A/N: Sorry for the wait, and the short notice here: Thanks to irrelevantiskey and Neila Nuruodo for reviewing! I'm glad you found the story intriguing so far. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, as well.

storm, encounter

Two days later, the wind picked up.

Valia had been staring at the sky when they had set off in the morning, squinting worriedly. "I hope we'll get to Orion City before the storm begins."

Great, Jaina thought sarcastically. Just what she needed: a storm.

Orion City was not a city. In fact, it wasn't even a village. It was a loosely connected agglomeration of moisture farms, each one almost invisible in the dry dust lands surrounding them and far enough apart that they did not even deserve to be dubbed interconnected. Valia did not stop at the first one. Jaina, whose throat was parched and who was unbearably hot underneath her cloak, who was exhausted, and, more than anything, bored – two days of yellow sand and nothing else, constant heat and only the presence of an old woman to keep her company when she would have preferred to make the trek alone had drawn her patience thin – turned to question her guide. The woman had anticipated her.

"I know some people at one of the farms," she said. "We'll be there soon."

Jaina sighed in annoyance and chose to ignore the desert runner's amused gaze. She didn't care what the woman thought. The heat was unbearable during day. The sun burned down relentlessly. The speeder's open cockpit had allowed for some kind of head wind during their flight, but even it had been hot and stifling. It was like breathing in fire: Jaina choked, now and then, and tried to wet her cracked lips but even her tongue seemed thick and parched. At least they had had enough water, though Valia had rationed it strictly. After two days, Jaina wished for nothing more than a cool bath and to never see Tatooine again. She closed her eyes and fantasized about the cool, shadow-filled halls of the Coruscant Temple and the humid forests of Yavin Four. For a second, she could hear the gurgling laughter of the waterfalls in the Hall of The Thousand Fountains. Suddenly, the air seemed humid and filled with the scent of plants and moss. Jaina kept her eyes closed, trying to hold on to the image – vision? – but it disappeared again quickly. Soon, she was back in the deserts of Tatooine again, the sun glowing down on her and sand itching against her skin.

"There we are."

They hadn't spoken for the remainder of the flight that day, but when Valia's voice resounded Jaina had already snapped to attention again. The runner's chosen destination did not look any different than the few moisture farms they had already passed. It was nestled against the ground, bent like an animal ducked in fear – or perhaps poised for attack. The small, round windows were covered with a thick layer of dust, some of them already drawn in preparation to the storm that was now looming at the edges of her vision. The sky had not changed, but a wind had picked up. A child was playing in the shadow of the farm house, a small desert dog at its side. At the sound of the speeder, it dashed into the house and returned, seconds later, with what was presumably its mother. The farmer's wife stood, shielding her hand against the sun, while Jaina and Valia disembarked. Her hand, Jaina noticed, was clenched around something hidden in her apron. Her danger sense whispered warnings, and Jaina tensed. When the woman recognized the old guide, though, she relaxed visibly and let go of the child to welcome Valia warmly. While Jaina wearily took in their surroundings (sand, Force-forsaken sand everywhere) the two women exchanged the newest gossip. Both of them turned towards the West, the direction the wind was coming from, and frowned, worriedly. Jaina silently willed the woman to invite them inside, to offer them something to drink and to let them stay for the night, but Valia seemed to have a different idea. Some credits were exchanged and the woman disappeared into the house. Not long after, their water skins were refilled and the child had brought them three securely packed bags which probably contained new rations, and then Valia embraced the woman, waved at the child and returned to their speeder. Jaina hurried to follow her, frowning.

"We're not going to stay here?"

The runner squinted at the sky again. "Maron has no place for guests, and her husband will be back soon. But there is an abandoned farm at the outskirts of Orion. The people here look after it. It's equipped for travelers staying there for a night."

"Fantastic." An abandoned moisture farm and an oncoming storm, this was getting better and better. And the wind picked up as they left the vicinity of Maron's farm. From the corner of her eyes, Jaina saw the woman ushering the boy inside, then, the last windows were barricaded. Valia grunted as she fought to keep the speeder on course against a particularly strong gust of wind. With it, whirlwinds of sand lifted from the ground and danced in the evening air. The hull of the speeder resounded with the impact of a million of tiny grains. Jaina was glad for her goggles. But the wind tore at her cloak and whipped down her hood, and she could feel the sand grate against her skin and bury in her hair before she was able to pull it up again. Cursing loudly, she secured it somehow, at the same time trying to bury their rations somewhere they wouldn't collect too much of dust. She had no idea why she cared – the sand was in her mouth already anyway – but still, she tried. In the small calm that followed, she managed to pull her mask over her nose. The speeder lurched forwards as Valia hit the speed pedal.

"We'll make it," she yelled over the howling of the speeder's engines and Jaina clenched her teeth and concentrated on holding on to their packs. Another gust of wind slammed into them and both women tried to shrink into their seats, trying to present the smallest obstacle possible for the wind. Jaina had stopped cursing loudly, but only because sand was getting into her mouth. Her hands clenched. In moments like these she wanted to be the one behind the controls, wanted to trust her own abilities and experience in order to out-maneuver the storm. It was a force of nature, but she had the Force, after all. But instead, she was forced to watch her guide steer their craft. Valia did so with the calmness and assuredness of an experienced speeder pilot. But still, Jaina ached to fly. X-wings were different than normal speeders, she thought almost angrily. X-wings demanded control, patience and skill. X-wings were piloted by one person only, and this person needed the self-confidence necessary to not only to think certain things were possible but also to actually go and do them, no matter how unrealistic. An X-wing pilot only depended on himself and that was why Jaina loved them. Of course, there had been a time- She clamped down on the thought violently and drew on the Force to calm herself. X-wings were far superior to speeders like this one, and there was no sense in wishing for something she would not get.

Valia's destination arose from the desert sands like a sand worm: slowly and oddly majestically, despite its worn and faded look. Dust-colored walls, the round windows apparently barred by something she recognized as corrugated metal sheets, the door closed and bolted. All in all, it was a desperate, abandoned feeling the place gave off and Jaina couldn't help but shiver. The wind had picked up and the time between the gusts had shortened during the last two hours until the speeder had been buffeted by storm winds almost continuously. Valia had kept their course but the speeder's motor didn't sound too healthy anymore, angrily fighting the winds that tried to throw him off-course. They parked the speeder in the wind-shadow of a surprisingly well-kept shed. Jaina waited while Valia fumbled around and opened the doors, then they pushed the vehicle inside. Each grabbing their packs and the extra rations, they navigated their way towards the farm building. Talking was useless at this point. The winds were lashing out, the storm now close enough Jaina could feel its force and danger almost physically. Valia seemed to duck under the clouds of dust and sand that whipped through the desert as if they were nothing while the Jedi, though not even remotely tall, had to throw herself against the oncoming gusts with all her strength. Her danger sense was spinning. An empty bucket suddenly sailed towards her, caught in the wind's grasp, and she both ducked it and then averted it with the Force so it would not hit her guide instead. At the same time, the wind ripped at her cloak and she was thrown off balance. Jaina used the Force in order to save herself from falling and cursed.

"Stang."

Even her voice sounded scratchy, like sand paper grinding against the rusty metal of an old hyper drive. She gagged on the sand that entered her mouth, coughed and refused to swallow lest she made it worse. Righting herself after a few seconds, an instinct made her whirl around, but there was nothing behind her except more wind and more sand. And then, suddenly, the structure of the abandoned farm house loomed up in front of them, Valia stopped and a dark opening appeared. Jaina stumbled through and together they threw themselves against the door, fighting the winds and the sand, until it closed with an audible click.

Darkness.

Darkness, and Valia's muttering, rustling of cloth. Jaina folded into herself and coughed, coughed, coughed. Fumbling for her water flask, she rinsed her mouth, but still, the memory of sand (and some tangible remains of it, surely) – were left in her sore throat. Darkness, and a stinging ache in her lungs, the musty air of the empty building and a tingling sense of something she couldn't place, and then – light. Jaina released the breath she had not known she was holding and dropped her bag. The old farmhouse had been stripped of everything, even the separating walls. It presented one large room. In some corners, residue of piping and wiring extended from the wall and had been carefully covered and disconnected. On the ground, mouse droppings – at least she hoped they were mouse droppings – and dust gathered. In some places one could still see where walls had separated different rooms.

"It's not a first-class hotel," Valia said cheerfully, "But it's a quite nice place."

"At least we're out of the storm," Jaina muttered, her voice painfully hoarse, and Valia chuckled.

"It will be over soon. You'll see, desert storms have a devastating force, but they do not last long. Tatooine's never angry for long."

Ignoring her guide's strange propensity to speak about her home planet as if it was a living being, Jaina set her bags down carefully and started digging for their small gas cooker. The food Maron had provided them with made a nice addition to their ration bars and stale water. They had some kind of filled bread squares that tasted foreign and spicy. Jaina, used to ration bars, was surprised at how even a little of the pastries were able to fill her up quickly. They also ate the strange fruit the farmer's wife had given them, Valia claiming it to be too soft and squishy to carry it with them when they left. When they were finished, the woman produced a small bag of sweets, smiling happily.

"Maron makes the best moon cakes you'll ever eat."

And they were good. Even Jaina had to agree.

Outside, the storm had, if possibly, become even stronger. Leaning back in the dim darkness that was only punctuated by Valia's flickering storm flare, listening to the wind that was pelting the house, it was almost… calming. Jaina was keenly aware of her mission, and that time was of essence. At the same moment she knew there was nothing she could do to make the storm move faster, so she settled into the familiar rhythm of preparing food, eating and cleaning up. The wind kept lashing against the walls and the door of the dark building, and the coldness of the night began to creep into the structure. The stone was still warm from the day, though. Leaning back against the wall, Jaina looked at her guide and wondered: why was a woman like her a desert runner? And how had she known her when they first had met?

"You are Force-sensitive, aren't you?"

"Force-sensitive?" The old woman looked up from where she was sharpening her hunting knife and humph-ed, dismissively. "No offense, girl, I know the Force works for you. But there are older powers."

Jaina couldn't decide whether to be insulted or curious, so she was both. Crossing her arms, she glared. "What is it, then?"

"Tatooine, girl." Valia half-closed her eyes and smiled. "The planet. Haven't you heard it?"

A decade and a half ago, the idea of living planets would have had amused her greatly. After Zonama Sekot, however…

"You mean, the planet is alive?"

Valia smiled, rummaged through her bag and produced her pipe. "Hm. Is it?"

Great. Answering questions with more questions: the old, familiar and annoying trait of teachers all over the galaxy. But Jaina wasn't a padawan anymore, and she did not care much for the mysteries of a planet she would soon be off from and never visit again. It probably was for the best if she just gathered her strength and slept a while. They would continue on foot tomorrow since there would only be sparse opportunities to refuel the speeder and she did not want to risk being targeted by Tusken Raiders.

"Whatever."

Valia smiled indulgently. "She has been calling out to you, too."

Jaina laughed, a sound of surprise that was startled out of her. "Well, if Tatooine needs something from me it can get in line. There are at least half a dozen people who want me to do something for them, some who would like to kill me and even more who expect me to fail."

Her guide frowned. "It's not like that. She-"

And there, suddenly, it was again. Jaina tensed. It was faint, but growing rapidly. A sense of knowledge, the feeling of security that came with the ease of years of practice. The blips on the radar she had experienced the past two days had formed into steady signals, and everything in Jaina screamed in alarm. She pressed a finger to her lips to silence Valia who, mercifully, understood, gripped her knife, extinguished the storm flare and did not move any further. Jaina crept to the door and waited.

Her danger sense was howling in concert with the storm.

She had expected someone to follow her. There always was some misguided, poor smuggler or otherwise half-cooked criminal who thought he could benefit from catching the small, young and – most important of all – lone traveler with enough credits to buy himself a guide arriving at the cesspit of the galaxy. (Han Solo always had had a way with words.) She had also expected Hutts, Jawa clans, or even Tusken Raiders. What she had not expected, though, was to be followed by someone who was actually good at doing his job. Because Jaina had sensed him before – but she had not connected the dots. She cursed herself silently.

The door opened, almost without any sound, and the thorny sand suddenly was everywhere. A heart-beat to check the situation, and the hunter obviously decided that getting out of the storm was more important than the danger of what he was possibly getting into. Jaina, her eyes now used to the dark, saw a bulky figure, a flash of movement too smooth to belong to just another moisture farmer (Sorry Uncle Luke), heard the sound of a blaster being set to stun (kill?) and catapulted herself forward.

The stranger threw himself to the side.

Jaina followed smoothly, unbalancing him, her hands going for his weapon. The heavy sound with which he connected with the floor showed her he was wearing armor – Force, a Mandalorian!? – and he was strong. He caught his own fall, twisted into an arch and exploded from the ground with enough force to catapult her away. Jaina, holding on to his weapon and twisting it as hard as she could used the momentum she gained, landed on her feet. He let go of his blaster which immediately flashed an orange light – wonderful, a timer, a Mandalorian all right – and dropped into a low fighting stance. If he was a Mandalorian, Jaina decided in a flash, he had enough other surprises up his sleeve – literally – so she went for him with a roundhouse kick.

He blocked her.

And cursed, his voice muffled under the obligatory mask, and grabbed for her foot but she spun away. Lifting an arm, he pointed it at Jaina – did he really want to use rockets in an old farm house?! – and she grabbed him with the Force and tore him towards her, short-circuiting his sleeve launcher with the Force at the same time with the technique Jedi used to blur cameras and Corran Horn had refined. The small servo motors died with a broken hiss. The bounty hunter – because it was a bounty hunter, Bantha shit, why here, why now – did not waste time checking his gear. Knives sprang from his sleeves into his hands, one in each, and he slashed at Jaina. She leaned away from one and blocked the other, did not waste time punching his solar-plexus when his arms fell to reveal an – intended – opening in his cover but hooked her leg behind his knees and pulled, and both of them went to the ground. And that was when Valia turned on her lamp again on full power, shining it into the intruder's eyes.

"Hold it," she demanded, imperiously, pointing a blaster at the stranger. Jaina weighted herself down with the Force, trapped the man's arms with her arms and his body with hers and blinked to adjust her eyes to the sudden light.

The bounty hunter, of course, wasn't wearing a mask but rather a helmet whose visor was closed. Jaina could hear heavy breathing and supposed she sounded similar. The helmet also meant that he wasn't half as blinded as she was, she realized, and desperately hoped Valia had it under control. In the corner of her field of view, the orange timer blinked.

The man looked up at her steadily. "If I don't get my blaster in the next sixty seconds, we're all going to die."

His voice sounded gruff under the helmet, but his accent definitely was not Mando'a. Jaina's heart leapt into her throat.

Valia didn't budge. "Then get it, but slowly."

The light of the flare dimmed. Nose to nose as she was with the hunter, Jaina could see his visor brighten up again to adjust to the new light conditions.

"It would be nice if I could move a bit," the man said without moving. "Solo?"

No mistake, then. No illusion.

Jaina recoiled as if hit by a whip. She was on her feet in an instant, backing up until her back hit the wall. The man in front of her scrambled to stand: he was taller than her, which wasn't difficult. She couldn't see his features but knew he had dark hair, equally-dark eyes and a scar at his right temple. His posture that told her so much about whom he had been and always would be was rigid and his shoulders tense. The beskar' gam he wore was old and dented, his cloak dirty and full of sand, and a few days in the desert had probably given him the dark shadow of a stubble. But it was him: she would have recognized him everywhere. In an abandoned moisture farm in the midst of Tatooine's Dune Sea, Jaina was looking at Jagged Fel.

"What the hell?"

"Of course you would know each other," Valia said dryly.