Chapter One
Well, that was that: one less R-2 unit that needed repair on this blasted hunk of space junk. Wiping a hand across his brow, the sandy haired youth stood and began methodically replacing the tools he had used on the belt strung around his waist. He made a slight figure, short and thin body shimmering in the desert heat. All things considered, the word that best fit him was most likely "gangly." The boy had the awkward dimensions typical of adolescence, the time when the human form undertook the most drastic of changes.
"Blast it," he cried suddenly as he put the last tool in its place. He threw his head back on his shoulders, feeling the heat of Tattooine's twin suns slamming at full force against his face. Eyes closed, he took in a great gasp of air before he screamed out in frustration. Luke Skywalker was sick of this place.
"That's it, I don't care what Uncle says. If I have to tighten the seals on one more vaporator I'm going to burst!" the boy cried, slamming his wrapped foot into the sand to emphasize the point. The R-2 unit he had just repaired twittered noncommittally at him and began to trundle away. Luke turned, glancing over his shoulder once in the direction of the homestead as if he expected to see the figure of Owen Lars striding toward him across the desert. Nothing but sand and vaporators as far as he could see. A grin finally breaking across his face, Luke crossed to the landspeeder and vaulted over the edge, settling down into the pilot's seat and powering up the motor. Anchorhead wasn't exactly far, and the youth figured he still had about five hours before the suns began to set in earnest. He was sure he could make it back before it got dark. Dealing with Uncle Owen was another manner, but he could claim that he had gotten caught up fixing a vaporator in the field on his way home.
Luke slammed the accelerator down, causing the speeder to leap forward with a slight mechanical growl. The hot wind tore his feathery blonde hair away from his face and let it trail out behind his head as he sped across the salt flat toward the small settlement. For a moment, his muscles began to relax. There was nothing more soothing to Luke than the feel of piloting. Admittedly, he preferred to be somewhere off the ground, but he was willing to take what he could get. And considering he had been banned from his Skyhopper the last time Owen heard about his exploits with the gang in Beggar's Canyon, the little landspeeder was the best he was going to get. The fifteen year old boy smiled at the memory of the race – he had won by a landslide – but his grin turned into a scowl as he remembered Owen's reaction. What did the old man expect him to do, anyways? It wasn't as if there was much entertainment for a fifteen year old on a farm in the middle of the desert. Surely his Aunt and Uncle didn't expect him to sit around and do nothing but fix decades old, run-down equipment day in and day out. Luke scoffed out loud at the idea of him,Luke Skywalker, spending the rest of his life on a moisture farm.
That's right, he thought to himself, it isn't my fault I just can't be a farmer. My dad was a pilot. It's in my blood and Uncle Owen will just have to deal with it. Truth be told, Luke didn't really know much about his father's life as a pilot. In fact, he had never been told that his father was pilot at all. A navigator on a spice freighter didn't necessarily mean he was a pilot. Luke supposed that Anakin Skywalker could have been just another crew member. Anakin Skywalker could have been a lot of things. He could have been Luke's father, could have raised him and been there for the boy. He could have settled down with his family when he had his son, instead of going off and getting himself killed. Luke had always wanted to know how his father had died, but that was a topic that was strictly forbidden in the Lars homestead. Indeed, and talk of Luke's parents had been banned. Luke knew more about his dead grandmother, lying in her now unmarked grave than he did about his parents.
Anakin, Luke thought to himself, tasting the name in his mind. He tried to picture a person to go along with the name. In his head, he saw a large, sandy headed man with Luke's same blue eyes. He would have had to been wise and knowledgeable to be a navigator, and so Luke imagined that there was the glint of deeper knowledge in his eyes. Luke let himself sink into a familiar fantasy. His father walking in the door triumphantly, just returned from another trip. The young Luke would toddle into his father's waiting arms and be swept up into a warm and loving hug…
Luke brought his attention back to his piloting as he went careening past the outermost building of Anchorhead. He pulled back on the throttle, feeling the engine sputter beneath him as the speeder began to slow. Pulling up in front of the doors of the Tosche station, Luke shut the engine off entirely and jumped out of the speeder. The doors were locked. Frowning, Luke pressed his hand against the activation pad again, wondering if perhaps he hadn't triggered the sensor. Nope; once again the door refused to slide open.
Crossing back to his speeder, Luke pulled his chronometer out of a pocket along the edge of his toolbelt. Of course no one was there, it was dinner time and the people he had come to see were surely seated at family tables at their own homestead. Thinking of this, Luke felt his stomach grumble, reminding him that, not only was it dinner time, but he had been in the fields during lunch and had neglected to eat his breakfast that morning. The boy dropped his hand to his belt, feeling the pouch in the center gingerly, not really wanting to know what was there. To his surprise, something clinked.
"Sweet!" he exclaimed as he pulled out several credit chips. He had fixed a cleaning droid for Biggs' mother not that long ago. He hadn't wanted to take any money for it, seeing as how Biggs was his best friend, but she had insisted. With so little free time to enjoy his plunder, Luke had forgotten all about it. Filled with teenage fervor, Luke climbed back into his speeder and drove through town to the small cantina that served as one of the primary dining facilities. Perhaps he could still salvage this evening!
The first thing he noticed upon entering the cantina, was that it was surprisingly crowded for such a night. The usual patron of this particular facility was a moisture farmer living in the surrounding area. It was rare for an outsider to be there, and Luke couldn't remember a time when he honestly didn't know half of the people inside. That was the case this night, however. Each way Luke turned he saw someone else he didn't know. Furthermore, none of the strangers looked very much like they belonged on Tattooine. Shades of white and tan were the colors of choice for people living on the desert world because they afforded the wearer the most protection from the heat. The strangers in the cantina were dressed in rugged, dark colored clothes for the most part. In addition, their figures veritably bristled with weaponry. Pistols, rifles, vibroknives. Luke could see all manner of killing utensil strapped to belts, slung across shoulders, and resting on tables before their owners.
For a long moment, Luke wondered if it wouldn't be better for him to turn right around and go home. Even spending time with his Aunt and Uncle was preferable to winding up as a red stain on the floor, right? Normally, Luke was the adventurous sort, always wanting to hear the stories of the few pilots that came through town. The boy got the feeling, however, that the stories this group were going to tell weren't the kind he wanted to hear.
"What's your poison, sweetheart?" a sultry voice to his side asked. Luke turned, cheeks already turning scarlet as he looked over the attractive figure. To his hormone filled teenage mind, she was the perfect woman. Dark red hair, brilliant green eyes, bright ruby lips. Her skin was the lightest shade of ivory the boy had ever seen, and was so free of imperfections that he would have sworn she was glowing. Like the other patrons of the bar, she had a blaster pistol holstered on her left side, and the hilt of a vibroknife glinted in its sheathe on her right. Her attire left very little to the imagination: a pair of shorts that barely reached past her buttocks, a crisscrossed top of black cloth that left her midriff – and much of her cleavage – entirely exposed. Luke felt his mouth falling open slightly and had to consciously pull his teeth together again. They clacked against each other audibly. Luke winced.
"Leave the poor kid alone, Sharna," someone behind the woman called. The voice, all gruff tones and heavy consonants, was a stark contrast to the silky tones of the woman. She turned her head ever so slightly, eyes never leaving Luke's.
"Come on, I'll buy you a drink," she said, winking one emerald eye at the youth. Already hopelessly hooked by her guiles, Luke nodded once, struggling to keep the motion from seeming too eager. Taking a breath, he drew himself to his full height – which wasn't all that impressive to be honest – and tried to stride to the table as proudly as possible. The action had, regrettably, the opposite effect. The boy was trying so hard to keep his head high that he wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, and the next thing he knew he was crashing toward the floor. Sharna, moving so fast she was just a blur, caught him by the front of his tunic and pulled him upright with one hand. "Easy there, tiger," she cooed to him.
"Ha, boys, look at that. Sharna's got him up with just one arm!" the same gruff voice called. Luke's eyes narrowed and he tried to take a step forward only to realize that his feet weren't even on the ground. The woman looked down, seeming to notice for the first time that she had lifted the boy clear off the ground. She set him down quickly, biting her bottom lip.
"Sorry about that, handsome. Sometimes I just forget myself," she explained, twittering a laugh as she moved away from Luke and settled herself back onto the bench she had been sitting on. Reaching out a smooth skinned hand, she patted the seat beside her. Straightening his tunic, Luke wedged himself onto the bench beside her and leaned forward to get a good look at the crowd he had just become involved with. There were three men seated around the table opposite Sharna. One had a full beard of salt and pepper hair below a scarred face with dangerous eyes. The man on his right seemed to be much smaller, almost frail looking, and his eyes continuously darted around the room as if looking for trouble. On the left of the bearded man was a hulking figure that seemed too large to be human, but the dark shroud of a cloak kept his facial figures hidden from Luke.
"Sharna, why do you keep pulling locals over here? We haven't yet met one that was worth a damn," the thin man complained, his voice seeming high pitched for a full grown man. Luke's eyes narrowed once again and he opened his mouth to retort, but wasn't given the chance.
"She's attracted to the dumb farmboy type, didn't you know?" the bearded man answered, causing the two to burst out into fits of laughter. Luke jumped to his feet, hand extended accusatorily across the table at them.
"I'll have you know that I'm not a farmboy!" he cried without thinking. Sharna turned her head toward him, sculpted eyebrows raised toward her hairline.
"You aren't?" she asked, seemingly as surprised by this revelation as Luke was himself. The boy swallowed hard, realizing he had only just started this conversation, and already he had trapped himself in a corner.
"Y-yeah, that's right. I'm a, uh, a pilot. On leave of absence." In his head, Luke thought the story sounded fine. He could claim to be an imperial pilot of the variety that just couldn't muster up much sympathy for Empire or Rebellion. It was a claim that couldn't be verified in the span of the evening. He figured he was safe. Obviously he had chosen the wrong white lie. The bearded man's eyes had first went wide and then narrowed to slits, a cruel smile working its way across his face. Sharna had scooted away from him ever so slightly, and her hand had fallen to the belt on her other side.
"Imperial or Rebel?" the bearded man asked in a low voice. Luke glanced around at the other people seated at the table, trying to gauge from their looks what the correct answer was.
"I-imperial?" he answered, though his phrasing clearly made it sound like a question. He laughed once, nervously, as he watched Sharna sigh softly. The silence lasted much longer than Luke would have liked and he waved a hand over his shoulder to summon a serving droid and order a drink, desperate for any distraction from himself.
"Why in all hell would you want to take your leave of absence here?" the bearded man asked finally. His eyes had returned to their normal side, and the smile had been brushed from his face, but there was a glint in his eyes that Luke simply didn't appreciate.
"I grew up here," Luke answered automatically before he remembered what he had said earlier. "But," he amended quickly, "I'm not a farmboy. My….dad owns a garage here in town. We fixed droids, the odd starship, you know. That sort of thing."
"I see… so I guess you know your way around an engine pretty well, eh." This time, it clearly wasn't a question. Luke shrugged anyways, taking a huge gulp of the drink which had just arrived. Having forgotten what he had ordered to begin with, the alcohol hit him hard, burning his throat all the way down and bringing tears to his eyes. Sharna giggled beside him as he tried to cough quietly. The small man smirked at the boy. Luke's eyes were wide as dinner plates at this point, and he could feel the cold sweat on the back of his neck. He suddenly felt very much like he didn't want to be here anymore. "How long till you go back off leave, kid?"
"Oh. Uh, well. Actually, I'm supposed to ship off world again tomorrow afternoon. I just wanted to enjoy my last night, you know," Luke replied, mind racing. There was something off about this group, something sinister. "Now that I think about it, it's getting a little late, isn't it? I should probably be heading off to bed. Gotta pack in the morning and whatnot." With that, Luke stood, tossing a credit chip down for the drink.
"Hold on there, hotstuff," Sharna said in a cool voice. Luke tried to take a step away as if he hadn't heard her, but her hand was already entwined in the fabric of his tunic. With no other option available, Luke sank back down to the bench. "See, we've got ourselves a bit of a problem. Our hyperdrive is malfunctioning, regrettably, and we can't seem to get it working again. Now, with your experience working on star ships and droids, I expect you could have it up and running in no time flat."
"Well… you know….hyperdrives are testy things. I'm sure you know more about your particular variety of drive than I do. If you all can't get it working, I think the parts are probably shot. You'll have to buy new ones, unfortunately," Luke lied, trying to subtly pull the fabric of his tunic out of her grasp. He didn't know the first thing about fixing star ship engines or hyperdrives. Vaguely, he wondered just what he had managed to get himself into. For a second, he even found himself wishing he was back home on the Lars homestead, settling into another oppressively quiet meal with his caretakers.
"Now, loverboy, you and I both know I wasn't asking," Sharna answered, favoring Luke with a brilliant smile right before a bright light flashed across the boy's eyes and he lost the concept of time.
There were voices in the air when he came to at last. Groaning, Luke sat up from the cold stone floor he was lying on. His back was on fire, particularly at the base of his neck. Wincing, Luke reached a hand backwards over his shoulder to rub the spot. He had been shocked by something, that much he could tell by the blistered, two pronged burn on his neck. Blinking against the brilliantly bright lights of a hangar, he squinted at his surroundings. He had been tossed on the floor of a small docking bay, several meters from the loading ramp of a small, yet sturdily built starship. The sleek frame was reminiscent of a strike fighter, yet Luke noticed durasteel crates waiting to be loaded that seemed to indicate it was a cargo ship. Luke couldn't spot a painted tag on it from where he was lying.
"Hey there, sweetheart. Welcome back," a voice drifted across to him. Luke looked up, locking eyes with the shapely figure of Sharna. She offered a hand to help him off the floor, but the youth ignored it. Angrily, he clambered up from the ground, only to stumble midway up in a wave of dizziness. Sharna watched with unsympathetic eyes as he floundered once more before regaining his feet. When he looked up at her, the emotionless façade was gone, replaced by a concerned expression. "That jolt hit you pretty hard, huh? Why don't I get you fixed up right quick before you get to work on the drive?"
"No, Sharna. I'm not going to work on your hyperdrive. I told you I couldn't help you. If you all let me go now, I won't tell anything about this…this…abduction to my superiors in the fleet. Okay? I just want to go home," Luke answered, holding his hands out before him. He had tried to keep his voice level and free of desperation, but he could hear the tone swinging ever higher in pitch as he spoke. His fingers were shaking.
"That's cute, shortie. Exactly what are you going to say happened to your neck?" Luke spun around to face the approaching figure, noticing that it was the thin man from the cantina. For a small guy, he sure found a way to seem very imposing.
"Drayson, leave this to me," Sharna warned, motioning him away with a flick of her wrist. The thin man laughed.
"Oh yeah, Sharna, I can see you've got this well in hand. Listen up, boy, we aren't giving you the option, and you aren't going to let you go until our hyperdrive is fixed. We need to get offworld, and I mean now. If you don't have this fixed by the time you're supposed to ship offworld tomorrow afternoon…well I guess you always seemed like the kind to desert." Drayson's voice was deadly serious, and yet the high pitched quality made it sound like he was whining the whole time.
"You're crazy-" Luke started, but he was cut off by the stinging pain of a palm hitting the side of his face. Luke turned confused eyes at Sharna, who was now checking her fingernails to make sure she hadn't broken any of them in the swing.
"Oh, sorry about that hotstuff, I just had to make sure you know your place here. Malcom will be back soon, so I suggest if you don't want to feel any more pain, you get to work," the woman cheerily explained. Luke shook his head in amazement, throwing his hands into the air. "Good, that's what I had hoped for. Right this way, Mr…. uh?"
"Skywalker. Luke Skywalker," the boy answered, figuring at this point that it didn't matter anymore if he kept his secrets to himself. These people were clearly criminals anyways. Sharna clapped her hands together happily.
"Well, Luke! Let me show you the hyperdrive!" The woman began sauntering up the loading ramp, swinging her hips seductively with every step. Luke began to follow her into the sip, trying very hard to keep his eyes from wandering down to her shapely rear. He was vaguely aware of Drayson falling in line behind him, rodentlike eyes following the boy's every move. As Luke had suspected, the interior of the ship consisted of broad hallways lined with so many crates that they were choked and narrow. Every now and again, there was an open door leading into a storage room similarly crammed full. The only closed doors lead, he suspected, to the crew quarters and other private rooms. Luke had figured that if they were smugglers, their cache would have been a little bit better hidden. Then again, he supposed that they had to make it look like they were on legitimate trafficking business.
"Eyes ahead, kid! Nothing concerns you but the hyperdrive," Drayson snapped, noticing the boy's wandering blue orbs. Luke's eyes snapped straight ahead instantly as he did not want to invoke any further wrath from these people. Their path twisted off suddenly, seeming to double back around on itself as he was led deep into the inner workings of the ship. The group made one last turn into an open door and Luke found himself looking at the first starship engine he had ever seen. The machine was massive, an awe-inspiring piece of technology. Luke swallowed, trying to keep his amazement to himself. After all, he was supposed to be a star fighter pilot.
"It's not much, but it does the trick," Sharna said, mistaking the look in his eyes for confusion at the type of engine they had. She assumed he was used to fighter engines, which were sleek and efficient, designed for fast movement. Truth was, their engine had quite a bit more oomph than it let on.
"What? Oh. Yeah, it uh…yeah." Luke said, looking away quickly as if he wasn't interested in it at all. Sharna's head tilted slightly to the side as she watched him. His eyes were scanning the room as if he didn't know what the hyperdrive looked like.
"This will be the drive," she said helpfully, crossing over to the smaller, but no less impressive piece of machinery and motioning toward it. Luke turned to see what she was indicating and gulped. He might as well have been trying to understand Old Tionese for all he knew about hyperdrives. "We've brought all the tools you should need in here." Sharna kicked a metal toolbox on the ground for emphasis. "You aren't allowed to leave this room without one of us along with you. Oh, and someone will be watching that door all the time, so I just wouldn't recommend trying to sneak out. Okay?"
"Uh. Yeah, okay. I guess."
"Great! Well, have fun, hotstuff. Drayson, you've got the first shift!" Sharna had to call this last over her shoulder, as she was already halfway out the door by that time.
"Damn that woman!" Drayson growled, watching the door where she had disappeared. It was several moments before he turned back to Luke. "Well, what are you waiting on? Let's go!" he yelled, pushing Luke forward with one hand as he turned and crossed to the door. Luke watched him go for another second, making sure that the man wasn't actually watching him the whole time. When he was sure Drayson was on the other side of the door standing guard, Luke exhaled heavily and turned to the hyperdrive.
"Here goes," he muttered under his breath, before he stepped toward the hyperdrive and began pulling out tools.
"Beru? Beru where are you?" Owen Lars' voice wafted about the central crater of the family compound. The aging woman working in the kitchen sighed before she plastered a smile on her face and called back to him.
"I'm in the kitchen, dear," she answered. "Just like I usually am." The last sentence was muttered to herself as she stepped back toward the cold storage, shaking her head slightly. A few moments later and a red faced Owen Lars stepped into the large cooking and eating area and swung his head around as if looking for someone.
"Beru, have you seen Luke this morning?" he asked at length once he had decided that no one else was in the kitchen with them. The woman stopped what she was doing, putting the spatula that was in her hand down on the counter.
"No. Why?" she answered, watching his face closely. She remembered that Luke hadn't been at dinner last night, but she had assumed that he was out working on the equipment and hadn't made it home in time. Neither she nor Owen had a habit of staying up late, so they had both gone to bed shortly after they had finished with dinner. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for the youth to come home after dark.
"I can't find him anywhere. His bed's still made, the speeder still isn't back, and when I checked the network there isn't anything broken out there that he could be out working on." There was genuine concern in Owen's voice. Beru felt her own heart skip a beat as the idea that Luke had finally run away filtered through her mind. She had always known that this wasn't the life that the boy was meant for, but she never really believed he would leave without telling them.
"What are we going to do, Owen?" she asked her husband at last, crossing over to him and putting her palms on his shoulder. He looked down at her, the pain just as evident on his face as it was on hers. They had made a promise to watch over the boy, to raise him as if he were their own child. The couple had given their word, and now they felt as if they had broken it in one night.
"Well, you know Luke. Maybe he headed out to Anchorhead and stayed with one of the kids last night. The Darklighters don't live far from Anchorhead, and Luke was always welcome at their homestead. I think we should take the other speeder and ask around in town. Try not to think about it, okay? I'm sure he's just over at one of his friend's houses." Owen wrapped his wife in a tight embrace, trying to convince himself to believe the words as well. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling – clear as day – that Luke was in danger. The boy had a knack for getting himself into trouble.
As the couple raced into town, Owen pulled a comlink from under the edge of his seat. It had been hidden there for fifteen years, and Beru knew exactly what it was for. When Luke had come to live with them, the Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi had given the comlink and told them to call if they ever needed his help. Skeptical of the Jedi and their principles after seeing what happened to his step-brother, Owen had never once decided to use it, despite the fact that he had been forced to rescue Luke from dangerous situations before now. The fact that he had even thought about using the comlink made Beru worried. Owen Lars was a stubborn man, and he held tightly to his ideals.
The more Owen dwelled on the issue, the angrier he found himself becoming. Perhaps it was simple a reaction to keep himself from thinking about the horrible things that could be happening to Luke. Maybe he was just tired of the boy's antics. Either way, he found himself cursing the youth in his mind, wondering why Luke couldn't just settle down and deal with the life he had been given. No, you don't wonder that, Owen. You know why. Owen remembered how his step-mother Shmi Skywalker had spoken about her son, telling her new family about the antics of Anakin Skywalker. She had painted a picture of a brave, foolhardy boy who didn't know the meaning of caution. When Skywalker had come to the homestead looking for Shmi, Owen found the youth to live up exactly to his expectations. Knowing Luke's father to be rash and unruly, Owen had worked hard to make sure the boy didn't turn out the same way. It had to be in his blood though, because it didn't seem to matter what the older man did.
"Owen….Owen look. Isn't that Biggs Darklighter right there?" Beru asked urgently as they approached the small settlement. Her husband snapped himself out of his internal dialogue and pulled back on the throttle, slowing the speeder as he followed her pointing hand to the waving figure of Luke's best friend. Sure enough, Biggs was standing beside the Tosche station, arms windmilling as he tried to get the Lars' attention. The young man knew something was off: Beru never came into town.
"Mr. Lars, Mrs. Lars," Biggs started as they coasted to a stop alongside of him. "What brings you into town today?"
"Biggs, this is very important. Have you seen Luke anywhere?" Beru asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Biggs tilted his head to the side, giving the aging couple an odd look. He knew they were wondering if he had perhaps helped his friend run off to avoid chores or something.
"No, ma'am. I haven't seen him in about a week. Let me step in and ask the others." As Biggs turned around to step back inside the building, Owen leapt out of the pilot's side and crossed to the doorway.
"I'll come in with you," the older man offered, trying to seem nonchalant. Biggs stifled a smirk, knowing the true reason behind it. Owen was a suspicious man by nature. He wanted to come inside to make sure that Luke wasn't in there orchestrating the whole thing. Biggs knew the sight of Lars would make the other teens uncomfortable, and he was sure that Owen knew it as well. Darklighter simply motioned the older man to step ahead of him into the building and followed suit with a friendly smile to Beru.
"I remember this place being less of a dump," Owen muttered as his eyes adjusted to the light in the building and he was able to scan the heaps of scrap parts and refuse lying everywhere. Biggs laughed behind him.
"I think you probably were here before Tosche left Fixer in charge," he answered simply, before he brushed past the older man and into the main room of the station. Fixer, Windy, and Camie were all gathered there, as he had suspected they would be. As usual, Fixer and Camie were engrossed with each other, with Camie seated on his lap. Biggs cleared his throat loudly, dragging the attention of everyone in the room over to himself and Owen. Upon seeing the aging man in the station, Camie jumped off of her boyfriend's lap with wide eyes, smoothing the front of her tunic where it had gotten pulled up and ruffled. Fixer crossed his legs. Windy, closer in age to Luke bit his bottom lip, wondering what sort of trouble they were in to bring Owen Lars down upon them.
"Any of you guys seen Luke recently?" Biggs asked once everyone had gotten themselves situated. Camie looked at Fixer. Fixer looked at Windy. Windy sat shaking his head until he noticed everyone had turned their eyes to him.
"What? Don't look at me," he blurted, holding his hands out in the air. "I haven't seen him in weeks." There was something in the youth's voice that didn't seem to hold true. Owen took a step toward the boy, eyes narrowing.
"Windy Starkiller, you tell me the truth right this instant," the older man snapped in a dangerous voice. The youth made a small noise almost like a yelp.
"Well, I might have seen him last night. At the cantina," he said at length. Dragging the sentence out as if he didn't want to finish it. Biggs eyebrows began to rise toward his hairline.
"The cantina? What was he doing there?" Owen asked, quickly growing tired of this game.
"I don't know. I saw him go inside, but I didn't follow him. I had…uh…other things going on." Fixer, Camie, and Biggs turned unbelieving eyes on the younger man. "Don't look at me like that. I have a social life too, ya know! When I had finished with my…business, I saw Luke leaving the station with – " The boy cut off, casting uncertain eyes to Owen's face.
"With who, Windy?!" Owen cried, exasperated.
"Well, uh, with a, uh, a woman….sir," Windy finished at last, looking down at the ground. Owen's mouth fell open.
"What woman?"
"I didn't recognize her. She looked like an offworlder, very attractive. There were a couple of guys filed out behind them, but Luke was hanging on that woman like wet clothes. Not that I blame him. She was something else!" Windy chuckled at the memory but sobered up quickly as he saw Owen's completely unsmiling face.
"Where did they go after that, Windy?" Owen asked the boy, his voice very serious again. Windy shrugged. He hadn't really paid much attention to the situation after giving his friend a silent salute at his catch. The group had stumbled around for a bit, walking through the rows of parked speeders as if looking for the right one. Windy figured that they had imbibed too much alcohol for their own good and had thus forgotten which one was there. Well….now that he thought about it, the one they had settled in had looked awfully familiar. The boy knew he had seen it somewhere…
"Oh." Windy's eyes went wide as he made the connection.
"Oh, what?!" Owen cried, frustrated at how long it was taking to pry information out of the boy.
"They left in Luke's speeder. But they didn't turn toward your homestead…or anyone else's compound for that matter. They were headed toward Mos Eisley."
"Yes, I understand," Malcom said calmly shortly before the blue hologram warped and vanished, leaving him alone in a darkened room. He sighed and ran a hand through his head of salt and pepper hair. Exhausted, frustrated, he shook his head almost sadly before he stepped out of the storage room and into the main bay of the hangar. Sharna was striding happily away from the ship. Catching Malcom's eyes, she sauntered over to him.
"The kid's working on the drive now, boss. What's the news?" she asked as she came alongside of him. The older man glanced over at his first mate disinterestedly.
"We don't have much time," he said simply, motioning toward the crates of material yet to be loaded onto the ship. Sharna waved a hand through the air, seemingly carefree.
"Don't worry about it, Skywalker will have everything up and running in no time," she said, her singsong voice seeming overly cheery.
"Skywalker?" Malcom asked, looking at the woman with one eyebrow raised. She nodded, happy to divulge information that Malcom hadn't yet discovered.
"Luke Skywalker. That's the name of our little Imperial. I have to say, he seemed unimpressed by your custom engine," she explained, waving one hand lazily toward the starship. Malcom scoffed at the idea, but something in the back of his head was nagging at him. He could have sworn that he had heard the name Skywalker before. It sent alarm bells through his mind as if it were important that he remember, but when he focused on the sensation, he could find no hint as to what he was supposed to feel.
"The sort of stuff they put in those TIE fighters leaves little room for experimentation. He probably has never seen a custom engine in his life. If he knew what it was capable of, he'd probably shit himself in excitement," Malcom replied. "Doesn't the name Skywalker sound familiar to you?" Sharna thought about it for a moment, rolling the name around her mouth, tasting it on her tongue.
"Nope," she said at last, giving her boss an odd look. Malcom pursed his lips. Sharna couldn't be more than twenty-five. Maybe he was remembered something from further back. Before the Empire… the timeframe seemed right in his head. He wished he could focus on the sensation of knowing the name, but it simply eluded him.
"Let's go check on our little engineer, shall we?" he asked his first mate finally, already moving for the loading ramp before she had a chance to respond. Sharna sighed, rolling her eyes at her boss' back before falling in step behind him. They could hear Drayson shouting before they had even begun to move up the loading ramp.
"What in the blazes did you do that for, kid?! Do you even know how these things work? If that piece is broken, I swear to all that is good in this world that I will end you," the thin man was screaming. Something crashed within the ship. Malcom and Sharna shared a look before they both rushed up the ramp and into the heart of the ship. The engine room was a mess. Pieces of the hyperdrive lay everywhere in a circle around Luke, who was holding a piece in his hands desperately trying to put it back together. Drayson stood in the doorway, hands balled into fists.
"What seems to be the problem, Drayson?" Malcom asked as he took the scene in. The small man turned to his boss, face flushed bright red with anger.
"What seems to be the problem? This kid is an idiot, that's what! He doesn't know a hyperdrive from a hydrospanner!"
"Hey! I told you I couldn't help you guys. You're the ones that decided I was lying," the boy shouted back from his place on the floor. Malcom turned flashing eyes on the youth.
"What kind of pilot doesn't know how to repair a hyperdrive?" he asked, voice low and deadly. Luke looked away quickly and pretended to busy himself with the piece in his hands again. Getting the hyperdrive into pieces had been easy. And once Luke had seen how it went together, he was pretty sure he could put it back the way it was, and maybe find the source of their problems to begin with. He had been going smoothly along until Drayson had surprised him and he had dropped a particularly fragile piece to the hard metal floor.
"Well, you know, the Empire doesn't make its pilots service their own ships. They've got…other workers for that. Truth be told, I've never seen the inside of my TIE fighter's engine," Luke answered, spinning yet another lie about himself. He didn't know a damn thing about what the Empire did or didn't do to their pilots. For all he knew, they could have made their pilots wear bright pink flightsuits.
"Kid, I think we've got ourselves a little problem here. You see, when we said we needed to get offworld in a hurry, we meant it. I've got myself a large shipment of very important material that needs delivered and we're on a bit of a time constraint," Malcom replied, stepping carefully into the room and over to the boy's side. He dropped one hand to grip the youth's shoulder tightly.
"Well, I don't think I understand why you didn't get a real mechanic in here instead of a farmboy!" Luke cried angrily, wrenching his shoulder free from the man's grasp. It took Luke a long moment to realize what he had just said. His eyes went wide as Drayson and Sharna drew in deep breaths. Luke scrambled backwards, attempting to get out of Malcom's dangerous reach. The older man didn't even move. He simply stood there, staring blankly at the boy before him.
"There is one thing in this universe that I don't care for at all," Malcom began. Luke decided instantly that he really didn't care for the tone in the older man's voice. "I don't care to be lied to."
"What are we going to do with him, boss?" Drayson asked, his voice clearly indicating that he wanted to get his hands on the youth very much. Malcon glanced over his shoulder at the pair still waiting in the doorway before he turned his empty eyes back down on the boy.
"I think we'll – " Malcom was cut off by the sound of the door to the hangar being blasted open by something. Sharna, Drayson and Malcom veritably dove out of the room and broke for the loading ramp, heading down it slowly and peering around the edge of the ship. Luke rose to his feet shakily and followed after them, making certain to stay far enough back that he was still out of reach.
From his vantage point, Malcom was able to see that the hangar was flooding with at least a dozen thugs of various species led by a bluish green rodian. The aging man leaned back around the corner and gave his two companions a worried look. What Sharna and Drayson hadn't seen, behind the rodian and other thugs, was the slowly undulating, hulking figure of a Hutt.
"Who speaks the best Huttese?" Malcom asked quietly. Sharna's hand went to her mouth and Drayson's eyes went very wide. Luke opened his mouth to say his Huttese was fair before he thought better of it and closed it again. A rough hand pushed him out of the way from behind and he jumped with a muffled yelp. The cloaked man from the cantina was brushing past him roughly, pulling the cloak off as he went. A Nikto! Luke thought in surprise as he watched the figure go. The boy had never seen one of the species before. He knew the history of the species vaguely, that they had been owned by the Hutts for centuries.
"Tsyr, wait!" Malcom said, reaching out to grab the Nikto's scaly arm. The alien turned disdainful eyes down on the captain.
"If they wanted us dead, we would already be dead," the Nikto growled, his voice guttural and harsh. With that, Tsyr swept down the ramp and into the light of the hangar. Malcom shared another grimace with his companions before he followed the Nikto down the ramp. Luke hung back, afraid of being caught up in whatever confrontation was about to happen. He crept just close enough to the edge of the ramp to listen to the conversation.
"Ahh. Here is the man I wanted to see. Welcome to Tattooine, Malcom," the Hutt greeted them, his long, drawn out Huttese seeming almost disinterested.
"What do you want from us, Jabba?" Tsyr replied, stepping in front of Malcom. The Hutt began to laugh at the sight of the Nikto seeming to defend the human.
"You have something I want." The Hutt inched forward, leaving a sort of slimy trail behind him as he did. The edge of Sharna's mouth twisted upwards in disgust.
"I am afraid this delivery is already claimed, Jabba. It has been paid for in advance. If you want some for yourself, you should contact our organization and place an order," Tsyr answered, spreading his hands as if in invitation. The Hutt laughed again, the sound sending shivers down Luke's spine.
"No, Tsyr Bok, I think I will have what I want now. Take them." The sounds of a struggle wafted up to Luke's ears. He heard a brief spat of blaster fire before one by one he heard the smuggling crew fall to the ground. Stun setting, Luke thought to himself as he inched farther up the ramp. He was able to hear the sound of heavy metal binders being snapped onto the wrists of his captors before the footsteps sounded as if they were retreating from the hangar. For several more minutes, Luke sat patiently waiting, unconvinced that it was safe to move.
Something in his head was telling him that he needed to help the smugglers. He didn't know what it was, but he could feel some force pushing him to action. Trying to push it away, he reached up to the tender burn on his neck to remind himself that they had kidnapped him. Even still, to be trapped by the Hutts was a fate that many would consider worse than death. Unable to deter himself from this course, Luke stood at last and crept carefully down the ramp. The hangar was blessedly empty, so he crossed quickly to the ruins of the door. Outside, he could see the thugs loading their prisoners aboard a pleasure barge that seemed very out of place in the middle of…Mos Eisley? Luke wondered to himself. Of course, he didn't know why this revelation surprised him; there weren't any hangars in Anchorhead.
Spotting a maintenance droid sliding back into its covered hatch on the near side of the barge, Luke bit his lip and took a deep breath. Quickly, he dashed across the open area to the side of the barge and grabbed the droid, wedging his body into the hatch and hoping there would be enough room for the both of them. The surprised droid twittered angrily before it finished sliding in beside him. Swiveling it's head around, the droid favored the boy with a look that almost seemed human.
"Hey, I'm not as happy about this as you think I am," the boy muttered before he fell silent as the barge kicked into motion, rising above the desert sands and carrying him away toward Jabba's palace.