Chapter 2 – The Pratt Family
Hyrum had no intention of wasting time on this trip, so stops were kept to a minimum. At rest areas or gas stations, everyone rushed to the restrooms with the shouted warning of "If you're not back on the bus in fifteen minutes, you get left!" Meals were always something take-out, which ended up in burger wrappers and soda cups gathering like drifts of snow on the floor of the bus. Spending the night somewhere was out of the question – everyone was expected to sleep in their seats while Brigham took over the wheel for his brother.
He did, however, relent in one matter. When Liberty contracted a nasty bout of food poisoning from the hole-in-the-wall Chinese place they'd lunched at, he granted everyone an hour to stretch their legs at a rest area while she recovered and he cleaned up the mess on the bus. Not that anyone felt like doing much running around in six inches of swiftly building snow, though the kids promptly got in a snowball fight with Cody and Austin.
Anakin and Brigham, meanwhile, found themselves engaged in an unexpected but amusing exploration of the men's room at the facility.
"It's not a good sign to hear the guy in the stall next to you laughing uncontrollably," Brigham said concernedly. "Especially when said guy's a cyborg."
"For a Mormon, you have an unbelievably sick mind," Anakin replied. "I'm laughing at the graffiti on the stall walls, for your information."
"Yeah, that's pretty funny stuff," Brigham conceded.
Anakin browsed the messages collected over the years – simple notes to announce one's existence ("Joe and Sheldon were here on way to Nova-Con 6/4/02"), declarations of love ("Bob loves Brandy" types were most common, though "Meet me here on 5/23 at noon for a good time" was also popular), crude insults ("If you can read this, bite me"), amateur poetry ("Here I sit – broken-hearted – tried to quit – but can't get started"), and oddly philosophical quotes ("A clear conscious is a sign of a bad memory") peppered the walls. Sooner or later some city worker would obliterate this unofficial record of the history of this place with a wipe of a paintbrush, but for now Anakin merely enjoyed it.
Most amusing were the little arguments that people started through their scrawls, arguments that were carried on by people the original writers would never meet:
"If you love your gal – show some class – don't put her name – where you wipe your (deleted)."
"Who made you king of the bathrooms?"
"Everyone's a king here. This IS the throne room."
"The Imperial throne room, home of Emperor Poop-atine."
"Who was de-throned with a royal flush."
"If you ask me, this conversation's gone down the toilet."
"AND DID WE ASK YOU?"
With a smile Anakin added a note of his own – "Anakin Skywalker passed through this stall on his way to Salt Lake City Christmas of 2004. He strongly suggests that everyone involved in this 'throne room' debate lay down their pens and get a life."
The next day, after a long and uncomfortable night of attempting to sleep on a hard bus seat, they reached the Idaho capitol. Brigham's cousin was collected from a street corner in downtown Boise with all the fanfare of a school bus driver picking up a student from a bus stop. She picked up her suitcase and stepped into the vehicle, gaze fixed on her feet.
"Merry Christmas, Opal," Brigham told her, taking her suitcase in one hand and hugging her with his free arm. "Glad you could make it."
Petite and mousy, with hair, eyes, and complexion as pale as the stone whose name she bore, Opal seemed to have a distinct phobia of making eye contact with anyone. She murmured a thank-you to Brigham and promptly slunk to the back of the bus, sitting just behind Gideon and Trapper and opening a laptop computer as a signal that she was not about to make small talk.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Hyrum?" Brigham asked his brother in a low voice.
"Of course," Hyrum replied. "Opal needs to have contact with the family. You've said that yourself."
"But you know how shy she is," Brigham retorted. "She's likely to have a panic attack the minute she gets in the house."
"Oh calm down. This is Christmas. How bad can it be?"
"Daddy!" screamed Emma. "Gideon's saying there's no such thing as Santa Claus!"
"Well, tell Gideon that he's going to get a lump of coal in his stocking if he keeps teasing you," Hyrum retorted.
"I'm just stating a fact, Dad," Gideon replied. "There's no Santa, and I'm not gonna pretend there is, either."
"Gideon, don't be mean," Lydia chided. "Tell Emma you're sorry."
"For what? Telling her the truth? Ninth commandment, 'thou shalt not bear false witness.'"
"Gideon, don't smart-mouth your mother!" Hyrum ordered.
"I'm just telling it like it is!" he defended.
"Besides, he's got a point," Trapper added.
"Trapper, please don't get involved," ordered Austin.
"Santa's too real!" Christopher shouted.
"Is not!" Gideon retorted.
Cody rubbed his temples. "It's gonna be a long holiday."
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Luke strolled between the lighted trees of Temple Square in Salt Lake City, keeping his senses open. He'd expected to feel like an interloper on the grounds of this religious edifice, but to his surprise he felt welcomed by both the atmosphere and the people. And though the night was bitterly cold and snow was drifting steadily down, the aura of the Christmas season seemed to warm him.
Reminds me of Life Day celebrations back home, he thought.
A horse-drawn sleigh slid past, carrying a load of camera-toting tourists past the meticulously decorated Square. One of them recognized him and began to say something to his companion, but Luke quickly dipped into his short-term memories and slightly altered that thought from it's Luke Skywalker! to what's that idiot doing walking in this weather? He didn't want to attract more attention than he had to on this mission.
He hitched his scarf up higher to cover his nose and mouth and walked on. This had been the first time the planet of Earth had requested the Republic's intervention in any matter. Apparently the crime level in this area had been skyrocketing during the past few months, and all signs pointed to organized crime – namely, Black Sun. As Earth was not yet equipped to deal with a galaxy-spanning crime syndicate, they'd asked the Republic for aid in extracting the organization before it had a chance to take root on their planet.
The Republic had sent Jedi Master Skywalker to handle the affair. Though reluctant to leave his students, Luke had accepted the offer, if only because it meant he might be able to see his father for the first time since summer. Needless to say, he was disappointed to find out that Black Sun had yet to expand its operations outside Salt Lake City, thus cutting off any need to leave the city in order to complete the mission.
Why here, though? Sure, it's big, but I can think of other places where a sudden rise in crime is less likely to be a concern. Here a crime hike is a crisis. Whoever's taken charge of Black Sun must either be an idiot or have some other itinerary that I have yet to discover.
"Luke?"
He turned to see an old Greyhound bus pull over to the curb – and Brigham Pratt's head sticking out one of the windows.
"Hey Brigham!" he called out. "How's it going?"
"What are you doing here?" Brigham replied. "I thought you were back on Corusant with your Jedi trainees!"
"Luke!" Anakin pulled down his window. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"I'll explain everything later," Luke explained. "Meanwhile, can I get a ride?"
"You bet!" exclaimed Brigham. "Hey Hyrum, open the door! This guy's a friend of ours!"
"If he's a friend of yours, Brigham, I'm very afraid," came the reply, but the door opened.
Welcomes, introductions, and greetings were exchanged all around, and Luke took a seat beside his father as the bus continued on its way.
"Are we there yet?" shouted Emma.
"Hang on for ten more minutes, baby," Lydia encouraged. "We'll be at Grandma's soon."
"So what's going on?" asked Luke. "What are you doing here in Utah?"
"Brigham invited several of us to his family's home for Christmas," Anakin explained. "What are YOU doing in Utah?"
"Black Sun."
"You're kidding."
"No, I'm not. They've got operations here, and I've been sent to put a stop to them."
"Black Sun's setting up in Salt Lake?" asked Cody, raising an eyebrow. "That's like opening a strip joint in Vatican City."
"What's Black Sun?" asked Hyrum. "A plague?"
"Close enough," Anakin murmured.
"It's the biggest organized crime syndicate in the galaxy."
Everyone turned to stare at Opal, who blushed when she realized she'd spoken aloud and slouched deeper into her seat.
"You're a Star Wars fan?" asked Austin.
She mumbled yes and sank lower.
"Hey, don't be shy about it, honey," Liberty told her. "We're fans ourselves."
Cody was grinning. "Man, if Zack were here, he'd be screaming about finding the girl of his dreams!"
"Easy on her," Brigham whispered, elbowing his friend.
"Are we there yet?" demanded Christopher.
"Of course we're not!" Gideon retorted. "We haven't even reached Grandma's street!"
"Got a place to stay, Luke?" asked Hyrum. "There's room at our parents' house."
"I have reservations at a hotel not far from here," he replied.
"Well, at least stay for dinner," Lydia encouraged.
"I'd be happy to."
"We there yet?" asked Wendy, more in repetition of her brother and sister than from actual boredom.
"No, we're not there yet!" Hyrum snapped. "Geez Louise, I'm going to go crazy here in a few minutes."
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The Pratt residence was a large and gorgeous house set just outside the city limits, glowing with Christmas lights. The interior was warm and comforting – and bustling with people. Brigham had two brothers and two sisters who'd shown up for Christmas (a third sister, Vera, was serving in Iraq as an Air Force pilot), and two of them had brought their families as well. In addition to Hyrum's brood, there was Brigham's parents Hazel and Jacob, his gangly-looking younger brother Felix, his sister Judy, Judy's husband Clinton, their eight-year-old twin son and daughter Lexus and London, Brigham's teenage sister Ruth, his grandmother Alzina… and, of course, Opal, who'd retreated to a corner as soon as politely possible.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Pratt," Austin greeted Jacob Pratt, shaking his hand. "Austin Powers and my son Trapper."
"Austin Powers?" exclaimed Clinton, laughing. "The International Man of Mystery? Yeah, baby!"
Austin's face went unusually taut. Anakin tensed. He knew Austin detested being teased or ridiculed for his infamous name.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Clinton said immediately. "Didn't mean to…"
"That's okay," Austin replied, relaxing. "I guess I should get used to it."
The kids bonded almost immediately, and the seven of them retreated to the next room to watch "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." Opal looked plaintively that way, as if longing to join them.
"Grandma Alzina, this is Anakin Skywalker," Brigham introduced, leading him over to a white-haired, frail-looking woman in a wheelchair next to the fireplace. To Anakin he whispered, "Try to speak clearly, she's going deaf."
"I HEARD THAT, BRIGHAM!" Alzina screeched. "Going deaf, my foot!"
Anakin burst out laughing. He liked this woman.
"Looks like Darth Vader to me," she went on, looking Anakin up and down before shaking his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "What's next, Boba Fett going around saying he's Han Solo? By the way, Mr. Vader, your son's a real hottie!"
"Don't mind her," Brigham whispered even more quietly. "Her mind's starting to go a bit." He slipped off to greet his sister.
Alzina tugged Anakin's arm, and he leaned down to catch her next words.
"I love being old," she said with a smile. "You get to say whatever crosses your mind and no one objects."
He laughed again. "Very pleased to meet you, Alzina."
Mrs. Pratt entered the room at that moment, carefully balancing a tray laden with mugs. "Anyone care for a drink? We have hot apple cider, hot cocoa, and eggnog."
"I thought Mormon's didn't drink," Cody protested, taking a mug.
"It's non-alcoholic eggnog," she explained.
Anakin accepted some cocoa, opened his air intake vent, and began to sip. Felix and Clinton stared, impressed that he was able to drink through the mask.
"Sorry to say hello and run," Mr. Pratt told them, "but Ruth and I need to run to the airport and pick up her boyfriend, Xizor."
His timing was particularly bad. Anakin and Cody were still standing in front of Mrs. Pratt, and poor Hazel was sprayed with eggnog and chocolate as the two of them simultaneously spat out their drinks.
"Prince Xizor?" demanded Vader.
"Xizor?" repeated Cody. "Green guy with a topknot and claws?"
"Yeah, why?" Mr. Pratt asked. "Friend of yours?"
"No way!" Cody screeched. "He's the head of Black Sun!"
"Black Sun?" repeated Judy. "What on Earth is Black Sun?"
"It's not on Earth… actually, it is now," explained Luke. "It's a crime organization that's been plaguing the galaxy for years. It's also the reason why I'm here. We believe Black Sun is responsible for the crime rise in Salt Lake City, and I'm here to investigate it."
Mrs. Pratt gasped, and the tray of mugs crashed to the floor.
"Oh, for land's sakes," Mr. Pratt grumbled, bending down to pick up the broken mugs. "How do you know that Prince Xizor's the head of this Black Sun anyhow?"
"Haven't you read 'Shadows of the Empire?'" Cody demanded. When Mr. Pratt shook his head, he turned to the others. "Has anyone here read 'Shadows of the Empire?'"
"Skimmed it," Luke replied. "Mostly accurate, but some parts were obviously fiction."
Opal hesitantly raised her hand. "I thought Xizor was dead," she said softly.
"Of course he's not dead," Ruth replied. "He's been writing me for a few months now, and he's even been investigating our church. He's a good man, really. Very nice – I can't wait for you to meet him…"
"Ruth," Anakin told her sternly, "I know I'm a complete stranger to you, but please listen to me – Xizor is a dangerous man. He is a skilled manipulator, and he is not above using violence to acquire what he wants. If you maintain a relationship with him, it can lead to serious consequences. And if he is still behind Black Sun, he may only consider you to be a pawn in whatever schemes he has."
Ruth gave him a disdainful look. "Thanks for your input, sir, but I usually don't take advice from people who spit all over my mother." And she stormed out the door.
"Don't mind her," Mr. Pratt advised. "She's eighteen and going through some weird hormonal stage." He shrugged into his coat. "Well, better go pick up the Don of the Intergalactic Mafia." He gave Cody a skeptical look and followed Ruth out.
"I take it nobody believes us," Cody groaned.
"My poor baby," sobbed Mrs. Pratt, not heeding the soggy mess of spilled drinks and broken ceramic at her feet. "I knew it wasn't a good idea for her to be writing that… alien, but a crime lord…"
"It's okay, Mom," Brigham assured her, hugging her. "Anakin Skywalker's here. If Xizor's really a danger, he can keep him under control."
Anakin could only hope this was the case.