The wind wailed across the barren ground. The sea of sand stretched in all directions, flat and arid under the blue sky. The sky was strange. It lacked depth. It was bright blue, almost neon, like a lightsaber's blade, they thought, but did not verbalize, because the young lieutenant was there. The sky was blue, and bright, and clear and high overhead, but nothing flew in it, and no wispy white clouds hung suspended in it, like dregs of milk in a dirty glass full of dishwater. It was like an illusion, a primitive illusion- not even a hologram. A painted screen, like very low-budget stage scenery, or like an ancient mural on the wall of some well-preserved ruin.

It felt remote. Even as they rode over it, watching the heat turn the sand into mirror-ponds, it felt remote.

After a time, the youngest spoke up. His number was not worth telling; he had it on a card and on his dog tags. His name was Twitch. He was not part of their unit. He was from the local garrison, and he would be their guide.

"You know, I really hoped I'd get this assignment," he had admitted without shame, their last night in town, at the cantina. "I mean, we all did. Everyone in my unit. They're so jealous…just kidding, they're happy for me. We were so disappointed when we found out we all couldn't go. But listen, you guys don't have to worry. I know the Dune Sea like the back of my hand. And all the farmers know me. And the Jawas. Even some of the Sand People know our unit. As long as you're with me, you never have to worry about getting help in the desert."

Now, somewhat less enthusiastic, chastened by their silence, he asked, "So, what do you guys need to find the Thar for?"

"That's classified information, Private," snapped the young lieutenant, Tanis. He made a futile attempt to brush the sand from his stiff black tunic, which he insisted on wearing instead of the locals' neutral, breathable garb. The wind whipped a wispy dirty-blond hair from his forehead; he did his best to comb it back into place with pale, stubby fingers. On his other hand, those fingers tapped a silent, rapid tattoo on the speeder's armrest. He seemed stiff, like his uniform, starched. In the heat, he was fading, and Twitch thought at any minute he might start to dehydrate completely and grow crinkly around the edges.

"Sorry, sir," he said sincerely, wishing silently that he had a drink of the strong whiskey the Tusken distilled in their fabled underground mines. He thought Tanis could use a shot or two, poor guy.

"Emperor got one of their women knocked up." The statement was said without care or discernible emotion, by a soldier slumped in the back of the speeder.

Tanis wheeled on the trooper, but Twitch could see the fear beneath his annoyance. "Soldier, I thought I made it clear that information was-"

"You did," retorted the soldier calmly. "I just didn't care, sir." He lifted his helmet. His hair was clipped long for a trooper, and hung down in his face, uncombed. Part of that face was occupied by a semicircular, swirling tattoo in bluish ink; most of what remained was split vertically by a jagged scar. "Twelve years ago, they're saying, about," he informed the private, mostly to screw with Tanis. "Security risk, it is, letting the kid stay here with no protection."

Twitch frowned thoughtfully. "But he'd have plenty of protection. With all due respect, Mr. Burn- I mean, sir. The desert is so open, the tribe would be able to see anyone coming a kilometer away. And it's easy to get lost if you don't know the area, and if you get lost, you're usually dead. And as for the tribe's lair, the caves they say the Tusken have underground- well, that's safer than the Imperial palace, no one even knows where those are. Or if they exist."

The scar-faced man took from his utility belt some foul-smelling leaves and waxed flimsiplast. He rolled the two together and lit it, inhaling elegantly. "Soldier," Tanis snapped, reddish patches appearing on his high, pale cheeks, "There is no smoking on a mission."

The trooper looked down at his cigar and smiled almost kindly. "Looks like there is."

"Burninator," said the unit commander, a warning note in his tone. "Put it out."

Burninator glared at the commander, and blew out the cigar with one puff. "You're the boss, Cody."

Commander Cody nearly smiled. "Don't you forget it."

"I bet that's what your alien boyfriend told you last night-"

"Nope, you're confusing me with you. You're the one who all the aliens love, Burnie-"

Burninator laughed. "Ah, put it in your pipe and smoke it."

"Or shall I roll it in your cig?"

"Hey, both you cool it with the alien boyfriend crap," piped up the trooper next to Cody. "Don't forget I can take both of you with one hand behind my back. Wait 'til every thugger in the galaxy hears you both got beat up by a queer."

"Aw, Kos, don't be like that, man," Burninator cried with mock feeling.

As Kos and the other, Klepto, began to join in, Twitch, the newcomer, left outside, glanced over at Tanis. The officer was staring at the unit, attempting surreptitiousness. Sand particles had re-infiltrated the folds of his tunic, losing its starch in the heat, and his hair was tangling in the wind. On his face was an expression of need so naked and virulent it made Twitch feel even sorrier for the young officer.

Tanis' voice interrupted the unit's raucous conversation, cutting it as effectively as a lightsaber might. "Quiet down. We are emissaries of the Galactic Empire. You will conduct yourselves as such." They continued, in vengeful silence, over the shifting sand.