Chapter 23
Twenty hours after the commander promised an EVAC
"Reporting for duty, ma'am."
The voice surprises Hera, but she recognizes it instantly. She halts halfway up the ramp, loading the Ghost for her journey, and turns. The big man from her Dulok misadventure stands behind her, now wearing pathfinder camouflage. Somehow, the giant looks even more imposing in the poncho than his heavy armor. Hera beams, "It's good to see you again."
"I heard you're shipping out," he motions to the crates she's loading onto the Ghost.
A pit forms in her stomach; she's still excited, but it feels wrong. "Command gave me a cruiser; Major Shin will relieve me once he returns from the field. What about you?"
"Room-clearing and close-quarters combat training; the pathfinders aren't assault teams."
It saddens Hera, and she tries to keep it from her face, but he recognizes it. "I don't want to either, feels like poking a wasp nest. I warned my CO, but…orders are orders."
The words sting. How many imperials made the same argument? Follow orders or follow your heart? How many troopers and commanders were forced into that impossible position? No matter what choice they take, the consequences are dire and lasting. The Clone Wars, the Rebellion, and now the Alliance maintains this destructive conflict.
"I could use a good fighter, a good trooper for the adventures ahead," she offers.
He's conflicted and seriously considers it before he shakes his head. "I've served on cruisers before. The tedious day-in and day-out reports and procedures-it's too dull for me."
Her lips curve into a sly grin, "You think I'd let it get boring?"
"No, I think you're trouble," he chuckles, then grumbles, "…but they need me here."
His answer disappoints her, but she smiles anyway, "Thank you for everything. By the way, I didn't know your friend's name, and I don't want to leave until I know yours."
"His name was Mein Mundr," the bodyguard smiles but is marked with sadness. "I wrote his wife and family a letter. Me-I, well…I'm just a trooper, ma'am. Good luck."
He salutes her. She begins to tell him, may the force be with you…but can't. The words sour on her tongue. She swallows difficultly and returns the salute, then he about-faces and leaves. In that dark moment, she feels Kanaan, the deceased father of her child. A tear slips from her eye, and she shakes with impotent frustration. A bad feeling clenches her gut, warning her something terrible is coming. Hera ignores it and continues loading the Ghost. What can I do?
"When I look to the sky,
the doom foretold is a lie,
Until my son's shrieking cry…."
The commander, Gary, and Dr. Wither watch him silently, uncertain how to proceed. His gravelly voice struggles with high notes, but with sheer passion, he reaches them. Without warning, the instrument twangs harshly. The Yuzzum winces, ends his song, and adjusts it.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get guitar strings on a pre-industrial planet?" The Yuzzum demands, huffing in frustration. "We have off-world traders, we have merchants, but try explaining to someone with a hammer and anvil that you need a steel cord wrapped in nickel. I may as well speak in Mon Cal. Fine! Fine! I'm done venting, but it shouldn't be this hard."
"What?" Dr. Wither blinks, then looks at her companions. "What just happened?"
"I think that was music, ma'am," Gary says glibly. "Now, we're conversing."
Furious, her glare swings to Gary, whose expressions remain hidden behind his helmet.
"Thank you, Gary," the commander barely resists laughing. Dr. Wither senses it and turns her glare on him. He changes the subject by speaking with the native. "Good evening, sir."
"How polite!" The alien replies, "Are you enjoying your stay on my planet?"
"No," the doctor answers before hedging. "At least, not anymore."
Gary shrugs, and the commander says, "It's quite…something."
"Each planet has its positives and negatives," the alien strums his guitar. He picks the strings and tightens them to the proper tone. "I took a gig on Nar Shaddaa, barely made it out alive. Then, my brother told me I'm not made for a musical career and kicked me out of the band. Can you believe it?"
"What a loss to music," Dr. Wither responds sarcastically.
"Exactly!" He seizes on her answer unironically. "Now he's on Tantooine!
"I served there," Gary mentions. "Who wants to work on that dustball?"
"Exactly! Since then, I've focused on my solo career and helping my people. Unfortunately, they have no ear for talent, and they make me practice away from the village."
Dr. Wither rubs her temple, "We're wasting time, sir."
The discordant nature of the meeting, the strange creature, and the inherent threat of Endor roots him there. The tension in his shoulders remains. His instincts scream DANGER! Outwardly, the singer seems harmless and utterly non-threatening. Yet, the whole forest remains still, in jarring contrast to every other experience on Endor.
"It's a big galaxy," he replies. "I'm certain somewhere people will love your songs."
"Fat chance," the doctor mutters under her breath.
"Would you like to hear my newest song?" The alien asks excitedly.
"Absolutely not," Dr. Wither replies instantly. Gary shrugs and looks at the commander.
Not one sound interrupts them, and the commander marks it as a singular event. Not even the wind blows through the trees as if the whole planet appears to hang on his decision. Dr. Wither grows irritable and releases an impatient snort. The commander looks around slowly, but nothing moves. Their blurrg remains unwilling to approach, still searching for the threat.
Cautiously, he encourages the creature, "Please."
"Seriously?" Dr. Wither demands, glaring at the commander.
"All right! Gimme a sec, bear with me!" The Yuzzum declares as he tweaks the instrument until the tone he wants hums from the strings. "There! Okay-here goes!"
He begins with a slow melody, soft tones but brisk, and a voice full of hope.
"My son is born, my hope's high,
The brightest sky, my wife's sigh,
A son born, not a dry eye
The doom foretold…is a lie."
The tone changes, speeding up, creating a desperate rush as the Yuzzum's hand moves with blinding speed. He sings the chorus,
"Why, why, why,
Must we watch, our loved ones die!
Why, why, why,
Blood wants blood, someone must die!"
He slows his pace, but the optimism in his voice dims, and his tones deepen, matching the speed.
"The doom foretold is a lie,
I promised her, for her sigh,
Deny the truth, he's just fine
Until my son's…shrieking cry."
Driven by grief, his fingers blur, and he sings the throaty melody. He repeats the chorus faster, harder, angrier. "Why, why, why…blood wants blood, someone must die!"
His song slows, the tones lower as it crawls forward.
"Until my son's shrieking cry,
He wanted to fight, I said why?
My wife chooses, no goodbye,
I held him and…watched him die."
His pace quickens again, driving his grief into every chord, rushing with frantic energy.
"Why, why, why,
Must we watch, our loved ones die!
Why, why, why,
Blood wants blood, someone must die!"
The song slows even more, each word a dirge, each chord a dolled out painstakingly.
"I held him…and watched him die,
She promised, his death for my.
The suns set, his closing eye.
All born of…that witch's…lie."
From behind his helmet, the commander licks his lips nervously. He tries to work the song through his mind, the lyrics, but the last line overruns all other thoughts. The Yuzzum's last line hits like a hammer blow. Once he's regained control of his emotions, the commander realizes the Yuzzum has put aside his instrument. The creature rubs his tears away, his eyes full of sorrow and focused on the ground in front of him. The Yuzzum shrugs, "Well, it's…a work in progress."
"This is insane," Dr. Wither complains.
"I kinda liked it," Gary says.
"This is the least insane thing that's happened to me on Endor," the commander admits.
"You know grief," Gary remarks earnestly. "You put your soul into the song. I feel it!"
"Thank you, Gary," the alien grins sorrowfully.
The commander asks, "Was it Ewoks?"
The Yuzzum's hands twitch, confirming it, but he only says. "Does it matter? It won't bring him back. Nothing can bring my son back."
"We should go, sir," Dr. Wither urges him.
"You're heading down a dark path, Grand Commander," the alien warns.
Dr. Wither's eyes narrow, and her posture stiffens as her voice lowers to a hiss. "How do you know that name? No one spoke it."
The commander immediately puts out a hand to stop her, surprising her and Gary. Then he motions for the Yuzzum to continue. The alien slips off the rock to the ground. He's tiny before the three Humans, not even reaching their waists, but somehow he holds their attention. He's utterly unafraid and seems to control the situation.
"Word travels fast; everyone on Endor knows you now." After a deep breath, he explains. "You can't imagine the shockwaves you've created by killing Chief Kusti of the Lightfoot. Under his rule, his tribe grew, and their violence escalated. Even after the Empire destroyed their village, somehow, they became stronger. Stronger and meaner. Now, you carry Ruin."
The Yuzzum points at the Ewok ax hanging on his belt. Without thinking, the commander steps back from the alien. He pulls his camouflaged poncho down to cover it.
The musician watches him a moment before continuing, "Chief Misti needs Ruin to cement his position as chieftain. Since you were nice enough to listen, I'll warn you. That ax has a dark reputation. Chief Kusti wasn't always bloodthirsty; he changed when he slew the Dulok chieftain and took Ruin. The Duloks who held it were just as bad but lacked Kusti's skill."
"It's just a piece of metal and wood," Dr. Wither dismisses him.
"I think it's stone," Gary points out. "I don't like it, either. It makes my skin crawl."
"That's ridiculous," Dr. Wither snaps. "Get a hold of yourself, trooper."
The commander asks, "What did the witch want from you?"
"Too much," the Yuzzum raises a carved wooden whistle to his lips. He blows, but only the slightest of sounds emerge. He blows it again. Then he points up to the still-burning Deathstar. "She wanted to speak with HIM. She was trapped as a blackbird. She told me I could get a meeting, which is insane. I went anyway; I was desperate. I-it didn't go well, but…HE came with red armored soldiers. She refused to serve him and offered a partnership. He mocked her, then twisted her into a monster and left. They bombed my village on the way out."
"I'm sorry," the commander tells him sincerely.
"Don't tell me you believe this," Dr. Wither argues. "The Emperor came and visited some witch on a backwater skughole? Are you serious!"
"It doesn't matter," the Yuzzum blows his whistle again, and the branches of the trees begin shaking violently. Leaves crinkle and crackle, falling around them like a storm. "It was my choice—the same as coming here. You're not what I expected, commander. I'd tell you not to go, but you have to, just like me. Remember the song, her promises, her words are lies."
The tree branches above them continue shaking violently until three enormous spiders emerge. Each is over three meters tall but nimbly descends the massive trees. The largest spider lowers itself on a webbing as thick as the commander's wrist. Then flips, towering over them.
"Rakazzaks!" Gary warns them. "Don't move!"
Their blurrg cries out in terror before bolting into the woods.
Huge multifaceted eyes study the trio of Imperials as the Yuzzum mounts the largest one. Poison drips from their mouths while their mandibles click, creating a terrifying cadence. Curiously, the tension melts away despite their horrid appearance and the unceasing noise.
"The Lightfoot attacked the Duloks, and they'll come for you. They have to."
"We're well protected, commander," the Yuzzum motions to his three rakazzaks.
"They have blasters and detonators now," he counters. "Spiders won't be enough."
"I'll let my people know," the Yuzzum replies. "Continue on this path for a few hours. You can't miss the Dark Swamp or the witch's hut. Good luck."