Episode 2
Chapter 2
Departures, Destinations, and Dex's Diner
DISCLAIMER: Based on characters and situations created by George Lucas. All characters (sans those of author's creation) belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. and I make no financial gains whatsoever by the work presented here.
They walked slowly through the tunnel, side-by-side, with Fett carrying the last of his gear and I'Lai carrying Kai in a soft sling around her body. She had suggested taking the roundabout so he wouldn't have to carry all his things but Fett refused, saying he would rather walk to his ship. This had made her smile, despite her melancholy. Since he had spent much of the morning as well as the previous night inspecting and tuning his ship and loading supplies, she knew in her heart he wanted to spend this time with her and Kai before he departed.
The doors of stone and steel slid open as they approached, and they quietly walked through into the massive chamber of Grand Mountain Hall. Docked just on the edge of the small indoor lake was the Slave I.
Fett stopped I'Lai from nearing any closer with a gesture. She stood and waited as he approached his ship and, as he drew closer, she saw two bursts of green light shoot forth from the hull. The light formed a graph over him, running up and down his form several times. As suddenly as it appeared, the light vanished, and the ramp of the ship slowly descended to the cavern floor. It was then he turned and gestured for her to come to him.
They did not say a word. They simply looked into each other's eyes as Fett touched I'Lai's face, running his thumb over the delicate curve of her cheekbone and cupping her chin. She opened her mouth and took a breath as though to speak, but Fett gently placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. He leaned into her and took her lips in a tender kiss.
Breaking away, he cupped Kai's small face and leaned his forehead against his baby boy's, and I'Lai heard him whisper something in a language she did not recognize. If she had, she would have known it to be archaic Mandelorian, with the words meaning, "I leave her in your strong and caring hands, my beloved son, my Kai."
Her eyes glistened, and her lip trembled, but she did not cry. There was no need. He would return.
Fett ran one last caress through her hair before he turned to go up the ramp. But then he abruptly stopped, and pulled something out of one of the satchels he carried. He turned back and handed it to I'Lai as he softly muttered, "One thing. Tell Calrissian…nice try." With that, he dropped a small but heavy device into her hand. Thanks to his technical tutoring, she recognized the device. It was a homing beacon.
I'Lai sighed and quietly chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Although his expression remained stoic, there was a glimmer of a smile in Fett's eyes as well.
He turned and walked up the ramp of his ship. It closed behind him, and soon the Slave I's engines burned and whirred. The vessel lifted from the cavern floor and ascended toward the peak of Grand Mountain Hall. As it approached, two enormous stone slabs slid apart in the mountain wall and opened the skies for its soaring exit.
It was only when the vast stone portal closed that I'Lai allowed a tear to roll down her cheek. With a small sniffle, she leaned down and kissed Kai's head, cuddling him close to her breast.
If he truly loved you, he would stay.
I'Lai's head snapped up and her eyes darted across the cavern. She saw no one. But…she had heard a voice…that voice…
They laugh at you.
She spun around, searching for the owner of the voice.
They call you unfit to rule, a simpleton in love with scum. They call you whore.
"Who's there?" she cried, clutching Kai to her body. "Show yourself!"
In time.
She called to the Force, seeking the presence. But she could feel nothing, see nothing…She could not feel the dark astral shade behind her as it leaned into her neck, breathing her scent, absorbing her Force signature. She could not feel the unseen hands, with their thick, sharpened nails, tenderly touching Kai's head, slide down her shoulders, moving to her breasts…
Just one sweet taste…"I'Lai?"
She whirled around with a start, eyes huge, mouth agape in a quick gasp to see Nikoa at the tunnel entrance.
The maid wrinkled her brow in concern. "I'Lai, are you all right?"
"Did…did you say something, Nikoa?"
"Yes, I asked if you were all right."
"No…no, I mean, before that…"
Nikoa tilted her head, mildly confused. "But I only just got here, I'Lai. I've brought the transport to take you and Kai home."
I'Lai's brows furrowed as her eyes darted back and forth. "You… didn't hear that…?"
"Child," Nikoa cooed as she moved toward her, "What is it? What's wrong?"
Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth twitched. "I thought…" She raised a hand to her eyes. "It's nothing, I'm sure. I must be tired, that's all..." But she suddenly recalled the hallucination from the day before, and I'Lai started shaking. She tried to hide her trembling by gingerly adjusting Kai in her arms, propping him over her shoulder. "Nikoa…I think I need to see Dr. Him'bron…"
"Maybe that would be wise, I'Lai. With Master Fett's departure and the baby and all the work you've been doing, you've been under strain." Gently, she took I'Lai by the elbow and led her back into the tunnel where the transport waited. "Dr. Him'bron may give you something to calm your nerves…"
As they walked, Nikoa turned over her shoulder to give one last smile to the imperceptible presence standing in the cavern. The entity, in turn, raised his hand to her in a gesture of dark benediction.
At that same moment Kai, slung over his mother's shoulder, stretched out his tiny arms behind her and squealed a giggle before the cavern doors closed behind them.
* * *
"…And please remember that although the many opulent hotels and casinos of Ord Mantell appreciate your patronage, they do not appreciate your blasters. We ask that all weapons be checked--without argument--at these establishments' doors. If you do not comply with policy, you will be shot on sight." The cheerful female voice chirped through the audio system as though reciting a cake recipe. The nubile Twi'leki flight attendant at the front of the aisle happily pantomimed a blaster shot in the chest as part of her landing procedure demonstration.
Burl panicked briefly in his seat, then breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered he didn't bring a weapon.
The disembodied voice continued over the speaker system. "We are making our approach to Worlport. We ask you to please remain seated with your safety braces locked until the craft has come to a complete stop. We wish you the best of luck while visiting the fair sphere of Ord Mantell and again, thank you for flying Xizor Transport Systems!"
Burl clutched the arms of his seat and took heavy pants through his bulbous nose, all the while shooting nervous glances toward his seat window as the transport craft made its graceful-- if nauseatingly fast-descent through the pink misty atmosphere toward the city's main spaceport. His anxiety was thrust into overdrive when a thickly-accented voice beside him suddenly barked, "Don't fly much, do ya?"
"AH!" Burl screeched. His head snapped around to the Red Nikto seated beside him, who wore an expression of bemused concern. Burl, in his fretfulness, had completely forgotten he was there.
"Uh…I mean…no, I don't fly much," the brawny miner uttered. A nervous grin tugged at his lips. "This is only my second time. The first time…" He stopped himself in mid-sentence, fairly certain that the alien stranger had no desire to hear that his first space flight took place aboard a slave ship destined for Orri Prime when he was nine. "Well, the first time stunk too."
The Nikto smiled--or at least appeared to do so--and patted the miner's meaty hand. "Well, you get used to it. Especially after you've traveled as much as I have." The being took a small sip from his complimentary refreshment. "What brings you to this den of iniquity? Are you here for business or pleasure?"
"Uh…" Burl's jaw slacked, and his brows knit for a moment. The question completely baffled him; why was he here again…? "Neither, I guess. I'm looking for someone."
"Huh, aren't we all?" The Nikto let out a garbled laugh so loud it practically shook Burl's hair loose. But the alien's demeanor suddenly snapped from amused to seriously grave as he leaned toward Burl. "You a bounty hunter or something?"
"Me? Shyeah, no! I'm a miner."
"Really?" The Nikto's expression relaxed again. "Well, maybe I can help you find this person. I'm a regular visitor here to Ord Mantell. I know a few people here and there."
Burl eyes widened a bit. "Really? You'd do that? That would be swell!"
"The pleasure would be all mine, my new friend. In these changing and uncertain times, we must do what we can to help our fellow sentients." The Nikto ran a thick claw along the rim of his glass. "So…does this person have a name?"
"Yeah. I'm looking for someone called Black Sun."
For a brief moment, the Nikto said nothing. His only reaction was the tightening of his grin and a quick glance around the cabin. Thankfully, no one else aboard had heard Burl's statement.
The alien turned again to Burl, his grin steady and his voice low. "Ah. Yes, I can definitely help you there. I'll make you a deal, my friend--if you agree to pay my transport back to my hotel, then I will happily take you to where you need to go." The Nikto raised his brows. "How do you fair in credits, my friend?"
"Oh, I'm fine. I got more than enough." He patted the pocket that held the purse of credits given to him by Nikoa.
"Really? Well, then that's settled, isn't it?" The Nikto raised his glass from the arm of his seat to Burl. "To a new friendship! By the way, the name is Baac. Baac Nnsheeat."
"Oh! Uh…" Burl reached for his own glass and raised it to Baac's. "Burl Thutchen."
Baac's grin grew wider, and he clinked his glass against Burl's. "Master Thutchen…welcome to Ord Mantell."
As Burl grinned back and swigged his drink, Baac eyed him, as a Wampa would look upon an injured Tauntaun lying in a bloodstained snow bank.
* * *
"Friend Thutchen," Baac gallantly addressed the miner as they reached the bottom of the exit ramp, "Do you have any baggage to claim?"
"Huh? Uh, no, Master Nn…Nnsh…"
"Please, just call me Baac."
"Baac. No, just what I have with me." Burl showed him the carry-on satchel slung across his wide chest.
"Ah, I see. I myself do have some baggage to claim." He took Burl by the arm, leading him through the swarm of off-boarding passengers toward the space dock terminal. "Why don't you go to the nearest bar and help yourself to a complimentary cocktail whilst I pick up my luggage. Then, I will take you to your destination. Agreed?"
"Uh, sure, OK." Burl looked all around the dock. He was obviously overwhelmed by the amount of peoples and activity around him and, despite his huge size, looked as confident as a lost five-year-old child. He turned back to Baac. "You won't be gone long, will you?"
Baac again let out a booming, high-pitched garbled laugh. Burl weakly smiled back, but was again unnerved by the alien's guffaw. Baac slapped Burl on the back. "What, a strapping boy like you, Master Thutchen, nervous about being left alone for a few moments? That's rich, my friend, RICH!"
Burl scratched his head and shrugged. "It's just that…I ain't never been here before. Never been anywhere before, really, and…"
The Nikto bowed his head. "My apologies, Friend Thutchen. I am quite traveled, and I forget that many fine citizens are not. To answer your question, no, I will not be long. Thankfully, I have a friend in baggage claim here. He is quite expedient." He gestured to the terminal gate. "Please, refresh yourself at the bar. I am confident that by the time I return, you will have charmed many pretty heads with your wit and valor. Just one word of advice: Keep your credits close to you, and try not to look like a tourist. This place absolutely teems with disreputable thugs that prey on honest, hard-working men such as you. Now, off you go!" With that, he gave Burl a light shove toward the gate. Burl smiled and nodded, and then walked through the tall opaque glass doors into the terminal.
After only two or three steps in, Burl stopped and gawked. The terminal itself was a huge, neon-lit assault on his rather provincial senses. Hundreds of beings scuttled about as they entered the terminal from their dozens of ships. Shops, eateries, and bars stretched along the length of the terminal, all of which seemed packed to capacity. Baggage carts with their droid drivers expertly sliced through the crowds at breakneck speeds. Skyhopper drivers stood about, either holding identification signs for their passengers or looking tired and bored. The air was saturated with arrival and departure announcements as well as thumping, highly energetic music and conversations of every known language and decibel level. The mixture of human and alien sweat, perfume, glitterstim smoke, alcohol, food, and at least another dozen unidentifiable smells made Burl feel green about the gills.
It was only when an annoyed Rodian planted an elbow in Burl's back did he move forward. Desperately looking about, he spotted the nearest bar and headed toward it, hoping his newfound Nikto companion would find him there…
As soon as Burl had lumbered through the terminal gate, Baac's smile faded. He turned and walked a few paces away from the gate, unhitching a small comlink from his belt. He turned it on. "You there? It's me."
A voice crackled back, speaking in the tongue of the Aqualish.
"Just now. I'm at the terminal as we speak. Listen, heads up. I've got a rube here asking questions about the organization."
Again the voice, this time with a questioning tone.
"Nah, definitely not. This one's even too stupid to work for the Hutts. Thinks he's looking for a person. I have no idea what his story is, but I do know that the stupid ones are usually the most trouble." Baac looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening. No one was. He continued. "I'll bring him by within the hour. You know how to thank me. Out."
With that, Baac switched off the comlink. Pulling himself up and puffing himself out, he resumed his persona of the well-traveled Samaritan and strode through the terminal gates to find the naïve off-worlder.
* * *
The streets through which Baac led Burl seemed a completely different universe from the grand towers and spirals of the casinos and hotels off in the distance. Small, dirty clay huts and buildings seemed tossed about like spare parts at a junkyard along the narrow unpaved roadways. There were no signs marking any businesses or shops: There seemed to be no businesses at all for that matter. There also seemed to be no people, save for the one or two beings Burl glimpsed here and there scurrying around corners. In the middle of the day, the streets were virtually deserted underneath Ord Mantell's pink-hued clouds.
"Come, friend Thutchen, not too much further," chirped the Nikto as they made their way along the winding streets.
Burl warily looked about him as he scratched his head. "You sure we're going the right way? These buildings don't have addresses. The streets don't even have names!"
Baac turned to his brawny companion, snickering. "My friend, there is a saying here on Ord Mantell: If you don't know where you're going, then you probably don't belong there! Fortunately for you and me, I know where we're going."
"Yeah, but...don't you think it's awfully quiet for the middle of the day?"
The Nikto stopped briefly, shooting Burl a mildly incredulous glare. "My friend Thutchen, I am beginning to think that you grow wary of me."
"No, no, not at all, Baac! It's just...well, I guess I'm just a little nervous, this being my first trip here and all..."
Baac smirked, giving Burl a comforting pat on the arm. "Nothing to be nervous about! You are in good hands." He sprinted forward, making Burl jerk into a lumbering trot to keep up. He continued. "Daytime is always a quiet time in this part of Worlport. Wait until the sun sets--you won't even recognize the place with all the commotion and goings-on."
They turned a corner and walked a few more paces before Baac stopped. Burl found they had stopped in front of a little clay building with no windows. The music that emanated from behind its red door was barely audible, but once again Burl caught the whiff of glitterstim smoke wafting from under the door's crack.
"Well, we're here," Baac announced. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny box, opened it, and pinched a teensy bit of stuff from it. He raised it to his nose, sniffed it up, and immediately sneezed. He returned it to his pocket. "What you seek is in there. I'll be waiting for you out here."
Burl's mouth twitched, opening and closing like an anxious fish unsure of the hook in front of him. He turned again to his Nikto companion. "You're...not coming with me?"
Baac sighed, curling his leathery lip. "Uh, no, unfortunately. You see, the proprietor of this establishment and I have had...a falling-out, as it were. So my presence is no longer welcome here." He thumped both paws on Burl's large shoulders. "But I'm sure you will have no trouble, my friend! Just cordially ask any of the fine clientele inside what you seek, and it will be provided! And tip big--they like that here! Now, off you go!" Again, Baac shoved Burl toward the door. Burl paused, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.
The place was dark, dank, tiny, and housed the rank odor of old booze and glit smoke. It was only after a few moments of adjusting his eyes did Burl realize the place was a tavern. A variety a beings sat at the tiny tables or at the short bar, including an scarred Aqualish and a charcoal-hued one-eyed Wookiee, none of which looked all too polite. An overly ripened human woman danced--or at least attempted to--on a small platform in the back, looking as though she may have actually turned heads half a galactic standard century earlier. The only other human in the place was the surly-looking middle-aged male bartender who welcomed the newcomer with a glare that could have scared off a virus.
Simpering and clearing his throat, Burl mustered all the courage he could and stepped forward to the bar. "Um...I'll have a Corellian whisk--"
"You got a weapon?" The bartender barked as he scuffled over, never taking his eyes off him.
"Uh, no..."
"Frisk him!"
"What--HEY!" Burl suddenly felt himself thrown up over the bar and held there while the one-eyed Wookiee combed through each and every pocket in his short duster with his free paw. He jerked when he felt that same paw ride up between his legs. "I ain't got a blaster, I tell ya!"
"You know this is a private club, son, " the bartender smirked, amused by the scene. The Aqualish let out a burbling laugh at his comment.
"No, I didn't know that! Stop that!"
The Wookiee grabbed Burl off the bar by his collar and pulled him back to the floor, grunting to the bartender that the miner was clean. The bartender leaned into the bar, glaring at Burl as the miner straightened himself. "What are ya doing here, son?"
"Look," Burl grumbled, "I was told that if I came in here, there'd be someone who could help me find a guy called Black Sun! Then before I know it, I'm tossed around like a--"
"Black Sun?" The bartender smiled, revealing his five remaining teeth. "Well, why didn't you say so? We can help ya with that! Can't we, boys?" Throwing them a quick knowing wink, he motioned to the Wookiee and the Aqualish.
Burl let out a sigh of relief, comforted by the bartender's depleted smile and change in demeanor. "Hey, that would be great, really great! But you know, I'd still kinda like that whiskey--HEY! WHAT THE--"
Chairs flew, tables were knocked over, and the alien bodies of the Wookiee and the Aqualish were suddenly heaved into motion as they descended upon Burl. A sack was thrust over his face as his arms were painfully pinned behind him. Again he was knocked over the bar, but this time his feet were lifted from the floor, and he could feel metal binders encircle his ankles. He felt the massive Wookiee's furred arm crush against the back of his neck. A rough rope cut around his wrists. Despite his size, Burl was completely defenseless against the ambush, yelping and bellowing, "HEY! CUT IT OUT! I DIDN'T DO NUTHIN! OH GODS, DON'T KILL ME! I WAS SENT HERE! I GOT INFORMATION! I GOT INFORMATION FOR BLACK SUN!!"
Nonchalantly wiping out a filthy glass, the bartender snorted, "Tell it to the boss--if you live long enough..."
Burl felt himself lifted off the floor and slung over a huge shoulder he presumed was the Wookiee's. "Please, aw please, don't kill me! Please! Aw, come on!" he cried, wiggling violently in the Wookiee's grip. The Wookiee roared in irritation at the Aqualish, who in response pulled a short blunt club out of his belt and struck Burl's sack-covered head with a sickening THUNK! The miner slumped unconscious.
"Thank you," griped the bartender. "Now get him outta here! The boss is waiting for him."
The Aqualish kicked open the tavern's archaic door, leading the way outside. Just as the Wookiee, carrying his unconscious load, and the Aqualish set foot onto the dusty road, a landspeeder driven by short, squatty Snivvian a banked a nearby corner at breakneck speed and stopped short of the tavern door. Just as the Wookiee was about to heave Burl into the back seat, a thickly accented voice crooned, "Aren't you forgetting something?"
All three aliens turned to see Baac Nnsheeat leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed, wearing an expression of bemused anticipation. Rolling his four bulbous eyes, the Aqualish shoved his hand into Burl's front pocket, pulling out his small purse of credits and lobbing them over to the Nikto. Baac expertly caught it in mid-air.
As he opened the purse to inspect the contents, Baac said, "Since you're heading back to that way, mind giving me a lift to the casino?"
The Aqualish lumbered toward Baac, eventually standing to loom over him. Baac's demeanor melted from arrogance to discomfort as the taller alien mumbled in nearly understandable Basic, "Don't press your luck, Baac."
The one-eyed charcoal Wookiee and the squatty Snivvian practically howled in laughter as Burl was tossed into the backseat of the speeder. Baac narrowed his eyes into a deadly glare and made sure the speeder and its occupants were well down the street before spitting into their dust.
* * *
He was very near to releasing his seed, she could tell by the ecstatic grimace on his face. Over and over, she had tried to turn away from the bodies in coitus, clench her eyes, but she could not move. She was cemented to the corner of the room, held against her will, feeling small, feeling helpless, feeling just as violated herself--for deep in her soul she knew that this was not lovemaking...
She saw him arch underneath his lover and heard him cry out. The petite, dark-haired nude female straddling his body, however, made no sound and gave no indication of any emotion, be it pleasure or otherwise. She simply watched him as though he were nothing more than words on a datapad.
One last spasm, and he was spent. He sank back into the thin mattress, his bare chest heaving with each breath. It was only then the woman showed a hint of reaction with a tiny smile. Slowly, she raised a hand and passed it over his eyes, a finger tracing down his nose over his lips. She parted her lips to speak, her young musical voice caressing each word...
"Si'at siikaa eusss'na Sith, sei ti'maa eusss'na criiah taee…"
His breathing calmed immediately, disturbingly so. His eyes glazed, and his mouth gaped open. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Padme..." before sinking further into his cot, as if he had just passed out from too much drink. If it had not been for the slight rise and fall of his chest, it would appear that he was dead.
The petite girl slid off him, wrapped herself into her cloak. Turning to him one last time, she murmured, "If you so wish, Obi-wan," and, as silently as she had entered, left through the small door.
It was then that she felt her invisible shackles release, and she felt herself flung after the small woman into the night.
Outside, there was a storm, although she had heard no inkling of it inside the small mud cottage. The winds whipped sand up into vicious funnels, stinging her eyes, her throat...strangling her furious words of humiliation and betrayal as she glared at the petite brunette girl leaning against the hut...
"How could you!" she screamed. She felt the sensation of falling to her knees, although she could not be sure that she was truly there at all in that moment, in that sandstorm, staring at her young mother, for it all seemed unreal, hazy. "How could you...Mama..."
The woman said nothing as she listened to the sobs, witnessed the fury. She merely stood there against the wall with one hand placed over her womb as though it would help to fortress the seed within her. She saw the woman's lips curl into a sinister smile and saw her eyes slit. She heard the low rumblings of a laugh come from the woman's throat, growing with the same intensity as the desert winds hurling about them...and followed by the words...
"Founder of the New Republic. Champion of the entire galaxy. And still such a child. An ignorant, clingy, stupid little girl." The woman stepped forward toward her, allowing her to see every facet of her beautiful, unmistakable face, her huge brown eyes, her high cheekbones, her flowing chestnut hair, until she stood toe to toe with her. Leaning into her face, the petite young woman's voice changed from musical to malicious as she growled, "You are unfit, Vader-spawn! Pathetic! Weak! No progeny of Vader's will hold this galaxy! Only MY child! MY child will be the EMPIRE! MY CHILD WILL WATCH YOU DIE!"
And as she spoke, then she began to change. The woman suddenly grew taller, looming over her as she watched. Her hair darkened from chestnut brown to pitch raven black and sprang into ringlets that twisted over her neck and shoulders. Her irises morphed from deep chocolate into the color of simmering coals. Her face sharpened from its roundness, the chin pointing down and the forehead sweeping higher...her face was becoming familiar, strangely, hauntingly familiar...And all the while she laughed a low, throaty laugh of hideous satisfaction as the desert winds engulfed them--
"STOP! STOP! AGH--"
Only when she banged her head into her desk did Leia completely awaken.
She reeled back in her chair as she raised a hand to the small lump forming on her brow. As her eyes cleared, she shot an anxious glance about her private office. She listened to the silence in the darkened room, the only light being the small desk lamp illuminating the stacks of datapads piled neatly upon her desk. Rubbing her eyes with her delicate fingers, she breathed a heavy sigh as she realized she had, again, fallen asleep at her desk.
I'm tired, that's all, she thought. With everything that's happened over the last few months, and this morning...that's it. I'm just tired...the doctor said I'd need more rest now, but...I have so much to do...and now the dreams have come back...
She realized her thoughts were racing, and she snapped herself out of her fog reaching for the datapad in front of her. It was the datapad she had probably picked up well over fifty times that day, and she found herself staring at the data again. Scanned across the tiny screen were the results of medical tests administered by her personal physician the day before.
She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes when she felt the twinge of a tear forming. "Come on, Leia," she whispered to herself, "If you could get through everything else in your life, you can certainly handle this..."
But suddenly, Leia felt her chest constrict and her throat tighten. She suddenly felt terribly alone and, in spite of herself, a little scared.
She stared at the holophone for several long, quiet moments before she decided to make the call.
* * *
The blip of the holophone stirred Luke from the pages in his lap. Very gently, he gathered the archaic paper pages into their proper order, save for the one he was reading which he placed on top, and hurried to the holophone com. He glanced at the timepiece on the wall--who could be calling at this hour...?
He tapped the com button. "Skywalker here." The incoming image fuzzed at first, and then sharply focused atop his desk, and he grinned. "Leia!"
Leia's holographic image returned his warm smile. "Good evening, Brother Luke. Am I disturbing you? I know it's late..."
"No, not at all! You never disturb me, you know that! I was just doing a little reading. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"
Leia's smile broadened--she knew Luke had been working very hard on his formal etiquette and manners as well as his Jedi training. And his hard work was showing. "Oh, I just haven't talked to you much lately. We've both been rather busy."
"Well, you far more than I, Leia!"
"Yes, well..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Luke noted a strange, distant look in her eye. He was about to comment on it when Leia suddenly blurted, "I received a transmission from Lando today. It seems Governor I'Lai has released Boba Fett from her custody."
Luke's grin diminished somewhat, and he knit his brow. "Are you concerned?"
She sighed and lightly shook her head. "He swore an oath of parole in front of Lando and I'Lai, two New Republic officials. Even I have to admit that although he has certainly pushed the boundaries in the past, he has never completely violated the statutes of galactic law. That oath will hold him to that. Besides," she said wistfully, "having experienced his feelings for I'Lai, he showed me that he may be harsh and brutal, but he is not evil."
"I have to agree," Luke added. Again, Luke saw the look in Leia's eye, and he didn't need the Force to tell him something was on her mind. "Leia, that isn't the reason you called me, is it?"
"No." Her eyes dropped to her desk briefly before she raised them again. "Luke, would you...like to meet me somewhere? Maybe have a bite to eat? Just...to get out and talk for a while?"
He leaned back slightly, mildly surprised by this request. It was rare that Leia ever wanted to go out, particularly at this late an hour. In fact, her hermit-like behavior and her workaholic nature of recent months had proven to be a point of contention between her and Han...uh-oh...could it be Han...?
"Um, sure Leia. Where do you want to go? The Pearl? The Scarlet Spire? The Spire is pretty fancy--"
"No, no," she said, tightly shaking her head. "I don't want to go anywhere I'll be fawned over by maitre'ds, reporters, or political sycophants!" She sighed again, a soft smile tugging her lips. "I'd like to go where no one knows my face."
He couldn't help but laugh. "That's a pretty tall order, Leia!"
"I know. But...I thought maybe you might know somewhere. A place where I can get a really big Jhin'ca sundae! I've been craving one for days..."
Luke chuckled again. Sure, why wouldn't a scruffy farm-boy know of a good greasy spoon? At that moment, he just happened to glance down at the pages in his hand, and his grin widened. The old, yellowed papers were from Obi-wan Kenobi's personal journal, first volume, written during his first years at the Jedi Temple. Ironically, he had just read a passage in which ten-year-old Obi-wan was raving about the best nerf steak he had ever had at this little hole-in-the wall place in Coruscant's lower levels...
"Leia, I think I have a place in mind. I just hope it's still there..."
* * *
A labored check in the Coruscant business directory confirmed that the place did still indeed exist, difficult as it was for the operator to find. This made Luke quite happy, for more reasons than one. Not only was there an all-night diner available not too far from either himself or Leia, but it was also something real, tangible, and special from Ben Kenobi's past that had remained intact and unscathed by Palpatine's tyrannical purge of all things Jedi and Old Republic.
Changing out of his Jedi garb and into a clean tunic and trousers, Luke left his quarters and walked through the dark yet now partially restored foyer of the ancient Jedi Temple. He took a brief moment to admire the work already done in the Temple, although it had a ways to go before being fully restored to its former glory.
At first, Luke was baffled that the Emperor hadn't burned the Temple to the ground: But after spending the last several months living there and overseeing its restoration, Luke began to understand why Palpatine hadn't even so much as removed one brick. The Temple was more than just a building--it was a holy place, sacred ground that cradled the purest essence of the Light Side of the Force, and Luke felt comforted and safe being constantly surrounded by its benevolent aura. He realized that Sidious couldn't step one foot into the place, and quite possibly feared whatever outcome may fall upon him if he destroyed it. Despite his campaign of murder and terror, there was one Jedi besides Ben and Yoda that Sidious could not destroy, and that was the Temple itself.
So instead, Darth Sidious built a large durasteel fortress around it, complete with guard towers and ion cannons, and proclaimed it condemned: Anyone who was caught trespassing on Temple property would be shot on sight and their families imprisoned for life.
"Your greatest weapon was fear, Sidious," Luke whispered to himself, "and yet, no one harbored more fear in his heart than you." Shaking himself from his reverie, he continued through the foyer to the street platform, and hailed a skyhopper.
As he climbed into the backseat, Luke tossed a tiny datapad to the Dug driver. "Take me to the address on the screen--Coco Town." The Dug threw Luke a slit-eyed glance over his shoulder before pulling his goggles over his eyes and hitting the fuel pedal full throttle. The driver banked corners, cut off other drivers, dipped too low too fast and ascended just as recklessly. As he regained his balance and quickly fastened his seatbelt, Luke couldn't help but think this Dug had taken driving lessons from Han Solo at some time or another...I've flown just about every mission one can think of during the war, he thought to himself, but I'll never get used to city driving.
After several more minutes of speeding wildly through Coruscant's air-streets and Luke hosting his heart in his throat, the hopper screeched to an abrupt halt, throwing him up against the back of the front passenger seat. Before he had a moment's chance to curse out the driver, the Dug turned and belched, "Fifty credits--plus tip!"
So much for the advantages of being a war hero. Luke tossed a cred chip at the driver, who deftly caught it with his lower arm. "Keep the change--you'll need it to pay off your moving violations," he grumbled as he hopped out of the vehicle.
As he revved up the engines, the Dug garbled, "Thanks--Jedi!" and sped off, laughing. Luke blew a short laugh out his nose before turning toward the diner door. The place was small, unobtrusive, devoid of customers and in desperate need of a paint job, but altogether cozy, clean, and inviting. A short glance at the front window confirmed that Luke was at the right place; the sign on the window, painted in bright eye-catching colors, read 'Dex's Diner'. As he opened the door, he could already hear the conversation--or rather argument--that was ensuing inside.
"I mean it, Dex! If you don't reprogram that clanking Jawa-juice jockey with a few more manners, I'll walk, I swear!" the pert, strawberry blond human waitress barked through the order window.
The voice that responded from the kitchen was gruff, deep, and jovial. "And how do you expect to pay your way through beauty school if you quit, Camilli? And what will you tell your mother, hmm? She's the one that begged me to hire you."
"She didn't beg, Dex! She--""Wasn't real fast on her feet either, if I recall." Luke watched a sleek, uni-wheeled droid suddenly skirt across the dining room and bank the corner of the counter as it deftly carried a tray of dirty dishes and rolled right in front of the girl. The girl jumped back just in time to keep her toes free from tire-tracks.
"Wah," the voice from the kitchen warned, "One more quip about Hermione outta you and I will reprogram you!"
The droid's shoulder points slumped a bit, and its eye-lights dimmed a fraction. "Sorry, Dex."
Camilli's face turned bright red, and she pursed her plump lips. "NOW she's saying things about my mother? DEX!"
"Girls, girls, PLEASE! Enough of the spatting!" The kitchen door swung open, and a hulking, four-appendaged Besalisk lumbered through the door, his skin mottled with aged gray and wearing an apron that looked like it hadn't been washed since the battle of Yavin. "Don't you two napkins to fold? Second shift at the factory will be ending in a couple hours----" He abruptly stopped when he saw the fair-haired young man standing in the door. His reptilian eyes grew large with disbelief, and his wide jaw dropped. Camilli and the droid glanced at the alien in confusion before also turning to the young man.
"Girls," the alien murmured, still gaping at Luke, "Show this fine young man a seat."
Luke simpered a bit, and cleared his throat before asking, "Are you still open? If not, I can go someplace else--"
"Open? Of course we're open!" The Besalisk came toward him, and Luke thought for a moment the alien was going to cry. Extending all four fin-like hands, he grasped Luke's hand in all of them and shook it with great enthusiasm. "Sir," he croaked, his voice drenched in emotion, "It is a great, great honor to have you here. A great honor!"
Luke could feel he was getting red. A place no one would know my face, huh? All he could manage to utter was, "I heard your nerf steak in pretty good."
The alien suddenly guffawed, and slapped Luke on the arm. "Good? The best on Coruscant, my boy! The best!" He turned to Camilli and lightly barked, "Well Camilli, show Master Skywalker a seat already!"
"Sk-sk-Skywalker?!" Gasping, Camilli fell back slightly on the counter. "THE Luke Skywalker?!" WA-7's eye lights suddenly sparked up as well, and she nearly dropped the tray of dishes perched on her appendage.
Luke smiled awkwardly and tugged at his collar. "Um, if it's ok, I'll just sit at the counter until my si...er, friend arrives."
"Absolutely, my boy! Whatever you need or desire here, it's yours without question!" The Besalisk took him by the arm and led him to the counter. "General Skywalker, I'm Dexter Jettster; owner, manager, and head chef here."
"Very pleased to meet you, Master Jettster. But please, just call me Luke."
"Well Luke, you can call me Dex." Dex motioned to the stool. As Luke seated himself, Dex asked, "So tell me, Luke, how did you come across our fine establishment here?"
"I was reading my Master's journal, and he mentioned this place--"
"Ah yes, Obi-wan Kenobi," Dex said wistfully and quietly.
Luke's eyes grew wide. How did he know Ben had been his teacher? He suddenly got the feeling that there was more to this Besalisk than just being a short-order cook. "You...knew him? Well?"
Dex nodded, his grin becoming even wider. "He was my best customer. Came here for almost 20 years until..." His voice trailed off a bit before he continued, "until the rise of the Empire." He paused for a moment before adding, "And he was my good friend. I was very, very sad to hear of his loss."
Luke was about to comment, but found he had no words. He merely smiled and put a supportive hand on Dex's shoulder. Dex, in turn, patted Luke's hand, still smiling wistfully. When he turned to grab a menu from the counter, Luke found himself accosted by the beaming, freckled face of the strawberry blond waitress. She leaned into the counter on her elbows, purposely giving Luke a clear shot of her pert, burgeoning cleavage through her skimpy yellow waitress outfit. "I'm Camilli Bagwa," she chirped. Lowering her lashes and leaning even further into him, she added in a husky whisper, "And I am here to give you ANYTHING you want."
"How about giving him some air?" WA-7 snapped as she plunked a cup of steaming Jawa juice in front of the young Jedi. Camilli shot a fierce glare at the droid, and Luke stifled a laugh, torn between utter embarrassment and nervous enjoyment of all the attention. He was about to take a swig from the warm mug when the front door opened. This time, the restaurant staff did not ignore the newest customer to come in. A diminutive, cowl-shrouded figure wearing a set of gray mechanic's coveralls glided gracefully in from the street, and only removed the hood when she spotted her brother sitting at the counter.
Leia beamed brightly as she extended her arms. "Luke!"
"Leia!" Luke hopped off the stool and threw his arms around his sister, completely unaware of the new wave of astonishment and frenzy of the staff behind him as they bolted around the dining room, preparing a table that would be suitable for the galaxy's most famous war hero and his sister, President Leia Organa.
However, as he glanced over his Leia's shoulder out into the street, he saw no bodyguards or escorts, just a lone speeder bike parked in front. He pulled himself back from the embrace, and actually scowled. "Do NOT tell me you came alone."
"All right, I won't tell you."
"LEIA," Luke whispered tightly, "I don't think I need to remind you that Coruscant is still teeming with Imp sympathizers and spies! You could be kidnapped, or assassinated, or--"
"Or publicly admonished by my brother in the middle of a diner," Leia broke in, raising a delicate eyebrow. She cocked her head. "Besides, do you think an Imperial assassin is going to look for the Acting President of the New Republic in an eatery in Coco Town? Frankly, I'd be in more danger at the Pearl."
"Still," Luke grumbled, "you shouldn't take such reckless chances."
Now it was Leia's turn to huff in exasperation. "Honestly Luke, you sound just like my fathe--" She stopped, and her face darkened slightly as she caught herself. She cleared her throat as she murmured, "Like Bail Organa."
Luke was not going to allow the silence between them become too uncomfortable. "Come on, let's sit down."
Camilli led them to a back table that was fairly well hidden from the street windows. Unlike the other tables, which hosted only menus, flatware, and spice shakers, this one had been set complete with table cloth, napkins folded like flying birds, a small vase of flowers, and a single white tapered candle. The twins were both quite astonished by the table's presence and the speed in which it had been set. Leia turned to the beaming Besalisk, herself smiling brightly. "It's beautiful, sir."
Dex's skin darkened, indicating that he was blushing. "I only wish my place could meet the Pearl's standards, your Excellency."
"Oh, you've quite outdone anything seen there, sir. And please, call me Leia."
Dex bowed gallantly, extending all four arms wide. "Leia, welcome to Dex's Diner!" As he pulled a chair for Leia, he added, "Anything you want, on or off the menu, it's on the house tonight."
"Oh no, Dex, we wouldn't dream--" Luke began, but was cut off by Leia raising her hand.
She threw Luke a quieting glance before turning to Dex. "Thank you so much, Master Dex. You forever have our gratitude." After he had seated the two, Dex stepped to the door and flicked the "OPEN" sign on the door to "CLOSED".
Luke furrowed his brow. "Leia, we can't accept a free meal--"
"Luke," Leia murmured, holding his disbelieving gaze, "Turning down a gift is poor manners. Just make sure you go out of your way to repay it somehow."
Luke simpered a bit, and slumped his shoulders. "I guess this farm boy still has a lot to learn about etiquette, huh?"
Leia reached over the table and took his hand, her smile again growing wide and bright. "No, Luke, you're doing wonderfully!" Smiling back at her, he picked up his menu, as did she.
The young waitress Camilli could barely retain herself as she bounced to their table. With a grin as wide as a star system, she giggled, "Wah and I tossed a credit--and I won! So I'll be your waitress tonight!" Clearing her throat and pulling herself straight, she pulled her datapad out of her apron pocket and proudly asked, "So...what can I get you, Master Skywalker? President Organa?"
Leia didn't miss a beat. "Jhin'ca sundae--with extra syrup." A pause, then, "Make it two."
"Um..." Luke stammered for a second before deciding, "Your nerf steak. Well done. With all the trimmings." As Camilli bounced away, he leaned over the table. "Leia, I don't want a sundae--"
"They're both for me," Leia whispered.
He furrowed his brow again. "Two sundaes?"
"So I'm hungry."
"Leia. Is everything all right?"
She looked up at her brother's worried, compassionate eyes. She sighed. "I'm...fine, Luke. Just...a little tired and stressed."
"I can imagine, President Organa," he said with a soft smile. "So, how is Han?" He paused before adding, "Where is Han?"
She smirked slightly as she replied, "He's on Nar Shaddaa."
"The Smuggler's Moon? What is he doing there?"
"Well, he says he's on a diplomatic mission to rally some of the merchants' guild's to the New Republic's cause. Which is Han Solo's way of saying he's playing sabaac with his old cronies."
Luke's eyes widened again, and his jaw slacked. "And you let him go?"
"Let him? I encouraged him!" Leia laughed. "He was bored stiff here! Han Solo may be many things, but a politician he is not. And with all the work I'm doing arranging free galactic elections and re-establishing the Senate, we haven't had any time for a honeymoon yet, so...I kicked him off Coruscant for a while. That way, he can blow off some steam, and I can get him out of my hair. He'll be back in a few days."
"So, everything is fine with you and Han?"
She beamed. "Almost perfect."
"So what's troubling you? And don't say, 'nothing'. I know you too well."
Leia paused for a second, staring at the table top, before saying, "I...know this is going to sound silly but...Luke, I've been having some very disturbing dreams lately..."
Before he could stop himself, Luke suddenly blurted, "You've seen him too?"
Leia looked up, puzzled. "Seen who?"
"The horned man?" At that moment Dex, who had come out of the kitchen to retrieve something from under the lunch counter, turned his back and abruptly went back into the kitchen.
She shook her head and said softly, "No, I haven't seen anything like that..."
Luke took a deep breath. "Oh. I'm sorry. Please, tell me about your dreams."
She idly played with the gold band adorning her finger. She herself took a deep breath before beginning. "I've been dreaming about...Mother. Mother and Obi-wan Kenobi. When they were young. In my dreams they are...together."
Luke harbored no judgment at the statement, but simply murmured, "Go on."
She paused, her expression becoming more distraught. "They were... making love. Well, no, they weren't making love--it was more like a violation. Obi-wan seemed as though he was drugged, under her control. And the woman looks like Mother, but it's not Mother. She...changes in the dream. She becomes someone else...someone very familiar, but...I can't tell who it is..."
"Have you called to the Force?"
"Yes, I have...and I feel nothing there. No sign of danger or otherwise." She nervously began twisting the ring on her finger. "She...she talked to me this last time. Actually, she screamed at me..." Another deep breath, and then, "She said her child would destroy me and rule the Empire...she called me..." She clenched her eyes, the corners of her mouth pulling down.
Luke pressed her. "She called you what, Leia?"
"She called me...Vader-spawn." She opened her eyes to see the blood drain from Luke's face. She heard his breath catch in his throat. "Luke...what is it?"
He reached over the table, taking both her hands in his, and looked intently into her eyes. His voice was low, yet equally as intense as his gaze. "Leia...I've come to believe..." He swallowed hard before continuing, "that there may be another dark presence out there."
Leia tightened her grip around his hands, and he could feel her shake a bit. "Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not entirely sure. But...I've felt it. It's started faintly, but it's been growing stronger. And this presence has been invading my dreams as well."
"But...why can you feel it, and I can't? Why does it come to you and not me?"
"I don't know, Leia. Why do you see these images, and I don't? I'm afraid I don't have any answers. Not yet." Camilli thrusting through the kitchen door, balancing the tray of food on her shoulder and heading toward their table distracted him momentarily. As she approached, he lowered his voice even more. "But I'll find the answers, Leia. Don't worry. I advise you to meditate before you sleep, and pull a Force wrap around your essence. Protect yourself."
"Seems I'll be protecting more than myself," Leia muttered under her breath, then suddenly bit her lip.
Luke waited for Camilli to finish setting their dishes down and walk away from the table before inquiring, "What do you mean by that?" Her shoulders slumped a bit, and she looked away. Luke couldn't tell if she was about to smile or cry. "Leia...?"
"I..." Hastily, she picked up a spoon and began stabbing at one of her sundaes. "I saw my doctor yesterday. I got my medical results this morning."
He waited for a moment in her silence. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, I'm fine. I'm just..." She dropped her spoon. "Oh, I can't say the words. Not before..." She glanced up at her brother. "Well, use the Force, Luke. It will tell you."
He reached out with the Force, reading his sister's signature. He was immediately enveloped by her breathtaking light, her strength of compassion, her familiar courage...until he suddenly felt something more. A tiny glimmer in the Force radiated from her, as small as a raindrop, but its significance was a vast as any ocean...His jaw dropped as he leaned back in his seat. "Leia...you're..."
She nodded shyly. "Yes. I am."
"Gods...oh Gods, LEIA!" Luke not only jumped out of his seat, but cleared the entire table in a single leap. As he landed, he pulled Leia out of her seat and twirled her around in a huge bear hug, all the while laughing. Leia did all she could to hang on for dear life and hope he didn't swing her right into one of the neighboring tables. He finally set her down, breathless and elated. "This is wonderful news! Han must be beside himself!"
"Han…doesn't know yet," Leia whispered, nervously shooting glances around the restaurant and its staff. "I only found out this morning. I want to tell him in person, not over a galactic comlink." Suddenly her voice trembled, and a gush of tears sprang from her eyes. "Oh, dammit," she cried, furiously wiping her face.
Luke, surprised by his sister's outburst, gently smoothing the tears from her cheeks. "Honey, what's the matter?"
"It's too soon, Luke! The New Republic is barely functioning, there are still Imperial forces just lying in wait to attack who knows where, and Han..." She sobbed a deep breath, "we've only been married for three months, and we haven't even announced our marriage to the public yet and...you tell me there may be a new evil out there, and I haven't slept in weeks, and now...this..." She held a hand to her quaking stomach. "And I feel sick..."
"Uh-oh," Camilli stuttered as she saw Leia raise a hand to her mouth. Before Luke could even react, the young waitress careened around the counter and grasped Leia by both shoulders. "Come on, honey, come with me. Master Skywalker, don't you worry, I got it covered," she said as she whisked Leia off to the restroom.
Those remaining in the dining room stood in a stunned silence. WA-7 blew an electronic whistle and returned to folding her napkins. Luke sheepishly looked over to Dex, who was leaning in from the kitchen window and wearing an expression of soft compassion.
"Um, Dex...we'd appreciate it if you...didn't tell anyone about this...or that we were here..."
Dex slid out of the window and came out the kitchen door. Slapping his hand on Luke's shoulder, he muttered softly, "If Obi-wan Kenobi could say one nice thing about me, I'm sure it would be that I can keep a secret." As Luke smiled and relaxed at the statement, Dex leaned back on one of the counter stools. Throwing a glance toward WA-7 to ensure she was out of earshot, he leaned into the young Jedi. "The horned man you mentioned back there. Do you mean the tattooed Zabrak? The Sith?"
Luke felt his adrenaline surge--he never mentioned the word 'Sith' once during their conversation. "What! You know him?"
Dex shrugged. "I know of him." He leaned into Luke even closer, meeting his eyes. His voice was low and steady when he said, "I know your Master killed him almost forty years ago."
Luke held Dex's gaze in a blank stare as his mind attempted to fully comprehend the Besalisk's revelation. "He...he killed him," he whispered, affirming rather than asking. He paused before asking, "He told you this?"
Dex nodded. "Came in a few nights after the battle of Naboo. Told me about it--not in a bragging way, mind you. No, quite the opposite. He was real shook up. Seems this Sith Lord killed his Master, Qui Gon Jinn. And then...Kenobi killed him." Dex's eyes became wistful. "Obi-wan was just a kid at the time, younger than you are now. Goin' up against something like that at his age...I don't think he ever really got over the whole thing."
Luke pondered this information, not quite knowing how to interpret it. If this was indeed the presence he had been feeling...but how could it be? No Sith, no matter how powerful, could possibly be felt after forty years in his grave...or could he?
It seemed a new task had suddenly presented itself that required Luke Skywalker's immediate attention...
He put his cybernetic hand on Dex's large shoulder and smiled softly. "Dex, thank you. It would be an honor if I may call you friend."
The Besalisk clamped his huge hand on Luke's. "The honor would be all mine, Luke."
The restroom door swung open. Luke and Dex turned to see Camilli leading Leia by the shoulder back into the dining room. "She's fine," Camilli crooned. "Just a little queasy. That's to be expected."
Luke reached for his sister's shoulder, his eyes soft and loving. "Are you OK?"
Leia reached up and patted her immaculate braids. "Oh, besides feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed, I'm perfect." Her lips curved into an awkward smile. "I've watched my homeworld be destroyed, I've survived Imperial interrogation, I've led a Rebellion into war and won, and I am acting president of a new galactic government. And the only time I fall apart is when I discover I'm going to have a baby." She laughed at this through new tears.
Luke encircled her into his arms, holding her close to his chest. "Leia," he murmured into her hair, "Do you trust me when I tell you that everything will be all right? That I will always protect you from harm? That I love you beyond anything this galaxy could offer me?"
Leia nodded against his chest and whispered, "Yes, Luke, I trust you."
"Do you trust me when I tell you your sundaes are melting?" Brother and sister both broke out in giggles, as did Camilli. Dex let out a belly-loaded guffaw and returned to the kitchen. WA-7 merely looked up from her pile of napkins, stared at them briefly and, finding no humor in that statement, returned to her folding.
* * *
SPLOOGE! The frigid water felt like someone just stabbed a thousand icicles into Burl's face. He screamed and furiously shook his head as he awoke. He suddenly realized that was all he could shake, as he was strapped rather tightly upright in a chair bolted into the floor. He opened his eyes to see the bulbous, fur-trimmed face of his Aqualish kidnapper staring him right in the eyes.
"Rise and shine, Moonbeam," the alien hissed through his lip sacs. "The boss will see you now."
Blinking frantically, Burl did what he could to assimilate his surroundings. He found himself sitting in a huge chamber of forest green marble, the walls draped in expensive Arisand silk swags and a giant durasteel and crystal chandelier mounted in the ceiling. The room was devoid of any furniture save for the chair he was tied to, an immense desk of the same green marble set approximately six meters directly in front of him, and a large black leather chair with the back turned set behind that. Framing the desk was a window as high as the wall in which Burl could see a spectacular view of Worlport's skyline, with its sweeping towers, spires, and rooftop gardens gently illuminated by Ord Mantell's indigo dusk. There was also a window set in one of the sidewalls, and through that Burl could see flashing lights blink from the darkness as well as hear the thumping bass and drums of some wild dance music.
Scattered throughout the chamber were several aliens, two of which he recognized as his kidnappers, the Aqualish and the one-eyed Wookiee. There was also a short, stubby Snivvian, who was cleaning his blunt talons with the point of a vibro-blade, and a tall, broadly-built Bothan, whose sable brown pelt was rippling all along the exposed parts of his body in anticipation.
"Where…" Burl blubbered, his face dripping with sweat and cold water, "where am I?"
"You are in my private office," came a smooth, resonant male human voice. Since none of the aliens had opened their mouths, Burl assumed it had come from the huge, high-backed desk chair. He saw two leather-gloved hands gesture from the sides of the chair. "Beautiful, isn't it? I spared no expense in its renovation. Please, take your time appreciating it. It may be the last place you see." Suddenly, a lithe, tall, lavender-skinned Twi'leki female emerged from behind the chair, wearing a sad, shameful expression as she re-clasped the front of her top and assumed her position against the wall.
His eyes shooting over the band of surly-looking aliens, Burl asked, "Where's Baac?"
The voice spoke again. "Baac…? Oh, yes, Baac. If he stays true to his vermin-like nature, he's probably gambled away the credits he stole from you—and trying to screw any female that comes within five meters of him." The alien band all chuckled heartily at the comment. Again, the gloved hand emerged and hastily snapped at the poor Twi'leki lass, who immediately jumped to the command and poured a drink from a bottle on the desk. As she hurried around the desk with his glass, the voice added, "You needn't fret about Baac, son. He has served his purpose."
Burl's face sunk as low as his spirits. Above everything else, now he had been robbed and had no way of getting back to Orri Prime. He raised his head a bit. "Who are you? Are you Black Sun?"
The question not only elicited snorts from the surrounding aliens, but from the man in the chair as well. "In a manner of speaking, yes." The chair slowly circled around to reveal its occupant, who stated smoothly, "But you may call me Czethros."
Even though he was seated all the way across the room from him, the very appearance of the man behind the desk made Burl as though he had just been grabbed by the throat. Czethros was a humanoid male and far more human-looking than anyone else in the room, save for several aspects. His hair was a dark moss green, the same color as the walls and desk, and was slicked back from his forehead and tied at the base of his neck. He was strongly built, and even seated he appeared to be extremely tall, almost as tall as Burl himself. He was impeccably dressed in an expensive green silk brocade jacket tailored to accentuate his well-sculpted shoulders and chest, with an equally expensive shirt underneath clasped at the neck with a black jewel as big as Burl's thumb: Burl was quite positive that the outfit alone cost more than his entire life's salary. But the one feature that struck sheer terror in Burl's gut was his eyes—or lack thereof. Czethros wore a partial silver skullcap that covered his forehead and eyes, and a single point of red light rolled back and forth in a thin liquid crystal display across his face. The red dot sputtered a bit, blipping in short pulses back and forth as it scanned the wet, frightened miner strapped in the chair in front of him.
Still staring at Burl with his bionic eye, Czethros appeared to be speaking to no one in particular when he queried, "Who is he?"
The Bothan took up the question, moving forward from his position. Reaching into a pocket in his vest, he pulled a small datapad that Burl recognized as his galactic passport. As he stepped toward Czethros, the Bothan read, "Thutchen, Burl. Occupation—miner. Homeworld—Orri Prime." He handed the passport to Czethros, who accepted it without taking his eye off Burl.
"Orri Prime? You're a long way from home, son," the man quipped, lazily looking over the passport. "Here for a little vacation, perhaps?" The red eye shot back toward Burl, and his voice became increasingly menacing. "Or are you here just to bandy our name about like yesterday's pod race results and stick your nose where it doesn't belong?"
Burl was actually happy that his chair was bolted to the floor, for he was sure that his mad trembling would have sent him skimming across the chamber's slick marble floor. Trying his best for some degree of calm, he stammered, "I'm…not here for either…sir. I…I have information for you."
"Really?" It was then Czethros stood from his chair and walked from behind the desk toward the side window. The length of his tailored jacket billowed behind him, and the hard heels of his high black leather boots clicked against the marble floor. "And you came all the way here to tell me this information? I'm touched, really." He stopped and glanced down through the window. "What makes you think I may be interested in hearing it?"
"I was told you would be very interested, sir."
"By whom?"
Burl suddenly stopped as a fog of utter confusion suddenly settled in his mind. He furrowed his brow as he tried to remember…"I…I don't know, sir."
"You don't know," Czethros repeated. He drew his lips into a thin line before adding, "And what sort of compensation do you seek in exchange for this information? Money? A job perhaps?"
"Uh…money? Yeah, yeah, I guess money would be good."
"You guess money would be good?" The band of aliens gathered around once again broke out in cruel laughter, but were silenced by Czethros' red-eyed glare. Lightly tossing his hands up, Czethros began walking toward the bound miner and announced, "All right, son, you have succeeded in peaking my interest. What is this information you have traveled halfway across the galaxy--and risked a most certain painful death at the end of this inquiry--to deliver me?"
Burl swallowed hard, and looked around the room. All eyes were glowering over him, waiting. Pulling himself up as high as he could in his compromised position in his seat, he announced loudly and clearly, "I know where Boba Fett is."
He expected to hear sardonic chuckles and guffaws again from the alien hoodlums surrounding him, but his expectations fell short. Outside of the muffled bass and thumping of the music coming from the side window, the room held nothing but a cold, still silence. As Burl looked around again, everyone's expression faded from dangerously smug to stoic, even slightly uncomfortable. Everyone, that is, except for Czethros. He stood perfectly still, his face below his bionic visor remaining unchanged. The only indication that this news had any effect on him was the erratic pulsing of his bionic eye.
Stepping forward, Czethros leaned down into Burl's face, setting his lip in a smirk. "Do you now?" Burl nodded dumbly. Czethros pulled himself back up. "Well, Burl Thutchen, let me thank you in my own special way for this…information." He turned to the vibro-wielding Snivvian and exclaimed, "Treatment!"
With lightening speed, the Snivvian pounced upon the bound Burl, cutting his straps from the chair. But before Burl had any chance to be glad, the Aqualish and the Wookiee once again had him up and off the floor, carrying him kicking and flailing to Czethros' massive desk. They threw him down on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The Aqualish and the Bothan spread his legs wide and held them down while the Wookiee pinned his arms over his head. The Snivvian, still brandishing the vibro-blade, leapt onto the desktop to land and squat right between Burl's legs. As he held the flashing blade up and screeched a horrific, ultra-sonic giggle, Burl realized just exactly what the "treatment" was about to be. "Oh gods! Gods no, PLEEASE!"
Coolly and casually, Czethros strode around the desk, unabashed by the display. "I deplore waste of any kind, Master Thutchen, but the one thing I cannot abide by any means is the waste of my precious time. I am a busy man, sir, and I have neither the desire nor the patience to hear your precise accounts of the whereabouts of a DEAD MAN!" He stopped, standing adjacent to Burl's prone body, and shot his gloved hand forth to furiously grab his jowled jaw. "And unless you can miraculously raise that murdering son of a bitch bounty-hunting fuck from his grave on Tatooine so I can have the distinct pleasure of killing him myself, I am left with no alternative but to perform the execution I intended for him…on YOU."
The vibro-blade flashed once again in the subdued lighting of the chandelier, and the Snivvian again howled his terrifying laugh as he sliced it through Burl's trouser belt. Burl thrashed and yelped, sweat pouring out of every pore in his body, his dim mind feverishly attempting to find something—anything—that would spare him this nightmarish end…Then the words came, as though in a dream, as though it wasn't him actually saying them; the words Burl would live to regret uttering every single hour he lived after that…
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP! I SWEAR, HE AIN'T DEAD! I GOT PICTURES! OF HIM AND HIS WOMAN! HE'S GOT A WOMAN!!"
The Snivvian had Burl's trousers partly cut away and was about to claim his 'prize' when Czethros abruptly caught his arm and stopped him. He leaned in again close to the miner's face and muttered, "Fett doesn't have a woman. I have been informed from reliable sources within my payroll that he is a celibate and does not partake in such…voluptuary delights." Turning to his comrades, he relayed, "Force knows they tried…"
With his expansive chest heaving in short, terrified breaths, Burl rasped, "Well, he partook of something, cuz he's got a kid to prove it!" Czethros remained frozen in front of him, his red eye slowly rolling from one side to the other. Burl pressed on. "I got proof, Czethros! I got a holodisc of them—together! I got proof!"
Czethros continued to stare him down for several more long, agonizing moments before muttering to his crew, "Let him go."
The Bothan's head snapped up as he barked, "Czethros, you don't actually believe this guy—"
"Jober, shut your trap! I said let him go!" Czethros snapped. Softening his tone and glancing back at Burl, he added, "I will see this proof." Reluctantly, the aliens complied. Burl sprang from the desktop, holding his cut trousers over himself. The aliens backed off the desk as Czethros again took his seat. Reaching under, he flicked a switch and a holorecorder popped out of the desktop. Folding his hands over his chest, Czethros said, "The disc. Do you have it?"
Burl stood befuddled for a moment. He unexpectedly felt his body moving without his control, his hand reaching down as he lifted his foot from the floor. Pulling off his short boot, he reached inside and pulled out the tiny holodisc. He stepped to the desk and handed it over. Czethros nodded to the Bothan, who snatched it out of Burl's hand and slid it into the recorder.
The projector beam shot forth directly into the center of the chamber. The three-dimensional image crackled and sputtered for a brief moment before sharpening into the crystal clear life-sized form of a tall, superbly shaped girl with long raven-black curls standing in a garden. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of pale yellow, and in her arms she held a laughing, squirming dark-haired baby. She and the baby were completely surrounded by scores of wildly blooming flowers and a gentle breeze caught her lustrous hair, blowing it delicately around her pale face and shoulders. The girl was laughing as well, and she began to hum a little song to her babe as she cradled him to her chest.
A man appeared at the very edge of the image. He was slightly taller than she, wearing a snug long sleeved gray shirt and black pants. Swarthy, lean, and muscular, his sable-brown hair was cut in a military crop and his face hosted a variety of scars. Moving with slow, deliberate grace and holding the woman steadily in his dark eyes, he seemed like a predator stalking his prey: Still smiling and singing, she obviously could not hear him come up behind her. He suddenly pounced on her, throwing his arms around her waist and lifting her from the ground. The girl squealed, but not from fright. Rather, she laughed even more heartily and playfully kicked her feet as the man spun her around. Setting her down, he turned her around and planted a firm, passionate kiss upon her lips. The man reached down and touched the baby's head, gazing down at the infant with eyes brimming with pride.
"Freeze it there," Czethros commanded softly. The holographic family froze in place. Czethros placed his fingertips to his lips and glared at the image for many long moments, his red beam that was his eye scanning it over and over again. His alien cohorts waited in silence. Burl stood shaking, still holding up his pants and trying to ignore the beads of sweat cascading off his brow into his eyes.
Without taking his eye off the hologram, Czethros demanded, "Who's the woman?"
"That's my boss, Lady I'Lai. She became governor of the planet after—"
Czethros threw his hand up, indicating to Burl to shut up. He paused for a moment, then motioned to the Snivvian to come toward him and whispered something in his ear. As the Snivvian grunted and hurried out of the room, he turned his attention back to Burl. A broad smile suddenly crept onto Czethros' face, and he rose from his chair, extending his hands toward the miner as he strode toward him. "Master Thutchen!" He slapped Burl on both arms and exclaimed, "Welcome to Ord Mantell and to my humble establishment, the Fifteen Moons Casino and Resort!"
The Bothan, Aqualish, and the charcoal-hued Wookiee all shot bewildered glances at each other, but no one in the room was more baffled than Burl. "Uh," Burl grunted, feeling utterly beaten and confused, "thanks…I think…"
Slipping his arm around Burl's massive shoulder, Czethros began to lead him to the side window. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for my treatment of you upon your arrival here. You see, Master Thutchen, I am the senior administrator of an intergalactic organization called Black Sun. We are a …fraternal organization, dedicated to furthering the…quality of life for our distinguished members." He shot a glance over his shoulder to his comrades. "Isn't that right, boys?" They answered him with familiar humorless chuckles---at this point, Burl found their laughter almost comforting. Czethros continued, "All fraternal organizations have a credo and ours is…" He leaned into Burl's ear and whispered, "'Absolute discretion'." He resumed his normal volume. "So you see, when a stranger to the organization—case in point, yourself---abruptly shows up and proceeds to drop our name about in earshot of the unwitting masses, we get a little…nervous. You understand, don't you, son?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Burl mumbled. He looked out the window, and gasped at the scene below him. He found himself looking down three stories into a gigantic dance club, packed with hundreds of beings all swaying and dancing wildly to gyrating lights and pulsating music. "Whoa…"
Czethros grinned. "You like? Just opened the club a month ago. It has been quite successful, if I do say so myself." He turned again to the miner, and tightened his arm around his shoulder. "Master Thutchen, do you have lodging for the evening?"
"Uh, well, no sir. And now that I've been robbed—"
"Well sir, you do now. I would be very pleased if you would accept my invitation to stay in one of our opulent guest suites, on the house. It will be my way of making up for your brutish treatment here today." He glanced down at Burl's tattered trousers. "And, of course, we will provide you with some… suitable attire. Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight? After you've been shown to your suite and freshened up a bit? We can further discuss the details of your knowledge regarding Boba Fett over a proper meal." He finished his speech with an icy grin.
Burl finally felt himself relaxing under Czethros' arm. "Uh, yeah, that would be swell, sure!"
Czethros leaned into his ear and murmured, "I take it you like women?"
The miner suddenly brightened. "Oh yeah, sure I do!"
Czethros turned over his shoulder to the Wookiee. "Send him Aleste." He turned to Burl again and announced, "Master Thutchen, please indulge whatever your heart desires as my personal guest!" He gestured toward the Wookiee. "Trodeccuu here will escort you to your suite, and I will see you in approximately two hours. Agreed?"
Burl was positively beaming now. "Yeah, yeah, sure, ok!" Czethros extended his hand, and Burl shook it in ferocious enthusiasm. "Thank you, oh, thank you, sir!"
"The pleasure is all mine, Master Thutchen," Czethros crooned as the surly-looking Wookiee led Burl toward the door. As they left the chamber, Czethros' smile faded into a pensive scowl. He turned and barked at the Twi'leki female, "Wait for me in my apartments." She hurriedly left as well. Turning to the Aqualish, he ordered, "Run a check on this imbecile. Find out everything you can about him, right down to what he had for breakfast five years ago." The alien bowed his head and shuffled out the door, leaving Czethros alone with the Bothan known as Jober.
Jober leaned against the wall once again, crossing his ankles and folding his arms. "I don't get it---five minutes ago, you were ready to cut his balls off. And now you give him a bed, food, and a woman. What's next, boss? Feeding some orphans?"
"Only to my Rancor, Jober," Czethros snarled. The head of Black Sun casually strode around the glimmering holographic image, hands clasped behind his back, taking in every angle.
"Don't tell me you believe that idiot."
"Yes, I do believe him. He comes here with information. He wants no money. He wants no job. He says someone supposedly 'sent' him here, but he cannot tell me who. So what reason would he have to tell me this? I'm guessing revenge. Works for me."
The Bothan gestured toward the man in the hologram. "How do you know that's Fett? That could be anybody."
"It could be anybody, but it's not. It's him." Czethros stopped directly in front of Fett's image, leaning in as though he were actually standing toe-to-toe with the bounty hunter. His bionic eye slid sidelong to stare at Jober. "I, like most in this galaxy, have never seen Fett's face. But the way he moves will forever be engrained in my memory." He pointed to the baby. "And notice how the child looks nothing like Reynau Denivrian." Slowly, almost tenderly, he lifted his hand as if to caress the woman's face. His mouth curled into a sneer as he said, "So, the Angel of Orri Prime isn't such an angel after all."
Jober moved up alongside him, taking in her visage as well. "You lost me, boss. Who's Reynau Denivrian?"
Czethros sighed in mild exasperation. "Jober, for a Bothan, you are remarkably ignorant of current events." He turned back to the hologram. "The Lady I'Lai is already becoming somewhat of an icon for the New Republic. She was the concubine of Reynau Denivrian, and for some reason only our late Emperor knows, he miraculously and unexpectedly proclaimed her governor of the Dia-Orri system after the Grand Moff's death. Almost immediately upon her promotion, she freed all the slaves on the planet of Orri Prime and used her own personal wealth to build their townships and schools and pay them wages. Those mental midgets who frequent the holonet have dubbed her 'The Angel of Orri Prime.'" He continued as he strode back to his chair. "Several months after Denivrian's death, Lady I'Lai gave birth to a son everyone presumed belonged to him." He smirked as he added, "If you compare the faces there, you can tell that is obviously not the case." He took his seat.
"You seem to know a lot about this Lady I'Lai, Czethros."
"You would too--- if your clan hadn't exiled you." Jober shot a dangerous glare at Czethros—he ignored it. "She sent all freed Bothan slaves back to Bothuwai upon their emancipation. Hence, she has gained your people's respect and undying gratitude and used it as an advantage during the Galactic Civil War." He caught Jober's rather dubious expression and replied, "When you head the galaxy's largest underworld organization, you must keep up on these things. Besides, I have been watching the shipping activity from Orri Prime closely for some time now."
Jober kept his eyes squarely on the image of the smiling I'Lai. "I wouldn't mind watching her more closely. She is…delicious," he muttered in a ravenous growl.
"Down, Jober," Czethros growled in return, "Try to hold your glands in check while viewing a human female." Lazily hoisting his boots onto the desktop, he clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Well Fett, it seems death really is too good for you. All the better for me."
The Bothan threw his employer a warning frown. "If you're thinking about revenge, Czethros, just remember what happened to Prince Xizor."
"My hirsute friend, a day doesn't go by that I don't think about our dear departed Xizor. Poor, misguided, stupid Xizor…it is because of him that I am here today." He glanced back to Jober. "Do not fret. Revenge may be sweet, but rarely is it profitable." He paused, again scanning the hologram in front of him. "However, rarer still does an opportunity come along that one can combine the two. Do we still have any contact whatsoever with what remains of the Empire?"
"I still have my associates sir, yes."
"Good, contact them. I'm sure there must be one Imp left with half a brain that will be interested in what I have to offer them." Jober bowed slightly to his superior, drinking in one long, last look at the image of I'Lai before heading out the door.
Czethros stood from his chair and walked again toward the hologram. Planting himself directly in front of the unmasked Boba Fett, a twisted smile formed below his glowing eye. "So, Fett," he whispered, "There is a chink in your armor after all…"
* * *