Escape from Tattoine

by Zoltan Berrigomo

This story explores an offshoot of KOTOR where Bastila does not have a special force talent; she is a padawan like any other. The narration comes from an original male character, with some force affinity but rejected by both Jedi and Sith, who will encounter Bastila on Tattoine. They share a spark, but will he be able to persuade Bastila to look beyond his dubious past?

3. Chapter 3: The Ambush

If walking through the streets of Anchorhead is unbearable then walking through the Tattoine desert doubly so. Imagine the same heat, but now without a hint of shade; the twin suns bearing down mercilessly upon you; and picture the hot gale which hits you so hard that it feels like a punch in the face. You cannot even open your mouth without finding it, moments later, full of scalding sand.

Yet there I was, standing outside the gates of Anchorhead, a new, fancy-looking but largely useless blaster set on my hip, setting off towards the coordinates given by the Rodian. It was several hours of walking away, bringing me a good distance away from the last vestiges of civilization, if Anchorhead may be called that, into a no-man's land governed by scavengers, bandits, and sand-people.

Shrugging, I set off into the desert.

There is a certain monotony that is hard to describe to someone who has not been on Tattoine. The dunes look more or less the same and after a while it begins to feel as if you are standing in the same place. You feel lost in the landscape. It is only on looking back that you see the city which loomed large behind you shrunk into a mere dot on the horizon.

And then it is just you and the dunes. You press on as the desert stands immobile before you. Before long you begin to wonder if you are really there, if the view in front of you might be an illusion, for it does feel unreal, and the feeling of unreality only seems to grow the more you walk. But you know such thoughts are insanity itself, you know it is just the heat and the desert and the mid-day sun, and so you push these impulses out of your mind and keep going.

Needless to say, I was quite exhausted when I finally approached the coordinates. My old shoulder wound had started to make its presence known, a dull ache that expanded until it ran all the way down my arm. Still, even in my sapped and pained state, I could spot the ambush from a parsec away.

There was indeed a crashed ship here but it was barely more than a lander, a standard Czerka model which I well knew had no hidden compartments. Several sand people were likely hidden behind it. A few more were at the foot of the hill across, crouched on the sand, though I could spot see the glimmer of their sticks reflecting in the sun. Likely the group behind the ship would jump out and brandish their weapons when I got closer while the ones hiding at the hill would rush to cut off my line of retreat.

So what did I do? Why, I walked straight into the ambush.