Chapter X - Love and War
Luke's speeder bucked underneath him, throwing him to the sands. He rolled to his feet and ignited his saber even as the damaged bike, smoking at its back end, plowed its nose into a small dune and cartwheeled into a depression. Over his head swooped a skycar, its occupants shouting and laughing as they leaped to the ground.
Quickly he surveyed the characters, judging them as best as he was able. A scrawny Rodian, missing a bulbous eye and clutching a blaster in each hand. A Mandalorian with reddish-gold armor and a yellow visor, a slender stun rifle in his arms. A heavily tattooed Devaronian, wearing ragged sleeveless robes and holding an unwieldy blaster cannon. And a female Bothan armed with a long wicked-looking vibroblade. Each wore the Kruvexian crest and looked to be out for blood.
"He's a Jedi!" the Devaronian screeched, the color draining from his face.
"He's still dead meat," hissed the Bothan.
The Rodian charged, yelling and firing with both hands. Luke deflected the fire, the bolts hitting the sand and throwing up dust. Sensing an attack coming from behind, he sliced back and to the left, chopping off an arm. The Bothan screamed in furious pain.
"Serves you right!" snarled the Mandalorian. "The boss wants the Jedi alive!"
Luke angled his lightsaber to catch a stun bolt, which ricocheted back at the Mandalorian and hit him in the stomach. He gave a yelp of pain and collapsed, unmoving.
Something hissed behind him, and he turned to see a beak-like mouth emerge from the pit where the swoop bike lay. The sarlaac clamped its maw around the vehicle and began to snap it to pieces.
The Rodian shouted again and fired as a greenish-tan tentacle wriggled toward him. His aim was terrible, probably resulting from his lost eye, so the serpentine limb was mostly unscathed when it grabbed the pirate and dragged him toward the hideous mouth. The Devaronian, too, tried to shoot the creature, but when he missed he opted for the wiser course of action and jumped back into the skycar, revving it up and flying away.
Luke slashed open one tentacle that reached for him, and the sarlaac screeched in agony. He bolted forward and cut through the limb holding the Rodian. The pirate scrambled to his feet and ran a safe distance away, the severed tentacle still wrapped around his shoulders and torso. Luke began to regret his altruism, however, when three more tentacles grabbed him. He managed to sever one before another gripped his weapon-arm and pulled it taut, rendering him virtually helpless as he slid toward the beast's gaping jaws.
Something swished by his head, and the sarlaac howled and released him, several of its limbs oozing with ichor. Luke stood hurriedly and backed away. But the sarlaac had apparently had enough and was retreating into its hole, growling from being cheated out of a meal.
The Rodian and Bothan eyed him cautiously, keeping their weapons trained on him. He noticed the Bothan's vibroblade was smeared with green. She'd cut him free! Not to be kindly, of course -- she simply didn't want to face her boss' wrath when he discovered she'd allowed a desert monster to kill their target.
"You'd better take your friend here to Mos Eisley," Luke suggested with a nudge of the Force. "He'll need medical care, as will you, miss."
The Bothan looked at the Rodian. "We'd better take our friend here to Mos Eisley," she told him.
The Rodian nodded. "He'll need medical care. As will you, miss."
He grabbed the Mandalorian's shoulders and tried to drag him away. The Bothan did her best to help, but being one-armed she was more of a hindrance now. They were arguing over whether to fire a distress signal and wait for rescue or scrape together materials to make a litter when Luke walked out of earshot.
He squinted at the horizon. Rising from the Dune Sea was the ragged circle of peaks that formed Madman's Crown. It was quite a foreboding landmark, looking bleak and somehow cold against the sweltering landscape.
/Looks like I walk from here/ he thought, slinging his travel pack over his shoulder. /And so much for getting my deposit back on that swoop./
Chyna sat down on an overturned crate and watched the proceedings, marveling. To her left, a female Tusken Raider busily wove strands of bantha hair on a crude loom to fashion a blanket. A bantha lay on its belly nearby and chewed its cut as it watched her with a sort of dull, bovine interest. To Chyna's right, a Zabrak woman sat cross-legged on the ground, adding tea leaves to a portable cooking reactor while the family dewback drowsed behind her.
Directly in front of the young Jedi, under their mother's wary gazes, a Tusken child and a Zabrak boy giggled and squealed as they played some complex game with lines and pebbles in the sand, seemingly unaware that they were from two vastly different peoples and language being no barrier to their fun.
"Rather amazing, isn't it?" Gabriel noted, coming to sit by her.
She nodded. "For all our surface differences, offworlders and Sandpeople really aren't that different."
"There is a story on my homeworld," said Gabriel, "than in America, little rodent animals called squirrels lived. When the Grand Canyon was formed, squirrels on both sides of the canyon were separated from each other. The ones on the north side became bigger, furrier, and had bushy tails. The ones on the south side became sleeker, meaner, and had short tails." He adjusted his robes. "And even though they look different and act different, inside they are the same squirrel."
She smiled. "I like that story. Is it a legend of your people?"
"Not mine," he replied. "It is an American story, and I come from France." He shrugged. "I don't even know if it a true American legend. I just heard it on a movie, 'Fools Rush In.'"
"I haven't seen that. The only Earth holovids I've seen are 'Return of the Jedi' and 'Finding Nemo.'"
"Really? You should see 'Les Miserables' sometime. Wonderful story about the French Revolution -- history of my people!" He beamed.
"Tell me about Paris, Gabriel. What's it like?"
"Oh, mademoiselle, it is lovely!" he exclaimed. "If only you could see it! We have some of the most beautiful buildings, like the Eiffel Tower and the Cathedral of Notre Dame. And the Louvre -- that's an art gallery, very beautiful work there -- and open-air markets and the food..." He sighed. "I miss the food the most. The only Earth food they sell on Corusant is that American grease."
"Hey, I like pizza!" Chyna retorted.
"Pizza comes from Italy, not America," Gabriel corrected.
"Oh, who cares?" she declared. "Your planet sounds wonderful, wherever you go on it. How I'd love to go there and spend longer than fifteen minutes in a spaceport!"
"Maybe Master Skywalker will take us there once the mission is done."
It was as if a cloud had passed over the suns. Chyna's smile faded, and she stared distantly at the horizon. Gabriel felt his own grin vanish. Why did she have to be like this whenever Luke was mentioned?
"Chyna," he said quietly, "Master Skywalker will come back. You will see."
"I just hope nothing's happened to him," she replied in a strained voice.
Gabriel's guts tightened. He'd been part of the Jedi Order for nine months, and during that time he'd come to know Chyna as much more than just a friend. In fact, he could honestly say he loved her. But he wasn't sure if she reciprocated those feelings, especially since he had a reputation as a "ladies' man." Besides, didn't the Jedi Order forbid love? He wasn't sure if Luke was going to keep that rule, and he didn't really want to ask, because he feared the answer.
But if he discovered the woman he loved had a crush on Master Skywalker, that would be far worse than knowing the New Jedi Order forbade love.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked, the question coming out more sharply than he would have liked.
She nodded. "He saved my life, Gabriel. Imperials were going to execute me simply for trying to make a living, and he rescued me from the spice mines and from my punishment. He gave me a new life, a reason to keep living. How could I not love him?"
"Ah." That single syllable conveyed more disappointment than any words in any language could.
"Gabriel? Are you okay?"
He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Oui, yes," he said with a forced lightness.
She pressed her slender hand into his. "Your thoughts betray you, friend. Are you jealous?"
He forced up a mind shield against her probing. "Why do you ask?"
She laughed. "It's not like that. Really. Luke's like a father to me. I love him, but not romantically. You, on the other hand..."
His heart leaped into his throat.
"...are the most self-centered, flamboyant, flirtatious, geekdom-personified man I have ever met!"
"Why, merci!" he grinned. "You flatter me, Chyna."
"And you're an endless optimistic, too. You've been a wonderful friend, and I love you."
"Are we allowed to love?" he asked. "It was forbidden in the old Order."
She shrugged. "If it were banned now, Master Skywalker would have surely told us."
His grin threatened to tear his cheek muscles. "Chyna Skleric, I love you."
"Gabriel DeBour, I love you too."
She took his hands in hers, rubbing his palms with her thumbs. He stared into her eyes, eyes the pale blue-gray of the sky on a slightly overcast day, or the feathers of a blue jay, or pale blue topaz. Never before had he realized just how beautiful a simple, humble, unassuming color like blue-gray could be...
It wasn't until her lips were actually on his that he realized how close she was. His mind seemed to freeze up at the contact. Despite being such an attraction for girls, he'd never actually kissed one on the lips before. What was he supposed to do? Close his eyes? Keep his mouth open or shut? And how in the galaxy were you supposed to breathe?
But eventually even those frantic thoughts dissolved as he put an arm around Chyna and drew her closer, relishing the feel of her against him, her soft mouth, her slim wiry frame, her shining black hair...
The insistent hooting finally caught his attention, and the two of them broke off the kiss and turned. A smuggler ring that had recently joined the refugees was looking on and quite enthusiastically cheering them on. Korie, Xna, and Hekku laughed good-naturedly in their direction, and the Tusken and Zabrak children were covering their eyes and making retching sounds.
"Excuse me, but can a Jedi get a little privacy here?" demanded Chyna. She grabbed a corner of her robe and held it up to form an impromptu curtain between them and the crowd. "Now where were we?"
He smiled like an idiot. "Kissing?"
"Well?" she said mock-crossly. "Aren't you going to kiss me again?"
He was only too happy to oblige, ignoring the disappointed chorus of booing.
"WHAT?!"
Krad's bellow was accompanied by a hard impact in the air, one that was felt even in the next room, where Fangs, Dodger, and Blade were playing a board game. The game pieces danced and trembled like pebbled in a sieve. The troopers cringed, expecting more to happen, but when all remained still they began repairing the disarranged board.
"Damn, I forget how many houses I had on Boardwalk," Blade hissed.
"This reminds me of when Vader got angry," said Fangs, restacking the bills in neat piles.
"No, when Vader got pissed off, officers dropped dead," Dodger corrected. "When Krad's temper blows, stuff flies everywhere. There's a difference."
"I think I prefer the officers dropping dead," grumped Blade as another blast of the Force upended the table.
"What do you mean he left Mos Eisley?!" they heard Krad demand of the newly returned Mandalorian he called Jodo Kast.
"That's exactly what I mean," Kast replied calmly. "One of our Order, code-name Jaws, and his party came across him leaving the city by swoop bike. They attempted to capture him but were attacked by a sarlaac and failed. He was heading southwest, into the Jundland Wastes. Alone."
"Your comrade disappoints me, Kast," Krad snarled. "I want the son of Vader."
"You'll have him. Without his Padawan whelps tagging along he'll be much easier to capture."
A thoughtful silence. "What's in the Jundland Wastes that would be of use to Skywalker?"
"A wizard named Ben once lived out there," Kast offered, "but he hasn't been seen in years. The only other point of interest is Madman's Crown."
"Oh? Describe it. Anything called Madman's Crown must be intriguing."
"Madman's Crown is a circle of mountains deep in the desert. No one sane goes near them, for anyone who enters the Crown risks never coming back out. Even the Tusken Raiders avoid it like a black hole. A few pirates went in there to disprove the rumors, and no one's heard from them since."
Krad gave a contemplative croon. "Evidently he hopes to find something there to defeat us. We could beat him there and set a trap for him. Or..." He was silent a moment.
"Please don't leave me in suspense, boss," protested Kast. "My men and I can't help you if you don't give us information."
"Oh, you'll have it. But this calls for a change of plans. Dispatch the remainder of your men to the Dune Sea, just outside what's left of Anchorhead. The pirates will join you there. I'll call on you when the time is right."
Blade spat. "He's relying on pirates? What are we, chopped gundark bait?"
"We're stormtroopers," Fangs replied. "We're also loyal to the Skywalker family, and he knows he can't fully trust us."
"Does Luke know this git's plotting against him?" asked Dodger.
"Come off it!" Blade exclaimed. "You know as well as I do Luke didn't send him! And he ain't one of Luke's trainees either -- he's too experienced using the Force. I'm betting he offed Admiral Piett himself so he could have himself a Stardestroyer to nuke Master Skywalker! Pity." He turned to spit again. "Piett was the best Admiral in years. We'll miss him."
"We don't know he's dead yet, do we?" Fangs pointed out.
"Shouldn't we warn someone?" asked Dodger.
"One, we're dumb stormies and who's gonna believe us?" Blade shot back, ticking off the points on his fingers. "Two, Destroyer-boy's probably monitoring and/or jamming all communications to and from this wreck. Three, the Republic Senate's slower than mud acting on any crisis and they hate Anakin's guts, so contacting them's useless. Four, we don't know how to contact Luke. Five, we're dumb stormies and who's gonna believe us? And six, Anakin's banished to Earth and can't do squat, so calling him won't help."
"You said the dumb stormie bit twice," Dodger pointed out.
"Oh, stuff it where the sun don't shine," Blade snapped.
"He's coming!" Fangs hissed.
Hurriedly the three of them righted the table, kicked the game board and pieces under the bulkhead, and stood at attention as Krad stalked past. He paused to address them.
"You have been most helpful, Fangs," he said smoothly. "But I must ask one more thing of you."
"Yes, sir?"
"Inform all troops and crew that all but the most vital personnel are to report to the barracks. No one will be allowed to leave them without my consent. Before you go there yourself, tell the hyperdrive operators to set their course for Tatooine."
"Yes, sir."
Dodger snickered. "Sit, Fangs!" he giggled. "Stay, Fangs! Good boy!"
"Shut up before I deck you," Fangs shot back. "Stang, I'll be glad when this is over and I can get my number back."
Once he'd completed his assignment he entered the barracks. Confused-looking soldiers and crew members of all types milled about and chattered amongst themselves -- stormtroopers, sandtroopers, scouttroopers, snowtroopers, steath troopers, TIE pilots, AT- AT pilots, AT-ST pilots, officers, technicians, janitorial staff, mechanics, mess hall staff, even astromech and MSE droids. As Fangs turned to shut the door, he caught a disturbing fragment of conversation between a Mandalorian and a Klatoonian pirate:
"Master Destroyer's orders. Lock and guard the doors at all times. No one's allowed out..."
The door slammed shut as if cutting off all Fangs' hopes of doing something to halt this madness. Even hearing Dodger crank up a stereo playing Counting Crows' "Big Yellow Taxi" didn't cheer him. All his life he'd blindly followed orders, often not knowing the purpose of his actions until much later. Now, when he knew exactly what foe they faced and how to stop him, he was helpless to fight.
Luke's speeder bucked underneath him, throwing him to the sands. He rolled to his feet and ignited his saber even as the damaged bike, smoking at its back end, plowed its nose into a small dune and cartwheeled into a depression. Over his head swooped a skycar, its occupants shouting and laughing as they leaped to the ground.
Quickly he surveyed the characters, judging them as best as he was able. A scrawny Rodian, missing a bulbous eye and clutching a blaster in each hand. A Mandalorian with reddish-gold armor and a yellow visor, a slender stun rifle in his arms. A heavily tattooed Devaronian, wearing ragged sleeveless robes and holding an unwieldy blaster cannon. And a female Bothan armed with a long wicked-looking vibroblade. Each wore the Kruvexian crest and looked to be out for blood.
"He's a Jedi!" the Devaronian screeched, the color draining from his face.
"He's still dead meat," hissed the Bothan.
The Rodian charged, yelling and firing with both hands. Luke deflected the fire, the bolts hitting the sand and throwing up dust. Sensing an attack coming from behind, he sliced back and to the left, chopping off an arm. The Bothan screamed in furious pain.
"Serves you right!" snarled the Mandalorian. "The boss wants the Jedi alive!"
Luke angled his lightsaber to catch a stun bolt, which ricocheted back at the Mandalorian and hit him in the stomach. He gave a yelp of pain and collapsed, unmoving.
Something hissed behind him, and he turned to see a beak-like mouth emerge from the pit where the swoop bike lay. The sarlaac clamped its maw around the vehicle and began to snap it to pieces.
The Rodian shouted again and fired as a greenish-tan tentacle wriggled toward him. His aim was terrible, probably resulting from his lost eye, so the serpentine limb was mostly unscathed when it grabbed the pirate and dragged him toward the hideous mouth. The Devaronian, too, tried to shoot the creature, but when he missed he opted for the wiser course of action and jumped back into the skycar, revving it up and flying away.
Luke slashed open one tentacle that reached for him, and the sarlaac screeched in agony. He bolted forward and cut through the limb holding the Rodian. The pirate scrambled to his feet and ran a safe distance away, the severed tentacle still wrapped around his shoulders and torso. Luke began to regret his altruism, however, when three more tentacles grabbed him. He managed to sever one before another gripped his weapon-arm and pulled it taut, rendering him virtually helpless as he slid toward the beast's gaping jaws.
Something swished by his head, and the sarlaac howled and released him, several of its limbs oozing with ichor. Luke stood hurriedly and backed away. But the sarlaac had apparently had enough and was retreating into its hole, growling from being cheated out of a meal.
The Rodian and Bothan eyed him cautiously, keeping their weapons trained on him. He noticed the Bothan's vibroblade was smeared with green. She'd cut him free! Not to be kindly, of course -- she simply didn't want to face her boss' wrath when he discovered she'd allowed a desert monster to kill their target.
"You'd better take your friend here to Mos Eisley," Luke suggested with a nudge of the Force. "He'll need medical care, as will you, miss."
The Bothan looked at the Rodian. "We'd better take our friend here to Mos Eisley," she told him.
The Rodian nodded. "He'll need medical care. As will you, miss."
He grabbed the Mandalorian's shoulders and tried to drag him away. The Bothan did her best to help, but being one-armed she was more of a hindrance now. They were arguing over whether to fire a distress signal and wait for rescue or scrape together materials to make a litter when Luke walked out of earshot.
He squinted at the horizon. Rising from the Dune Sea was the ragged circle of peaks that formed Madman's Crown. It was quite a foreboding landmark, looking bleak and somehow cold against the sweltering landscape.
/Looks like I walk from here/ he thought, slinging his travel pack over his shoulder. /And so much for getting my deposit back on that swoop./
Chyna sat down on an overturned crate and watched the proceedings, marveling. To her left, a female Tusken Raider busily wove strands of bantha hair on a crude loom to fashion a blanket. A bantha lay on its belly nearby and chewed its cut as it watched her with a sort of dull, bovine interest. To Chyna's right, a Zabrak woman sat cross-legged on the ground, adding tea leaves to a portable cooking reactor while the family dewback drowsed behind her.
Directly in front of the young Jedi, under their mother's wary gazes, a Tusken child and a Zabrak boy giggled and squealed as they played some complex game with lines and pebbles in the sand, seemingly unaware that they were from two vastly different peoples and language being no barrier to their fun.
"Rather amazing, isn't it?" Gabriel noted, coming to sit by her.
She nodded. "For all our surface differences, offworlders and Sandpeople really aren't that different."
"There is a story on my homeworld," said Gabriel, "than in America, little rodent animals called squirrels lived. When the Grand Canyon was formed, squirrels on both sides of the canyon were separated from each other. The ones on the north side became bigger, furrier, and had bushy tails. The ones on the south side became sleeker, meaner, and had short tails." He adjusted his robes. "And even though they look different and act different, inside they are the same squirrel."
She smiled. "I like that story. Is it a legend of your people?"
"Not mine," he replied. "It is an American story, and I come from France." He shrugged. "I don't even know if it a true American legend. I just heard it on a movie, 'Fools Rush In.'"
"I haven't seen that. The only Earth holovids I've seen are 'Return of the Jedi' and 'Finding Nemo.'"
"Really? You should see 'Les Miserables' sometime. Wonderful story about the French Revolution -- history of my people!" He beamed.
"Tell me about Paris, Gabriel. What's it like?"
"Oh, mademoiselle, it is lovely!" he exclaimed. "If only you could see it! We have some of the most beautiful buildings, like the Eiffel Tower and the Cathedral of Notre Dame. And the Louvre -- that's an art gallery, very beautiful work there -- and open-air markets and the food..." He sighed. "I miss the food the most. The only Earth food they sell on Corusant is that American grease."
"Hey, I like pizza!" Chyna retorted.
"Pizza comes from Italy, not America," Gabriel corrected.
"Oh, who cares?" she declared. "Your planet sounds wonderful, wherever you go on it. How I'd love to go there and spend longer than fifteen minutes in a spaceport!"
"Maybe Master Skywalker will take us there once the mission is done."
It was as if a cloud had passed over the suns. Chyna's smile faded, and she stared distantly at the horizon. Gabriel felt his own grin vanish. Why did she have to be like this whenever Luke was mentioned?
"Chyna," he said quietly, "Master Skywalker will come back. You will see."
"I just hope nothing's happened to him," she replied in a strained voice.
Gabriel's guts tightened. He'd been part of the Jedi Order for nine months, and during that time he'd come to know Chyna as much more than just a friend. In fact, he could honestly say he loved her. But he wasn't sure if she reciprocated those feelings, especially since he had a reputation as a "ladies' man." Besides, didn't the Jedi Order forbid love? He wasn't sure if Luke was going to keep that rule, and he didn't really want to ask, because he feared the answer.
But if he discovered the woman he loved had a crush on Master Skywalker, that would be far worse than knowing the New Jedi Order forbade love.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked, the question coming out more sharply than he would have liked.
She nodded. "He saved my life, Gabriel. Imperials were going to execute me simply for trying to make a living, and he rescued me from the spice mines and from my punishment. He gave me a new life, a reason to keep living. How could I not love him?"
"Ah." That single syllable conveyed more disappointment than any words in any language could.
"Gabriel? Are you okay?"
He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Oui, yes," he said with a forced lightness.
She pressed her slender hand into his. "Your thoughts betray you, friend. Are you jealous?"
He forced up a mind shield against her probing. "Why do you ask?"
She laughed. "It's not like that. Really. Luke's like a father to me. I love him, but not romantically. You, on the other hand..."
His heart leaped into his throat.
"...are the most self-centered, flamboyant, flirtatious, geekdom-personified man I have ever met!"
"Why, merci!" he grinned. "You flatter me, Chyna."
"And you're an endless optimistic, too. You've been a wonderful friend, and I love you."
"Are we allowed to love?" he asked. "It was forbidden in the old Order."
She shrugged. "If it were banned now, Master Skywalker would have surely told us."
His grin threatened to tear his cheek muscles. "Chyna Skleric, I love you."
"Gabriel DeBour, I love you too."
She took his hands in hers, rubbing his palms with her thumbs. He stared into her eyes, eyes the pale blue-gray of the sky on a slightly overcast day, or the feathers of a blue jay, or pale blue topaz. Never before had he realized just how beautiful a simple, humble, unassuming color like blue-gray could be...
It wasn't until her lips were actually on his that he realized how close she was. His mind seemed to freeze up at the contact. Despite being such an attraction for girls, he'd never actually kissed one on the lips before. What was he supposed to do? Close his eyes? Keep his mouth open or shut? And how in the galaxy were you supposed to breathe?
But eventually even those frantic thoughts dissolved as he put an arm around Chyna and drew her closer, relishing the feel of her against him, her soft mouth, her slim wiry frame, her shining black hair...
The insistent hooting finally caught his attention, and the two of them broke off the kiss and turned. A smuggler ring that had recently joined the refugees was looking on and quite enthusiastically cheering them on. Korie, Xna, and Hekku laughed good-naturedly in their direction, and the Tusken and Zabrak children were covering their eyes and making retching sounds.
"Excuse me, but can a Jedi get a little privacy here?" demanded Chyna. She grabbed a corner of her robe and held it up to form an impromptu curtain between them and the crowd. "Now where were we?"
He smiled like an idiot. "Kissing?"
"Well?" she said mock-crossly. "Aren't you going to kiss me again?"
He was only too happy to oblige, ignoring the disappointed chorus of booing.
"WHAT?!"
Krad's bellow was accompanied by a hard impact in the air, one that was felt even in the next room, where Fangs, Dodger, and Blade were playing a board game. The game pieces danced and trembled like pebbled in a sieve. The troopers cringed, expecting more to happen, but when all remained still they began repairing the disarranged board.
"Damn, I forget how many houses I had on Boardwalk," Blade hissed.
"This reminds me of when Vader got angry," said Fangs, restacking the bills in neat piles.
"No, when Vader got pissed off, officers dropped dead," Dodger corrected. "When Krad's temper blows, stuff flies everywhere. There's a difference."
"I think I prefer the officers dropping dead," grumped Blade as another blast of the Force upended the table.
"What do you mean he left Mos Eisley?!" they heard Krad demand of the newly returned Mandalorian he called Jodo Kast.
"That's exactly what I mean," Kast replied calmly. "One of our Order, code-name Jaws, and his party came across him leaving the city by swoop bike. They attempted to capture him but were attacked by a sarlaac and failed. He was heading southwest, into the Jundland Wastes. Alone."
"Your comrade disappoints me, Kast," Krad snarled. "I want the son of Vader."
"You'll have him. Without his Padawan whelps tagging along he'll be much easier to capture."
A thoughtful silence. "What's in the Jundland Wastes that would be of use to Skywalker?"
"A wizard named Ben once lived out there," Kast offered, "but he hasn't been seen in years. The only other point of interest is Madman's Crown."
"Oh? Describe it. Anything called Madman's Crown must be intriguing."
"Madman's Crown is a circle of mountains deep in the desert. No one sane goes near them, for anyone who enters the Crown risks never coming back out. Even the Tusken Raiders avoid it like a black hole. A few pirates went in there to disprove the rumors, and no one's heard from them since."
Krad gave a contemplative croon. "Evidently he hopes to find something there to defeat us. We could beat him there and set a trap for him. Or..." He was silent a moment.
"Please don't leave me in suspense, boss," protested Kast. "My men and I can't help you if you don't give us information."
"Oh, you'll have it. But this calls for a change of plans. Dispatch the remainder of your men to the Dune Sea, just outside what's left of Anchorhead. The pirates will join you there. I'll call on you when the time is right."
Blade spat. "He's relying on pirates? What are we, chopped gundark bait?"
"We're stormtroopers," Fangs replied. "We're also loyal to the Skywalker family, and he knows he can't fully trust us."
"Does Luke know this git's plotting against him?" asked Dodger.
"Come off it!" Blade exclaimed. "You know as well as I do Luke didn't send him! And he ain't one of Luke's trainees either -- he's too experienced using the Force. I'm betting he offed Admiral Piett himself so he could have himself a Stardestroyer to nuke Master Skywalker! Pity." He turned to spit again. "Piett was the best Admiral in years. We'll miss him."
"We don't know he's dead yet, do we?" Fangs pointed out.
"Shouldn't we warn someone?" asked Dodger.
"One, we're dumb stormies and who's gonna believe us?" Blade shot back, ticking off the points on his fingers. "Two, Destroyer-boy's probably monitoring and/or jamming all communications to and from this wreck. Three, the Republic Senate's slower than mud acting on any crisis and they hate Anakin's guts, so contacting them's useless. Four, we don't know how to contact Luke. Five, we're dumb stormies and who's gonna believe us? And six, Anakin's banished to Earth and can't do squat, so calling him won't help."
"You said the dumb stormie bit twice," Dodger pointed out.
"Oh, stuff it where the sun don't shine," Blade snapped.
"He's coming!" Fangs hissed.
Hurriedly the three of them righted the table, kicked the game board and pieces under the bulkhead, and stood at attention as Krad stalked past. He paused to address them.
"You have been most helpful, Fangs," he said smoothly. "But I must ask one more thing of you."
"Yes, sir?"
"Inform all troops and crew that all but the most vital personnel are to report to the barracks. No one will be allowed to leave them without my consent. Before you go there yourself, tell the hyperdrive operators to set their course for Tatooine."
"Yes, sir."
Dodger snickered. "Sit, Fangs!" he giggled. "Stay, Fangs! Good boy!"
"Shut up before I deck you," Fangs shot back. "Stang, I'll be glad when this is over and I can get my number back."
Once he'd completed his assignment he entered the barracks. Confused-looking soldiers and crew members of all types milled about and chattered amongst themselves -- stormtroopers, sandtroopers, scouttroopers, snowtroopers, steath troopers, TIE pilots, AT- AT pilots, AT-ST pilots, officers, technicians, janitorial staff, mechanics, mess hall staff, even astromech and MSE droids. As Fangs turned to shut the door, he caught a disturbing fragment of conversation between a Mandalorian and a Klatoonian pirate:
"Master Destroyer's orders. Lock and guard the doors at all times. No one's allowed out..."
The door slammed shut as if cutting off all Fangs' hopes of doing something to halt this madness. Even hearing Dodger crank up a stereo playing Counting Crows' "Big Yellow Taxi" didn't cheer him. All his life he'd blindly followed orders, often not knowing the purpose of his actions until much later. Now, when he knew exactly what foe they faced and how to stop him, he was helpless to fight.