ON JAKKU, whenever there was a mention of Star Destroyers, glances weren’t directed to the skies but to the distant sands. For if one traveled deep into the desert past Niima Outpost, that’s precisely what one would find. Jutting out from the dunes like enormous, half-buried arrowheads loomed the mountainous wreckage of Imperial Star Destroyers. Scraps of smaller starships lay littered around the crashed titans, all relics of a terrible battle that best remained forgotten.

Most avoided that graveyard at all costs. Jakku’s pounding windstorms had eroded the derelicts into veritable death traps. Rusty floors could crumble under the feet of unfortunate visitors. Beams could teeter and collapse. Old pipes could burst, spraying hazardous fluids.

Rey was not afraid. She didn’t have that luxury. If she couldn’t brave such dangers, she couldn’t afford to eat.

She hung on to the wall of a demolished destroyer and used her tools to wiggle free various components that rust hadn’t devoured. The ship was a treasure trove of metal sheeting and military-grade tech that, if given a proper cleaning, could fetch Rey a meal or two at Niima Outpost.

She was nineteen and this was her life. Her days were spent venturing into perilous places and collecting what others called trash. Admittedly, she had a knack for scavenging, but she didn’t do it by choice. Legitimate jobs on Jakku were as scarce as water. She had to make do with what was available—which meant salvaging scrap from junkyards and trading it to Unkar Plutt for ration packets of food.

Having gathered as much as she could, Rey climbed down the wall slowly and carefully. Outfitted in tan desert garb, with green goggles shielding her eyes, an overstuffed backpack on her shoulders, and her staff wedged through the straps, she felt akin to the steelpeckers that also scavenged these parts. They swarmed the premises at night, chewing on corroded metal and loose wiring, helping turn the destroyers into dust.

Rey dropped to the ground near a chunk of salvage she’d previously found. She lifted it with both arms, her muscles aching under its weight. But her stomach would ache more if she didn’t take it with her.

Jakku’s blazing sun welcomed her when she emerged from the interior of the destroyer. She set down her salvage, pushed her goggles away from her eyes, and drank from her canteen.

Standing on that perch, she had a full view of the junkyard around her. Sand had shrouded most of the smaller craft from the battle of years past. But here and there, something metallic poked out, such as the solar panel of a TIE fighter or the nose of an old X-wing.

Holding the canteen over her mouth, she tapped its side, desperate for every last drop. When nothing more came, she clipped it to her belt. She hoped that what she’d salvaged here would be able to quench her thirst and feed her belly for the night.

Rey deposited her salvage onto a sled of scrap metal, then shoved it down a slope. Her speeder was parked below. It wasn’t anything to look at, not much more than a box with engines. But her present line of work didn’t require anything else.

Finding a larger sheet of scrap, Rey positioned herself on it and went sledding down the dune after her salvage. Skidding to a halt at the bottom, she jettisoned the sled, loaded her speeder with her loot, and soon was racing off to Niima Outpost. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner awaited—she hoped.

Arriving at Niima Outpost, Rey parked her speeder and took her salvage into an open-air structure canopied from the sun. The place served primarily as a cleaning station for those who dealt with the junk dealer, Unkar Plutt. At long workbenches, individuals of many species brushed and buffed their day’s booty. The newer and shinier the scrap looked, the more portions of food Plutt would pay out. Rey found an open space and started scrubbing.

After she’d done the best she could to make her junk look like expensive junk, Rey went to Plutt. This was her least favorite part of the day. The blubbery Crolute cooled himself in a shed built from cargo crawler paneling, where he judged the values of both salvage and scavenger like a tin-pot prince. He definitely looked the part: a leather cap crowned his fat, bald head, and piles of flesh drooped around his neck like a royal mantle. His body was as bloated as his sense of his own generosity. He loved pretending to be charitable in his appraisals, when in truth there was no greedier individual on Jakku.

Rey waited before Plutt’s booth while he inspected her prizes in his fleshy hands. “A decent offering, if nothing remarkable,” Plutt said, fingering her salvage. “Today you get a quarter portion.”

A quarter portion, for usable metal and Star Destroyer components? Rey wanted to scream. Plutt was ripping her off. On any other planet, what she had given him would’ve netted her enough to live on for a month, at least.

Unfortunately, Jakku wasn’t any other planet. It was an isolated world where the bare necessities were worth more than rare metals and military tech. To make matters worse, Plutt had bought out or beaten up all his competition at Niima Outpost, giving him a monopoly over the local junk exchange. If Rey wanted to be fed, even in quarter portions, she had to go through him.

From the booth’s transfer drawer, she accepted the two ration packets. One contained a brown flour substance, the other a green protein square.

“That’s my girl,” Plutt said.

She hated being called that.

Rey made dinner in her humble home. She opened both ration packets and dumped the green protein square into a pan on a burner. While that was cooking, she mixed the brownish flour with water in a container. The chemical reaction worked its magic and a doughy loaf rose.

“Meat and bread” was what Plutt called this packet combination, though Rey doubted it tasted anything like the real thing. She ate from a plate that she licked clean of any leftover food. Through a blast hole that now was a window, she saw the lines of smoke from a ship departing over Niima Outpost. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and took stock of her few possessions. They always brightened her day and reminded her that there was more to the galaxy than life on Jakku.

She had a doll she’d sewn together as a younger girl from the fabric of an orange flight suit. A canister stored rare flowers she’d plucked in the desert. Then there was the computer Rey had built out of scavenged parts. She had loaded it with a flight simulator program to practice her starship piloting. Rey’s sleeping area contained her single luxury, a bloggin-feather pillow. Last, a banged-up pilot’s helmet she’d found in a Rebellion-era X-wing rested on a shelf. This was something she couldn’t toss away or redeem as salvage. It would be like dishonoring the pilot who had worn it.

She took the helmet off its shelf and put it over her head, then went out to look at the setting sun. The helmet’s polarized visor protected her eyes and allowed Rey to watch the sun sink toward the horizon. She owed her survival to those who had donned helmets like this. The great battle they’d waged supplied her with scraps to sell and had given her a place to live.

Humble, her home wasn’t—not from the outside. Its rusted hulk spread across the surrounding salt flats like a giant fallen beast. She dwelled in its belly, an armored midsection that once had carried squads of Imperial stormtroopers. A cockpit protruded like a head via a tubular neck. Four massive mechanical legs splayed out over the sand, frozen in a dead pose.

During the battle, this monstrosity of metal had plodded through the desert, scattering sand dunes and squashing soldiers. It must have terrified those who fell into its path of destruction. The Empire had classified it as an AT-AT—an All-Terrain Armored Transport. Rey was more fond of its common name—“walker”—or as she called it, “home.”

A wail interrupted her thoughts. Strangely, it sounded nothing like the creatures that inhabited this part of the desert. It was high-pitched, almost…electronic?

She grabbed her staff from the walker, then ran out into the desert, heading toward the sound. It repeated, the same tone at a precise rate. Binary, from the sound of it. The language of droids.

Rey climbed to the top of a dune and saw that the cries came from a spherical droid with an astromech’s dome. It rolled around in a net, getting itself more and more tangled. A Teedo tried to pull the trapped droid up onto the armored luggabeast he rode.

Rey didn’t begrudge scavengers, since she was one herself. But the small droid was putting up such a spirited defense that its capture seemed unjust. This unit wasn’t the average binary loadlifter or probot spy. Its yelps were frantic pleas for aid, and Rey had a feeling the droid would try to assist her if their positions were reversed and she were caught in the net.

To grab the Teedo’s attention, Rey shouted in his native language. Both captor and captive paused in their struggle and looked up at her. She continued shouting, ordering the Teedo to leave the droid alone. The reptilian Teedo hissed through his rusted mask.

Rey had experience interacting with this species. If she hinted that she was intimidated in the slightest, she would lose the contest of wills. So she drew her knife and went down the dune, staking her staff at the bottom.

The Teedo cursed her when she started to cut the droid out of the net, but he remained on his luggabeast and did not back up his words with action.

Still, Rey was not just going to allow herself to be insulted. She spewed out some harsh threats of her own, which she punctuated by brandishing her knife.

The Teedo replied with a foul-mouthed rant. But the end effect was that he reined his luggabeast around and lumbered away.

The droid rolled free of the net and piped angrily at its would-be captor. “Shhh,” Rey said. She knelt on the droid’s level. “He’s just a Teedo.”

Assessing the droid’s condition, she noticed its antenna was bent. Scorch marks marred its dome. The little guy had seen some action. “Where’d you come from?”

The droid blurted out something harsh. Rey scoffed. Her comfort with all things mechanical had made her fluent in binary. “Classified? Really? Well, me too. Big secret. I’ll keep mine and you can keep yours.”

She stood and pointed away from her home. “Niima Outpost is that way. Stay off Kelvin Ridge. Keep away from the Sinking Fields up north or you’ll drown in the sand. The closer you get to Niima, the less likely you are to run into a marauding Teedo.”

Her advice was not heeded. Instead, the droid followed her as she headed to her walker. She stopped. “You can’t come with me. I don’t want anyone with me. You understand?”

The droid whimpered. But this time, she wouldn’t be manipulated. She had saved it, and that should be enough. “No—and don’t ask me again. I’m not your friend.”

She strode forward. The droid continued to beep. Soft and sad. Rey sighed. She turned around. The image of an astromech unit rolling alone through the desert did strike her as preposterous. If the droid didn’t fall into a sand pit, capture by other Teedo tribesmen seemed likely. Particularly at night, when they lurked in greater numbers.

“In the morning, you go,” she told the droid. She received a grateful beep. “Fine, you’re welcome.” The droid continued to beep excitedly. She chuckled. “Yes, there’s a lot of sand here.”

The astromech formally introduced himself by chirping out his designation.

“Beebee-Ate? Okay. Hello, Beebee-Ate. My name is Rey.” The droid inquired if she had a family name. “No, just Rey.”

The questions continued. This unit was a chatterball. “You’re not going to talk all night, are you?”

BB-8 apologized with one last beep.

“Good,” Rey said.

They went into the walker, where they spent the night in peace and quiet. Somewhat.