By the time I turned four, I was actively studying everything I could get my hands on.
The world around me pulled at me constantly—so much of it was strange and fascinating.
Though I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the really interesting stuff.
Not after I swiped a device off the head waiter and tried to take it apart, and predictably broke it.
The Boss took a belt to me so hard I couldn’t sit down afterward.
Unfortunately, I’d earned it fair and square, so I couldn’t even work up much outrage.
Man, I needed to hurry up and grow, because nobody let me do anything.
It’s miserable, wanting something that badly and not being able to do a thing about it.
There was one outlet, at least: helping out around the restaurant.
Mostly I worked the system the head waiter summed up as fetch it, carry it, get lost, and don’t get in the way.
Drinks, notes from clients to the girls, and other small things—all of it needed running.
Sometimes an especially generous or drunk customer would even slip me a couple of credits.
Small change, and out here on the Outer Rim practically worthless, but still—money.
That kind of currency mattered near the Core and the Inner Worlds—stable, wealthy places.
Out here, we were just some unwanted colony: technically on the map, but nobody cared.
So credits didn’t really circulate; what people respected was Hutt-space money.
Giant slugs who’d somehow managed to carve out a huge chunk of the galaxy for themselves.
The most amazing part was that everyone knew about that mafia, and nobody did a thing about it.
They minted their own currency, and every criminal, bounty hunter, and other assorted scum flocked under their wing.
All my knowledge came from conversations I overheard from clients or staff, plus a self-education program of bombarding anyone I could with questions.
I found everything interesting.
Even now, that nagging sense that none of this was quite real hadn’t left me.
Speaking of clients, I had a quirk that brought in a small but steady income of its own.
I could feel it whenever someone was about to start a fight.
An unpleasant, prickling field seemed to form around a person like that.
Nobody believed me at first, but after I called out ten troublemakers in a row, correctly every time, my word started carrying weight.
I had no idea how I did it.
But by then I was so used to not understanding things that I’d stopped being surprised by it.
Either way, I got good at weaving small orders past the crowd of moving clients while keeping an eye out for troublemakers.
The Boss even started paying me a small bonus for flagging those types early and passing the word along fast enough for security to react in time.
After work, I could go out and wander around—though at first that came with problems of its own.
The moment I got a hundred meters from the building, the neighborhood kids would start in on me.
I ignored it at first, but before long they started throwing rocks and needling me every way they could.
“Get lost, you filthy kid.”
“Whore’s son.”
Who cared that it wasn’t even true, that Mama was a doctor, not a prostitute?
What mattered was that it made a perfectly good excuse to pick on someone weaker.
Funny thing was, a lot of them had it worse than I did.
Some had parents who gambled or did drugs; some, according to the rumors, had just lost their parents outright.
The concrete jungle had its own set of laws, and one of them was that the kids took their anger out on me.
Every time I got into a fight, I’d swear off leaving the house, and I’d spend whole days entertaining myself with small mischief, work, or the rare chance to pester someone into teaching me to write.
I could get by talking well enough, but reading and writing were still out of reach.
Mama thought her son was still too little for that.
Sometimes I’d ride out into the countryside with the girls, whenever the Boss took us out along with the guards.
But since I was the only kid around, I got bored fast, and the adults would fuss over me for a minute before waving me off and going back to their conversation.
Every year, though, things on the street got a little worse.
One gang of little brats gave way to the next.
We fought—of course we did.
If it weren’t for my strange abilities, I’d have taken a lot more beatings.
At least it never came to weapons; anyone who wanted a fight came at me with fists.
But when I turned six, the rules changed.
Some fresh street kid who thought he was king of the block had started swinging a metal club around.
A few kids tried standing up to him, but he crushed them without much effort.
I stayed out of it, at first.
Until a certain point.
I’d always managed to hide the bruises from fights before, but this time one blow caught my face.
Just a scratch, but it bled a lot, and I didn’t want to be late for work.
So the first time I came home with a split eyebrow, I could barely hold back the righteous fury of Mama and her friends.
If the Boss hadn’t stepped in, things could have spiraled out of control.
“It’s not fitting for a man to hide behind a woman’s skirt.”
“But he’s a child!”
“That’s true.
But it’s his problem to solve himself.” I could feel exactly how furious Mama was—another push and she’d have gone at the Boss with her fists.
He must have sensed something similar, because he added, “That doesn’t mean we won’t help him.”
“And what exactly are you proposing?”
“You?
Calm down.
Ladies, take Kelly somewhere to rest and bring her a drink.
Seth and I will discuss this.”
“But—!”
I could see her about to argue.
“Mom, I’ve got this.
I want to grow up like the uncles here, and that means I have to act like them.
And they don’t hide behind women.”
I could tell how much it worried her, but she gave in all the same.
“Fine.
But please, be careful.
If anything happens to you…”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Her look said more than words ever could: if anything happened to me, the Boss wouldn’t live to regret it.
Only then did she let her friends lead her away.
The two of us headed to his office.
It was a small room, but the expensive furniture made an impression all the same.
He settled himself into a leather armchair, which groaned mournfully under his massive frame, and waved for me to sit across from him.
“So, Seth, what do you think the real problem is here?” Seeing my blank look, he pressed on.
“Don’t play dumb.
You understand a lot more than kids your age.
Other people don’t notice it, but I do.
You and I are alike.”
“You feel it too?”
“You mean the Force?
Yes.
Most people think it’s nothing but a myth, but they’re wrong.
I’m weak in it, but gifted.
And you’re stronger than me there—a lot stronger.
But right now we’re talking about you.
So?”
“I need people.”
I’d had the plan brewing for a while.
All those scuffles had made one thing clear: one-on-one, I had the edge over any opponent.
So why not use that?
“For what?”
“I know who’s running the show over there.
Take him out and the whole thing falls apart.
If I beat him, they’ll be afraid.”
“And can you?
I think I know who you mean, but he’s two years older than you.”
“Without a doubt.
Like you said, I see, hear, and feel more than other kids.
I’ll come out on top.”
“Hm.
People…
I’ll find you a few of the kids we’ve got running errands.
Will four be enough?”
“More than enough.”