Chapter 2 – New Friends and First Loves
Going to the movies to escape the heat seemed like a good idea at the time – except that several dozen geeks seemed to have gotten the same idea at the same time. The theater was so crammed with sweating, irritable Stargeeks that Luke wondered if perhaps it would have been wiser to remain at Austin's house and simply pop in a DVD with the A/C turned all the way up.
"Why is it that, whenever you get in line for a movie, everyone in front of you will either be trying to book the entire theater or want to pick a fight with the ticket salesman?" grumbled the Jedi Padawan lookalike just behind Luke.
"I'm just getting two seats," Luke told him, trying to be helpful. "And I'm not looking for a fight."
"Well, you're the only one then," the man snorted, as the sandtrooper at the head of the line began cursing loudly.
Trapper shifted restlessly. "Maybe we should have gone out for lunch first. I'm starving."
"Tell you what," Luke replied. "The 'Spy Kids' matinee at eleven is sold out. The next showing doesn't open for an hour and a half. You hold our place in line and pay for the tickets. I'll go get us some lunch, and we can eat outside while we wait for our show. Deal?"
"Deal," Trapper agreed, handing Luke a twenty. "I want a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Pepsi. Don't get me a kid's meal please. There's never enough food in them for me, and I hate the cheapo toys."
"I'll remember." He turned and walked out as the sandtrooper continued his argument – that as he had been born on February 29th, a leap year, he had only celebrated five birthdays and therefore qualified for the children's price.
Quite in contrast with the theater, the A & W restaurant two doors down was almost empty, despite the fact that it was the lunch rush. Apparently the hot weather had killed most people's appetites for fried food. Aside from a gaggle of women in Padme Amidala costumes sipping root beer floats at a corner booth and a lone Darth Vader impersonator up front, the place was deserted.
"We're open, I swear!" the manager, a thirty-something brunette woman, pleaded as Luke entered the restaurant.
"I believe you," Luke replied as he strode up to the counter. The fake Vader was standing at the register, but he seemed more interested in the copy of the "Star City Herald" he was reading than in placing an order. The man behind the register seemed to be getting impatient with him.
"Sir, please place your order," the employee told him in a plainly annoyed voice "There's another customer waiting behind you." To Luke he said, "I'm sorry he's taking so long. I can help you next, if you're ready to order…"
"That's okay, I'll wait."
"You're sure?"
"It's perfectly fine."
"Right." He turned back to the false Vader. "Sir, either order or get out of line!" he shouted.
Luke shook his head. True, it wasn't exactly polite for the costumed gentleman to be blocking traffic, especially in a fast-food restaurant line, but the employee could handle him with a little more tact.
"Sir?" Luke asked, gently shaking the man's shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt your reading, but are you going to order?"
The Vader impersonator turned and looked first at Luke, then at the cashier, his expression indiscernible behind his helmet. He shook his head slightly, picked up a notepad from the counter, and wrote something down. When he'd finished, he handed the pad to Luke.
/I'm so sorry for holding up the line/ the message read. /I didn't realize the women had ordered already. I didn't catch what you said. I'm deaf. I can read lips. Just please make sure I can see your face clearly when you speak./
Luke understood immediately. The man had been so engrossed in the paper that he hadn't seen the women finish their order and leave, and of course he couldn't hear either their departure or the employee's angry demands to place his own order. He gave the notepad back to the man and faced him.
"I'm sorry," he said carefully. "I didn't realize…"
The man waved his apology away.
"Is he going to order?" the employee demanded.
"Be patient with him," Luke ordered. "He's deaf."
The cashier's face flushed a brilliant crimson. "Oh," he said in an extremely subdued voice. "Uh… well… I don't know sign language…"
The man composed another note and handed it to the employee – an order for a number five meal, no onions. The cashier rang it in as swiftly as possible and swiped the offered debit card.
Luke picked up a pen and wrote something else on the pad. /I'll let you know when you're order's up. Very pleased to meet you, by the way. My name's Nick Sorenson./
As the man read the message, Luke placed his own order – bacon cheeseburger with fries and Pepsi for Trapper, a cheeseburger with onion rings and a root beer float for himself.
"Tell him sorry for me," the employee said lamely, handing over his change.
"You can tell him yourself," Luke suggested. "He doesn't need a go-between."
"Ryan, can I have a word with you?" the manager asked, ushering the cashier into the back. Luke had a feeling that Ryan may have put his job in jeopardy for treating this customer so rudely. He felt some sympathy for the man… but not that much.
The false Vader handed the notepad back, and Luke read the message:
/What a coincidence! My name's Nick too! I'm Nick Staples. I just moved here a month ago, and I love this town. Thank you for your help, it's really appreciated./
/Not a problem, Nick/ Luke wrote back. He wasn't quite used to his alias yet, but maybe the novelty of sharing a "name" with Nick would help it sink in.
/Are you from around here/ asked Nick via notepad. /Or are you just here for the conventions/
/Just visiting for the conventions/ he replied. /I'm from…/ He paused a moment, thinking, then picked a location he'd overheard somewhere. /…Snowflake, Arizona./
/Really? I have grandparents there. Beautiful country. You must be used to this heat, then./
/Believe me, it gets hotter than this where I live./ At least that was the truth.
/I moved here from up in the Northwest – Newport, Oregon. I grew up on the coast, actually. I've always loved the ocean. But sometimes you just need a change of scenery for a while. Make any sense to you/
/Actually, it does./
"Order up for Nick, number five, no onion!" announced the manager.
Luke picked up the tray and handed it to Nick. "Nice talking with you," he said, being sure to look into his face as he spoke. "Maybe I'll see you later."
Nick set his tray down and wrote something else: /Hope to see you later, too. I have to meet a friend at the theater for the twelve-thirty showing of 'Spy Kids.' Maybe we can chat after the show./
/Hey, I'm going to be at that showing too/ Luke wrote back. /What a coincidence./
Nick nodded enthusiastically. /Sit by me during the show/
/Sure. I'll see you then./
"To-go order for Nick!" the manager announced. "You two cousins?"
Luke laughed as he took the bags and drinks. "Just friends, ma'am."
"Well, you tell your friend we're sorry for how he was treated here, and he's welcome to a complimentary meal anytime," she replied, handing him a card.
"Will do." He passed the card to Nick, who nodded and gave the manager a polite wave.
Trapper was sitting on a bench outside the theater when Luke came back, fanning himself with a folded-up "USA Today" and giving Luke a pitiful look.
"What took you so long?" he asked. "I'm melting out here."
"If you think this is hot, try Anchorhead at summer solstice," Luke retorted, handing him his food. As Trapper dug in, he related his conversation with Nick Staples.
"Huh," Trapper grunted through a mouthful of fried potato after Luke was finished. "Never heard of a deaf Star Wars fan before. Pretty cool. Wish I could've met him."
"He'll be in the theater with us, and he wants us to sit by him."
"Awesome!" He unwrapped his burger. "You always make such cool friends, Luke – Han Solo, Princess Leia, Chewbacca, Yoda, and now this guy. Wish I were you."
/Be careful what you wish for, young one/ Luke thought as he sank his teeth into an onion ring.
Break…
Fett had no luck with the Humane Society. There were no Siamese cats there, and no one had reported bringing one in for at least two weeks. A man stopping by to retrieve his dog did mention seeing a road kill cat on the highway that matched Vincent's description, but upon further questioning Fett determined that the corpse had been rotting for much longer than Vincent had been missing.
"We'll give you a call if anyone brings one in," he was told.
He left Jason and Patrick's home number and went on his way. It was time to search Mrs. Albany's property and the surrounding neighborhood. That was the first rule of any hunt – look in the most obvious places first for one's quarry, such as residences and places of employment. Fett couldn't count the number of times he had uncovered valuable clues or even captured remarkably stupid targets in such a manner.
Mrs. Albany was rather surprised to find Fett on her doorstep. "Did you find him?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I'd like to have a look around your house. Perhaps we can find something to indicate where your cat went."
Half an hour later, the two of them had uncovered a long-missing diamond earring, a ratty catnip toy, and long-expired tickets to a performance of "Miss Saigon," but nothing else of interest. Vincent's food dish and litter box had obviously been untouched for the last few days. At Fett's insistence Mrs. Albany led him outside to search for more clues.
"I try to keep him out of the forest," she offered. "But sometimes he comes home with something he's caught out there… last week it was a live bull snake, scared me half to death…"
He crouched to inspect some tracks in a flowerbed, three-day-old paw prints weaving between the drooping, heat-stricken tulips. Tiny pads, no claw marks, the prints forming almost a straight line in classic cat gait… all signs that a cat passed through here. It could be Vincent, or it could be a neighbor's cat or a stray. But it was the best lead he had.
/Well, I know what direction he went/ he thought, trying to keep an optimistic spin on the situation.
"I'll keep looking," he told her.
"Thank you, young man," she said in a quavering tone.
/Good stars, Fett, you're getting too soft/ he grumbled silently as he left the old woman's house and knocked on the next-door neighbor's door. /What will other hunters think when they hear the galaxy's best is scouring some one-bantha town on a backwater world for an old lady's cat/
None of the neighbors reported seeing Vincent – in fact, most complained that Mrs. Albany had been there already asking about the cat, and what business was it of his? Fett was quickly getting the impression that most of the citizens of this city detested sharing their turf with Star Wars fanatics. They were certainly glad enough to shoo him off their doorsteps…
Only the man at the last house was any help – he reported seeing a couple of teenagers in costume yesterday, stuffing a squalling Siamese cat into a burlap sack, throwing the bagged animal into a car, and screeching away.
"Can you describe them?" he asked.
"Tall, skinny, kinda dark brown hair, brown eyes," he offered. "Looked like brother and sister, or at least related somehow. Boy had a lot of pimples, looked about eighteen, wore Jedi robes. Girl had her hair in dreadlocks, maybe two or three years younger, wore white armor, had a clonetrooper helmet with her. Oh, and the boy had some kind of tattoo on his right hand. Weird symbol, probably something Star Wars-ish, but I wouldn't know, it's not my thing."
"What about the vehicle?"
"Honda Civic, real beat-up, tan paint job, don't remember the license number." He considered a little longer. "Bumper stickers, lots of them, can't repeat most of the slogans. One of them did get my attention – it said 'My dad's a Gulf War veteran' or something like that."
Fett nodded slowly. This was intriguing – the brothers had mentioned that a member of the Vader's Elite fan club had fought in the Gulf War. And to reinforce his suspicion, Jason had also described Sparky O'Brian as having four children, two of them teenagers still living at home. The brothers hadn't said that the two kids were troublesome, but to Fett it sure sounded like Sparky's son and daughter had decided to have a little fun at Mrs. Albany's expense.
Sparky and his family lived about five blocks away, in an old but well-maintained ranch home with a carefully landscaped lawn. A man in a TIE pilot uniform was squatting over an ornamental pond and splashing his face liberally. Fett couldn't help himself – he walked up behind the man and gave him the slightest nudge, sending him toppling into the pond.
"Hey, what was that for?" the man sputtered, flailing his way out of the pool, his costume smudged with algae and mud.
"Would you rather I advised the homeowners that they call the police?" Fett inquired, cocking his head at a suggestive angle.
The man swore under his breath, retrieved his helmet, and stalked away, his boots squelching with every step.
Fett took careful note of the vehicles in the driveway – a silver-blue van with a wheelchair ramp, and a battered tan Honda plastered with snide remarks like "Stop Overpopulation: Kill Yourself" and "I Love My Country: It's My Government I'm Afraid Of" – before knocking on the door.
A woman answered the door. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Robert Francis," he introduced. "I'm a friend of your husband's."
"Oh yes, Ryan told me about you," she said, smiling. "Come on in. He's in the living room right now, watching TV." She rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't miss 'People's Court' for the death of his mother."
True to her word, Sparky was seated before the television, though he was also keeping his hands busy with some kind of woven leatherwork as he watched the show. Two kids sat on the couch nearby, sniggering over a book – an acne-afflicted young man with a tattoo of the Mandalorian symbol on one hand, and a girl in dreadlocks.
"Honey, someone here to see you!"
Sparky craned his neck to look. "Oh, hi." He gestured to a nearby chair with a strip of dyed leather as he spoke. "Sit down, take a load off your feet. Ignore my children's giggling, if you will. They believe their generation is the only one that was ever cool."
"What does that mean?" Fett demanded as he came to stand by Sparky's wheelchair.
"It means they're enjoying their dad's high-school yearbooks, thinking he and his friends were a bunch of aliens and trolls, blissfully unaware of the fact that in twenty years their kids will be doing the exact same thing."
"Nice hair, Dad," the girl snorted. "It's frizzed clear out to your shoulders."
"Yeah, looks like you stuck your tongue in a light socket," the boy added.
Sparky rolled his eyes. "Robert, this is my son Dylan and my daughter Kyla. Dylan, Kyla, this is Robert."
"Hi Bob," Dylan greeted without looking up.
"Nice costume," Kyla gushed, giving him a flirtatious smile.
"Kyla has a little issue with falling instantly and madly in love with any males of the species she meets," Sparky informed him, tying one last knot in the braided leather key chain. "Here, a little gift for you." He handed it to Fett.
"Thanks," Fett replied, clipping the item to his shoulder next to the Wookie braids. "Nice work."
"I have to do something to keep my hands busy." He folded said hands before him. "But I know you didn't just come here to admire my handiwork. What's up?"
Fett pulled the photo of Vincent from his belt pouch and handed it to Sparky. "I'm looking for a cat, Sparky."
"Kind of an odd target for a bounty hunt, eh?" asked Sparky. "Haven't seen him."
"But someone else has," he replied. "What more, they saw your son and daughter apprehending said animal in a sack and carrying it away."
Sparky looked up at him, brow furrowed. "You're sure?"
Dylan and Kyla suddenly looked as if they'd rather be anywhere – even on a one-way shuttle into the heart of the Maw – but here.
"Kids," Sparky said warningly, twisting the wheels of his chair until he was facing the couch where the two teenagers sat. "We've had issues with you and animal cruelty before…"
"Dad, I didn't touch the cat!" protested Dylan. "Besides, I only put Mrs. Johnson's annoying beagle in the garbage can ONCE! That's hardly an 'issue!'" He emphasized the last word with finger quotations.
"And I haven't tried to dissect frogs in my bedroom in over a year," Kyla added forcefully. "And I know squat about this cat."
"Kids, I know I can't do a whole lot to force an answer out of you," Sparky went on. "I really can't chase you around anymore in my wheels, and besides, you're both getting too old for spankings. But I've always tried to be honest and open with you two, and all I'm asking is you do the same for me."
Fett marveled at Sparky's deft handling of the situation. No threats, no screaming, no excessive guilt trips, and yet he still managed to instill a healthy respect in his children and elicit an answer.
"All right, so we found the stupid cat," Dylan grumbled. "He was wandering around looking lost and confused, so we picked him up. But we didn't kill him, I swear!"
"Yeah, we took him to the shelter," Kyla added. "Geez, don't get so paranoid."
"I checked the Humane Society," Fett pointed out. "They've had no Siamese cats in some time."
"We didn't take him there!" Dylan shouted half-hysterically. "We took him to St. Francis' Ark across town!"
"St. Francis' Ark?" Fett repeated, trying to get all the strange words out clearly.
"It's a no-kill animal shelter," Kyla clarified. "The Humane Society can't keep all the animals it gets forever; it has to put some of them down sooner or later. St. Francis' Ark keeps its animals until they're adopted or until they die of natural causes."
Sparky nodded slowly. "I'll trust you two for now. But Fett's going to call us as soon as he's finished checking the Ark out, and if he doesn't find the cat, you two are in very big trouble."
Fett nodded obediently, grasping the gravity of the situation. If Vincent had met his doom at these teenagers' hands, he would have to deal with, not only Mrs. Albany's grief, but the possible repercussions this drama could have on Sparky's family.
/If only for Sparky's sake/ he thought, /just let that damned cat be at St. Francis' Ark./
Break…
If Vader thought things would calm down slightly after the bathroom incident, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, getting drenched in shampoo served only as a warning of things to come.
"Why does it always feel like I'm doing laundry in this house?" Diana muttered, maneuvering past the kitchen table to get to the den, an overflowing clothesbasket in her arms.
"Perhaps you should turn the laundry chore over to your husband," Vader suggested.
She gave him a cool look. "The last time Conrad did laundry, my best white slip turned pink and he fried three polyester shirts in the dryer. I don't think I'm turning the laundry over to him."
"I see," he replied. "Then perhaps I can be of assistance…"
"Don't worry about it," she assured him without a trace of sarcasm. "You're a guest here. I don't expect anything out of you…"
"Mommy!" Rachel shouted, bursting into the kitchen with a frantic expression on her face. "My Jar Jar doll is stuck!"
"Sweetheart, I'm a little busy," Diana told her.
"But Mommy!" she squealed. "He'll DROWN!"
"Can't you rescue him, honey?" she pleaded.
"I tried, but I can't get him out!"
"Out of what?" Diana inquired, obviously not wanting an answer.
"Well…" Rachel ducked her head sheepishly. "I didn't mean to hit the handle."
"Sweetie, please don't tell me you flushed your Jar Jar Binks doll down the toilet."
Rachel's absolutely pitiful pout – and the sound of running water hitting linoleum – answered that.
"Oh, for the love of…" Diana flung the laundry basket into a startled Vader's arms, and she ran into the bathroom. Rachel watched her go, then clapped both hands over her bottom and ran into the living room, shrieking in fear.
It was at that fortuitous moment that Conrad walked in the front door.
"They let us off early today, honey!" he announced. "We have some extra time to prepare for the dinner…" He paused and took in the scene before him – Vader standing there like an idiot clutching the clothesbasket, Rachel cowering under an end table in the living room and shielding her rear, and Diana emerging from the bathroom, soaked to the elbows and looking fit to kill.
"Um… is it like this every day I go to work?" he asked his wife. "Aside from the Sith doing the laundry, I mean."
"You – are – calling – a – plumber," Diana snarled.
"Well… I can fix it myself…" Conrad suggested.
"You're a construction worker, NOT a plumber," Diana informed him. "Last time you 'fixed' the toilet, you flooded the house."
"Okay, I'll call the plumber," he conceded, picking up the phone.
"No spankings! No spankings!" shouted Rachel.
Diana turned to Vader and took the laundry basket from him. "Sorry about that. Um, I hate to sound like I'm kicking you out, but maybe it would be best if you left the house for a few hours while the plumber 'rescues' Jar Jar."
That was all the convincing Vader needed. Less than ten minutes later, he was at the Leapfrog Diner, engaging in a lively diversion with the Elite's "Lady Vader." She had turned her bookstore over to her hired help and was on her lunch break, but she took a few minutes to challenge Vader to an air hockey game at the Leapfrog's arcade.
"So this is what the Almighty Sith Lord does on his days off," she said with a laugh.
"Who says I'm Almighty?" he shot back, firing the puck back in her direction.
"I believe I just did," she replied. She whacked the puck back across the table, sinking it in Vader's goal. "Eight to three, my favor."
Vader growled a little as he retrieved the disc.
"What, finally found something you can't do?" she said teasingly.
He shook his head and put the puck back into play. "If I may make a confession, I could quite possibly win this game if I halfway tried."
"Oh, so you're letting the lady win," she noted. "How chivalric of you. Well my lord, I'll quite understand if you kick my little hippie butt, so feel free to unleash your wrath."
He stared at her. "What in the galaxy is a hippie?"
"Never mind, it's a long story. Call it a game?"
He nodded. "I concede victory to you, Liberty. Thank you for the diversion."
"No problem." She switched off the game. "I had a lot of fun too. Not every day you get a chance to play air hockey with a Dark Lord of the Sith." She checked her watch. "Well, I'd better get back to the store. Those college kids are easily overwhelmed if you leave them alone for too long."
As they walked back to the Dragon Stone, he voiced a question that had been lying dormant in the back of his mind since the first time he'd seen Liberty at the Elite's party.
"Liberty," he asked, "why is your convention costume a feminine version of me?"
She looked up at him, slightly surprised by his question. "Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity. I'm allowed that luxury, you know."
She shrugged. "I really can't explain it. Part of it is that I'm not a conventional girl. I mean, most girls who are into Star Wars identify more with Padme or Leia than they do with the male characters. But I've never really liked their characters as well as those of the men. Let's face it, the guys get the more interesting adventures and back stories." She brushed back a strand of red hair. "Mostly, though, it's because… well… it's embarrassing to say…"
He discreetly touched her mind with the Force, catching the incriminating thought. "Because there was a time in your life when you found yourself physically attracted to my character."
She blushed. "No fair! You're a telepath!" She gave a self-conscious smile. "Promise you won't tell anyone, all right? It's kind of silly…"
"Not at all." To tell the truth, he was oddly flattered. Most people considered cyborgs in general repulsive, and Vader's reputation only served to add to that distaste. Not that he was actually on the lookout for another woman in his life, but it was still a rather pleasant surprise to know that not everyone saw him as an ugly monster.
"I was eleven when I saw 'A New Hope' for the first time," she explained. "My parents got into phases a lot, and one phase was that anything dealing with technology gave off negative energies that could damage one's spirit. We were living in a community in some forgotten neck of the woods, living off the land and eschewing modern convenience in order to protect our life forces. I absolutely hated it."
"So how did you manage to view an illicit motion picture?" he inquired.
"Easy. Did it all the time – I snuck out, wandered over to a town, and faked like I was lost until a family took me in. Then, while they tried to contact my parents, I would sit in front of the TV with their own kids and become acquainted with the horrors of modern technology."
"And one of those horrors happened to be Star Wars, I see."
"Oh yes," she sighed like a young woman fondly remembering a first sweetheart. "It was love at first sight. And seeing Darth Vader on the screen for the first time… you had this presence, this aura, this… how else can I say it?… this charisma. It was something I'd never seen before, something captivating. And the fact that you were partially machine, of course, added a flavor of 'forbidden fruit' to the mix." She laughed a little. "Even when my parents snapped out of the technophobe phase and moved back to civilization, I never told them my first crush was you. They probably would have thought I was nuts."
He chuckled slightly. "So your fantasy of being the Lady Vader carries on in your choice of attire."
"Exactly." She pulled open the door of the bookstore. "Thanks for letting me spill my guts, Vader. You're the only one I've ever told about this."
"Perhaps," he advised, "you should let Austin know. If you love him, then he deserves to know."
She sighed. "One of these days. Well, see you soon. Keep Conrad's family out of trouble." The door shut behind her.
He continued on his way, marveling that these people had accepted him, a Sith, a known villain, as enough of a friend to confide in him.