Tricks of the Trade

Kit had only been on the ship for a week and he had already gotten to know most of the crew.  The main person he interacted with was a middle-aged tawny Bothan who insisted the younger folks of the crew refer to him as “Uncle” when passengers weren’t around to hear the informal title.  Kit still called him “Mister Durray.”  He had been taught from an early age to address people by their formal titles and it was something he was finding hard to let go of.

There were a few other things that he was still getting used to as well.  On the plus side, he didn’t have anyone telling him how to dress, how to act, and making sure he didn’t show his face in crowds.  On the other hand, he had a lot of responsibilities and if he missed one or managed to mess up in any way, he’d have to deal with his superior singling him out as a bad example.  The commodities for the crew of his rank weren't the best either.  He had a bunk in a cramped cabin with three other boys a few years older than him, a uniform that smelled like cheese and fuel, and no one he could talk to.  There was also the fact he had to clean a lot of refreshers, which he could do without.

The boy exited a large refresher station with his cleaning utensils in their bin, pushing them down the hall as they glided effortlessly on the repulsors beneath them.  It was his last job for the day, which meant he could go to his cabin or the crew’s common area to rest.  Nobody really wanted him to play holochess or any card games with him, so he did his best to entertain himself with the drawing materials offered.

Once the cleaning supplies were put away, he washed up and popped into the common area.  There were a few crew lingering around. Most were playing a betting game at a table.  Kit went to a small table by a window and rifled through a stack of flimsi-zines.  Someone brushed up against him as they walked by.  He was pulling out one with a red twi’lek lady sitting on top of a shiny new speeder when a furry hand snapped it out of his grip.

“You don’t need to be reading that trash,” Mr. Durray muttered, tossing it aside as he sat down in the opposite chair.

Kit looked around, expecting to be told to toddle off and find somewhere else to sit, but Mr. Durray didn’t have anyone with him.

“There’s not much to read,” Kit retorted, flipping the flimsi-zines with a thumb.

Mr. Durray grunted, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, I’m trying to see if the captain’ll do something about that.”

He paused and Kit could feel himself being inspected.  He was used to silent scrutiny from his family, and even passengers and crew as they realized he wasn’t a full-blooded zabrak boy.  The Bothan cleared his throat.

“D’you like magic tricks?”

Kit looked up.  He was eight, and yes, of course he liked magic tricks, but he was trying to be mature here like the other boys.  He opened his mouth to object but Mr. Durray only smiled with a nod.

“Thought so.  Here—“

And he pulled out Kit’s ship ID card and slid it over to him.  Kit patted the pocket he had had it stowed away as his eyebrows lifted.  He was sure he had it on him.  He had to have had it on his to access the common area.  Crew needed the cards to get in and out of places that the passengers weren’t allowed inside.  He fixed the Bothan with a frown.

“How did you do that?”

Mr. Durray grinned, showing sharp teeth as he leaned back in his seat while Kit picked up the ID card and turned it over in his hands.

“Did you happen to see where I was coming from, lad?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Kit retorted, still inspecting his card.

“It’s got a lot to do with my trick,” Mr. Durray replied as Kit finally met his green eyes. “I came at you from behind but I didn’t say anything until I was in front.  You ought to think about keeping that card of yours in a safer place too, not on an outer pocket like you usually do.”

Kit made a point of opening his uniform coat and sliding the card in an inside pocket.  The Bothan nodded in agreement.  Kit still squinted at him.

“Do you steal things?”

“Ohh, getting right to the point, are we?” Mr. Durray said with a toothy grin.  He placed his forearms on the table—not very proper at all—leaning forward conspiratorially. “What would you say if I said I did?”

“You’re a thief,” Kit replied flatly.

The Bothan laughed.

“I’m only earning what extra I deserve working here.  It’s no secret the company don’t pay her employees well, especially the half-sized ones—“

He gestured at Kit.

“I can teach you how so you’re not always scraping by for things when you got downtime at spaceports.”

Kit regarded the Bothan skeptically.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, but he didn’t want to be a thief either, or one who was so laid back when it came to stealing from people.  The boy had been taught right from wrong under his mother’s roof and stealing was high up on that list of what not to do.  Servants who had been caught stealing from the household were immediately discharged and their record marred with their theft.  One of Kit’s favorite nannies it turned out had been a thief, and something much worse to his mother.

The woman took holophotos of Kit, which she said were for her to keep close since she thought he was a very handsome boy.  He found out later she would have sold the photos to news outlets on the planet for a lot of credits if his mother didn’t pay her more money not to.  The nanny was fired and Kit found out later she was living in the slums in the city after she lost all her credits.  He thought that was unfortunate, and maybe a little coincidental, but more unfortunate.

He crossed his arms, breaking eye contact with the Bothan as he looked down at the stack of flimsi-zines.

“I don’t know…”

There was a grunt from Mr. Durray as he fished a furry hand into one of his pockets.

“Take your time, lad, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Something metallic clacked on the table and was slid over to Kit before the Bothan got up and left.  Whatever it was, it was hidden under one of the ‘zines.  Kit gingerly lifted a corner as his eyebrows lifted too.  There was a very intricate piece of jewelry hiding under the flimsi-zine.  He recognized the make right away as that of a popular metal crafter on his homeworld.  It was bound to make him think of home, and his mother. He scooped it up so the little hairpiece could rest in his palm, one hand cupped partially over it to hide it from prying eyes.

His mother had one almost exactly like it, with different colored gems.  Kit touched the small thing on his palm as a nostalgic smile spread on his face.  The thing was so small that it could have hardly been missed by whoever the Bothan stole it from, and the person probably was rich enough to have at least a dozen more.  So he stole things people thought they lost or wouldn’t notice.  That was smart...maybe he could try it.  He just wouldn’t take too much, and only enough to make some extra credits...