Chapter Text
Dear Diary,
Today I ran out of room on the walls of my Imperial Walker.
If anyone was to read that sentence in isolation it could sound quite glamorous, rather than somewhat sad. Context is key. Let me introduce myself.
My name is Rey and I live on the planet Jakku, a great big dustbowl of a place with clear scorching blue skies and hot gritty yellow sand. I’m a scavenger, which means I spend my days searching junkers for items that still hold some value. Things could be worse- for example, I could be a slave. Instead I work for Unkar Plutt, which is nearly just as bad.
He’s a mean old Crolute who through ambition and violence has made sure he holds the monopoly on trading at Niima Outpost. Someone once told me Unkar’s species is aquatic in nature, which is why he never leaves his concessions stand. Who would walk away from cool blue oceans into this stew pot? No wonder the blobfish is always bad-tempered.
So how did I, owner of exactly three changes of clothes and one custom built speeder held together by spit and gumption, come to possess a Walker? Well, that occurred purely by chance.
It happens to me a lot, actually. Some of the other scavengers think I’m really good at what I do (they’ve said it to my face, so it’s not bragging), but the truth is I’m lucky. I sometimes get a feeling to go east instead of west or climb up instead of down. I’ve learnt to listen to those feelings- they’ve never steered me wrong.
This particular day, I was looking for a new home. One of Unkar’s foot soldiers made the pleasant (for him) discovery that I was a girl under all my rags (not that anyone’s terribly particular in this place). The occasional crude comment was one thing, but then he began interrupting my sleep in the middle of the night. Fortunately, the quarterstaff I cobbled together from bits of pipe, gears and metal links was enough to dissuade Cardo, but I knew I was playing with fire. It was only a matter of time before he got drunk enough to storm my tent with a blaster in hand.
Something told me to travel east along the sand dunes to the Goazon Badlands, an area nobody visits since there’s nothing there. Believe me, Unkar has enough scavengers scouring the surroundings of Niima Outpost for it to be well plotted. Imagine my shock when I discovered an All Terrain Armoured Transport resting on its side, three levels sticking out of the sand. It must have been unearthed during the last storm.
Initially, I thought the AT-AT was a lucky find for salvageable parts and didn’t even consider living in it. As I searched its interior, however, I came across a curious thing: a small green spinebarrel flower growing out of the few millimetres of sand that had poured into the Walker. It was a sign. If a flower could blossom in such a forsaken place, then surely I could survive too. Life always finds a way.
That sounds fairly philosophical and wise but trust me, out here it’s work hard and live or lie down and die.
The AT-AT used to be called Hellhound Two, the kind of moniker only an Imperial trooper or a First Order general would think appropriate. How do I know the specifications of my new home? I’m glad you asked. I managed to get the ship’s computer up and running. Something of a miracle since it’s been buried in sand all these decades. The circuit boards were caked with grit but after a good scrub and a certain amount of fiddling with the wires it flickered on.
I’ve learnt all sorts of interesting things from the ship’s computer; alien languages to assist me when I’m amongst other scavengers, facts about far flung planets in the unlikely event I ever leave Jakku, and information about military ships and attack formations for the day when I’m in charge of my own battalion of rebels (or stormtroopers- stranger things have happened). I also have an electronic display from an old assault fighter that I’ve been using to run flight simulations in an effort to teach myself how to fly.
Yup, I’ll be ready when my parents return for me. Ready for what, I’m unsure, but definitely ready. Which brings me back to how I ran out of room on the wall of the Walker.
The lower deck where I sleep has my hammock (handmade), a table for me to tinker with salvaged parts and the ship’s computer. I park my speeder on the deck above. I’ve been using one wall of my ‘room’ as a calendar of sorts. Every day I scratch a line into the metal plates, signifying another sunset closer to my parents return. Today, I ran out of space.
I could have started on another wall, I suppose, but then I found you, diary. Well, you’re actually a holopad. I had little hope you’d be usable when I saw the crack in the screen and the circuit board peeking out of its black casing, but you started working as soon as I turned you on. Rather than marking another wall, I’ve decided to make an entry in this pad every day.
It’s been strange describing my life as if I’m the heroine in a story. I suppose I am, in a way, since it’s my story… even if it is a boring one. It feels good to write everything down, as if I’m releasing it into the galaxy. I’m breathing a little easier than usual. Who knew I had so much to say? After all, nothing ever happens on Jakku.
I better get to sleep. The sun has set and darkness only lasts about five hours.
Goodnight,
Rey