The Sandtrooper's Story
Chapter 10 – A Wretched Hive
Blade and Ddraig had moved Windy, Deak, and Camie out of the office to the backside of the Power Station. They sat and waited on rocks in the shade, leaning against the exterior wall as the other troopers completed their search inside.
Camie's fear was gone now, replaced with amusement about the invasion. She sat apart from the others, nearly laughing when she looked up at Ddraig. "You won't find anything. Fixer doesn't have anything that belongs to you, and if the 'droid he bought has something of yours, take it and leave us alone."
Ddraig grinned beneath his helmet as he leaned over to Blade, "She's a feisty one."
Falker stepped around the corner, "Bring 'em in inside. Danz just finished scanning the 'droid and there's nothing here. Tyrell says we're heading back to the city."
Camie stood up with Deak and Windy, looking over to Ddraig and Blade, "See. I told you."
(∞ ∞ ∞)
Above the spaceport of Mos Eisley, a battered Corellian YT-1300 hovered on her repulsor-field until the harbormaster granted clearance to land. With approval given, Chewbacca centered the 'Falcon over the open pit below and gently lowered her down into docking bay 94.
Chewie began refreshing the 'nav computer files as Solo shut down the engines and stood up to leave the cockpit. A dangling pair of metallic chance cubes on a chain, hanging from the overhead instruments, struck him squarely on the forehead.
"Chewie, Take these things down, will ya?" he blurted, turning and stepping into the corridor outside. Images of Qi'ra, and a life left behind, briefly flashed through his mind as he rubbed his head.
However crazy it was, Chewie believed those chance cubes brought them luck. Unfortunately, they also brought painful memories for his friend.
We had been cruising toward Mos Eisley in silence for some time when Rogue unbuckled and stood up, stepping across the aisle, "I just heard from Tyrell."
He sat back down in the jump seat between 0600 and me. "They finished their investigation of the machinist 'droid that was sold there. The manager at Toshi Station said he just bought the 'droid yesterday and paid in full with Imperial credits, so they're wrapping things up in Anchorhead."
Rogue flipped on his holonet field pack and showed us an image of the Anchorhead site as he spoke. Felth and Topolev leaned in to see.
"The mechanic, his girlfriend and several local kids were hanging out in the station when our troops arrived. The 'droid in question was fully scanned, but our missing data wasn't found. Tyrell and our troops tore the shop apart, looking for it, but found nothing. All of the shop occupants were questioned thoroughly. The owner and his friends seemed surprised when the Lars' place was mentioned. They said the old guy was a bitter old tightwad, and hadn't bought anything from the Jawas in several seasons.
The mechanic, Fixer, said that Wormie had to work constantly to keep the old, broken-down 'droids and 'vaporators on the Lars place running. He also said Wormie was overdue to pick up some refurbished power converters he had stripped off several wrecked Landspeeders. After further questioning, it came out that Wormie was a nickname for Lars' nephew, Luke. I told him that checked out with what we found at the Lars place."
He paused a moment, taking a breath. "We have to keep that missing data from making it off-world, and I think the missing nephew, Luke, is the key".
We all nodded in agreement. Rogue stood and keyed on his comlink as he moved back to his original seat, calling our snitch to alert him.
"So Luke is the nephew, not a farmhand" said Etz.
.0600 went back to cleaning his rifle. I leaned my head back on the vibrating bulkhead and thought, if I were a young farmboy and wanted to make it off-world with two 'droids, I would be looking for a ship and a pilot. I would have to be looking in Mos Eisley. According to Rogue, as sparsely populated as Tatooine is, there's no other major spaceport to be found. We were going to need strategic roadblocks and patrols monitoring the spaceport docking pits closely, and we'd need it quickly. That was the only way we would have a chance at locating the missing boy before he slipped away with information so sensitive that it unnerved even Lord Vader.
What the hell kind of information was that 'droid carrying?
(Ξ)
We marched through the streets of Mos Eisley in the mid-day sun as I went over and over the events of the busy morning. The flight back from the moisture farm had been a quiet one. Nobody had spoken of what had happened. The 104th Moisture Farm Patrol, or MFP, had been assembled from troops posted all over the known galaxy and sent here to enforce Imperial law without the backing of the Empire or the Legion, and keep the peace among the low-life 'citizens' so the moisture farmers could bring in their harvests without fear.
It was the farmer's jobs to keep the planet supplied with water, so the Empire could maintain a connection to the low-life, should certain "services" be needed. It was a sick cycle. Keep the scum in check, cultivate it and allow it to grow until it served your purpose.
A ragged, weathered old man sitting in the sand with his back resting against a wall looked up at us as we passed. He wore tattered wraps with a layer of loose fabric covering his mouth and nose; flight goggles protecting his eyes. He reached out a hand, begging for money or food. His left forearm was covered in tattoos of shapes and starships that disappeared up under the loose sleeves of his garment.
No one else seemed to notice him as we kept moving.
This morning at the Lars place had been an exercise in how things shouldn't go. Not one of us could have predicted the old woman's fear and anxiety, her lunge for the detonator, or her horrific death protecting "Luke".
Our arrival on-planet occurred in the dead center of something far larger than stolen intelligence recordings. I could feel it, deep down in my core; there were forces at play here that went far beyond the scope of missing 'droids and stolen data. I tried to put it out of my mind as our formation came to a stop. We were at a corner. The main road heading into the heart of the city lay ahead, and the spaceport was a hard right.
Captain Tyrell turned to Rogue, "We're going to set up roadblocks. My men and I will operate a checkpoint here and stop everyone entering the city center. There will be others on some of the side streets closer to the spaceport. You take your men and begin a door-to-door search for our missing farmboy and his 'droid. We must keep them from slipping by."
Rogue reacted, "I agree with the roadblocks, but I was going to have our troops in the foot corridors leading to the spaceport. We have a local snitch who suggested that we position ourselves there to be most effective. I don't think a door to door search would prove to be . . ."
Tyrell ripped off his helmet and spun back to Rogue, stepping in close to our CO, "Let me make one thing painfully clear to you. I'm not impressed with your group of outcasts and the dirty gear you don't bother to clean. Yes, I know where most of you have been called in from, and I have never understood the Sandtrooper mentality. You can bet after my troops return to the Devastator, they'll be cleaning their gear before returning to their normal assignments."
His nostrils flared as he took a step closer to Rogue, "I am in command of this search and recovery mission, and report directly to Lord Vader. We don't need to drag the local scum into this. At least I speak for MY troops when I say we don't need any local help. I'm keeping the troops from your unit to help staff my roadblocks. Felth, you fall in with my group too. Get on with your assignment, 1009."
Rogue slowly nodded once, his dislike for Tyrell growing exponentially. He wished this encounter had occurred in one of the dark mineshafts on Kessel where no one would have heard the screams, and the good Captain would have disappeared without a trace. "Yes sir."
Tyrell and several of his men moved to the opposite corner of the street and stopped a merchant with an aging Treadwell 'droid. Rogue gave a nod Danz, Blade, Ddraig, Taka, Falker, and Felth to go with them. The rest of us continued on to the next side street and began inspections of the shops and residences we found. We searched one quickly and moved along to the next.
(Ξ)
We were on a roof in the scorching heat, having just completed a sweep of the building. We broke formation to catch our breath and sip some distilled water from our packs.
Rogue, disgusted, pulled off his helmet as he took out his comlink and called out to our snitch, Garindan. There was a crackle of silence for a moment or two, and then the reply, "I am your eyes and ears, sir, what can I do for you?"
Our CO thought for a second and then spoke into the tiny comlink microphone, "The Captain has ordered us to perform a door-to-door search. We won't be able to patrol the spaceport as we discussed. I need you to position yourself in that general area and inform me if you see any new faces, or anyone that appears out of place. The boy we're searching for will be accompanied by a 'droid or two; definitely a bi-pedal protocol model, and possibly an astromech model. He'll be looking for passage off-world."
"As you wish, sir" came the reply. Rogue clipped the comlink back on his belt and pulled his helmet back on as we left to continue our sweeps.
(Ξ)
Two Jawas led an immense Ronto through the busy sandy street as a battered old landspeeder came around a turn and into view. Tyrell held a hand up, motioning for the young male driver to come to a stop. Davin Felth moved to the rear of the speeder and the captain stepped up to the driver as he eyed the two stowed 'droids riding in the back; a gold protocol 'droid and a blue astromech.
"How long have you had these 'droids?"
The boy responded, "'Bout three or four seasons."
The old man sitting beside him turned to face Tyrell and chimed in now, "They're up for sale, if you want them."
Tyrell, completely wrapped up in his self-importance, continued, pressing the occupants for more information, "Let me see your identification".
The old man leaned in closer, across the cockpit, now staring intently at the captain and making a small circle with his fingers as he spoke, "You don't need to see his identification".
Tyrell seemed dazed for a moment, and then he slowly and deliberately repeated the old man's words, "We don't need to see his identification".
The cloaked and hooded old man spoke again, "These aren't the 'droids you're looking for".
As if drugged, Tyrell looked up and spoke to the other troops in his command, "These aren't the 'droids we're looking for."
Playing a mental game, and manipulating the feeble-minded captain, the old man spoke again, "He can go about his business . . ."
We couldn't believe what we were hearing. The old man was not only sidestepping Tyrell's questions, he was telling him what to say! Felth stared in complete disbelief as again Tyrell echoed the old man, "You can go about your business."
As if now finished with the minor annoyance of Captain Tyrell, the old man spoke once more, looking away down the street, expecting to be forgotten within several moments, "Move along."
Again, the dazed Captain Tyrell echoed his words, wrapping up the encounter and sending the speeder on its way, "Move along . . . MOVE ALONG."
They boy complied, and the well-worn speeder pulled away, heading deeper into the city. The troopers of the MFP stared at each other in disbelief. TD-8733, Danz, was the first to break the long silence and speak, "What are you doing?! Why would you let them go? They're the strongest match to the profile so far, and you just let them ride away without so much as a second glance, much less a questioning."
Tyrell rubbed his forehead, replying indignantly, "What are you talking about? I didn't do any such thing."
The MFP troopers glanced at each other in disbelief as Tyrell moved to stop the next vehicle. The old man, the boy and the two 'droids had now disappeared into the city.
(Ξ)
Chalmun's Mos Eisley Cantina was situated near the heart of the marketplace, and only a short walk from the spaceport. When the current proprietor, Chalmun the Wookiee, took ownership, there were Imperial Troopers from the old squad crawling all over the place. It seems that the previous owners, the Vriichon brothers, had been running an illegal spice den from the site. For some time had been burying the bodies of those who got in their way down in the basement. The frenzy surrounding the arrests and the scandal eventually died down, and Chalmun had completely renovated the place in an effort to help people forget.
Since then, the cantina had always been considered to be the place in Mos Eisley to hire or be hired, for pretty much anything one might be interested in. It was a shadowy, cool oasis from the relentless heat of the desert, and a haven for locals and pilot regulars with downtime to burn while in port.
The worn, brown landspeeder that Tyrell had mysteriously allowed to pass into the city skimmed down the street and floated to a stop adjacent to the front entrance of the cantina.
The old man and the boy climbed out as the protocol biped lowered the squat body of the astromech unit to the ground. The two 'droids fell in behind them as they headed inside.
In the dim space beyond the steps down, the Bith band was pumping out their rhythmic sound over the low roar of dozens of conversations, filling the smoky bar with an upbeat ambience.
The old man knew the cantina well, having frequented numerous times over the years. He slipped into the crowd, heading for the bar.
Wuher the bartender barked at Luke as he entered.
"Hey! We don't serve their kind here."
Luke was unsure what he meant, "What?"
"Your 'droids. They'll have to wait outside, we don't want them here", Wuher instructed.
The kid immediately addressed the issue with the gold protocol 'droid, sending it and the astromech back out to the speeder. Turning, the boy stepped down into the main room and approached the bar. Wuher felt a tugging at his shirt, and turned around to face the young man, who asked for a drink.
Without changing his vacant, gruff gaze, he filled and served the drink order without a word. Then he moved away, leaving the boy standing with his drink beside the Aqualish regular, Ponda Baba, and his companion, Dr. Evazon, a human with a horribly disfigured face.
Garindan, our informant from the planet Kubaz, sipped cool water and sat at a table watching the room as the new arrivals settled into the smoky den. He knew that anyone looking to get off-world quickly would most likely come here to hire the ride. His sensitive eyes rolled left and right beneath his protective goggles. He watched as the boy took a sip of his drink. The old man that came in with him was now talking to a pilot at the bar with his back to the kid. Dr. Evazon tapped the boy on the shoulder, and started a conversation. The boy wanted to be left alone and didn't seem interested in talking, but Evazon persisted.
Garindan swept his eyes over the bar, settling on Mamaw Nadon, the Ithorian hammerhead in one of the rear booths with the bar fly locals Muftak and Kabe. His eyes darted back to the boy as the old man turned and took control of the conversation with Evazon.
The good doctor howled, shoving the boy out of the way as he drew his blaster and stepped toward the old man. The kid fell backwards, crashing into a table, and knocking it over in a spray of spilled drinks and gaming chips.
The band stopped playing, and all eyes were on the scene at the bar.
Wuher yelled, "No Blasters! No Blasters!" and dove behind the bar away from the two.
Evazon squeezed off a shot which was somehow deflected. Suddenly the dim light of the room was shattered as a meter-long shaft of blue energy sprang from a grip in the old man's hand. The shimmering, humming blade flicked down and up in a quick series of precise, controlled strokes, severing Evazon's hand and the arm of Ponda Baba as he rushed in to help his friend.
They both collapsed, moaning on the floor, leaving the old man standing alone at the bar. He held the blade defensively before his face as his eyes swept over the room, giving a momentary glimpse of the warrior knight he once was.
He extinguished the blade, returning the handle to a clip on his belt and moved to help the boy up from the ground. Wuher gave the band a glare, and they began playing again, as if nothing had happened. An intrigued Garindan took another sip of his water as the old man and the boy followed a towering Wookiee to an alcove table in the back of the bar.
The Kubaz spy stopped a human patron passing his table, handed him a few credits and sent him out the front door of the bar. He watched him leave, then turned to keep an eye on the aging warrior, the boy, the Wookiee and the Corellian pilot with the red blood stripe on the legs of his trousers.
(Ξ)
Outside, the bar patron counted the credits as he walked over and approached us, gesturing back toward the cantina. "Hey! There's been a scuffle inside there. The hermit just took out two guys at the bar with a lightsaber! Crazy Jedi wannabe."
Across the street, the farmboy's 'droids watched from their position beside the battered, brown 'speeder.
(Ξ)
A few moments later, Etz and I walked through the front door of the cantina, rifles at the ready. We stepped down into the main room, pushing past several regulars lounging on the steps. As we approached the bar, the crowd parted.
"We heard there was a disturbance in here", Etz said to Wuher, the bartender.
The barkeep gestured to the back of the room, pointing to the old man.
Through the haze I saw his brown robes and white hair, and the boy seated beside him, "Alright, we'll check it out."
We cautiously walked around the end of the bar, eyeing the scum clientele on all sides, stepped over both dismembered arms on the floor, and moved toward a small recessed booth in the rear of the room.
The pilot I remembered from our first day at the docking bay sat there with his Wookiee companion, alone now. No old man, no kid. I led the way past the table, Etz followed, stopping momentarily to lock eyes with the cocky Corellian pilot and the Wookiee.
We worked our way past them and continued on toward the rear door with no sign of the other two. We exited to the street outside.
I looked both directions, but they were nowhere in sight. "I don't like this. We're really close, and I think they just hired a pilot. C'mon, let's go let Rogue and the others know what we found. No comlinks. I don't want Tyrell to know."
It was now well past mid-day and troopers at all the checkpoints were growing restless. The growing crowds on the streets above the marketplace made our search efforts increasingly difficult.
As the others continued with their interrogations, TK-1138 (one of Tyrell's men) meandered away from his post, down a series of steps into the partial shade of the area surrounding the central marketplace. He quickly made the rounds, looking into the shops as he passed by. Satisfied with his quick look around, and the short break from the direct sun, he turned to head back when he saw a young man, an old man, and two 'droids; one bi-pedal protocol and an astromech coming toward him.
They stopped dead in their tracks as his gaze moved from the 'droids back to the humans and he locked eyes with the smiling old man.
(∞ ∞ ∞)
The sudden static burst broadcast over our comm channels was almost deafening. I quickly dialed down the volume as my helmet display showed that it was originating on a frequency from one of the Devastator's troopers, TK-1138. Rogue clicked on his chin mic and paged the trooper. When he got no response, our little group double-timed it through the streets, following the signal source indicator. We made our way down several flights of stairs that led through a terraced marketplace.
There were twisting corridors and alleys lined with citizens and merchants. We passed a small 'droid sale lot and a used speeder lot as we wormed our way through the crowd following the locator signal; the beacon indicated we were almost on top of it.
Suddenly Rogue stopped dead in his tracks. 4120 and I almost colliding with him from the abruptness. He turned and backtracked several steps, peering down a side alley.
There, a few steps into the shadows, in the center of the path was the source of the comm static. The missing trooper was lying face down, neatly cut in half. To one side of the path lay his torso, his lower body and legs to the other side, the wound cauterized, and his armor melted from some great heat. His helmet had been thrown loose as he hit the ground and had rolled up against one of the stone walls.
His E-11 blaster had been sliced down the center from front to rear. A hand and several fingers lay beside it in the sand. We all stared in disbelief for a heartbeat, then jerked our eyes upward, scanning the rooftops and alleyways to see if we could catch a glimpse of someone that might have committed this crime, or someone who might have seen who did. There was no one.
We spread out to search as Rogue knelt down and picked the helmet up from the dirt. He pulled his own off, setting it aside, and reached inside TK-1138's helmet, flipping a tiny switch. The information display screen inside flickered with static for a moment, and then Rogue was able to see what 1138 had seen in his last moments. A few alleys, some stairs, a used 'droid lot, a speeder salesman, a few citizens and a rickety looking C1 'droid scurrying to get out of his way. He stopped walking, turned to the left and looked down an alley, then turned back to check the other direction.
The silent image flickered on the tiny screen inside the dead trooper's helmet. It showed him turning around to go back up the stairs. Then, in the middle of the frame, was an old man in a hooded robe. A young man and two droids were behind him. The old man smiled as he raised an empty hand from beneath his cloak to wave, but instead, thrust his palm out forcefully toward the camera as his stance lowered and centered, feet planted wide.
The trooper was thrown into the air, back several paces across the alley into a wall. A flash of white light blipped across the screen from the jarring impact to the camera, and then the image returned, white levels recalibrating as its' owner fell to the ground.
1138 rolled and stood up quickly, the dirt of the ground rushing across the little screen. He looked up at a wall as he regained his feet and whirled around toward his attacker, E-11 drawn and held out in the lower portion of the video frame. An energy bolt flew from the barrel of the blaster toward the old man's head.
In a blur of motion, a blue energy blade flicked up and into the path of the red bolt. There was a flash as the shot collided with and ricocheted off the shimmering blade, inches from the old man's head. The protocol 'droid shrank in fear, and the boy stared in disbelief. The trooper involuntarily glanced to follow the blocked bolt.
Rogue's brow furrowed with concern as he continued to watch the recording.
1138 looked back to the man in brown just as a sweeping arc of blue energy flashed down through the blaster in his hands, splitting it in two, taking off his fingers that were wrapped beneath the muzzle and the hand holding the grip as well. He looked at his severed fingers on the left hand and the smoking wrist-stump on his right arm, then looked up as the blue blade blurred once again, slicing through the air and down toward his waist. The recorded image rolled and wobbled as the trooper fell to the ground, and his helmet was knocked off and came to rest in the sand, looking down the alleyway at the old man, boy, and 'droids hurrying away.
Rogue switched off the recording and looked back over to the two sections of 1138's body and the assorted hand parts. A Jedi, here? He thought they had been exterminated long ago. His mind reeled with all the possible implications stemming from this discovery. He pulled his own helmet back on and clicked the comm with his chin, "All members of the MFP, report to the main corridor leading to the plaza in the lower marketplace immediately."
Then he keyed his comlink paged Garindan.
(Ξ)
All of our men heard the message over their comm sets, turned to look at each other and took off running down the main street toward the plaza. Tyrell yelled at the top of his lungs for them to stop, spewing various threats about what happens to troopers who desert their posts.
They never looked back.
(Ξ)
Rogue, 0600, 4120, 1265, Etz, and I were waiting in the open plaza next to the used speeder lot when Danz, Falker, Taka, Ddraig, and Blade appeared out of one of the hallways.
0600 waved them over as he spoke to Rogue, "The guy running the speeder lot says he just bought this brown, junker landspeeder from a young kid and an old man. He didn't see any 'droids, but the description he gave fits the two we're looking for. These two are very dangerous."
1265 laughed, turning to Danz, "Sounds dangerous to me."
0600 grabbed him by the arm, "The old man took out 1138 and left pieces of him scattered all over the alley over there if you have any doubts."
The laughter stopped immediately.
A modified VCX-100 light freighter lifted up from one of the bays and climbed into the sky overhead as Rogue stepped forward. "The snitch doesn't have anything yet, but he's working on it. Move through the corridor leading to the docking bays. If they've bothered to come this far dragging two 'droids, they'll be trying to leave on a ship from one of those bays. We need to be nearby and ready, I don't care what Tyrell says."
As he said this Tyrell stepped off the bottom step from the streets above and walked over to us. "You and your men are all going to find yourself in the brig for deserting your posts and . . . "
Rogue interrupted him, "I've had enough of you. 1138 is dead. An old man traveling with the farmboy left him in several pieces down that alley."
Tyrell had no memory of the old man and young kid from the street.
"Your roadblocks aren't doing the job, Tyrell, they're already here! And I don't care if you DO report directly to Lord Vader, this city is now OUR jurisdiction and you are a guest in it. We're officially operating outside the Empire. I suggest you remember that, Captain, or you might find yourself the victim of an unfortunate accident."
Danz moved closer to Rogue, "You said it was an old man and a kid. Was the old guy wearing a hood?"
Rogue nodded.
Danz turned to Tyrell as he pulled off his bucket, "The Captain here stopped them out on the road earlier today. He was asking for the kid's identification and then the old man spoke up saying we didn't need to see it. Tyrell kept repeating everything the old guy said and then told them they could go about their business, and let them go!"
Tyrell glared at Danz, "I did not! We never stopped an old man and a boy!"
The rest of the roadblock crew pulled off their buckets, "Yes you did, you don't remember? You let the guy talk back to you and then LET HIM GO! How can you not remember?"
Rogue pulled off his helmet and glanced over to 0600 and me, "Based on what I saw on 1138's holo-recorder, as incredible as it seems, I would say it was a Jedi mind trick." I slowly nodded thoughtfully in agreement.
Tyrell spewed, "Jedi mind trick? The Jedi are extinct!" and pushed his way through us to find his troops, "Lord Vader will not find this little joke amusing."
Rogue held up the dead troopers' bucket and played the holo recording again for the others to see firsthand what had happened. As it ended, the others looked back at the broken body of 1138.
Rogue's comlink crackled on his belt, "I have something for you, sir." Garindan was a people-watcher, a silent observer from the shadows, that's what he did, and he had been busy watching.
Rogue unclipped the mic "Yes, what do you have?"
The electronic voice squawked back, "They're on their way to one of the docking bays. Meet me in the main hallway. I am at bay 85." Then the line went dead.
I had been standing close enough to hear the exchange. "The Wook and the Corellian" I whispered quietly as I glanced over at 0600.
Garindan's message had given us a target. We all pulled on our helmets and hurried down the hallway toward the spaceport and the docking bays.
(Ξ)
Tyrell had re-grouped his men and had them patrolling the street just outside the docking bays, watching for 'droids. Davin Felth was turned away from them, listening to something on his comm, something that sounded important. He thought about sharing the information with Tyrell, then thought better of it, and slipped away from the main group heading toward the docking bays. Tyrell saw him leaving, and followed.
(Ξ)
0600 looked up as Felth joined us. He caught up to us as we headed through the narrow alley. "I've been monitoring your frequency since Tyrell let the old man and the kid go. I don't trust him; haven't since I got transferred to his division. I figure you know more about what's going on here than he does."
As he fell in with our formation, several others from Tyrell's group appeared as well, weapons on and ready. They wanted a blood payment for 1138's death.
We all marched through the city with a purpose now, people scurrying to move out of our way as we struck an imposing image bearing down on them. Captain Tyrell followed a few moments later.
We came around a corner to find Garindan leaning against one of the shadowy walls. Rogue stepped up to him, "Which way?"
Garindan squawked "Bay 94!"
Rogue turned to us, "Alright men, load your weapons."
Felth sprinted to the front of the pack, hurrying past Rogue as we headed toward bay 94. He must really feel the need to prove himself to someone, I thought, as we marched; maybe it was to himself.
I thought sure we would have been heading back to bay 85, to that battered YT-1300 freighter, the Corellian and the Wookiee. I had a very bad feeling about this. It was all wrong. I know that old man and the kid talked to the Wook in the bar, unless they had been passed off to another ship?
We all hurried down the dark, narrow steps toward the bay. I could hear sand grinding beneath our boots on the stone stairs, and the high pitch of our blaster power cells cycling up toward full and ready.
Felth and Rogue spilled out into the dim recesses of the entry to the bay. The freighter from bay 85 was in here now. Etz and I had been right!
I could see the Wookiee in the cockpit removing something that was hung from the overhead instruments. The Corellian human was uncoupling fueling lines and closing the access hatch when Rogue gave his order, "Stop that ship . . . blast 'em."
As he spoke, time seemed to slow and barely move at all. The Corellian pilot's eyes grew wide as Felth and Rogue fired on him, narrowly missing.
With a lightning-quick reflex, he drew his thigh-holstered blaster and returned their fire. Taka shoved Rogue forward to the sandy floor, saving him, as the wall above them both exploded, blowing a fueling line wildly through the air. It slammed into Taka's back and burst out through his chest, spraying blood across his white armor and the sandy floor.
Topolev and Danz ran to find cover behind some supply crates. Rogue dove into a tucked roll and came up firing.
Tyrell's men pushed ahead of us, wanting revenge for the death of TK-1138. Several were cut down by the wild blaster fire of the cornered Corellian. Etz, 0600, Ddraig, 4120, Blade and I poured into the open space along with them.
Tyrell raced off the steps behind us and opened fire as well.
Several energy bolts flew past us, Etz whirled away just in time, falling to the ground, as 4120 and I ducked behind the cover of the stone walls. We were no good to the Empire dead. There was a flash of light as another violent volley of blaster fire was exchanged between the Corellian and both Felth and Tyrell. Somewhere during the altercation, Tyrell was hit and went down.
1265 grabbed Taka's arm and dragged his body back to the bottom of the steps as Ddraig covered him, firing on the fleeing Corellian pilot who quickly retreated up the entry ramp into his ship, firing back at us as he ran.
The ship's inner airlock door slammed down and sealed as the boarding ramp was hoisted and locked, sealing the ship. I glanced up at the cockpit again as we charged forward, firing at the hull. The Wookiee was working furiously to get the ship ready to lift off, as his human companion burst into the seat beside him. The deafening drone of the customized engines drowned out every other sound as they energized. All energy moorings fell away from the freighter, and her shields came online, absorbing our blaster fire.
The invisible push of the ships' anti-grav repulsor field thrust down hard on the floor of the bay, slamming into our chests and throwing us all back several steps as suddenly the ship unceremoniously and unsteadily rose up over the edge of the docking bay pit.
She pivoted sharply and her main engines fired as soon as her front mandibles cleared the rim, in direct violation of the surface-proximity replusorlift restrictions set by the spaceport authority.
Alarm claxons were now blaring as I fired one last shot toward the ship that was tearing away in an upward arc over the city and heading rapidly for the stars. All we could do was watch it go. Falker was trying to reach the port master for information on the escaping ship. Danz cursed and blasted one of the scurrying pit 'droids in frustration.I pulled off my helmet and rubbed my throbbing forehead, then raised my blaster and destroyed the wailing alarm claxon on the wall above us.
Rogue and 0600 moved past Ddraig and 1265 at the base of the steps where Taka was.
(Ξ)
On the streets above, Tyrell's men whirled from their checkpoint duties in time to watch a beat-up Corellian stock light freighter blast its way out of the docking bays below and climb rapidly out of sight into the cloudless, pale-blue Tatooine afternoon sky.
(Ξ)
Rogue watched the 'Falcon racing skyward. Tyrell, lying face up in the sand also saw the escape. He closed his eyes. Through the pain he slowly realized that he had most likely allowed the data he was searching for to slip from almost within his grasp, to well beyond his reach.
Rogue ripped off his helmet and knelt beside the injured Captain, his furious voice spewing, "They're gone, Tyrell! They just ripped out of here and headed offworld. Three of your men are dead and so is Taka. You've got a lot of explaining to do. Your checkpoints didn't work exactly as you planned, did they sir?" With that he stood up and went to see about Taka.
As Rogue finished, Tyrell lifted his bucket to his face and clicked his chin-activated comm switch, hailing the command deck on one of the Star Destroyers blockading far above. "Tyrant, come in Tyrant, this is Captain Tyrell." His comm crackled a moment before a response came.
"Captain Tyrell, this is the Conquest. Tyrant is resetting their communications grid. What can we do for you?"
Tyrell grimaced in pain as he continued, the helmet shaking in his hands "Conquest, the package we have been searching for is on a freighter heading your way."
Under the intense heat of the Tatooine suns he felt a cold sweat trickling off the top of his head. "I need a clear channel to the Death Star. Put me through to Lord Vader."
A moment of silence passed, then the communications officer responded, "I'm sorry sir, he's on his way to a meeting with the Grand Moff Tarkin and a prisoner at the moment, but I assure you, I will have him speak to you as soon as he is free."
The Death Star communications officer switched off the comm, silencing the gurgling, gasping sounds of a dying Captain Tyrell lying on the sandy floor of docking bay 94 in Mos Eisley. After wrapping up his conversation, the dark form of Darth Vader stood motionless, fist clutched tight, deep in thought. He was rolling over in his mind what the inept Tyrell had just said with his dying breath, something about a surviving Jedi.
He turned to the communications officer again, "I want the helmet recording showing the fugitives the moment it arrives." He turned and exited the room, heading deeper into the heart of the station, toward his private chambers as currents of anger radiated away from him, rippling through the Force.
In this remote, inner area of the battle station most of the corridors were empty. His footsteps echoed as he walked, and the fallen Jedi beneath the black mask thought back over the years to the first time he had ever used the Force to choke someone, accidentally killing his beloved Padme for siding against him with Obi-Wan.
He remembered how it felt to be the new apprentice to his Sith Master. He had been dubbed Darth Vader, and was to become the proud Lord of his new Empire. The dark side coursed through him so freely then, so savagely uncontrolled.
In his rage, he had destroyed the one he loved. He had given himself over to the teachings of Darth Sidious in the hopes of keeping her alive, to alter the shadowy future he had foreseen for her in a premonition of her death. Somewhere along the way in his lust for more and more power, he destroyed all for which he had fought and suffered.
He entered a security code and the blast doors to his chambers slid open. As he stepped inside, they quickly snapped shut and locked behind him. It was a dark, cold place, as cold as the dark knight's heart. Situated on the far side of the room sat his pressurized meditation chamber. The top half of the octagonal sphere was raised, the external steps lowered for his entry. He silently ascended them and settled into the cushioned seat in the center. He sat silent for a moment, replaying events from long ago in his mind.
He remembered standing face to face with General Grievous, staring into his own dark future, living as half man and half machine. He remembered an exhilarating and draining lightsaber confrontation with his former master and friend, Obi-Wan. He remembered attempting to gain a better position from which to end his master's life, and the instant the searing energy blade lopped off both his legs and his last remaining human arm, dropping him into the scorched obsidian and ash on the banks of the Mustafar lava flow.
He had reached out with every ounce of hate, still trying to fight, as he slid backwards further and further with each attempt to crawl back to face his master. He painfully remembered the intense heat as his clothing and hair had burned from his body, severely charring and blistering his skin and disfiguring his face, and what remained of his body.
He touched a small switch in the armrest beside him and the top half of the black sphere lowered, sealing him inside. The hissing of the pressurized airflow ceased, and a mechanical armature lowered from above him, clasping around the polished, black dome of his helmet. It tripped a magnetic release mechanism inside the helmet, and raised back out of the way, taking the dome with it. Vader then manually released a lock on either side of his head.
There was a hiss of escaping air as he rocked the facemask forward, separating it at the jawline, pivoting forward on pins near the twin silver tusks at the corners of the "mouth". Once clear of his head, he lifted the mask off the pins and set it aside on the ledge that ran around the inside of the chamber.
He remembered very little of his flight back to Coruscant in the medical pod.
He tried very hard to forget the work the MU 'droids had done to him, the pain had been excruciating.
Then they sealed him inside this helmet, and much of the laborious effort to breathe had been removed.
He was raised to face his new master, only to learn that in his rage, he had killed his beloved Padme. He closed his eyes in that agonizing moment, fighting back the pain of his loss. It was then that Sidious had told him that not only was the bio-regenerating suit and breath mask keeping his body protected, but his twisted manipulation of the dark side of the Force on his apprentice's behalf was also keeping him alive. Without that, the suit would fail him and he would die.
So long as Sidious was able to convince Vader that this lie was true, he never had to fear that one day his power might be in jeopardy; that he might be murdered in his sleep by his apprentice, the way he had murdered his own master so many years before. With the secret that Sidious kept, the tragedy surrounding the death of Anakin Skywalker and the birth of Darth Vader was complete and fierce. The very reason Anakin had fallen to the dark side, was now dead and gone, and he was a once again a slave, at the mercy of his dark master. His pain had come full circle.
He drew in a deep breath, eyes closed as he thought more about what had transpired on Tatooine.
Tatooine.
He wondered why Bail Organa's daughter had bothered to go there with the Death Star plans. It held no military significance that he knew of. Once it had been his home, but that was long ago, before his mother's death.
He opened his eyes slightly, staring off into nothingness as images and emotions from the past surfaced yet again.
He was remembering his mother's funeral, glancing over at the clear container filled with the Tatooine sand he had scraped from atop her grave so long ago. He missed the comfort she had once given him.
His scarred brow furrowed as he rolled over the events of the past few days. The Death Star plans had been stolen by rebels that had been incinerated on Scarif, but not before they had transmitted the plans up to Senator Organa in orbit above the surface.
Leia Organa had been cool enough under fire to send the plans off with a 'droid. The jettisoned astromech had made it to the surface of Tatooine and managed, several days later, with the help of someone or something, to smuggle them off-world, but who? Why? And where would they head now? The Dark Lord searched the Force for answers.
A light flashed on the console panel before him. He pressed and held the comm button.
"Lord Vader, the helmet recording has been received and has been forwarded to your chambers, sir."
Turning to a small screen, he opened the awaiting file and began watching the images. He saw routine traffic stops and the inspections of several 'droids. Then, the trooper recording the images wandered away from the roadblock down a shady hallway. The hall led to stairs that took the trooper to a lower level of the busy marketplace. As he watched the images of places familiar, Vader could now smell with his memory that which his destroyed nostrils could not, the hot sands and dry winds of his youth.
Then he leaned forward, inspecting the images closer. The trooper had just caught sight of an old man, a boy and two 'droids. The old man's face was nearly covered by his deep hood, on a flowing cloak that was all too familiar. The figure raised his hand and the recorded image rolled wildly as the trooper was thrown backward to the ground. The trooper raised his blaster as a sweeping blue flash cut across the screen top to bottom and then side to side, as the old man killed him, with a lightsaber.
As the helmet rolled over in the sand, the camera captured a few seconds of the old man and the boy. The man looked around as he and the others hurried away. As they did, Vader caught sight of something hanging from the boy's belt; a lightsaber.
The lightsaber his former master had stripped from him so long ago, lifted from the superheated scorched banks of the Mustafar lava flow. The last lightsaber he himself had built as a Jedi.
The anger and hate was swelling in him now.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, and he had a new apprentice!
(∞ ∞ ∞)
