Other introductions were made, and before long Ahsoka had shaken hands with Kaeden’s entire crew. They were all human but one. Vartan was the oldest, a weathered man in his forties. At first Ahsoka thought his baldness was an affectation, like what some of the clones had done to keep their heads cooler in their helmets, but when she looked more closely, she realized that he didn’t have any regrowth at all. She didn’t really understand how hair worked, not having any herself, but she knew men were often sensitive about that sort of thing, so even though she was curious, she didn’t ask.
Malat, a Sullustan woman in her early thirties, had to leave right after introductions were made. Her husband worked a different shift than she did, and she had to go home to feed the children. She reminded Ahsoka a bit of Master Plo, who had always thought of others even when he was busy or tired.
The twins, Hoban and Neera, were only a few years older than Ahsoka. They were very white compared with the others, and their matching blue eyes missed very few details. They were also much blunter than Kaeden had been when it came to asking Ashla questions about her past. Ahsoka knew that a little information would go a long way, so she offered up what she could.
“I’m a mechanic, or at least I can fix things,” she said.
“It’s good to meet you then,” Hoban said. “Especially if you repair our threshers like you did Kaeden’s.”
“Did yours break, too?” Ahsoka asked.
“No,” said Miara, “but they’re all old and junky. Kaeden’s works better now than it ever did, even when she first bought it.”
“I’m happy to take a look,” Ahsoka said. “You can’t be worse than my last customer.”
They all looked at Kaeden in surprise. She grimaced.
“Tibbola got to her before I did,” she said.
“Well, at least he didn’t scare her off completely,” Hoban said. “And he doesn’t drink here very often.”
“Why not?” Ahsoka asked. “Kaeden said this place is the best.”
Hoban and Neera exchanged looks, and Neera leaned forward.
“Tibbola is a mean drunk,” she said. “And a stupid one. Sober, he can control his tongue, but when he’s had a few, he starts to say unpleasant things about people.”
Ahsoka digested that. She wasn’t used to unbridled emotions. She’d spent most of her life around people who felt deeply, but who managed, for the most part, to keep those feelings under control. It was one of the reasons that Barriss Offee’s betrayal had stung her so deeply. Barriss had been angry with the Jedi Order and had sought to win Ahsoka’s sympathies, if not her outright alliance, but she’d done so in the cruelest way imaginable: by tampering with Ahsoka’s own choices. To have a person she considered a friend use her to unleash such deep anger and channel it at the Order had changed every part of Ahsoka’s outlook. Although it wasn’t exactly the same thing, Ahsoka was glad she wouldn’t have to deal with the abusive mutterings of the local drunk. Ever since Barriss had poked all those holes in her certainty about the Jedi path, Ahsoka had worked hard to regain the control she’d once possessed. She wasn’t in a hurry to give a new bully the opportunity to get under her skin.
“We don’t like it,” Miara said. “And neither does Selda, obviously, though he can’t always turn away a paying customer.”
Ahsoka followed Miara’s gesture and saw a tall Togruta male standing behind the bar. His skin was the same color as hers. His left lekku was mostly gone, though, cut off at the shoulder, and there was scar tissue where the injury had been sustained.
“Farming accident,” Vartan said. “A long time ago. They can give you prosthetic hands and feet, but they can’t do much about your lekku.”
Selda caught Ahsoka’s gaze—she really hoped he didn’t think she was staring—and nodded formally. She waved, and he smiled. Then he went back to drying glasses, and she could see his prosthesis as he worked. It went all the way up to his left elbow and made him hold the glasses at a strange angle, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.
“Now that he’s seen you, I bet we get the best service,” Hoban said.
“Idiot,” said his sister, and cuffed him on the back of the head. His drink spilled as she jostled him. “Do you think all Togruta know each other?”
“Of course not,” Hoban protested. He didn’t even try to mop up the mess. “I just meant he’ll be curious because she’s new.”
“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Neera said. “He never thinks before he speaks.”
“You’re forgiven,” said Ahsoka.
“I didn’t—” Hoban started, but then gave up. “Where’s the food? I’m starving.”
Every cantina Ahsoka had been in before had been full of transients. Even on Coruscant, the bars were populated by people who were on their way somewhere else, even if it was only to a concert or another party. It was strange to be somewhere where everyone was local. On Raada, she was the stranger, and she got the distinct impression that if she’d walked through the doors alone, the music and the talking would have stopped and she’d have been the center of attention. Even shielded by Kaeden and her friends, Ahsoka was the focus of quite a few covert stares as people tried to figure her out.
“They’ll get used to you soon enough,” said Vartan. He stood up and prepared to push his way back to the bar for refills. “Do you want to order anything special? Tonight the drinks are on us.”
“He’s being ridiculous,” Miara said. “Selda only has one kind of alcohol. Just get another round, Vartan.”
He saluted her, a mocking gesture that Ahsoka found uncomfortably familiar, and went on his way. Miara and Kaeden started arguing with the twins about something, and Ahsoka let herself half listen while she looked around the cantina. It was a habit, assessing her surroundings, but now would be a good time to find out if anyone was too interested in her. She mostly saw tired people who just seemed to want a hot meal at the end of the day. If it weren’t for the music, she would have thought this was a commissary or mess hall.
“That’s why Selda keeps it so loud,” Kaeden said, when Ahsoka told her what she was thinking. “You eat in a lot of mess halls back wherever you’re from?”
“Sometimes,” Ahsoka said. “More often it was eating what we could where we could.”
“You moved around a lot?” Kaeden said with some sympathy. “Even when you were little?”
“Not when I was little,” Ahsoka said. “But for the last few years, yes.”
“My parents settled us here when I was four and Miara was one,” Kaeden said. “They died in the accident that cut up Selda so bad, but I was fourteen by then and just old enough to draw a wage. Vartan took me on because of my circumstances, even though everyone else thought I was too young. Then he took Miara on, too. Did you travel with your parents?”
The question shouldn’t have caught Ahsoka off guard, but it did. She said the first thing that popped into her head.
“No, I don’t remember my parents very well.”
“Who’d you travel with then?” Kaeden asked.
“I’m, uh—dopted,” Ahsoka stuttered, and hoped the noise of the cantina was enough to cover her hesitation. “Sort of.” She went through her days trying not to think about her loss, lest her grief incapacitate her, but that just meant that every time it came up, it hurt like new.
Whatever question Kaeden had next was interrupted by the return of Vartan carrying a tray of drinks, Selda trailing behind him with a tray of food. Once everything was passed out, Selda took the seat beside Ahsoka and leaned in so only she would hear him.
“Are you set up okay here?” he asked.