"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way -- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Luke rolled his eyes. Of course, his history schoolpad had to describe the Clone Wars era in the most obtuse and boring way possible. No battles, no heroics, nothing but politics that sounded like it was written by a Bogun poet who had too much Correllian ale and decided to write in prose. Luke frowned at the monster sentence for a few moments, then sighed and valiantly went about attempting to translate it into Basic.
No one had a neutral opinion on the Wars – they either hated them or loved them. And argued about it on the Holonet.
That wasn't quite what the sentence had said, but close enough. Luke was very good with languages, but schoolpadese escaped him sometimes. He switched back to the history and slogged on.
"There was a Chancellor with white hair and a straight back, at the head of the Senate; there was a Count with white hair and a straight back, at the head of the Separatists. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the Lords of the Senate and Lords of the Malcontent, the preservers and keepers of planets and the Bringers of death to the masses, that things in general were settled for ever."
Luke blinked a few times at the 'pad, not quite believing what his eyes were telling him. Dooku and Palpatine were similar? There was a war going on and things were settled? The Bogun poet wasn't drunk – he had too much spice and was hallucinating!
Luke switched off the schoolpad. It wasn't worth it. He could learn more about the Clone Wars from fictional Holovid movies – and have a lot more fun, too. He didn't think his Uncle would agree with that, though.
Luke pushed himself away from his desk and started pacing around his room. He had to get his homework done – Uncle Owen wasn't going to let him go to the Rancor Pit without quizzing him, and his friends were waiting – but there was no way he could do it with that schoolpad. Maybe he could talk to someone? Not his Aunt and Uncle, they would just tell him to go back to his reading...Ben. Ben Kenobi was old enough to have seen the Clone Wars. He could help with Luke's homework - maybe he's even seen a battle!
Decision made, Luke went for the door, only to stop in consternation as he heard his Aunt and Uncle's quiet voices. Telling them where he was going would lead to disaster. Shavit! He was going to have to come up with some excuse to leave the house. Chores? One of the vaporators was coming up with some odd readings. Though how he was going to fix it and learn about the Clone Wars in time for tonight's race at the Rancor he had no idea.
It didn't matter. He could figure out how to deal with the vaporator after he got his homework done.
He activated the door and walked down the hallway into the living room. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen looked up from their soft discussion. "Have you finished the 'pad already?" asked a slightly surprised Owen Lars.
"Uh, no, I – uh, I wanted to take a break. I thought I could look at the south vaporator – the one that has been giving you trouble." Luke swallowed.
Uncle Owen looked at him suspiciously, and Luke shifted his weight uncomfortably. But he refused to break eye contact, and it was his Uncle who first looked away. "Go on, then. And give Arfive an oil bath while you are at it, will you? I think he has sand in his circuits."
"Be careful, Luke," his Aunt admonished.
Luke nodded to them, and when it became obvious they weren't going to say anything else, dashed for the door. No cries of protest followed him up the stairs, though Luke had a clear image of Aunt Beru chuckling and shaking her head. Tatooine's heat crashed over him in a wave, and he was out of the house, headed for the old repair shop.
Luke hurriedly set up the oil bath for Arfive and grabbed a backpack for his binocs and repair kit. He took a long nosed blaster rifle off the wall – the Dune Sea wasn't exactly safe – and mounted it on his Uncle's old swoop bike. He put on his helmet, snapped the faceplate down, and opened the throttle. Within seconds he was rocketing over the sand at close to six hundred kilometres an hour.