10 - A Wretched Hive
Blade and Ddraig had moved
Windy, Deak, and Camie out of the office to the backside of the Power Station.
They sat and waited on rocks in the shade, leaning against the exterior wall as
the other troopers completed their search inside.
Camie’s fear was gone now,
replaced with amusement about the invasion. She sat apart from the others,
nearly laughing when she looked up at Ddraig. “You won’t find anything. Fixer
doesn’t have anything that belongs to you, and if the ‘droid he bought has
something of yours, take it and leave us alone.”
Ddraig grinned beneath his
helmet as he leaned over to Blade, “She’s a feisty one.”
Falker stepped around the
corner, “Bring ‘em in inside. Danz just finished scanning the ‘droid and
there’s nothing here. Tyrell says we’re heading back to the city.”
Camie stood up with Deak and
Windy, looking over to Ddraig and Blade, “See. I told you.”
* * *
Above the spaceport of Mos
Eisley, a battered Corellian YT-1300 hovered on her repulsor-field until the
harbormaster granted clearance to land. With approval given, Chewbacca centered
the ‘Falcon over the open pit below and gently lowered her down
into docking bay 94.
Chewie began refreshing the ‘nav
computer files as Solo shut down the engines and stood up to leave the cockpit.
A dangling pair of metallic chance cubes on a chain, hanging from the overhead
instruments, struck him squarely on the top of his head.
“Chewie, take these things down,
will ya?” he blurted, turning and stepping into the corridor outside. Images of
Qi’ra, and a life left behind, briefly flashed through his mind as he rubbed
his head.
However crazy it was, Chewie
believed those chance cubes brought them luck. Unfortunately, they also brought
painful memories for his friend.
* * *
We had been cruising toward Mos
Eisley in silence for some time when Rogue unbuckled and stood up, stepping
across the aisle, “I just heard from Tyrell.”
He sat back down in the jump
seat between 0600 and me. “They finished their investigation of the machinist
‘droid that was sold there. The manager at Tosche Station said he just bought
the ‘droid yesterday and paid in full with Imperial credits, so they’re
wrapping things up in Anchorhead.”
Rogue flipped on his holonet
field pack and showed us an image of the Anchorhead site as he spoke. Felth and
Topolev leaned in to see.
“The mechanic, his girlfriend
and several local kids were hanging out in the station when our troops arrived.
The ‘droid in question was fully scanned, but our missing data wasn’t there.
Tyrell and our troops tore the shop apart, looking for it, but found nothing.
All of the shop occupants were questioned thoroughly. The owner and his friends
seemed surprised when the Lars' place was mentioned. They said the old guy was
a bitter old tightwad, and hadn't bought anything from the Jawas in several
seasons.
The mechanic, Fixer, said that
Wormie had to work constantly to keep the old, broken-down 'droids and
'vaporators on the Lars place running, and that he was overdue to pick up some
refurbished power converters stripped off several wrecked Landspeeders. After
further questioning, it came out that Wormie was a nickname for Lars' nephew,
Luke. I told him that checked out with what we found at the Lars place.”
He paused a moment, taking a
breath. “We have to keep that missing data from making it off-world, and I
think the missing nephew, Luke, is the key".
We all nodded in agreement.
Rogue stood and keyed on his comlink as he moved back to his original seat,
calling our snitch to alert him.
“So Luke is the nephew, not a
farmhand” said Etz.
0600 went back to cleaning his
rifle. I leaned my head back on the vibrating bulkhead and thought, if I were a
young farmboy and wanted to make it off-world with two 'droids, I would be
looking for a ship and a pilot. I would have to be looking in Mos Eisley.
According to Rogue, as sparsely populated as Tatooine is, there’s no other
major spaceport to be found. We were going to need strategic roadblocks and
patrols monitoring the spaceport docking pits closely, and we’d need it
quickly. That was the only way we would have a chance at locating the missing
boy before he slipped away with information so sensitive that it unnerved even
Lord Vader.
What the hell kind of
information was that 'droid carrying?
*
We marched through the streets
of Mos Eisley in the mid-day sun as I went over and over the events of the busy
morning. The flight back from the moisture farm had been a quiet one. Nobody
had spoken of what had happened. The 104th Moisture Farm Patrol, or MFP, had
been assembled from troops posted all over the known galaxy and sent here to
enforce Imperial law without the backing of the Empire or the Legion, and keep
the peace among the low-life 'citizens' so the moisture farmers could bring in
their harvests without fear.
It was the farmer’s jobs to keep
the planet supplied with water, so the Empire could maintain a connection to
the low-life, should certain “services” be needed. It was a sick cycle. Keep
the scum in check, cultivate it and allow it to grow until it served your
purpose.
A ragged, weathered old man
sitting in the sand with his back resting against a wall looked up at us as we
passed. He wore tattered wraps with a layer of loose fabric covering his mouth
and nose; a pair of deep red flight goggles protecting his eyes. He reached out
a hand, begging for money or food. Brightly-colored tattoos covered his left
forearm with odd shapes and starships that disappeared up under the loose
sleeves of his garment.
No one else seemed to notice him
as we kept moving.
This morning at the Lars place
had been an exercise in how things shouldn't go. Not one of us could have
predicted the old woman’s fear and anxiety, her lunge for the detonator, or her
horrific death.
Our arrival on-planet had
occurred in the dead center of something far larger than stolen intelligence
recordings. I could feel it, deep down in my core; there were forces at play
here that went far beyond the scope of missing ‘droids and stolen data. I tried
to put it out of my mind as our formation came to a stop. We were at a corner.
The main road heading into the heart of the city lay ahead, and the spaceport
was a hard right.
Tyrell turned to Rogue,
"We’re going to set up roadblocks. My men and I will operate a checkpoint
here and stop everyone entering the city center. There will be others on some
of the side streets closer to the spaceport. You take your men and begin a
door-to-door search for our missing farmboy and his 'droid. We have to keep
them from slipping by."
Rogue reacted, “I agree with the
roadblocks, but I was going to have our troops in the foot corridors leading to
the spaceport. We have a local snitch who suggested that we position ourselves
there to be most effective. I don’t think a door to door search would prove to
be . . . ”
Tyrell ripped off his helmet and
spun back to Rogue, stepping in close to our CO, “Let me make one thing
painfully clear to you. I’m not impressed with your group of outcasts and the
dirty gear you don’t bother to clean. Yes, I know where most of you have been
called in from, and I have never understood the Sandtrooper mentality. You can
bet after my troops return to the Devastator, they’ll be cleaning
their gear before returning to normal duties.”
His nostrils flared as he took a
step closer to Rogue, “I am in command of this search and recovery mission, and
report directly to Lord Vader. We don’t need to drag the local scum into this.
At least I speak for my troops when I say we don’t need any local help. I’m
keeping the troops from your unit to help staff my roadblocks. Felth, you fall
in with my group too. Get on with your assignment, 1009.”
Rogue slowly nodded once, his
dislike for Tyrell now exponentially larger. He wished this encounter had
occurred in one of the dark mineshafts on Kessel where no one would have heard
the screams, and the good Captain would have disappeared without a trace. “Yes
sir.”
Tyrell and several of his men
moved to the opposite corner of the street and stopped a merchant with an aging
Treadwell 'droid. Rogue gave a nod for Danz, Blade, Ddraig, Taka, Falker, and
Felth to go with them. The rest of us continued on to the next side street and
began inspections. We searched one quickly and moved along to the next.
*
We were on a roof in the
scorching heat, having just completed a sweep of the building, and broke
formation to catch our breath and sip some distilled water from our
packs.
Rogue, disgusted, pulled off his
helmet as he took out his comlink to call our snitch, Garindan. There was a
crackle of silence for a moment or two, and then the reply, "I am your
eyes and ears, sir, what can I do for you?"
Our CO thought for a second and
then spoke into the tiny comlink microphone. "The Captain has ordered us
to perform a door-to-door search. We won’t be able to patrol the spaceport as
we discussed. I need you to position yourself in that general area and inform
me if you see any new faces, or anyone that appears out of place. The boy we’re
searching for will be accompanied by a 'droid or two; definitely a bi-pedal
protocol model, and possibly an astromech. He’ll be looking for passage
off-world."
"As you wish, sir"
came the reply.
Rogue clipped the comlink back
on his belt and pulled his helmet back on as we left to continue our
sweeps.
*
Two Jawas led an immense Ronto
through the busy sandy street as a battered old landspeeder came around a turn
and into view. Tyrell held a hand up, motioning for the young male driver to
come to a stop. Davin Felth moved to the rear of the speeder and the captain
stepped up to the driver as he eyed the two stowed ‘droids riding in the back;
a gold protocol ‘droid and a blue astromech.
“How long have you had these
‘droids?”
The boy responded, “’Bout three
or four seasons.”
The old man sitting beside him
turned to face Tyrell and chimed in now, “They’re up for sale, if you want
them.”
Tyrell, unimpressed and completely
wrapped up in his self-importance, asked for more, “Let me see your
identification”.
The old man leaned in closer,
across the cockpit, now staring intently at the captain and making a small
circle with his fingers as he spoke, “You don’t need to see his
identification”.
Tyrell seemed dazed for a
moment, and then he slowly and deliberately repeated the old man’s words, “We
don’t need to see his identification”.
The cloaked and hooded old man
spoke again, “These aren’t the ‘droids you’re looking for”.
As if drugged, Tyrell looked up
and spoke to the other troops in his command, “These aren’t the ‘droids we’re
looking for.”
Playing a mental game, and
manipulating the feeble-minded captain, the old man spoke again, “He can go
about his business . . .”
We couldn't believe what we were
hearing. The old man was not only sidestepping Tyrell's questions, he was
telling him what to say! Felth stared in complete disbelief as again Tyrell
echoed the old man, "You can go about your business."
As if now finished with the
minor annoyance of Captain Tyrell, the old man spoke once more, looking away
down the street, expecting to be forgotten within several moments, "Move
along."
Again, the dazed Captain Tyrell
echoed his words, wrapping up the encounter and sending the speeder on its way
with a wave of his arm, "Move along . . . MOVE ALONG.”
They boy complied, and the speeder
pulled away, heading deeper into the city. The troopers of the MFP stared at
each other in disbelief. Danz, was the first to break the long silence and
speak, “What are you doing? Why would you let them go? They’re the strongest
match to the profile so far, and you just let them ride away without so much as
a second glance, much less a questioning.”
Tyrell rubbed his forehead,
replying indignantly, "What are you talking about? I didn't do any such
thing."
The MFP troopers glanced at each
other in disbelief as Tyrell moved to stop the next vehicle. The old man, the
boy and the two 'droids had now disappeared into the city.
*
Chalmun’s Mos Eisley Cantina was
situated near the heart of the marketplace, and only a short walk from the
spaceport. When the current proprietor, Chalmun the Wookiee, took ownership,
there were Imperial troopers from the old squad crawling all over the place. It
seems that the previous owners, the Vriichi brothers, had been running an
illegal spice den from the site. For some time they had been burying the bodies
of those who got in their way down in the basement. The frenzy surrounding the
arrests and the scandal eventually died down, and Chalmun had completely
renovated the place in an effort to help people forget.
Since then, the cantina had
always been considered to be THE place in Mos Eisley to hire or be hired, for
pretty much anything one might be interested in. It was a shadowy, cool oasis
from the relentless heat of the desert, and a haven for locals and pilot
regulars with downtime to burn while in port.
The worn, brown landspeeder that
Tyrell had mysteriously allowed to pass into the city skimmed down the street
and floated to a stop adjacent to the front entrance of the cantina.
The old man and the boy climbed
out as the protocol ‘droid lowered the squat body of the astromech unit to the
ground. The two ‘droids fell in behind them as they headed inside.
In the dim space beyond the
steps down into the bar, the Bith band was pumping out their rhythmic sound
over the low roar of dozens of conversations in various alien tongues, filling
the smoky bar with an eclectic ambience.
The old man knew the cantina
well, having frequented numerous times over the years. He slipped into the
crowd, heading for the bar.
Wuher, the bartender, barked at
Luke as he entered. “Hey! We don’t serve their kind here.”
Luke was unsure what he meant,
“What?”
“Your ‘droids. They’ll have to
wait outside, we don’t want them here.”
The kid immediately addressed
the issue with the gold protocol ‘droid, sending it and the astromech back out
to the speeder. Turning, the boy stepped down into the main room and approached
the bar. Wuher felt a tugging at his shirt, and turned around to face the young
man, who asked for a drink.
Without changing his vacant,
gruff gaze, he filled and served the drink order without a word. Then he moved
away, leaving the boy standing with his drink beside the Aqualish regular,
Ponda Baba, and his companion, Dr. Evazon, a human with a horribly disfigured
face.
Garindan, our informant from the
planet Kubaz, sipped cool water and sat at a table watching the room as the new
arrivals settled into the smoky den. He knew that anyone looking to get
off-world quickly would most likely come here to hire the ride. His sensitive
eyes rolled left and right beneath his protective goggles. He watched as the
boy took a sip of his drink. The old man that came in with him was now talking
to a pilot at the bar with his back to the kid. Dr. Evazon tapped the boy on
the shoulder, and started a conversation. The boy wanted to be left alone and
didn’t seem interested in talking, but Evazon persisted.
Garindan swept his eyes over the
bar, settling on Mamaw Nadon, the Ithorian hammerhead in one of the rear booths
with the bar fly locals Muftak and Kabe. His eyes darted back to the boy as the
old man turned and took control of the conversation with Evazon.
The good doctor howled, shoving
the boy out of the way as he drew his blaster and stepped toward the old man.
The kid fell backwards, crashing into a table, and knocking it over in a spray
of spilled drinks and credits.
The band stopped playing, and
all eyes were on the scene at the bar.
Wuher yelled, “No Blasters! No
Blasters!” and dove behind the bar away from the two.
Evazon squeezed off a shot which
was somehow deflected and the dim light of the room was shattered as a
meter-long shaft of blue energy sprang from a grip in the old man’s hand. The
shimmering, humming blade flicked down and up in a quick series of precise,
controlled strokes, severing Evazon’s hand and the arm of Ponda Baba as he
rushed in to help his friend.
They both collapsed, moaning on
the floor, leaving the old man standing alone at the bar. He held the blade
defensively before his face as his eyes swept over the room, giving a momentary
glimpse of the warrior knight he once was.
He extinguished the blade,
returning the handle to a clip on his belt and moved to help the boy up from
the ground. Wuher gave the band a glare, and they began playing again, as if
nothing had happened. An intrigued Garindan took another sip of his water as
the old man and the boy followed a towering Wookiee to an alcove table in the
back of the bar.
The Kubaz spy stopped a human
patron passing his table, handed him a few credits and sent him out the front
door of the bar. He watched him leave, then turned to keep an eye on the aging
warrior, the boy, the Wookiee, and the Corellian pilot with the red blood
stripe on the legs of his trousers.
*
Outside, the bar patron counted
the credits as he walked over and approached us, gesturing back toward the
cantina. “Hey! There’s been a scuffle inside there. The hermit just took
out two guys at the bar with a lightsaber! Crazy Jedi wannabe.”
Across the street, the farmboy’s
‘droids watched from their position beside the battered, brown ‘speeder.
*
A few moments later, Etz and I
walked through the front door of the cantina, rifles at the ready. We stepped
down into the main room, pushing past several regulars lounging on the steps.
As we approached the bar, the crowd parted.
“We heard there was a
disturbance in here”, Etz said to the bartender.
He gestured to the back of the
room, pointing to the old man.
Through the haze I saw his brown
robes and white hair, and the boy seated beside him, “Alright, we’ll check it
out.”
We cautiously walked around the
end of the bar, eyeing the scum clientele on all sides, stepped over both
dismembered arms on the floor, and moved toward a small recessed booth in the
rear of the room.
The pilot I remembered from our
first day at the docking bay sat there with his Wookiee companion, alone now.
No old man, no kid. I led the way past the table, Etz followed, stopping
momentarily to lock eyes with the cocky Corellian pilot and the Wookiee. We
worked our way past them and continued on toward the rear door with no sign of
the other two.
As we exited to the street
outside I looked in both directions, but they were nowhere in sight. “I don’t
like this. We’re really close, and I think they just hired a pilot. C’mon,
let’s go let Rogue and the others know what we found. No comlinks. I don’t want
Tyrell to know.”
* * *
It was now well past mid-day and
troopers at all the checkpoints were growing restless. The increasing crowds on
the streets above the marketplace made our search efforts ever more
difficult.
As the others continued with
their interrogations, TK-1138 (one of Tyrell’s men) meandered away from his
post, down a series of steps into the partially shade of the area surrounding
the central marketplace. He quickly made the rounds, looking into each shop as
he passed by. Satisfied with his quick look around, and the short break from
the direct sun, he turned to head back when he saw a young man, an old man, and
two ‘droids; one bi-pedal protocol, and an astromech coming toward him.
They stopped dead in their
tracks as his gaze moved from the ‘droids back to the humans and he locked eyes
with the smiling old man.
* * *
The sudden static burst
broadcast over our comm channels was almost deafening. I quickly dialed down
the volume as my helmet display showed that it originated on a frequency from
one of the Devastator’s troopers, TK-1138. Rogue clicked on his
chin mic and paged the trooper. When he got no response, our little group
double-timed it through the streets, following the source ping. We made our way
down several flights of stairs that led through a terraced marketplace.
There were twisting corridors
and alleys lined with citizens and merchants. We passed a small ‘droid sale lot
and a used speeder lot as we wove our way through the crowd following the
locator signal. The locator beacon showed we were almost on top of it.
Suddenly Rogue stopped dead in
his tracks so abruptly that 4120 and I almost ran into him. He turned and
backtracked several steps, peering down a side alley.
There, a few steps into the
shadows, in the center of the path was the source of the comm static. The
missing trooper was lying face down, neatly cut in half. To one side of the
path lay his torso. His lower body and legs were on the other side. The wound
was cauterized, and his armor melted from some great heat. His helmet had been
thrown loose as he hit the ground and had rolled up against one of the stone
walls.
His E-11 blaster had been sliced
down the center from front to rear. A hand and several fingers lay beside it in
the sand. We all stared in disbelief for a heartbeat, then jerked our eyes
upward, scanning the rooftops and alleyways to see if we could catch a glimpse
of who committed the attack, or someone who might have seen who did. There was
no one.
We spread out to search as Rogue
knelt down and picked the helmet up from the dirt. He pulled his own off,
setting it aside, and reached inside TK-1138's helmet, flipping a tiny switch.
The information display screen inside flickered with static for a moment, and
then Rogue was able to see what 1138 had seen in his last moments. A few
alleys, some stairs, a used 'droid lot, a speeder salesman, a few citizens and
a rickety looking C1 ‘droid scurrying to get out of his way. He stopped
walking, turned to the left and looked down an alley, then turned back to check
the other direction.
The silent image flickered on
the tiny screen inside the dead trooper's helmet. It showed him turning around
to go back up the stairs. Then, in the middle of the frame, was an old man in a
hooded robe. A young man and two droids were behind him. The old man smiled as
he raised an empty hand from beneath his cloak to wave, but instead, thrust his
palm out forcefully toward the camera as his stance lowered and centered, feet
planted wide.
The trooper was thrown into the
air, back across the alley into a wall. A flash of white light blipped across
the screen from the jarring impact to the camera, and then the image returned,
white levels recalibrating as the trooper fell to the ground.
1138 rolled and stood up
quickly, the dirt of the ground rushing across the little screen. He looked up
at a wall as he regained his feet and whirled around toward his attacker, E-11
drawn and held out in the lower portion of the video frame. An energy bolt flew
from the barrel of the blaster toward the old man's head.
In a blur of motion, a blue
energy blade flicked up and into the path of the red bolt. There was a flash as
the shot collided with and ricocheted off the shimmering blade, inches from the
old man's head. The protocol ‘droid shrank in fear, and the boy stared in
disbelief. The trooper involuntarily glanced to follow the blocked bolt.
Rogue's brow furrowed with
concern as he continued to watch the recording.
1138 looked back to the man in
brown just as a sweeping arc of blue energy flashed down through the blaster in
his hands, splitting it in two, taking off his fingers that were wrapped
beneath the muzzle and the hand holding the grip as well. He looked at his
severed fingers on the left hand and the smoking wrist-stump on his right arm,
then looked up as the blue blade blurred once again, slicing through the air
and down toward his waist. The recorded image rolled and wobbled as the trooper
fell to the ground, and his helmet was knocked off and came to rest in the
sand, looking down the alleyway at the old man, boy, and ‘droids hurrying
away.
Rogue switched off the recording
and looked back over to the two sections of 1138's body and assorted hand
parts. A Jedi, here? He thought they had been exterminated long ago. His mind
reeled with all the possible implications stemming from this discovery. He
pulled his own helmet back on and clicked the comm with his chin, “All members
of the MFP, report to the main corridor leading to the plaza in the lower
marketplace immediately.”
Then he keyed his comlink and
paged Garindan.
*
All of our men heard the message
over their comm sets, turned to look at each other and took off running down
the main street toward the plaza. Tyrell yelled at the top of his lungs for
them to stop, spewing various threats about what happens to troopers who desert
their posts.
They never looked back.
*
Rogue, 0600, 4120, 1265, Etz,
and I were waiting in the open plaza next to the used speeder lot when Danz,
Falker, Taka, Ddraig, and Blade appeared out of one of the hallways.
0600 waved them over as he spoke
to Rogue, “The guy running the speeder lot says he just bought this brown
junker landspeeder from a young kid and an old man. He didn’t see any ‘droids,
but the description he gave fits the two we’re looking for. These two are very
dangerous.”
1265 laughed, turning to Danz,
“Sounds dangerous to me.”
0600 grabbed him by the arm,
“The old man took out 1138 and left pieces of him scattered all over the alley
over there if you have any doubts.”
The laughter stopped
immediately.
A modified VCX-100 light
freighter lifted up from one of the bays and climbed into the sky overhead as
Rogue stepped forward. “The snitch doesn’t have anything yet, but he’s working
on it. Move through the corridor leading to the docking bays. If they’ve
bothered to come this far dragging two ‘droids, they’ll be trying to leave on a
ship from one of those bays. We need to be nearby and ready, I don’t care what
Tyrell says.”
As he said this Tyrell stepped
off the bottom step from the streets above and walked over to us. "You and
your men are all going to find yourself in the brig for deserting your posts
and . . . "
Rogue interrupted him, “I’ve had
enough of you. 1138 is dead. An old man traveling with the farm boy left him in
several pieces down that alley.”
Tyrell had no memory of the old
man and young kid from the street.
“Your roadblocks aren’t doing
the job, Tyrell, they’re already here! And I don’t care if you DO report
directly to Lord Vader, this city is now OUR jurisdiction and you are a
guest in it. We’re officially operating outside the Empire. I suggest you
remember that, Captain, or you might find yourself the victim of an
unfortunate accident.”
Danz moved closer to Rogue, “You
said it was an old man and a kid. Was the old guy wearing a hood?”
Rogue nodded.
Danz turned to Tyrell as he
pulled off his bucket, “The Captain here stopped them out on the road earlier
today. He was asking for the kid’s identification and then the old man spoke up
saying we didn’t need to see it. Tyrell kept repeating everything the old guy
said and then told them they could go about their business, and let them
go!”
Tyrell glared at Danz, “I did
not! We never stopped an old man and a boy!”
The rest of the roadblock crew
pulled off their helmets, “Yes you did, you don’t remember? You let the guy
talk back to you and then LET HIM GO! How can you not remember?”
Rogue pulled off his helmet and
glanced over to 0600 and me, “Based on what I saw on 1138’s holo-recorder, as
incredible as it seems, I would say it was a Jedi mind trick.”
I slowly nodded thoughtfully in
agreement.
Tyrell spewed, “Jedi mind trick?
The Jedi are extinct!”, and pushed his way through us to find his troops, “Lord
Vader will not find this little joke amusing.”
Rogue held up the dead troopers’
bucket and played the holo recording again for the others to see firsthand what
had happened. As it ended, the others looked back at the broken body of 1138.
Rogue’s comlink crackled on his
belt, “I have something for you, sir.” Garindan was a people-watcher, a silent
observer from the shadows, that’s what he did, and he had been busy
watching.
Rogue unclipped the mic “Yes,
what do you have?”
The electronic voice squawked
back, “They’re on their way to one of the docking bays. Meet me in the main
hallway. I am at bay 85.” Then the line went dead.
I had been standing close enough
to hear the exchange. “The Wook and the Corellian” I muttered as I glanced over
at 0600.
Garindan's message had given us
a target. We all pulled on our helmets and hurried down the hallway toward the
spaceport and the docking bays.
*
Tyrell had re-grouped his men
and had them patrolling the street just outside the docking bays, watching for
‘droids. Davin Felth was turned away from them, listening to something on his
comm, something that sounded important. He thought about sharing the
information with Tyrell, then thought better of it, and slipped away from the
main group heading toward the docking bays. Tyrell saw him leaving, and
followed.
*
0600 looked up as Felth
joined us. He caught up to us as we headed through the narrow alley. "I've
been monitoring your frequency since Tyrell let the old man and the kid go. I
don't trust him; haven't since I got transferred to his division. I figure you
know more about what's going on here than he does."
As he fell in with our
formation, several others from Tyrell's group appeared as well, weapons on and
ready. They wanted a blood payment for 1138's death.
We hurried through the city,
people scurrying to move out of our way as we struck an imposing image bearing
down on them. Captain Tyrell followed a few moments later.
We came around a corner to find
Garindan leaning against one of the shadowy walls. Rogue stepped up to him,
“Which way?”
Garindan squawked “Bay
94!”
Rogue turned to us, “Alright
men, load your weapons.”
Felth sprinted to the front of
the pack, hurrying past Rogue as we headed toward bay 94. He must really feel
the need to prove himself to someone, I thought, as we marched; maybe it was to
himself.
I thought sure we would have
been heading back to bay 85, to that battered YT-1300 freighter, the Corellian
and the Wookiee. I had a very bad feeling about this. It was all wrong. I
know that old man and the kid talked to the Wook in the bar, unless they had
been passed off to another ship?
We all hurried down the dark,
narrow steps toward the bay, the sound of sand grinding beneath our boots, and
the high pitch of our blaster power cells cycling up toward full and
ready.
Felth and Rogue spilled out into
the dim recesses of the entry to the bay. The freighter from bay 85 was in here
now. Etz and I had been right!
I could see the Wookiee in the
cockpit removing something that was hung from the overhead instruments. The
Corellian human was uncoupling fueling lines and closing the access hatch when
Rogue gave his order, “Stop that ship . . . blast ‘em.”
As he spoke, time seemed to slow
and barely move at all. The Corellian pilot’s eyes grew wide as Felth and Rogue
fired on him, narrowly missing.
With a lightning-quick reflex,
he drew his thigh-holstered blaster and returned their fire. Taka shoved Rogue
forward to the sandy floor, saving him, as the wall above them both exploded,
blowing a fueling line wildly through the air. It slammed into Taka’s
back and burst out through his chest, spraying blood across his white armor and
the sandy floor.
Topolev and Danz ran to find
cover behind some supply crates. Rogue dove into a tucked roll and came up
firing.
Tyrell’s men pushed ahead of us,
wanting revenge for the death of TK-1138. Several were cut down by the wild
blaster fire of the cornered Corellian. Etz, 0600, Ddraig, 4120, Blade and I
poured into the open space along with them.
Tyrell raced off the steps
behind us and opened fire as well.
Several energy bolts flew past
us, Etz whirled away just in time, falling to the ground, as 4120 and I ducked
behind the cover of the stone walls. We were no good to the Empire dead. There
was a flash of light as another violent volley of blaster fire was exchanged
between the Corellian and both Felth and Tyrell. Somewhere during the
altercation, Tyrell was hit and went down.
1265 grabbed Taka’s arm and
dragged his body back to the bottom of the steps as Ddraig covered him, firing
on the fleeing Corellian pilot who quickly retreated up the entry ramp into his
ship, firing back at us as he ran.
The ship’s inner airlock door
slammed down and sealed as the boarding ramp was hoisted and locked, sealing
the ship. I glanced up at the cockpit again as we charged forward, firing at
the hull. The Wookiee was working furiously to get the ship ready to lift off,
as his human companion burst into the seat beside him. The deafening drone of
the customized engines drowned out every other sound as they energized. All
power moorings fell away from the freighter, and her shields came online,
absorbing our blaster fire.
The invisible push of the ships’
anti-grav repulsor field thrust down hard on the floor of the bay, slamming us
all back several steps as suddenly the ship unceremoniously and unsteadily rose
up over the edge of the docking bay pit.
She pivoted sharply and her main
engines fired as soon as her front mandibles cleared the rim, in direct
violation of the surface-proximity replusorlift restrictions set by the
spaceport authority.
Alarm claxons were now blaring
as I fired one last shot toward the ship that was tearing away in an upward arc
over the city and heading rapidly for the stars. All we could do was watch it
go. Falker was trying to reach the port master for information on the escaping
ship. Danz cursed and blasted one of the scurrying pit ‘droids in frustration.
I pulled off my helmet and rubbed my throbbing forehead, then raised my blaster
and destroyed the wailing alarm claxon on the wall above us.
Rogue and 0600 moved past Ddraig
and 1265 at the base of the steps where Taka was.
*
On the streets above, Tyrell’s
men whirled from their checkpoint duties in time to watch a beat-up Corellian
stock light freighter blast its way out of the docking bays below and climb
rapidly out of sight into the cloudless, pale-blue Tatooine afternoon
sky.
*
Rogue watched the ‘Falcon
racing skyward. Tyrell, lying face up in the sand also saw the escape. As his
eyes closed, through the pain, he slowly realized that he had most likely
allowed the data he was searching for to slip from almost within his grasp, to
well beyond his reach.
Rogue ripped off his helmet and
knelt beside the injured Captain, his furious voice spewing, “They’re gone,
Tyrell! They just ripped out of here and headed offworld. Three of your men are
dead and so is Taka. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Your checkpoints
didn’t exactly work as you planned, did they sir?” With that he stood up and
went to see about Taka.
As Rogue finished, Tyrell struggled
to lift his helmet to his face and click the chin-activated comm switch,
hailing the command deck on one of the Star Destroyers blockading far above. “Tyrant,
come in Tyrant, this is Captain Tyrell.” His comm crackled
a moment before a response came.
“Captain Tyrell, this is the Conquest.
Tyrant is resetting their communications grid. What can we
do for you?”
Tyrell grimaced in pain as he
continued, the helmet shaking in his hands “Conquest, the package
we have been searching for is on a freighter heading your way.”
Under the intense heat of the
Tatooine suns he felt a cold sweat trickling off the top of his head. “I need a
clear channel to the Death Star. Put me through to Lord Vader.”
A moment of silence passed, then
the communications officer responded, “I'm sorry sir, he’s on his way to a
meeting with the Grand Moff Tarkin and a prisoner at the moment, but I assure
you, I will have him speak to you as soon as he is free.”
* * *
The Death Star communications
officer switched off the comm, silencing the gurgling, gasping sounds of a
dying Captain Tyrell lying on the sandy floor of docking bay 94 in Mos Eisley.
After wrapping up his conversation, the dark form of Darth Vader stood
motionless, fist clutched tight, deep in thought. He was rolling over in his
mind what the inept Tyrell had just said with his dying breath, something about
a surviving Jedi.
He turned to the communications
officer again, “I want the helmet recording showing the fugitives the moment it
arrives.” He turned and exited the room, heading deeper into the heart of the
station, toward his private chambers as currents of anger radiated away from
him, rippling through the Force.
In this remote, inner area of
the battle station most of the corridors were empty. His footsteps echoed as he
walked, and the fallen Jedi beneath the black mask thought back over the years
to the first time he had ever used the Force to choke someone, accidentally
killing his beloved Padme for siding against him with Obi-Wan.
He remembered how it felt to be
the new apprentice to his Sith Master. He had been dubbed Darth Vader, and was
to become the proud Lord of his new Empire. The dark side coursed through him
so freely then, so savagely uncontrolled.
In his rage, he had destroyed
the one he loved. He had given himself over to the teachings of Darth Sidious
in the hopes of keeping her alive, to alter the shadowy future he had foreseen
for her in a premonition of her death. Somewhere along the way in his lust
for more and more power, he destroyed all for which he had fought and
suffered.
He entered a security code and
the blast doors to his chambers slid open. As he stepped inside, they quickly
snapped shut and locked behind him. It was a dark place, as cold as his heart.
Situated on the far side of the room sat his pressurized meditation chamber.
The top half of the octagonal sphere was raised, the external steps lowered for
his entry. He silently ascended them and settled into the cushioned seat in the
center. He sat silent for a moment, replaying events from long ago in his
mind.
He remembered standing face to
face with General Grievous, staring into his own dark future, living as half
man and half machine. He remembered an exhilarating and draining lightsaber
confrontation with his former master and friend, Obi-Wan. He remembered
attempting to gain a better position from which to end his master’s life, and
the instant the searing energy blade lopped off both his legs and his last
remaining human arm, dropping him into the scorched obsidian and ash on the
banks of the Mustafar lava flow.
He had reached out with every
ounce of hate, still trying to fight, as he slid backwards further and further
with each attempt to crawl back to face his master. He painfully remembered the
intense heat as his clothing and hair had burned, severely charring and
blistering his skin and disfiguring his face, and what remained of his
body.
He touched a small switch in the
armrest beside him and the top half of the black sphere lowered, sealing him
inside. The hissing of the pressurized airflow ceased, and a mechanical
armature lowered from above him, clasping around the polished, black dome of
his helmet. It tripped a magnetic release mechanism inside the helmet, and
raised back out of the way, taking the dome with it. Vader then manually
released a lock on either side of his head.
There was a hiss of escaping air
as he rocked the facemask forward, separating it at the jawline, pivoting
forward on pins near the twin silver tusks at the corners of the “mouth”. Once
clear of his head, he lifted the mask off the pins and set it aside on the
ledge that ran around the inside of the chamber.
He remembered very little of his
flight back to Coruscant in the medical pod.
He tried very hard to forget the
work the MU ‘droids had done to him, the pain had been
excruciating.
Then they sealed him inside this
helmet, and much of the laborious effort to breathe had been removed.
He was raised to face his new
master, only to learn that in his rage, he had killed his beloved Padme. He
closed his eyes in that agonizing moment, fighting back the pain of his loss.
It was then that Sidious had told him that not only was the bio-regenerating
suit and breath mask keeping his body protected, but his twisted manipulation
of the dark side of the Force on his apprentice’s behalf was also keeping him
alive. Without that, the suit would fail him and he would die.
So long as Sidious was able to
convince Vader that this lie was true, he never had to fear that one day his
power might be in jeopardy; that he might be murdered in his sleep by his
apprentice, the way he had murdered his own master so many years before. With
the secret that Sidious kept, the tragedy surrounding the death of Anakin
Skywalker and the birth of Darth Vader was complete and fierce. The very reason
Anakin had fallen to the dark side, was now dead and gone, and he was a once
again a slave, at the mercy of his dark master. His pain had come full
circle.
He drew in a deep breath, eyes
closed as he thought more about what had transpired on Tatooine.
Tatooine.
He wondered why Bail Organa’s
daughter had bothered to go there with the Death Star plans. It held no
military significance that he knew of. Once it had been his home, but that was
long ago, before his mother’s death.
He opened his eyes slightly, remembering
his mother’s funeral. He glanced over at the clear container filled with the
Tatooine sand he had scraped from atop her grave so long ago. He missed the
comfort she had once given him.
His scarred brow furrowed as he
rolled over the events of the past few days. His troops had managed to kill
Bria Tharen and destroy the uplink equipment in the tower on Ralltiir rendering
the partially uploaded plans corrupted and useless. The rogue insurgents on
Scarif had been incinerated, but not before they had transmitted the plans to the
rebel fleet and Senator Organa in orbit above the surface.
Leia Organa had been cool enough
under fire to jettison an astromech with the plans in an escape pod over
Tatooine. The ‘droid had made it to the surface and managed, several days
later, with the help of someone or something, to smuggle those plans off-world,
but who? Why? And where would they head now? The Dark Lord searched the Force
for answers.
A light flashed on the console
panel before him. He pressed and held the comm button.
“Lord Vader, the helmet
recording has been received and has been forwarded to your chambers,
sir.”
Turning to a small screen, he
opened the awaiting file and began watching the images. He saw routine traffic
stops and the inspections of several ‘droids. Then, the trooper recording the
images wandered away from the roadblock down a shady hallway. The hall led to
stairs that took the trooper to a lower level of the busy marketplace. As he
watched the images of places familiar, Vader could now smell with his memory
that which his destroyed nostrils could not, the hot sands and dry winds of his
youth.
Then he leaned forward,
inspecting the images closer. The trooper had just caught sight of an old man,
a boy and two ‘droids. The old man’s face was nearly covered by his deep hood,
on a flowing cloak that was all too familiar. The figure raised his hand and
the recorded image rolled wildly as the trooper was thrown backward to the
ground. The trooper raised his blaster as a sweeping blue flash cut across the
screen top to bottom and then side to side, as the old man killed him, with a
lightsaber.
The helmet then rolled over in
the sand, the camera capturing a few seconds of the old man and the boy. The
man looked around as he and the others hurried away. As they did, Vader caught
sight of something hanging from the boy’s belt; a lightsaber.
The very lightsaber his former
master had stripped from him so long ago, lifted from the superheated, scorched
banks of the Mustafar lava flow. The last lightsaber he himself had built as a
Jedi.
The anger and hate was swelling
in him now.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, and he
had a new apprentice!
* * *