking since before the suns cleared the dunes proper, headed nowhere in particular that couldn't wait, working off a restlessness that had more to do with him than with any destination.
He'd left the speeder behind on purpose, back where he was staying, no engine noise to carry across the flats. There was a valuable wreck that could have great implications for the Iron Covenant -- but value drew in more scavengers than just Mandalorians. Out on the flat Dune Sea, Siv had to be as careful as he could to avoid detection. His beskar'gam absorbed the worst of the heat, although he was wishing he had some water recycling systems just about now. His survival canteen was dry all but for a couple of drops left, and in a rare lapse of judgment, he hadn't brought an emergency moisture vaporator. He'd been in too much of a hurry to get going, and now it was costing him.
He squinted his eyes as a rust-colored smear on the horizon appeared as he crested a dune. His HUD's macrobinoculars zoomed in to reveal the trademark sandcrawler landship of the Jawa scavengers. Not the foes he'd expected, but then again, Jawas were never far behind fresh spoils. Siv paused to take bearing of the situation, wrenching his helmet off his head to reveal dark hair matted by sweat that beaded on his forehead and the back of his neck. He turned and spat grit out of his mouth, which almost instantly dried on the sand under the intense heat of Tatooine's twin suns, while he considered the thing properly. He hadn't been hoping for company. He thought for a couple of moments before making up his mind and began to descend the dune towards the direction of the sandcrawler. Maybe the Jawas would have water.
As he grew near, the typical high-pitched intelligible chatter of the Jawa picked up. The chatter didn't stop as he closed the distance; it climbed, if anything, quick and clipped, though it wasn't hard to read the shift beneath it once the beskar caught the light. Fear had one sound. Opportunity had another. This was both at once, tangled, apprehensive, but eager. Several of the Jawas in the huddle backed deeper into the crawler's shadow as he approached.
Siv drew to a stop ten meters from them and held out his empty canteen, shaking it a little. The last drops rattled metallically inside. "Water?" He hoped they at least understood basic.
