The next day, Aden stays inside with Mother and I.  She won't let him outside.

We play a card game that he knows, and he always wins.  I insist that he's cheating, since I never even get close, but he says that it takes time to get good.

I scoff at that.

Mother joins, and beats Aden.

"Have you played this before?" he asks, shuffling the deck to deal again.

"I used to play scrabbledeck all of the time," she says with a chuckle.

"Scrabbledeck?"  He starts dealing the deck into three piles.

"That's what we call it.  What do you call it?"   She drags her stack towards herself, and I follow her lead.

"Player's Deck.  But I've heard dozens of names."

"It must be played across the galaxy."

"It is."  He turns over his top card.  We do the same.

From my stack, I take the top five cards.  The highest of our three cards that just got flipped is the playing card.  The other two go in reserve for the moment.  Now, we have to play a card with a value of half, double, or the largest.

The number is seven, and the cards go up in whole numbers to thirteen, so that's a bust.  The highest card in the deck is the Emperor, followed by a Darth, then Grand Moff.  It's all based around the Imperial hierarchy now.  Mother claims that they used to be Jedi, padawan, and youngling.  I don't have an emperor, but I do have a darth card.  I put it on top of the card, face down.

Once we've all placed our cards, Aden reveals them, tapping my Darth.  I let out a victorious yell and pull the four cards, and the reserve pile, into my stack.

"Good job," he congratulates me.

Mother ruffles my hair.  I scowl and brush it back into place, but I'm happy.

The second time, I lose.  And the rest of the game.  The goal is to get the entire deck of fifty-two.  I'm the first one eliminated.  This time, Aden beats Mother.  She acts upset, but she's smiling.

We play until noon, when Mother tells us we should eat and do something else.  So we mend blankets, which Aden is surprisingly good at.  His calloused fingers deftly pull the tiny needle through the cloth.  We finish another four blankets today, each.  That's twelve more.

"We could sell these and get a few extra credits," Mother muses.

"I know someone who sells blankets, and another one who sells cloth for half the price of Imelrial vendors."  Aden folds his blanket and lays it on the stack.  "I could get you cloth, and bring the fininished blankets to the first person, sell them to them, then bring you back the money."

"Will you charge for being a middle man?" Mother asks.

"Of course not.  You're my friends.  I don't charge friends."

She smiles.  "Thank you, then.  Here, let me get you some credits to pay for the cloth."

When Mother returns, she has a handful of small gold coins, which she pours carefully into his hand.  "I'll get the cloth tomorrow, and bring it in the evening," he tells her.

She goes to start dinner, and he puts the money in his pocket.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"For what?"

"Helping Mother."

He shrugs.  "I'm in poverty.  I want to keep both of you out of that.  It's hard to have to rely on other people for everything, especially when you don't want to."

"We can pay you for being the middle man," I offer.

He shakes his head.  "I have other ways to make money."

After dinner, he bundles up with his coat and a few scarves Mother insists on giving him, gives us his most sincere thank you and a farewell.

"That Aden's a good kid," she comments, closing the door against the cold.

"Yeah."  If she knew about him being a rebel, she probably wouldn't be quite so fond of him.  She doesn't agree with the cause, and doesn't hate the Empire as much as most do, but won't hate rebels. She just probably won't invite him over so often.

We put away the pallet and she gets to work washing Aden's sheets and blankets.  I sit next to the open compartment and work on the broken blaster, ready to hide it again if a knock comes at the door.

Fortunately, none come, and I'm able to fix it before bed.

The next day, I'm able to go for a walk again, but I avoid the west base, which is swarming with troopers, both storm and snow, and hidden snipers.  I pass Amya, who's significantly frailer looking than the last time I saw her.

I greet her, and she snaps her head in my direction, relaxing visibly when she sees that it's only me.

"I haven't seen you for a while," I say.

She wraps her blanket tighter around herself.  "I've been held up for a bit."

"What?"

"Won't you come in for a cup of tea?" she asks loudly.

"Yes, thank you."

Inside, she pours me a cup, then breaks down. 

"What is it?" I ask, putting my cup down without taking a drink.

"Remember the outburst six weeks ago?"

I nod.

"They suspected me, even though I was at your house at the time."

I wasn't home then, I was on a walk to the market and buying food when the fighting started.

"Why?"

"I was a friend of your father's, that's why.  They held me since then, and released me today."

"By the Force," I whisper.  "It's a wonder they didn't try you."

Everyone knows if you're tried by the Empire, you're found guilty.  A trial is synonymous with death here on Fest.

"They had too many prisoners, and ended up releasing me to hold a young boy, probably nine or so.  I begged them to just keep me and let him go, but they said they saw him planting a bomb, so they were only holding him for a bit."  She shakes her head.  "The poor kid."

I agree.  He's about to be executed because of my crime.  But there's nothing I can do, I don't want to leave Mother here all alone, even if Aden doesn't get in trouble from the uprising, there's always the possibility.

"Cassian, are you alright?  You've gone pale."

I nod.  "Yeah, that's just--it's terrible what they did to you."

"I probably shouldn't have told you, you're too young.  Don't get caught up in all of this, alright?"  She grabs my hand.

"I won't," I assure her.  But it's too late.  I'm already involved.

"Promise."

"I swear on it."  My fingers are crossed behind my back, a childish move, but I don't intend to keep that promise.  I broke it before I even made it.