Hello! I'm finally back! This chapter is a lot shorter than the previous ones, which I'm kind of relieved about, actually. But fret not! A few more days, and I'll have another chapter up to read!

Fun fact, this chapter is exactly 2,500 words long. I love it when stuff like that happens.

Anyway, read on!

The Imperial shuttle was silent as it flew, silhouetted against the blue-green moon beneath it.

Invisible at first, it soon emerged out of the shadow cast by the Super Star Destroyer that had been carrying it. Quickly leaving the ungainly battleship far behind, the shuttle never slowed as it approached an unbelievably massive structure, far off in the distance. Slowly, the moon moved out of the way, allowing the light of the system's star to reveal the details of the monstrous machine. Its size was staggering. A sphere, half-constructed, with a thin line bisecting its upper and lower halves. Even bigger than its predecessor, with twice the amount of resources poured into its construction, this was the DS-2 Death Star Mobile Battlestation.

As the shuttle neared the battlestation, its pilots activated a comm channel, and one of them spoke. "Command station, this is ST 321. Code Clearance Blue. We're starting our approach. Deactivate the security shield."

"The security deflector shield will be deactivated when we have confirmation of your code transmission," the operator on the other end said. "Stand by…"

On the pilot's screen, the shield protecting the half-constructed battlestation was outlined in orange. A few seconds, and it disappeared. The controller said, "You are clear to proceed."

"We're starting our approach," the pilot responded.

Inside one of the battlestation's many, many hangars, dozens of stormtroopers, technicians, scientists, commanders, and officers stood in formation. The place was polished and prepared and perfect, and yet, Amela Va'ata could feel her hands shake as she stood next to her superior. Nervous, she tapped her boot against the hard floor of the hangar.

"Do try and stop that, Supervisor Va'ata," Moff Jerjerrod said, standing beside her. But she could tell that he was quaking in his boots as well. To have to even stand in the presence of the Emperor's right hand man, she had heard, was a nightmare. It's been a few hectic months, she reflected, trying to think of something other than their current predicament. Project Catalyst, her new assignment, was coming along alright. She wished that they had a little more to go off of other than the boy's- Calvin's- rapid explanations and diagrams. Of course, they had gotten quite far; only a few more months and a breakthrough on the cerebral scanner, and she'd be finished with the whole thing. It was nerve-wracking, however, to stand so near to so much coaxium during the trial runs, even with the emergency freezers. Sometimes, she-

The ramp door to the Lambda class shuttle opened, and Jerjerrod began briskly walking towards it; Amela was quick to follow. Ice-cold steam hissed as the ramp lowered, and, appearing in the steam like the reaper himself, Darth Vader stepped out. His cape fluttered behind him as he marched out, not giving the arriving ceremony a single glance, helmet turned straight ahead. Jerjerrod and Amela intercepted him, the former speaking. "Lord Vader, this is an unexpected pleasure. We're honored by your presence."

"You may dispense with the pleasantries, commander, I'm here to put you back on schedule," Vader said with slight irritation.

His voice was deep, and slightly robotically unnatural in sound. Even as he spoke, the continuous in-and-out breathing that filled both of their ears never ceased, giving credence to the rumor that he wasn't entirely human.

Jerjerrod's expression changed to one of panic, which he managed to keep in check. "I-I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can," he said. As a supervisor, Amela couldn't help but agree. Twelve-hour shifts for the past two weeks, a recent cut of leisure time, stormtroopers being employed to help with hard labor…

"Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them," Vader said, unbudging. Jerjerrod stopped abruptly, and Amela knew that Vader's inflexibility was upsetting him. "I tell you, this station will be operational as planned," he said, his jaw locked tight.

"The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation," Vader said.

"But he asks the impossible," Jerjerrod argued. "I need more men."

"Then perhaps you can tell him when he arrives," Vader suggested, and Amela felt her stomach jump.

"...The Emperor is coming here?" Jerjerrod asked, a new terror in his eyes.

"That is correct, commander," Vader said, "and he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress."

"We shall double our efforts!" Jerjerrod declared, with an optimism gained only by knowing the alternative to be death.

"I hope so, commander, for your sake," Vader said, lifting a finger as if warning a child. "The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am."

Amela stiffened as Vader left Jerjerrod to think and turned to stare at her from under his mask. "Supervisor Va'ata. Status report."

"Project Catalyst is coming along," Amela said, desperately grasping for anything else to say from her suddenly vacant vocabulary.

"'Coming Along' is not what I nor the Emperor expect of your progress," Vader said. "What is your estimated time of completion?"

"The mechanism itself has proven effective," Amela said. "We have had several successful test runs, however, dozens of them have ended in explosive coaxium deterioration. But we're still on track. Project Catalyst is due to be completed by the current deadline."

"Your deadline has been halved, supervisor," Vader said.

Her lexicon had now totally abandoned her. Unable to think of an argument with the dark lord staring straight at her, she simply said, "Understood, Lord Vader."

Not bothering to respond, Vader simply turned, and continued walking off, leaving Amela and Jerjerrod behind.

Among a sea of rocky mesas, four figures appeared in the heat haze.

Their robes hung low, lightly caressing the sandy ground as the nomads shuffled forward. Each one had a loose cord around his waist, and cloth covered every inch of their bodies. Pouches and straps hung tight against their chests. Slugthrower rifles and blunt, spiky, bludgeoning instruments were slung over their shoulders. They walked briskly, looking behind them every now and then as they entered a slot canyon, smooth, solid walls of sandstone towering above them on both sides.

The last one stopped abruptly, and turned to look behind him. Carefully, he scanned the area, metal pieces sticking out around his leather mask, which was shaped into a terrifying scream. Again he swiveled his head in all directions. Nothing showed. A rare gust of wind suddenly lapped at the corners of his robes, and he looked ahead at the distant sandstorm approaching underneath the planet's two setting suns.

Turning back around, the raider picked up his pace to rejoin his tribesmen, and soon disappeared in the canyons.

A minute later, a short creature, brown-robed and cautious, clambered out from behind a large rock, a pack slung over his back. Verifying that the sandpeople had moved on, the jawa quickly resumed his interrupted journey, making his way through the baked rocky hills that bordered the mesas.

Step after step, he traveled through the inhospitable landscape, using a small digital compass to guide him. Finally, he crested a ridge, and found an enormous structure sitting ahead, towering ovr the mountainous desert ranges. It was a large, imposing, circular tower, with a slimmer, taller one to its right. Their roofs were wide, shallow ditanium cupulas, and their walls were of impenetrable, fortified sandstone. Around these two main structures, several small guard towers sat, partially hidden, but always watching. This was the monastery-fortress of the Bo'mar Monks.

The local tribes called it, 'Jabba the Hutt's Palace.'

The jawa settled on his stomach and took out a pair of small thermal binoculars, not daring to approach any closer lest he be seen by the guards, who would have their own such equipment. The breezy wind increased, whipping up sand and cracking dry twigs off of a nearby deceased shrub. Normally, the jawas maintained a friendly relationship with the Huttese gangster, trading scrap and occasional valuables for supplies. Today, however, there was no trade.

Spotting his destination by one of the towers, perhaps a couple hundred feet away, the jawa replaced the binoculars and watched the sand begin to whip up as the wind became stronger and stronger. Looking to his left, the Jawa watched as the bulk of the storm, now only a minute away, blotted out the suns and shrouded the hills. Adjusting his hood, the jawa prepared to make his dash.

Suddenly, the visibility lowered sharply. A dark shroud of sand engulfed the jawa as he began to run. He approached the palace knowing that the lifeform sensors placed around it couldn't detect him anymore. Sand stung him through his robes, and he stayed low to the ground to avoid being carried away. A rock whizzed past his head, and suddenly, a large gust picked him up and sent him tumbling. Regaining his footing, the little jawa pressed on, knowing that he didn't have much time until the storm passed.

Finally, the shape of the base of the guard tower appeared in front of him. Kneeling down, he carefully took out a device out of his backpack and assembled it, as he had been taught; it was a rock drill. Placing it against the corner where the tower met the bedrock of the landscape, he activated it. The large drill came to life, and he began to bore into the ground, flying sand and pebbles ravaging his back. Chunk by chunk, he excavated a narrow 2-foot hole, using a rope to climb back out after the tunnel became too deep to get out of. Every time the drill reached its limit, he would take it back up along with the excavated portion and move it out of the way.

Then the drill broke through, connecting with a pre-existing tunnel close to the same size. Its sides were rough and lined with long, perpetual scratches and grooves. This was a sandsnake's tunnel, just barely big enough to fit him. After clearing the entrance, he climbed back up and retrieved his pack, before descending and crawling deeper underground. The howling of the sandstorm soon became faint, until it disappeared entirely. The sandsnake's tunnel suddenly changed, moving downwards.

Finally, he reached a point where the tunnel sharply veered to one side, as if the creature were avoiding something, and placed an ear against the sandstone. After a minute, he heard a clattering of metal, and the hissing of a door, and knew that he was in the right place. Taking out the thermal binoculars, the jawa switched them to their secondary setting, and watched the outlines of several lifeforms through the rock, moving around and picking things up. There were the big, burly silhouettes of Gamorreans, brutish creatures that were employed as Jabba's guards. Other jawas, also employed by the hutt, walked around, picking up and sorting things. This, the jawa knew, was the scrap room adjacent to the palace hangar where the Hutt kept his favored mode of transport.

Waiting until the occupants left the room, the jawa pressed the drill against the rock and activated it. It only took a few seconds for it to break through. Quickly, the jawa pushed the drill out, into the room, and, grabbing the pack, followed suit. The room was cluttered with piles of scrap and random garbage, and he quickly moved a heavy piece of metal to cover up the hole. The drill was disassembled and scattered so as to not arouse suspicion.

The door hissed open, and a Gamorrean walked in, its green, tusked, piglike face staring at the startled little scavenger. For a second, neither of them moved, until the gamorrean grunted irritatedly and motioned for the jawa to exit, evidently believing him to be a part of Jabba's employed. Picking up a piece of scrap, the jawa walked through the door, followed by the guard, thankful that he hadn't been found out.

Suddenly, he was in a large cavern, sparsely occupied by guards, jawas, and technicians all working on a large vehicle parked on the dusty ground. 98 feet long and 31 feet tall, the Khetanna was Jabba the Hutt's prized vessel- a repulsorcraft sail barge with an armored metal exterior and a set of horizontal red sails on top to provide protection from the desert suns. As the jawa walked away from the scrap room- a side chamber to the hangar, he stared at the powerful cannon mounted on the deck.

Casually, the jawa scuttled past guards and technicians all working on improving the armor plating, mistaken for just another mechanic of the palace, and climbed up a movable staircase onto the barge. Clambering onto the deck, the jawa greeted another Jawa coming up the staircase leading into the interior. Waiting until the other jawa had left the deck, he walked down, and suddenly, he was alone.

Listening for a sign of anyone else occupying the barge and not hearing it, the jawa quickly made his way to where the droid staff would be kept- servers, cooks, and the like, and found the kitchen. Several different models of astromechs were connected to cables on one side of the wall. Bingo.

Quickly, the jawa moved over to the leftmost droid, and unplugged the cable from the droid. It came alive suddenly, beeping and whistling from the sudden change, and before it could move anywhere the jawa reached into a pocket, pulled out a curious looking device, and stuck it into the droid's power socket. Electrical smoke poured out of the droid as it went haywire. Waiting until the commotion died down, the jawa replaced the original cable, coughing from the pungent aroma of a burnt central processing unit, and left the kitchen as it was. One server droid out of action.

Hearing heavy footsteps on deck, the jawa quickly moved to the other end of the vessel, and located a small hatch that led into one of the engine spaces, near the front of the ship. Hearing the grunting of gamorreans outside of the room, the jawa opened the hatch, climbed down, and locked it behind him.

Breathing shallowly, he waited, wondering if he'd been detected. After a minute, he relaxed, and pushed back his hood and took off the glowing eye attachments that he'd been wearing as part of the disguise, revealing spiky yellow hair and human eyes; Calvin.

"Infiltration complete," he whispered to nobody with a grin.

He would have liked to be rid of these smelly robes, but kept them on in case he was suddenly discovered and needed his disguise. But for now, he was safe. The cramped interior was apparently not frequented, judging from the dust and the odorous grime, and provided just enough space for him to sit down against a pipe. He did so, unslinging his pack and opening it, carefully taking out several brick-like items, each with little lights and dials on them. He grinned even more. He had made it into the palace, and into the barge. Now it was up to Hobbes and the rest.

The first phase was complete.

:D