Chapter 25 -- Serpent In the Camp
Skywalker had never seen the encampment so eerily silent. Normally the camp buzzed with activity -- guards patrolling the borders, hunters and metal collectors departing on or returning from their journeys, women bustling about camp with small children or bundles of supplies (or sometimes both) in their arms, young ones scurrying about underfoot with gleeful laughter, banthas snorting and lowing as they plodded about, massifs growling and barking and snapping at heels... Even at night there was still the hushed gossip the night sentries exchanged, the calls of animals both wild and domestic, the crackle of fires, and the songs and chants of the Daughters of the Moons filling the cold night air. The empty, suffocating silence pressing down on the camp now like one of Dagobah's heavy fogs was frightening.
Cyclone snorted and shifted uneasily. Skywalker crooned soothingly to the bantha to calm him, but it was hard to project calmness when one was unsettled by the same sight.
"Looks like a ghost town," Han murmured. "You sure your tribe didn't just up and leave? Or that the Empire didn't get here first?"
"I sense them down there," Skywalker replied. "They are alive and present. But a great evil lurks among them."
"Kid, remember what we're here for," Han reminded him. "Rescue your Tusken sister and get out. Don't do anything stupid."
"I will do whatever is necessary to protect my people from the Black One," Skywalker replied firmly. "To do less would be shameful."
"Kid, I know you've learned a lot from Obi-wan and Yoda, but Vader has years of experience on you. I doubt you could beat him in a fight. Just... be careful." He seemed to sense that trying to talk Skywalker out of a confrontation would be futile in the end, and so had to settle for giving a word of caution.
"I will, Han," Skywalker promised.
Cyclone slowly padded down the dune and toward camp, instinctively angling for the banthas clustered on the settlement's edges. Skywalker felt the back of his neck prickle with unease. The beasts were unnaturally still... and there were too many for them all to belong to the tribe. Was this the work of...
His fear was realized when Cyclone reached the herd and began nudging a young bull with his muzzle. The creature was alive and awake but completely reactionless, its eyes glazed over as if with a sickness. And the gear strapped to its shoulders was not of the Redrock Tribe -- the stitching of the saddle and the snake's teeth adorning the harness were the work of the Serpent Tribe. Skywalker slid down from Cyclone's back and examined the bantha more closely.
"Oh dear..." worried Threepio. "The creature isn't... deactivated, is it?"
"It's still on its feet, Goldenrod," Han retorted.
"It has been drugged," Skywalker replied, prying open the bantha's lips and getting a whiff of its breath -- hot and rank, with a faint sour odor. He moved around the creature and felt its foreleg, frowning at the way the muscles twitched and spasmed beneath the hair and hide. "Demon's Fist, a fungus that grows in the sacred caverns. The healers use it to dull pain and keep a wounded Tusken from moving while they stitch a wound closed or bind a broken limb. It would take a great amount of it to drug a bantha, however... more than the Redrock Tribe could harvest in a moon-cycle. Only the Serpent Tribe grows so much Demon's Fist in their caverns... and ornaments their mounts with snake's fangs."
Han frowned. "Are they enemies of your tribe?"
"They are... fierce," Skywalker replied. "If you hear tales about Tuskens attacking outsiders and their homes, it is usually the work of the Serpent Tribe. But they are supposedly our allies now..."
Chewie growled and cuffed Skywalker's shoulder to get his attention, pointing. He looked up to see two scarlet-clad figures approaching the bantha herd, blood-colored robes streaming down from gleaming featureless helmets to cover their bodies. Both held slender pikes as weapons, and these hummed with energy as they glided toward the banthas.
"That's not Tusken garb," Skywalker noted.
"You think?" Han replied, hand sliding toward his pistol.
"Halt!" one of the red-clad beings shouted, skirting a small bantha cow to reach them. His pike was drawn and held back as if to impale Skywalker upon it.
Han pulled his blaster and fired once into the man's chest. He dropped like a tent with its supports pulled out, crimson robes billowing out as he fell. The other pulled a heavy rifle out from under his robes, but another shot from Han struck his arm and made him drop the weapon. A follow-up blast from Chewie's bowcaster felled him.
Skywalker stepped forward and bent over the first red-clad body. "Are they... Imperials?"
"Damn right they are, kid," Han replied. "They're Royal Guards. Usually they're only around when the Emperor's around."
"The Emperor?" he repeated.
"That's what I said," Han replied. "Why he'd be on this dirtball is anyone's guess, though. He's a recluse -- hardly ever leaves his palace."
Skywalker frowned at that news. He'd hoped to find the Black One here, not a hermit of an Emperor. Though if Vader truly served this Emperor as a lackey, perhaps they could take him prisoner and lure Vader out of hiding...
"I have an idea," he said, bending down and examining the smooth scarlet helm of the guard. "Help me unlatch this."
Han stared at Skywalker a moment, then seemed to catch on and bent down to help. "Good thinking, kid."
Break...
Wind-Dancer's words of warning -- and Vader's worst fears -- were confirmed the moment the speeder crested the rise of the last dune and brought them into view of the camp. The very air over the settlement crackled with the terror and despair the Emperor's presence instilled in every living being he encountered. It was like an insidious pressure squeezing the very hearts and lungs of its victims, forcing them to breathe in the same rhythm as their captor, their hearts to beat in time with his. And obviously the Tuskens weren't immune to its effects, for nothing in the camp stirred, as if out of fear that their captor would unleash his wrath upon them if they so much as breathed out of turn.
Wind-Dancer cocked her head to one side, as if listening. "The Temple of the Moons is abandoned. My sisters are gone. I pray they are simply hiding in the Wastes, and not worse."
"Why would the Emperor want to harass Sandpeople?" asked Biggs. "It's not like he has much to gain from conquering them..."
"He has something to gain," Vader corrected. "Skywalker."
"He's not even a Jedi yet, why would he want him?" demanded Hobbie.
"To claim him as an apprentice," Vader intoned. "Skywalker is strong in the Force -- immensely strong. The Emperor wishes to use Skywalker's power to crush the Rebellion and maintain his rule of the galaxy."
Leia glowered at Vader. "You act like what the Emperor plans to do is a terrible thing... yet it's what you plan to do to him as well."
Vader glowered back. "I plan to reclaim my son -- the son Obi-wan stole from me years ago. And I plan to rule the galaxy with my children as my equals, not my slaves. There can be nothing wrong in that..."
"Skywalker still sees you as a foe," Wind-Dancer reminded him. "How can you be certain he'll join you?"
"His sisters will convince him," Vader replied coolly.
Before they could reply to that declaration, the speeder drew to a stop. A party of four royal guards stepped forward, their sleek red helmets and impeccably maintained scarlet robes jarringly out of place among the primitive hide tents of the Tusken encampment. Vader stepped out of the speeder, motioning for the others to remain where they were while he spoke with the "welcoming party."
"The Emperor requests your presence," the lead guard informed him. "In the largest of the tents. Bring your captives with you."
Vader nodded. So their arrival was not unexpected. With a commanding gesture toward his troops and... guests, he strode after the guards, toward the biggest of the tents.
"The community tent?" wondered Wind-Dancer aloud. "Why is your Emperor in there? That's only for tribal gatherings..."
"Yeah, but the Emperor's got a bloated self-image," Wedge pointed out. "Only the biggest and best for him."
Vader ducked through the flap of the tent... and tensed instinctively, hand going for his lightsaber. The ramshackle -- could it even be called a building? -- shelter housed over fifty Tusken Raiders, all hooting and growling in their weird primitive language. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon and braced himself for a lunge. They would charge him at any moment, weapons flashing, battle cries ripping the air...
But no Tusken so much as turned to face him. They were far more occupied amongst themselves -- conversing in what sounded like an astonished tone, hushing noisy children, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. And as his gaze wandered among the beings gathered, he realized that less than a third of the gathered Tuskens even had weapons in hand. In fact, the only ones armed seemed to be the ones at the fringes of the crowd, the fearsome-looking warriors in black snakeskin and chains of teeth...
Guards, he realized. Whatever is happening here? Is the tribe being held prisoner?
At last a Tusken warrior turned to face him. The native stared a moment, as if unsure if his eyes were working properly, then cried out and scrambled for his weapon. Several other Sandpeople, alerted by his cry, also drew blades. Vader ripped his saber free and prepared to ignite it...
But a commanding shout in an unfamiliar tongue stilled the Tuskens, and they stayed their hands, though they continued to stare at him in terror.
"Ah, welcome, Lord Vader."
He raised his gaze toward the center of the crowd, where a fire blazed -- why the Tuskens would even NEED a fire on a desert world was beyond him -- and a cluster of robed figures gathered as if to address the assembly, flanked by scarlet-robed guards and white-armored stormtroopers. Four of them were also Tusken, two wearing chains of teeth and wrappings interspersed with bands of snakeskin, one wearing plain robes and a simple clay amulet, and the fourth in a beautifully embroidered robe and black snakeskin cloak. The fifth was human, clad in a hooded black robe and holding his fingers steepled before him as he stared into the fire, as if it contained the deepest secrets of the universe and only he could puzzle them out. The Tuskens, upon seeing Vader, barked fearfully and either shrank back or drew weapons, but a simple gesture on the Emperor's part made them lower their gaderffis.
"I see you managed to bring one of your children with you," he rasped in pleasure. "At last I meet the daughter of Vader."
Leia looked upon the Sith Lord with intense revulsion.
"But the other still eludes you," the Emperor sneered. "Are you truly incapable of tracking down and reclaiming a mere boy?"
"He is here, on Tatooine," Vader replied evenly. "I will find him..."
"No need," the Emperor replied dismissively. "Are you so Force-blind as to miss him? He is here in this tent, though he thinks himself clever enough to try and hide from me."
Wind-Dancer gasped, and Leia and the Rogues tensed visibly. A stab of mingled surprise and alarm shot through Vader. His son WAS here! How could he have missed him? He let his gaze scour the tent as much as he could without turning his head, extending the Force to feel his son's presence. Where was he...
A nerve-rending howl ripped from the Emperor's throat, and for a moment Vader wondered if the old Sith's wits had finally snapped entirely. But the howl descended into a series of guttural sounds -- Tusken words. The tribe reacted, first whispering amongst themselves, then shouting and cheering. Their fear had given way to relief and triumph, and Vader could only wonder what his master had just promised them...
Not for long, though. "It would seem, Lord Vader, that you have made a villian of yourself to these people. A night-demon, as they would put it. And it seems they have accepted my offer to avail themselves of this perceived threat."
"What do you mean?" demanded Vader.
"I mean that you must be destroyed," Palpatine replied, a touch of regret in his voice. "It is indeed a shame, Lord Vader. Given time and discipline, you could have been the greatest of the Sith Lords. However, you have let the fatal flaw of the Jedi soften you... the flaw of compassion. Compassion for your children, and for the very people who see you as a monster -- yes, I know of the bargain you struck with the Daughters of the Moons to end the corruption of their foes amongst the tribe. I'm not stupid, as much as you like to think. It is time you were replaced with a worthy heir to the Sith... with your own offspring."
Wind-Dancer jerked as if shot. Leia gasped. Vader felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. The Emperor would replace him with his own son? Had this been his intention from the very beginning?
"Skywalker, I know you are here," the Emperor said in a commanding tone. "Step forward from your hiding place, and strike the one you know as the Black One down. Only you can defeat him. It is your destiny."
A red-robed guard to Palpatine's right made to move forward, but his comrade gripped his shoulder and hissed something indecipherable at him. He jerked away and continued forward, pulling something from beneath his robes... a lightsaber.
"Clever disguise, young Skywalker," chuckled the Emperor. "Now fulfill the prophecy of your tribe, and strike the murderer of your father down!"
"Skywalker, no!" shouted Leia -- just as a rough hand clapped over her mouth. Wind-Dancer growled and the Rogues yelped in surprise as Tusken warriors in black snakeskin dragged them away. The entire tribe backed away, leaving an impromptu arena for Skywalker and Vader to face off.
Skywalker regarded Vader calmly through the eye-slit of his red helmet. "I've waited a long time for this, Black One."