Chapter 3 – Brigham and Fett's Deal
Luke and Trapper edged into the crowded theater, careful not to spill any popcorn. Luke had hoped that the two of them could get seats next to each other, but it didn't look like that would happen anytime soon.
"Hey, there's a couple of my friends!" Trapper shouted, pointing to the front of the theater where two kids about his age sat. "Mind if I go sit by them?"
"Go ahead," Luke conceded. "Doesn't look like there's two open seats together anyhow."
"All right!" Trapper sped off.
Luke kept on the lookout for an open seat. He didn't particularly relish the idea of spending two hours standing in back…
Someone in a Darth Vader costume waved from the back row.
"Nick!" he exclaimed. He'd almost forgotten. He squeezed past a few stormtrooper look-alikes to take the seat his new friend had saved for him. Nick handed him a clipboard with a small light attached to it, enabling Luke to read in the semi-darkness of the theater.
/I'm glad you showed up/ he had written. /My friend was supposed to meet me here, but I don't see her. And I hate going to movies by myself./
/I'm sorry about that. Who's your friend/
/Oh, just a girlfriend. She's actually acting as my interpreter, since she knows sign language. Who's the kid that was with you? Your son/
/Oh no, that's Trapper. I'm watching him while his dad's at work./
/I see./
The movie's opening credits were rolling, but Luke suddenly found he was no longer interested in the show. He was too busy enjoying Nick's company to pay attention to the screen – even if their conversation was limited to words on paper.
/At least we can talk without annoying the people around us/ Luke pointed out.
Nick nodded vigorously as if laughing silently. /Very true./ He tapped the "mouthpiece" of his mask with the end of his pencil, thinking. /I hate this movie, actually. Pointless, really. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't that I had to meet a friend here… a friend who never actually showed. Then again, I may be biased. I mostly watch foreign-language films in the theaters – you know, "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and "The Passion of the Christ."/
/Why's that/
/Because they already come with subtitles. Then I'm not straining to read the actor's lips or sitting there clueless while they're discussing something important and it's going right over my head because I can't hear what they're saying. So few theaters play subtitles unless it's a foreign film. It burns me that I'm going to have to wait until "Revenge of the Sith" hits DVD so I can see it with subtitles./
/I'm sorry./
/Don't be. It's not your fault. I've written to the theaters in Newport trying to get them to do something about it, but they've just ignored me. Maybe one of the theaters here in Star City'll listen to me./
/Isn't there a surgical way to repair your hearing/
/My parents took me to every doctor in Oregon when I was a kid. The defect's irreparable. Besides, I'm used to living with it. Restoring my hearing at this point in my life will just mean that I have to adjust all over again./
/I didn't think about that./ He paused a moment, then wrote some more. /Do your other senses make up for your hearing/
/Oh yes. I'm very sensitive to touch – I can feel the vibrations in the floor as people walk past us, for example. When I was in school, I always knew when class was out because the school bell was so strong that it created vibrations in the air./ He gave his nodding laugh again. /I like music, too – John Williams, Beethoven, some of the better heavy metal bands./
Luke had to think about that a moment. /Is it because you can feel the music/
/You got it. John Williams is a great composer. You don't have to be able to hear the music to appreciate it – you feel it in your bones, in your blood, all the way down to your shoes. It's a powerful feeling./
/You're a surprising person, Nick. Most handicapped people I've met are bitter about their weaknesses and shortcomings./ He knew Sparky didn't fit that mold, but he didn't bring that up. /But you haven't let it interfere with your life./
/What's the point in being bitter? Being deaf doesn't affect my personality or my mental capacity. So what if I can't see every movie the day it comes out because I need subtitles? So what if I have to hold a conversation in writing or with an interpreter on hand to translate my sign language? My ears don't work, but there's nothing wrong with my brain./
Luke was very impressed with Nick. Somehow, he'd found a way to live his life to the fullest despite his handicap. And though he might not have done anything especially impressive with his life, his actions in dealing with deafness were just as heroic as anything Luke Skywalker had done – just not quite as visually dramatic.
/Okay, off my soapbox/ Nick wrote. /Let's talk about something else./
/So what do you do for a living/
/In Newport, I was a lifeguard at one of the beach resorts. Of course, there's not much call for that here in Colorado. I'm hoping to get a job for the newspaper here. Writing's my passion, especially journalism. I have a website where I create Star Wars "news articles" just for laughs, but I hope to break into the actual field someday./
/I have a friend who works at the local paper/ Luke offered. /His name's Austin Powers, and he's a columnist. If I put you in touch with him, maybe he can help you get a job with the paper./
/That'd be great! Thank you so much/
As they left the theater, Luke wrote Austin's e-mail address on the edge of the paper and handed the clipboard back to Nick. Their conversation had nearly exhausted Nick's paper supply, but in Luke's mind it had been worth it. Nick had a possible job, and Luke had made a new friend.
"So what did you think about the movie?" Trapper asked, appearing at Luke's side.
"I… didn't see it."
"Didn't see it!" Trapper exclaimed in a insulted tone.
"I was busy talking," Luke replied. "Nick, this is Trapper. Trapper, Nick."
"Oh, this is the deaf guy!" Trapper realized. He reached up and shook Nick's hand. "You read lips?"
Nick nodded.
"Pleased to meet you," Trapper said slowly. "Nice costume."
Nick nodded again and lifted his clipboard as if to write something.
"Nicholas Staples, where have you been!"
Luke rolled his eyes as a woman in a snug-fitting costume of a character he didn't recognize stormed forward, her dyed-red hair swinging down to her hips. Why was she shouting anyway? Nick couldn't hear her, no matter how loud she was.
/Nick, Trapper, this is my friend Jenna/ Nick wrote. /She's getting me acquainted with Star City./
Luke wanted to say that Nick should find a more polite woman to call friend, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
"Idiot," she hissed, keeping her teeth clenched so Nick couldn't catch what she said. "Can't turn my back on him for a minute…" She spotted Luke. "Who's this?" she demanded, making a few gestures with her hands.
Nick replied by moving his hands, using some sort of hand language to communicate with Jenna.
"Good for you," she told him, keeping her face pleasant but her voice sarcastic. "You don't make friends that easy." Turning toward Luke, she said "Thank you for finding him. He's such a handful sometimes. I told him to meet me at the Skyview Cinema, but somehow he ended up here. Sometimes I wonder how much of him's there, if you get my drift."
"I've found, ma'am, that what you expect from someone is often what you get," Luke replied coldly.
"Besides, there's three theaters in this town," Trapper added. "It's easy to get them mixed up."
"Whatever." She turned back to Nick. "Let's go. We can't miss tonight's meeting."
Nick gave her a gesture that Luke took to mean "give me a minute." He wrote down one last note and handed it to Luke before tucking his clipboard under his arm and following Jenna to her car.
"Geez, what a witch," Trapper complained. "And he calls her a friend?"
"Not a lot we can do about it," Luke replied. "Unfortunately, there's not a lot he can do about it either. He can't write everything down; he needs someone to interpret for him." He opened the message and read.
/Here's my e-mail. Shoot me a line. And thanks./
Smiling, Luke pocketed the note.
"C'mon, let's go home and play Stratego," Trapper suggested.
"Over my dead body," Luke replied. "Maybe Podracer." He thought a minute. "What was she dressed as anyhow?"
"Mara Jade. Lady from the books. I hate her."
"Kind of a femme fatale looking character, isn't she? I hope I never meet her."
Break…
St. Francis' Ark was located far off the beaten path… and was about as different from the Humane Society as one could get. The first shelter had been a cold concrete-and-steel building that reeked of antiseptic and constantly echoed with the barks and yowls of restless, irritated animals. But something about the Ark oozed rustic coziness, and even the battle-hardened Fett felt himself relax a touch once he stepped onto the grounds.
The Ark had once been a horse ranch, but the present owner had converted the stables into heated dog runs and the house into a vet's office, small animal housing, and "acquaintance rooms" where prospective new owners could hold and play with an animal before making a choice. Volunteers were playing ball or Frisbee with dogs, leading dogs and cats on leashes around the grounds, or giving dogs baths in modified stock tanks. All the animals Fett could see looked healthy and well-cared for. If Vincent were here, the cat was probably being spoiled rotten at this moment.
As he reached for the doorbell, two cold noses suddenly thrust into the back of his thighs, snuffling loudly and prodding uncomfortably into the seat of his pants.
"Rudy! Chewbacca! Leave the poor man alone!"
A woman was hauling on the leashes of two shaggy mongrels, trying to pull the animals off of Fett. There was no viciousness in their actions, only overeager curiosity. Still, he was greatly relieved when she finally managed to get the beasts under control.
"They're kennel-mates," she explained. "And they're so friendly. If you're looking to adopt a dog, I highly recommend these two, especially for a family…"
"I'm not looking to adopt a dog, ma'am," he replied. "I'm here for a cat."
"Oh, Mrs. Viraldi is in charge of the cats. She's inside right now, just go right in and ask the receptionist for her. Rudy, no! You don't dig in the flowers!"
He entered the building to find himself in a room that had once been a dining room but had been converted into a reception area. Two birdcages – one containing a bright blue macaw, the other a handful of canaries – hung by either side of the door, and an aquarium containing a white snake sat on the receptionist's desk. The man behind the desk gave him a puzzled look but rang for Mrs. Viraldi anyhow.
"How may I help you, young man?" asked the woman who emerged from a back room, a strange animal perched on her shoulder and picking at its leash.
"You're Mrs. Viraldi, the woman who manages the cats here?"
"Yes, I oversee the care and adoption of the cats."
"That's a rather strange-looking cat," he noted, pointing to her shoulder.
"Oh, you're so funny," she chuckled, reaching up to stroke the creature. "We don't often get monkeys here, but someone bought this one and decided he was too much of a handful, so dropped him off at the Humane Society. They don't have the facilities to handle exotics like birds, reptiles, or monkeys, so they shipped him here." She winced as the monkey reached up and began inquisitively yanking at the barrettes in her hair. "Of course, we don't yet have the facilities to house a monkey, so until we get a proper enclosure set up for him, he's staying with the cats."
"Which puts him under your care."
"Not that I mind." She laughed as the monkey cheeped softly and leaped to her other shoulder. "He's quite a character. But you came here for a cat, not a monkey…"
He handed her the picture of Vincent. "I'm searching for this cat. Two kids claim they found it and brought it here."
She nodded. "Yes, just yesterday afternoon. They dropped him off here in a sack, poor thing, but he felt much better after we brushed him down and gave him something to eat. He looked very well-cared for, so I knew he couldn't be a stray…"
Fett felt a measure of relief at this. "Then I'll pick him up and be on my way."
"I'm sorry, but he's not here anymore," she said regretfully.
He glowered down at her. "He's not?"
"We have this little one to thank," she replied, pointing at the monkey that, by now, had figured out how to undo her barrette and was amusing itself by rearranging her hairstyle. "He's learned how to unlock the latches on the cat cages, and last night he instigated a massive jailbreak in the cat enclosures. It took us all night and most of this morning to get everyone back in their cages, and I'm sorry to say that we never did find that Siamese." She reached up and forcibly removed the barrette from the monkey's tiny hands. "Needless to say, we're going to padlock this one's door until he's adopted or we find someplace better for him."
Fett growled in his throat. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?
"Any idea where that cat could be?" he demanded.
"You're free to search the premises," she offered. "Let us know if you find him, all right?"
The monkey chattered, then somehow slipped its collar, jumped to Fett's shoulder, and began climbing down his arm, fingering the gaps in his armor and probing anything that looked remotely interesting.
"Now you, be nice to him!" she chided, reaching over to grab the animal.
Fett tensed. That creature had better not start fooling around with his gadgetry. If he triggered something like the flamethrower or the arm blades, there would be no telling Mrs. Viraldi's reaction.
Luckily (or unluckily, as the case might be), the first thing the monkey activated was the dart gun. It gave a sharp squeal of indignant pain and dropped to the floor like a shot bird.
"Oh gracious!" she exclaimed.
Fett scooped up the unconscious monkey, discreetly removed the dart, and handed the animal over. "I think he hit his head when he fell," he offered.
"We'll get him to the vet's office right away," she assured him. "Good luck finding your cat."
"May the Force be with you," he replied reflexively.
She laughed. "You too."
The receptionist was still giving him a rather studious look. Fett ignored him and reached for the door.
"Psst! Hey, dude, you lose a Siamese?"
Fett turned to regard him. "What do you know about it?"
He looked behind him to make sure Mrs. Viraldi had really left, then turned back to Fett. "While we were rounding up the cats this morning, I saw some guys grab him out of a tree and take off with him."
Fett leaned over the desk slightly. "Describe them."
"One of 'em in a Darth Vader outfit, but his voice wasn't low enough to be a good Vader voice, and he cussed like a sailor. The other wore Jedi robes – except they were black, ya know, with red trim. And he had this weird hair – the Jedi one, not the Vader one – that stood straight up and was black with white stripes in it. Looked like a skunk on crystal meth."
/Nice analogy/ Fett thought. "And you made no move to stop them."
"I'm not going to stick my neck out for a hairball!" the young man squealed. He dropped his voice to a bare hiss of a whisper. "Don't you know who those guys could be?"
Fett shook his head. "I'm not native to the area."
He gave an exaggerated shudder. "They could be… Sons of the Sith…"
"Sons of the Sith?" He'd heard the group mention something about the cult, and how they were mostly a bunch of drug addicts who thought they were Sith Trainees. But he hadn't considered them to be anything other than fan-circulated rumors.
"Yeah, man. That group is scary." His voice dropped even lower, if that were possible. "I think they're into animal sacrifice."
Fett fought the urge to roll his eyes. This could be speculation – or it could be truth. He couldn't be sure.
"You want your cat back," the young man told him in summary, "you find the Sons of the Sith, 'cause they've got him. And what they get, they generally keep."
The hunter digested the information Mrs. Viraldi and the receptionist had given him as he left St. Francis' Ark. If a group that sounded as dangerous as the Sons of the Sith had just gotten involved, the risk factor had been upped considerably. Perhaps he should go back to Mrs. Albany's house and demand a pay increase…
But he had no information on his new foe. He didn't know whether they were actually a dark-side wielding faction or simply a bunch of fans that got their kicks by scaring the town into conspiracy theories. If he was going to be facing them, he needed more data. He needed the expertise of someone who knew about strange religions…
And he knew just where to find such an expert – King Valley Community College, ten miles south of Star City, just a short bus ride away.
"Don't come in if you value your sanity," Brigham informed him, opening the door. "Cody's got his accordion out again."
"Hello, Fettster!" Cody greeted from his bed, looking up from tinkering around with the boxy, peculiar-looking instrument that was threatening Brigham's peace of mind. "Come here to enjoy a tune or two?" He began to crank out a sickly-sounding version of "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."
Fett entered the dorm before Brigham could further protest. "I have a deal to make with you, Mr. Pratt."
Fett took a moment to look around the dorm room – more cluttered than the Osmonds' house, if such were possible, and every wall crammed with a mix of Star Wars posters and religious images, mostly of a bearded robed man who looked like a Jedi but whom Fett assumed was the Son of God that Cody and Brigham's religions shared. From what he'd heard, these two men came from similar backgrounds – affluent, deeply religious families who had wanted their sons to attend prestigious church universities (Brigham's folks had tried to ship him to BYU, Cody's to Notre Dame). Both were instead studying software design at this small Colorado school, both shared a love of both Star Wars and their God, and both had dealt with their own medical problems over the years – Brigham had only recently recovered from surgery on a chest tumor, while Cody was currently dealing with diabetes.
"What kind of deal?" asked Brigham suspiciously.
"I need to know about the Sons of the Sith."
Cody stopped playing in mid-note and stared at him as if he'd just spoken Bocche.
"I don't know a whole lot about them…" Brigham said a little too quickly.
"In return for your information," he went on, "I'll read that book of yours – the Book of Mormon – cover to cover."
"…but I've heard some," he finished. He dug around in a stack of textbooks. "Poor guy in our ward… um, congregation got mixed up with them a year or so back, and the details tend to circulate quickly." He drew out a copy of the Book of Mormon and handed it to Fett. "My number's inside if you have questions."
Fett smiled beneath his mask. Number one rule about dealing with an informant – if you had to bribe an answer out of them, make the bait something they would find irresistible. "I'll read it later. For now, start talking."
Brigham sat down. "The Sons of the Sith are the closest thing Star City has to a Mafia – organized crime. They're responsible for almost all the drug trafficking in this town, and at least half of all other crimes can be linked to them as well. They believe the Empire will someday come to Earth and reward them for their devotion to the Sith. The other fans try to ignore them, which isn't hard since they tend to keep separate from the conventions and tourists. And no one knows where they meet for sure, though the cops think they move headquarters around a lot to keep from getting busted." He shrugged. "That's all I know – all the solid facts, anyhow."
"Anything that may be less than solid?" he asked.
"Rumors abound," Brigham replied. "The guy in my church that fell in with them said that each new initiate constructs an actual lightsaber, minus components so that if and when the Empire ever shows up for real, they can build a working weapon. Some people say they go the whole nine yards into the cult thing – ritual tattoos, blood sacrifice, sexual ceremonies, all that garbage." He shuddered. "I heard they had a book of their own, some kind of Sith scripture, but that's probably hearsay. I've never wanted to check into that."
"Any idea where these Sons of the Sith meet?"
"Not a clue."
Cody, who had succeeded in butchering "Duel of the Fates" behind Brigham, piped up. "Not true, Brig! You told me you saw a pack of 'em meeting down by the…"
"Shut up, Cody!" Brigham snapped.
Fett leaned forward. "Take me there, Brigham. Now."
"What's this about?" Brigham asked warily, raising an eyebrow.
"Take me there, no questions asked," Fett shot back, "and I'll not only read your Book of Mormon, but I'll meet with the missionaries of your church and listen to their spiel."
"Get in the car," Brigham replied, standing and grabbing his keys.
"You sure know how to push his buttons, Fettster," Cody remarked with a grin, happily mutilating the tune of "When the Saints Go Marching In."
Break…
FOR SALE BY OWNER
'66 CORVETTE – AS IS
$1500 OR BEST OFFER
Vader was no judge of Earth vehicles, but he was quite intrigued by this one. True, it was in sorry shape. The windshield was cracked, the upholstery looked as if someone had taken a vibroblade to it, and the paint job was so old that when he experimentally touched the hood a chip of faded scarlet the size of a quarter came off in his fingers. But the body looked generally sound, and if he were able to purchase this car and make some modifications…
He snapped out of the daydream and continued to walk back to the Church's house, leaving the battered but promising car in its owner's driveway. He had to think realistically. It wasn't as if he would be on Earth much longer. And of what use would a wheeled vehicle be on Corusant? Even for someone as wealthy as he was, buying the car would be a waste of money.
Rachel opened the door for him. "Wanna play Candyland?" she asked.
"Where are your parents?" Vader asked, sidestepping the inquiry.
"Daddy's getting dressed, and Mommy's doing her hair," Rachel replied. "They gotta leave for a fancy dinner. Emily's gonna come over and babysit."
He nodded. "I will be upstairs if I'm needed."
The phone rang.
"I'll get it!" shouted Conrad, jogging into the kitchen and trying to juggle the phone and adjust his tie at the same time. "This is Conrad. Hi! What? Damn, are you okay?"
Diana stepped out of the bathroom, her hands behind her neck to fasten a string of pearls. "Oh, you're back, Vader. Emily is…"
"Rachel has informed me of the circumstances," Vader replied. He gave Diana a studious look. "You look very nice, Mrs. Church."
She blushed. "Thanks. Conrad bought this dress for me last Christmas…"
Conrad hung up. "That was Emily. She was involved in a car accident this afternoon."
"Is she okay?" asked Diana.
"Yeah, but the hospital wants to keep her overnight for evaluation," Conrad replied. "She can't make it."
Diana's face fell in a look of disappointment. Obviously they had been planning this night on their own for some time, and being parents, who knew when they'd have a similar opportunity again? For a moment Vader considered… no, he wouldn't… but they'd put up with a lot by having him in their house…
"Go on," he told them at last. "Enjoy your dinner. I will watch Rachel."
Diana flung her arms around him. "Thank you so much!"
"We owe you for this," Conrad added. "You two can have whatever you want for dinner. We generally try to have Rachel in bed by eight-thirty, but if she wants to stay up and watch a movie, that's fine. Just nothing rated over PG."
Vader nodded. "It will be done."
"Thanks again!" Conrad shouted over his shoulder as they departed.
Vader stared down at Rachel, who looked up at him with a deceivingly innocuous expression, clutching her Wookie doll tightly.
"What am I going to do with you?" Vader demanded.
"Let's have chicken nuggets for dinner!" she cried. "We've got lots in the freezer. And can I watch a movie?"
"Very well. Which movie."
She gave a huge grin. "Star Wars!"
He ground his teeth. "Besides that."
"Okay, then let's watch 'Finding Nemo!' Please?"
He nodded. If it would keep Rachel entertained for the evening, he would suffer through a fifteenth showing of that annoying talking fish movie.