*************
"Storm sounds pretty bad out there," the portly, balding man remarked from
where he stood, practically hovering over Luke's shoulder. He rocked back
on his heels, taking a bite of the round fruit in his hand, wiping his
sleeve across his mouth as the pink juice dribbled down his chin. Luke
nodded without answering, concentrating on the droid he had been trying to
fix for over an hour now. "Of course you can't really hear it from here,
but I stepped outside a few minutes ago and it was raining wampas out
there."
Luke nodded again, barely listening. He was kneeling on the brown tiled floor in the back of the large kitchen of a three-star hotel, a 2-QR protocol droid lying half-assembled in front of him. It was late and he was getting tired and irritable. The man, however, didn't seem to be at all fazed by Luke's lack of manners and continued standing contentedly over the Jedi, watching him work on the droid.
The enormous kitchen, bustling in a hurried frenzy only a few hours before, was now empty of its cooks and servers, and most of the lights were turned off, shrouding the room in a cavernous half-lit gloom that made Luke feel like it was closer to midnight than only two hours after the evening meal. This job was expected to be quick and simple--two droids in need of some minor repair work-and Luke had counted on working for one hour, not five. He sighed and concentrated on what he was doing.
"Of course, storms do tend to get pretty bad about this time of year," the man mused into Luke's thoughts.
"Huh," the Jedi grunted unenthusiastically, He went to work on re-soldering one of the slender metal-jointed robot arms, hoping this person would take the hint that he did not want company and leave him alone. "That's nice."
The man shifted his feet impatiently and Luke could feel the stranger's hot, odoriferous breath on the back of his neck as he hovered. "Just how long is this going to take you?" he asked.
*Why, are you in a hurry?* Luke felt like asking, but he held his tongue. "Won't be long--I'm almost finished," he said out loud
The distracting presence of someone hovering twelve inches away from his shoulder got to Luke a few moments later and he sighed, setting down his tools. "Look," he began, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but would you mind giving me a little space?"
"Oh sure," the man apologized. "Sorry." He took a step back. Luke sighed again.
An hour later, though it seemed an eternity later, Luke finally finished his repair work and left as quickly as he could.
The portly man had been right about one thing: an impressive storm was raging through Kraull. Luke's afternoon and evening had been spent indoors, repairing droids, so he had no idea how long it had been raining, but it did not show any signs of letting up. Darkness had settled in quickly because of the heavy clouds. It seemed the very heavens had been unleashed upon the planet, and the rain, fuelled by a howling wind, struck the ground in a thick, biting onslaught.
Luke made a mad dash through the freezing, pouring rain to the darkened hulk of the Kelson's battered speeder where it was parked unobtrusively behind the hotel, the words in peeling yellow and black paint advertising "Kelson Droid Repair" on the side of the vehicle. The rain pelted thunderously on the roof of the speeder as he started it, the speeder coming to life with a burbling chug. Luke wiped the water out of his eyes, and made a futile effort at drying off before pulling away from the hotel, the dim headlights sweeping a path in front of him.
The drive through the dark, seemingly abandoned streets was a good 30 kilometers to the Kelson home. Luke was surprised at how tired he was. After only ten minutes of listening to the lull of the drive, sleep trailed at the edges of his consciousness. It had been a particularly long day and he only now realized how exhausted he was.
The speeder made an odd coughing sound that startled Luke out of his half- daze. He frowned, scanning the readouts, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He supposed the thing was just being temperamental.
Suddenly, the vehicle pitched violently to the side and made another sound that resembled a sickly gasp. Luke straightened, instantly awake, struggling to keep it on the road as it ground and puttered to a halt.
"Oh, great," he muttered under his breath, trying to restart it. Nothing happened. The speeder's headlights projected out into the darkness to illuminate the rain that was still coming down in sheets. Its steady patter against the roof did nothing to bolster his spirits. "Come on," he hissed at the vehicle, as if his encouragement would help. "Start."
Nothing happened. It was hard to tell from the rain blurring the viewport, but it looked as if smoke was coming out of the grille in the front. He sat in silence for a moment, pondering the fact that this was a perfect end to a perfectly difficult day. Then, sighing in exasperation, Luke pulled on the hood of his parka and got out.
Icy pellets of rain, fueled by a powerful wind, struck his hands and face like needles, but Luke gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it as he threw open the repair hatch of the front of the speeder. A combination of smoke and steam poured out in a vaporous cloud and Luke waved it away, trying to shine his tiny pocket glowlamp into the darkened innards.
There wasn't much to see. Obviously, something had overheated, but Luke couldn't say what. And while he knew a little about speeders, this model was absolutely foreign to him and he didn't have the right kind of tools to even begin tinkering. It took a few more minutes of probing at unfamiliar components and accidentally burning the back of his hand in the process, before, pulling the useless parka closer around him, Luke finally climbed back into the speeder, thoroughly drenched to the skin.
He considered his options. He did not have a comlink, so he couldn't call anyone for help. The speeder was an older model that did not contain any sort of mapping system at all, but at Luke's best estimate, he wasn't too far away from the Kelson's house. It might be a twenty-minute walk at the most. Even in this cold rain, it couldn't be too bad.
Luke suddenly saw the irony of his situation and had to laugh at himself. Maybe he was more accustomed to blazingly hot, dry weather than this, but that was a poor excuse. While training with Yoda on Dagobah, the Jedi Master had made him run through thick foliage and hostile terrain for hours every day, regardless of the weather. Certainly it had rained-almost daily. But Luke was ordered to run anyway.
Luke felt his face warm in chagrin, almost hearing Yoda's voice chiding him for letting himself become indolent and lazy. He was a Jedi and as such it was certainly a priority for him to stay in shape. A walk would be good for him. Another severe gust of wind shook the speeder as Luke engaged the locking mechanism and scanned everything to make sure it was shut down.
The ferocity of the storm met him with full force as he got out of the speeder again and began walking.
******
Standing twelve inches tall, looking up at her, the small hologram of Darth Vader somehow failed to look imposing, now matter that he tried. "You're quite certain it's him."
Mara sighed, sitting down in the straight-backed chair behind her and crossing her legs casually. "As best as anyone can determine with only a physical description and no holo," she replied tartly. "Oswalth Rotulle: height: 177 centimeters; weight: 107 kilos; brown eyes, gray hair. He and his ship both match up. At any rate, they're rounding him up and taking him to the bunker for interrogation. I will fill you in on any new developments."
"I will need to be informed immediately," Vader began, suddenly assuming his commanding tone that she so resented from him. "No delays."
"Yeah, I know the drill," she cut him off impatiently. "You'll hear from me shortly." She signed off before he could say anything else and the small three-dimensional image of the dark lord abruptly shrunk to a pinprick and disappeared.
Mara glared at where Vader's miniature figure had stood. "If you want to find out so bad, then why don't you get your fanny down here and do some of the work yourself?"
*****
"You did WHAT?" Connah Kelson exclaimed.
Luke stumbled into the warm, brightly lit kitchen, Aram's hand at his elbow, helping him into a chair. "I.walked."
It was hard to make the words come out right--he had long since lost all feeling in his face and hands and feet. He was so cold.
"Are you out of your mind?" she asked. "You don't go walking in storms like that. Why--just an hour ago, one of the neighbors outbuildings was virtually flattened by that wind. Do you realize how cold it is out there?"
Luke wanted to nod and reply that he actually had a pretty good idea of how cold it was out there, but Aram spoke up instead. "Make up some hot tea for him, Connah. I'll get some blankets."
"Mm fine," Luke insisted. "Really." He could not seem to keep his teeth from chattering long enough to speak. "Just came to tell you that your speeder broke down..an' thas why I'm so late."
"Just how far did you walk?" Aram asked him.
Luke shook his head. He didn't know, but it had turned out that he'd severely miscalculated his distance from the speeder to the Kelson residence. "'Bout two hours."
"You need blankets and some dry clothes," Aram told him, but Luke waved him away.
"No, I'm fine," the Jedi insisted. He rose to his feet. "I don't want to bother you--I'll be fine. I have to go."
"Well, at least drink some tea," Aram replied. "It will warm you up faster.'
"No, really--"
"You can take the whole pot with you, if you wish," the older man persisted, ignoring the seething glare he suddenly received from his wife. Luke hadn't missed it, however, and had absolutely no desire to find himself in the middle of a confrontation.
"I really don't think--"
"Here, I insist," Aram interrupted, leaving no room for argument as he shoved the insulated teapot into Luke's hands.
*******
Getting warm again seemed to be an impossible task. After Luke had stumbled up to his room above the shop, he downed three cups of hot tea, took a long hot shower, and then turned up the heat in his little room until it was near sweltering. Still, as he climbed into his bed an hour later, huddling under the thick, well-worn blankets, he was unable to keep his teeth from chattering. A night of this miserable cold stretched out in front of him, for the comfort of sleep never seemed to take him, no matter how exhausted he was. For hours, it seemed, he lay huddled in his bed, sweat-dampened sheets tangled around him like ice against his skin, listening to the enraged fury of the storm as it howled and beat against the sides of the small shop throughout the night, nailing a livid torrent against the shuddering windows.
Though he could not sleep, the dreams still managed to come--worse than ever, now, plagued and distorted by the hideous sound of the howling storm, vividly garbled and warped by his feverish imagination and the ever- present, snaking cold. If he had thought he could get away with it, Luke would have tried to go into a healing trance, and rest in the security of a dreamless, empty sleep. But he didn't dare to use the Force in any way, for fear that it would half the Empire down upon his head.
Finally, an eternity later, he stumbled out of bed, the storm still deafening in his ears, and barely made it to the refresher in time to be violently sick.
****
Luke nodded again, barely listening. He was kneeling on the brown tiled floor in the back of the large kitchen of a three-star hotel, a 2-QR protocol droid lying half-assembled in front of him. It was late and he was getting tired and irritable. The man, however, didn't seem to be at all fazed by Luke's lack of manners and continued standing contentedly over the Jedi, watching him work on the droid.
The enormous kitchen, bustling in a hurried frenzy only a few hours before, was now empty of its cooks and servers, and most of the lights were turned off, shrouding the room in a cavernous half-lit gloom that made Luke feel like it was closer to midnight than only two hours after the evening meal. This job was expected to be quick and simple--two droids in need of some minor repair work-and Luke had counted on working for one hour, not five. He sighed and concentrated on what he was doing.
"Of course, storms do tend to get pretty bad about this time of year," the man mused into Luke's thoughts.
"Huh," the Jedi grunted unenthusiastically, He went to work on re-soldering one of the slender metal-jointed robot arms, hoping this person would take the hint that he did not want company and leave him alone. "That's nice."
The man shifted his feet impatiently and Luke could feel the stranger's hot, odoriferous breath on the back of his neck as he hovered. "Just how long is this going to take you?" he asked.
*Why, are you in a hurry?* Luke felt like asking, but he held his tongue. "Won't be long--I'm almost finished," he said out loud
The distracting presence of someone hovering twelve inches away from his shoulder got to Luke a few moments later and he sighed, setting down his tools. "Look," he began, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but would you mind giving me a little space?"
"Oh sure," the man apologized. "Sorry." He took a step back. Luke sighed again.
An hour later, though it seemed an eternity later, Luke finally finished his repair work and left as quickly as he could.
The portly man had been right about one thing: an impressive storm was raging through Kraull. Luke's afternoon and evening had been spent indoors, repairing droids, so he had no idea how long it had been raining, but it did not show any signs of letting up. Darkness had settled in quickly because of the heavy clouds. It seemed the very heavens had been unleashed upon the planet, and the rain, fuelled by a howling wind, struck the ground in a thick, biting onslaught.
Luke made a mad dash through the freezing, pouring rain to the darkened hulk of the Kelson's battered speeder where it was parked unobtrusively behind the hotel, the words in peeling yellow and black paint advertising "Kelson Droid Repair" on the side of the vehicle. The rain pelted thunderously on the roof of the speeder as he started it, the speeder coming to life with a burbling chug. Luke wiped the water out of his eyes, and made a futile effort at drying off before pulling away from the hotel, the dim headlights sweeping a path in front of him.
The drive through the dark, seemingly abandoned streets was a good 30 kilometers to the Kelson home. Luke was surprised at how tired he was. After only ten minutes of listening to the lull of the drive, sleep trailed at the edges of his consciousness. It had been a particularly long day and he only now realized how exhausted he was.
The speeder made an odd coughing sound that startled Luke out of his half- daze. He frowned, scanning the readouts, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He supposed the thing was just being temperamental.
Suddenly, the vehicle pitched violently to the side and made another sound that resembled a sickly gasp. Luke straightened, instantly awake, struggling to keep it on the road as it ground and puttered to a halt.
"Oh, great," he muttered under his breath, trying to restart it. Nothing happened. The speeder's headlights projected out into the darkness to illuminate the rain that was still coming down in sheets. Its steady patter against the roof did nothing to bolster his spirits. "Come on," he hissed at the vehicle, as if his encouragement would help. "Start."
Nothing happened. It was hard to tell from the rain blurring the viewport, but it looked as if smoke was coming out of the grille in the front. He sat in silence for a moment, pondering the fact that this was a perfect end to a perfectly difficult day. Then, sighing in exasperation, Luke pulled on the hood of his parka and got out.
Icy pellets of rain, fueled by a powerful wind, struck his hands and face like needles, but Luke gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it as he threw open the repair hatch of the front of the speeder. A combination of smoke and steam poured out in a vaporous cloud and Luke waved it away, trying to shine his tiny pocket glowlamp into the darkened innards.
There wasn't much to see. Obviously, something had overheated, but Luke couldn't say what. And while he knew a little about speeders, this model was absolutely foreign to him and he didn't have the right kind of tools to even begin tinkering. It took a few more minutes of probing at unfamiliar components and accidentally burning the back of his hand in the process, before, pulling the useless parka closer around him, Luke finally climbed back into the speeder, thoroughly drenched to the skin.
He considered his options. He did not have a comlink, so he couldn't call anyone for help. The speeder was an older model that did not contain any sort of mapping system at all, but at Luke's best estimate, he wasn't too far away from the Kelson's house. It might be a twenty-minute walk at the most. Even in this cold rain, it couldn't be too bad.
Luke suddenly saw the irony of his situation and had to laugh at himself. Maybe he was more accustomed to blazingly hot, dry weather than this, but that was a poor excuse. While training with Yoda on Dagobah, the Jedi Master had made him run through thick foliage and hostile terrain for hours every day, regardless of the weather. Certainly it had rained-almost daily. But Luke was ordered to run anyway.
Luke felt his face warm in chagrin, almost hearing Yoda's voice chiding him for letting himself become indolent and lazy. He was a Jedi and as such it was certainly a priority for him to stay in shape. A walk would be good for him. Another severe gust of wind shook the speeder as Luke engaged the locking mechanism and scanned everything to make sure it was shut down.
The ferocity of the storm met him with full force as he got out of the speeder again and began walking.
******
Standing twelve inches tall, looking up at her, the small hologram of Darth Vader somehow failed to look imposing, now matter that he tried. "You're quite certain it's him."
Mara sighed, sitting down in the straight-backed chair behind her and crossing her legs casually. "As best as anyone can determine with only a physical description and no holo," she replied tartly. "Oswalth Rotulle: height: 177 centimeters; weight: 107 kilos; brown eyes, gray hair. He and his ship both match up. At any rate, they're rounding him up and taking him to the bunker for interrogation. I will fill you in on any new developments."
"I will need to be informed immediately," Vader began, suddenly assuming his commanding tone that she so resented from him. "No delays."
"Yeah, I know the drill," she cut him off impatiently. "You'll hear from me shortly." She signed off before he could say anything else and the small three-dimensional image of the dark lord abruptly shrunk to a pinprick and disappeared.
Mara glared at where Vader's miniature figure had stood. "If you want to find out so bad, then why don't you get your fanny down here and do some of the work yourself?"
*****
"You did WHAT?" Connah Kelson exclaimed.
Luke stumbled into the warm, brightly lit kitchen, Aram's hand at his elbow, helping him into a chair. "I.walked."
It was hard to make the words come out right--he had long since lost all feeling in his face and hands and feet. He was so cold.
"Are you out of your mind?" she asked. "You don't go walking in storms like that. Why--just an hour ago, one of the neighbors outbuildings was virtually flattened by that wind. Do you realize how cold it is out there?"
Luke wanted to nod and reply that he actually had a pretty good idea of how cold it was out there, but Aram spoke up instead. "Make up some hot tea for him, Connah. I'll get some blankets."
"Mm fine," Luke insisted. "Really." He could not seem to keep his teeth from chattering long enough to speak. "Just came to tell you that your speeder broke down..an' thas why I'm so late."
"Just how far did you walk?" Aram asked him.
Luke shook his head. He didn't know, but it had turned out that he'd severely miscalculated his distance from the speeder to the Kelson residence. "'Bout two hours."
"You need blankets and some dry clothes," Aram told him, but Luke waved him away.
"No, I'm fine," the Jedi insisted. He rose to his feet. "I don't want to bother you--I'll be fine. I have to go."
"Well, at least drink some tea," Aram replied. "It will warm you up faster.'
"No, really--"
"You can take the whole pot with you, if you wish," the older man persisted, ignoring the seething glare he suddenly received from his wife. Luke hadn't missed it, however, and had absolutely no desire to find himself in the middle of a confrontation.
"I really don't think--"
"Here, I insist," Aram interrupted, leaving no room for argument as he shoved the insulated teapot into Luke's hands.
*******
Getting warm again seemed to be an impossible task. After Luke had stumbled up to his room above the shop, he downed three cups of hot tea, took a long hot shower, and then turned up the heat in his little room until it was near sweltering. Still, as he climbed into his bed an hour later, huddling under the thick, well-worn blankets, he was unable to keep his teeth from chattering. A night of this miserable cold stretched out in front of him, for the comfort of sleep never seemed to take him, no matter how exhausted he was. For hours, it seemed, he lay huddled in his bed, sweat-dampened sheets tangled around him like ice against his skin, listening to the enraged fury of the storm as it howled and beat against the sides of the small shop throughout the night, nailing a livid torrent against the shuddering windows.
Though he could not sleep, the dreams still managed to come--worse than ever, now, plagued and distorted by the hideous sound of the howling storm, vividly garbled and warped by his feverish imagination and the ever- present, snaking cold. If he had thought he could get away with it, Luke would have tried to go into a healing trance, and rest in the security of a dreamless, empty sleep. But he didn't dare to use the Force in any way, for fear that it would half the Empire down upon his head.
Finally, an eternity later, he stumbled out of bed, the storm still deafening in his ears, and barely made it to the refresher in time to be violently sick.
****
